Midnight Moonrising is LIVE!!

Moonrising BannerMoon Book Info

Title:  Midnight Moonrising

Genre:  PNR, Uban Fantasy

Release Date:  July 31,2015

Co Written By: Kristie Haigwook & Anne Conley

Editor:  Ella Medler

Cover Model:  Ryan Cottrell

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Moon Book Synopsis

Mena’s life is complicated. She’s just murdered and buried her husband, the local wolf pack’s alpha – problem number one. Phoenix, the High Vampire, is the one her heart beats for, but not the one her wolf wants – problem number two. Her wolf pines for Alex, the human homicide detective who might just send her down for murder – three. Four, wolves and vampires don’t mix. Five, she has no clue how to be alpha, keep her pack safe while fighting off challengers with every step she takes, or what it would take to tame her wolf, which is the biggest problem of them all. Because the beast might just forfeit Mena’s life when its insatiable thirst for blood is unleashed on the world in just a few short days, with the next full moon.

Which should be doable. Except for the Nexus… and the little extra problem of bonding with a stranger.

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Moon Book Excerpt

With everyone thinking I was angry, I was taking a wild guess that it would be at least thirty minutes before anyone realized I was gone. That was a good head start. From the vague vibe I was feeling from Jess and the other traitors, I was looking at covering a distance of about four miles. I ran that nearly every morning, and the time it took to get there would allow my wolf and me time to figure out what we were going to do when we got there.

Cutting the bitch was what my wolf wanted to do, and I couldn’t honestly say that I wasn’t on board with that plan, but I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t take on eight werewolves on my own. I would have to find their hideout and come back with my pack. Bringing Phoenix and his clan to watch my back in case any of my wolves were really on Jessica’s side was a smart thing to do, so I would let them come, too, not that I would really get a choice in the matter; I doubted he would stay behind even if I begged him to.

A loud clatter had my head whipping around to look behind me again. An aluminum trash can lay on its side, its contents spilling into the street. A tabby cat peeked around the edge of the torn trash bag and I exhaled in relief. I was a sad case, indeed. I laughed at myself. I was not used to being the monster.

“I aim to change that, Mena.”

I rolled my eyes at my wolf. “You just be you and let me be me and we’ll get along just fine.”

Soft laughter filled my head and I had to smile. I had to admit that I liked her, regardless of how much trouble she was causing me with Phoenix. At least we had come to a compromise. I didn’t know how well said compromise was going to work out, or even if it would at all, but I was willing to try. Everyone deserved a shot at happiness, even with as insane as our case may be.

As I turned my head back around to continue on my journey, I ran smack-dab into the hard chest of a man. He was in shadow, so I couldn’t see his face. Stumbling back, I attempted to get my balance, but his arms closed tightly around my body, jerking me to him and trapping my arms down at my sides so I couldn’t move.

Struggling against his solid hold on me, I opened my mouth to let out a scream, but he twisted me around and clamped a hand over my mouth so fast that I didn’t know what was happening until I was being pulled backward, away from the security of the streetlights that lined the suburban road.

I raised my knee up then brought my foot down hard on the toe of his shoe. He let out a muffled grunt, but continued to drag me into the shadows.

This had to be one of the werewolves. The strength alone told me that. They had to have been watching my house, just waiting for me to leave. This bastard was going to kill me if I didn’t do something.

My wolf stirred under my skin. She wanted out and it was the first time since I’d been bitten that I agreed with that plan. With only a little more than human strength and quick reflexes, it wasn’t possible for me to handle a grown male werewolf on my own.

My final option, before letting my wolf free, was try to at least injure him. I hoped that would be enough to make him loosen his grip on me enough so I could run. If he gave chase, I would have to concede and let my wolf take over.

Gripping the dagger tighter in my palm, I rotated my wrist and drove the blade into his side as hard as I could. An ear-piercing ululation erupted from his throat and he let go of me. I didn’t wait or look back. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, adrenaline and my wolf giving me the speed and strength to push my muscles past what a human would be able to endure.

“Mena… Mena!” I heard the cry behind me, but my mind wasn’t registering anything except panic and the need to get as far away from my attacker as possible. “Mena—wait! It’s me…” A strangled groan had me slowing. “…it’s… it’s Phoenix. I—I’m so sorry, Mena.”

I froze, not wanting to look back at the man, terrified that what he’d spoken was true. If it was—if I turned and saw those ice-blue eyes staring back at me, it would destroy any trust I had ever had in him.

“Please, Mena, I never meant to hurt you. I was only trying to scare you so you would realize what a stupid stunt going off on your own to find the killers was. What were you thinking?”

The blood rushed through my veins at an impossible speed, and fury washed over me in waves as I stood there trying to decide whether to walk away or allow my wolf to rip Phoenix’s head off. She was all for the second option.

I heard him cough, and then groan in agony. I imagined he was pulling the dagger out of whatever organ I had been lucky enough to hit. There was a lot of heavy, ragged breathing and two more guttural-sounding coughs. It appeared as though I had hit a lung. Too bad it wasn’t his heart! I wasn’t sure stabbing him in the heart with a silver blade would kill him, but I would have put money on a bet that it would have been a hell of a lot more painful.

I turned my head to glare at him, but the hatred I had expected to feel wasn’t there. He had fallen to his knees, and his head was bent, his eyes focused on the bright red stain spreading across his new shirt.

Shaking my head, I looked up to the sky and asked, “Why me?” After receiving no answer, I sighed and began the one-hundred-meter walk back to Phoenix.

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Moon Book Authors

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Anne Conley

Anne has written her entire life and has the boxes of angst-filled journals and poetry to prove it. She’s been writing for public consumption for the last four years. Currently she is writing three romance series. In Stories of Serendipity, she explores real people living real lives in small town Texas in a contemporary romance setting. In The Four Winds, she chronicles God’s four closest archangels, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, falling in love and becoming human. In Pierce Securities, she gives us Ryan, Evan, Miriam, Zack, Quinten, and Simon. She lives in rural East Texas with her husband and children in her own private oasis, where she prides herself in her complete lack of social skills, choosing instead to live with the people inside her head.

Free books from Anne Conley 

Contemporary Romance: Neighborly Complications

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Smashwords:  http://bit.ly/14ekx5K
Paranormal Romance: Falling for Heaven
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K.S. Haigwood

Kristie Haigwood (a.k.a. K.S. Haigwood) is currently writing her 10th novel.  She lives in Arkansas, US.  She is the mother of 2 awesome kids and 2 great dogs.  She is happily married to her soulmate who thinks reading is a solid waste of time.  Opposites attract.  Kristie’s works include ‘Save My Soul’, ‘Hell’s Gift’, ‘Good Side of Sin’, ‘Forbidden Touch’, ‘Eternal Island’, ‘Eternal Immortality’, and ‘Accepting the Moon’.  ‘Eternal Illusion’, ‘The Last Assignment’, ‘Midnight Moonrising’ and ‘My Sweet Purgatory’ are all releasing soon.

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Cover Reveal & Giveaway~Chasing Daylight by Carey Heywood

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Title: Chasing Daylight (Carolina Days #3)

Author: Carey Heywood

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: September 21, 2015

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Mitch Brooks exists day to day by keeping the world around him at arms length. There is no going back to the man he once was. That man was broken in a way there’s no fixing. Any hope outside of that is nothing but wishful thinking, until he meets her.

McKenzie Williams needed an escape. The last thing she needed was a scary beautiful man beating down her door in the middle of the night. Now, if only their paths would stop crossing, she could convince herself she didn’t feel a connection to him. Life has shown her the dreams she once held dear will never come true for her.

Mitch struggles to get past the walls he’s built around himself while McKenzie works to build hers brick by brick. When the outside world exposes the vulnerabilities in his façade she abandons her own fears to stand by him. Will she be the one to save him from the darkness within him, or will he forever be chasing daylight?

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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She was born and raised in Alexandria, Virginia. Ever the mild-mannered citizen, Carey spends her days working in the world of finance, and at night, she retreats into the lives of her fictional characters. Supporting her all the way are her husband, three sometimes-adorable children, and their nine-pound attack Yorkie.

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DARK NOVEL~I See You by Ker Dukey & D.H Sidebottom is LIVE

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CU Book Info

Title: I See You

Co Written By: D.H Sidebottom & Ker Dukey

Genre: Dark romance

Release Date: July 15, 2015

CU Synopsis

I watch you, I see you in ways no one else can, and through my lens I create a life of you for someone to dissect. I capture you in your vulnerability; that smile, your laugh, those tears. I document you and sell your secrets.

When I watch you through my lens you’re mine until I pass you to the buyer. I, like most people, have a fetish for pretty things and in my job I get to be around a lot of pretty things. They pay me to watch them and capture them in a frame for many purposes, and sometimes I like my profession a little more than I should.

I took a job to capture her… I wanted to capture and keep her in more than just the image. This time I will take myself away from the lens and become the client because I cannot resist her, she reminds me too much of my first, I need to have her.

Traumatised from a vicious attack, Nina Drake finds herself shut off from the world until her neighbour brings her out of more than just her nightmares. Even after moving and changing her name, she still can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The memories are so close.

And so is the shadow of the creator of them all.

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She is an avid reader and her tastes range from horror to erotic, but she loves to help new authors get into the ‘scene’. She loves rock music and tattooed guys, and has a weakness for coffee, wine and Belgium buns.

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I have always had a passion for storytelling, whether it be through lyrics or bed time stories with my sisters. I wanted to be an actress growing up so I could live many roles but I learned early on that my mind was too active… I would want to change the script.I would watch films and think of ways they could have improved the story if they took another direction so i thought it best that i tell my own.

My mum would always have a book in her hand when I was young and passed on her love for reading, inspiring me to venture into writing my own. I tend to have a darker edge to my writing. Not all love stories are made from light, some are created in darkness but are just as powerful and worth telling.

When I’m not lost in the world of characters I love spending time with my family. I’m a mum and that comes first in my life but when I do get down time I love attending music concerts or reading events with my younger sister.

You can find me on Facebook where I love interacting with my readers.

Connect w Ker

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THE EMANCIPATION OF LOVE a dark novel by Mary E. Palmerin

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Title: THE EMANCIPATION OF LOVE (Monster, #2)

Author: Mary E. Palmerin

Genre: Dark Erotic Romance

Release Date: June 26, 2015

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Blurb

I am a monster. A sexual deviant. A gorger for pain. I am Worthless William Welch.

But I am hers…

Ten years since Welch has seen Gwendolyn he finds himself in Portland, the same city they were supposed to live together; just two bloody lovers against the ghastly ways of the world. But that isn’t how their story would pan out and Welch troubles himself everyday with memoirs of the only one that will have his heart.

His sweet, sweet girl. Fiery Gwendolyn is gone and he is alone with nothing to occupy him except memories.

As he tries to grasp onto the recollections while simultaneously forgetting the pain he was bathed in for so long, he searches for a woman that will give him the agony he so desperately craves. You know what they say… be careful what you wish for.

As Welch pushes an unlikely woman to the brink, he is surprised at her eagerness as she gives him what he longs for. Punishment, pain, and pleasure. He becomes enveloped by the demons of his past, the torment of his current, and the ghost in his mind that he refuses to part from.

Reverted back to the dysfunctional little boy who obeys, Welch finds himself in a disastrous cycle while the edge of goodness is within reach. Will it be too late for him to find love before he breaks himself down to a point of no return?

**Graphic content warning including sexual degradation, emotional abuse, adult situations, and unconventional sexual practices that are intended for mature audiences only. Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen. Reader discretion is highly advised.***

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Excerpt
 
Just as I contemplated taking a knife to my wrists, there are those that are doing that now. They throw themselves into the pits of darkness because wallowing in a sea of hatred has become too goddamn much for them. Victoria was one of them.

Suddenly, that lump in my throat is tightening and it is getting harder and harder to breathe. The sunrise of joy that I also craved to see as I put the disgust and danger behind me is almost as frightening as the final farewell to the constant pain. The glutton who wants discomfort will never alter what he needs. That is me. It is embedded in my body, every cell of my being. The masochism that I love to loathe clings onto me forever. I am a dangerous man and my life is destined for bad things. I feel it in my stomach as it clenches.

My mind travels through time again as I stare Victoria in the face. All I want is one last smile while the face of her ghost haunts me, making my heart shatter into a trillion shards that will never be put back together, no matter how well Gwendolyn tries. I can certainly attempt to make her think that I am a changed man. She does make me feel more normal than I will ever be, but I must face that I am a player in the game that I hated so much. The last days of Victoria Matthews were filled with rape, torture, brutal violence, and sadness as I sit before a fucking picture box doting over the memories that I kept track of. Inside I hold the last known picture of her and I want to show it off. For what?

Being the boy who could never say no to the ultimate puppet master himself.

Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts (Monster, #1)

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Monsters. They don’t hide in your nightmares. They steal you away from the good life and prevent you from living your dreams.

That’s where 17-year-old Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick found herself; surrounded by wicked fiends after everything she thought she had was gone in the blink of an eye. She was shuffled away with one bag of memories miles away to a pair of foster parents that hardly had her best interests at hand. Forced to obey and listen to her caregiver’s commands, Gwendolyn buries her old self and focuses on the pain to become one of them.

A monster herself to seek vengeance.

While yearning for her teeming point to come, Gwendolyn starts to connect with another 17-year-old foster boy living with her who calls himself Welch. Just when Gwendolyn starts to feel faith splice its way through the venom of pain, the connection she has with Welch is put in jeopardy as the harshness gets worse with each passing day.

Will the two tattered spirits make it out alive?

About the Author

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Mary E. Palmerin is 27 years old and resides in Indiana. She is married, has two small boys and usually has her nose in a good book when she isn’t writing. She has been writing since she was a young girl, scribbling fairy tales down on notebook paper, creating poetry through her teen years, and many shorts in between, all of which she has kept. Mary enjoys telling tales that are both raw and real, seeing it as a gift to be able to evoke various emotions from her readers.

She enjoys spending time with her family and friends, traveling, anything outdoors, relaxing by the pool with a good piece of literature, red wine, coffee, tattoos, and HEA!

 
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Giveaway & Cover Reveal Happily Ever After by S.K. Hartley

Title: Happily Ever After
Series: A Broken Fairy Tale #2
Author: S.K. Hartley
Genre: Contemporary Romance
 Release Date: August 24, 2015
Blurb

Note to self: Never beg the man you’ve been avoiding for three months to help you. You should also never say you’ll do anything just to get out of a questionable date… Three things I dislike about Luca Black:

1. He lies.
2. He’s cocky and self-absorbed.
3. He knows how to play me like his Aston Martin.Dammit.

Now I’m stuck at his apartment. All because I needed his help. Now I have to face the fact that, no matter how much I try not to stare, he looks delicious in nothing but a towel around his waist.

What the hell was I thinking?

Seven days.

It’s just seven days with a man who can turn me on with a single look, and make me consider murder every time he opens his stupid British mouth.
I could do this…Right?

Available Now
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Excerpt
Throwing caution to the wind, and no doubt my dignity, I hit call and prayed. I prayed he didn’t answer and that I’d have to some how climb out of the tiny, broken window above my cubicle and never step foot on this side of New York ever again.

The Gods were now laughing hysterically.

“Kitten.”

And there went my sanity… followed swiftly by my panties.

Dammit.

“Luca.” His name fell from my lips like a caress instead of what it should’ve been, a snarl. Coughing gently, I tried again. “Luca,” I said, a little more forcefully, but now I sounded like I couldn’t put a single sentence together.

Great.

It was going great.

“I… shit. I need your help.”

My hand went to my forehead as I watched my dignity jump out of the window along side my sanity and panties. Could I have sounded any more desperate? I should just end the call, I could say I accidentally butt dialed him while I was out with a super hot doctor on a super hot date. Then I’d somehow have to explain why I said his name, but I could work around that, right?

God dammit, Kylie, get your shit together. Just ask him to come and get you, it won’t kill you. The doctor might though.

I rolled my eyes and decided to suck it up but just as I was about to explain my predicament, he opened that stupid mouth of his.

“You, Kylie Jackson, need my help?” His deep laughter filled my ears and mortification took hold of me. This was a stupid idea.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I spat.

“It means that the last time we saw each other was over three months ago, Kylie. I’m surprised you even remember my name. You’ve been avoiding me like the bloody plague and now you want my help?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I mustered. It was a lie, but it was the best I had in the situation I was in. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken in a while but please, I’m begging you, help me out here?”

That sentence alone would be my undoing.

“You’re begging?” I could feel his excitement through the phone, coming off him in waves. What had I done? “Kitten, if you’re begging, I’ll do just about anything… but there’s a condition.”

I rolled my eyes, “When isn’t there a condition with you?”

“Do you want my help, or not?”

“Fine. Fine.” I sighed. “What’s the condition?”

“A little bird told me that your apartment is being redecorated this week and you need a place to stay until it’s finished.”

My eyes widened and I silently gasped, wondering how the hell he knew that. Whoever the little bird was, little bird was going to see the pointy side of my stiletto.

“I don’t want to know how you know that, but yes, I’m staying over at Quinn’s apartment for the week while they finish off.” Standing to my feet, I was about to press my head against the locked door of my cubicle when I thought twice. “Ew.” I whispered.

“I’m afraid not, love.” He chuckled into my ear — a deep resonating chuckle that did something stupid to my brain.

“What are you talking about? My bags are already at Quinn’s place.”

“Kitten, you’re not staying at Quinn’s. You’re staying with me. That’s the condition. Take it or leave it.”

If I wasn’t mortified before, I certainly was now. Had he lost his damn mind? There was a reason why we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since my best friend’s wedding, not to mention the anger I had towards him. The anger quickly resurfaced as I thought back, remembering how much of an asshole liar he was, and gave him my answer.

“No. Absolutely fucking not. Not on God’s green earth and if you were the last person on it.” I blurted it out faster than I could think it. Shit.

“Looks like you’ve still got a problem and I have a very good glass of Scotch in my hand. Good luck, Kitten.” I could feel his smirk taunting me and it boiled my blood. I took a look at the open window above the toilet and grimaced, my anger simmering as I realised that if a week with Luca was the only way out of this stupid date, I’d have to suck it up.

“Fine!” I shrieked, “But there’s going to be ground rules. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but when it comes to you, I know how to play your game. Now can we please move on to how the hell you’re going to get me out of this date with the serial… doctor?”

“You know rules are made to be broken, right?” His voice deepened, taking on a darker tone. It was the same voice that had me unraveling at the seams not so long ago, the same voice that could get me to do just about anything. Shit, I needed to get out of this. I couldn’t do this.

“On second thought, I think I can handle the Doctor.” I quickly fired back. My palm moved to my forehead as I tried to think of an escape plan, another route, something that would just get me the hell out of here and over to my best friends apartment, where I could change into my pajamas, and stuff my face with Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream and a bottle of red.

My train of irrational thought was suddenly cut short with a banging on the bathroom door.

What the hell?

“Are you okay? Do you need some… medical assistance?”

I shuddered as I recognised the voice of my date, clearly stood on the other side of my only rational exit out of here. I groaned. Why did I always get stuck with the creepers.

“Well, if you think you have this handled, I’m going to go back to my Sco-” “OKAY! Please, just get me the hell out of this place before I’m bludgeoned to death down an alley on the upper east side.”

Author Bio

S.K. Hartley is a wife and mother to an oil soaked husband and tomato sauce covered son by day, by night an international bestselling author.
Located in the not so sunny North West of England, UK, S.K. Hartley deals with daily battles against her love of chocolate and her coffee addiction, along with defying autocorrect and British to American translations.

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PEPPER WINTER’S RUIN & RULE IS LIVE! READ THE PROLOGUE NOW!!!

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Meet Killian in Pepper Winter’s new MC Romance!

NOW AVAILABLE

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1HGr7ac

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1f574HK

iBooks: http://apple.co/1RdQhDd

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Blurb

“We met in a nightmare. The in-between world where time had no power over reason. We fell in love. We fell hard. But then we woke up. And it was over . . .”

RUIN & RULE

She is a woman divided. Her past, present, and future are as twisted as the lies she’s lived for the past eight years. Desperate to get the truth, she must turn to the one man who may also be her greatest enemy . . .

He is the president of Pure Corruption MC. A heartless biker and retribution-deliverer. He accepts no rules, obeys no one, and lives only to reap revenge on those who wronged him. And now he has stolen her, body and soul.

Can a woman plagued by mystery fall in love with the man who refuses to face the truth? And can a man drenched in darkness forgo his quest for vengeance-and finally find redemption?

“Ruin & Rule is a full-length book at 436 pages and ends on a cliffhanger. Cleo and Kill’s story continues in SIN & SUFFER.”

q

Prologue

We met in a nightmare.

The in-between world where time had no power over rhyme, reason, or connection. We met. We stared. We knew.

There was no distortion from the outside world. No right or wrong. No confusion or battles from hearts and minds.

Just us. In our silent dreamworld.

That nightmare became our home. Planting ghosts, raising fantasies. Entwined together in our happily skewed reality.

We fell in love. We fell hard.

In those fleeting seconds of our nightmare, we lived an eternity.

But then we woke up.

And it was over.

Chapter One

I always believed life would grant rewards to those most worthy. I was fucking naïve. Life doesn’t reward—it ruins. It ruins those most deserving and takes everything. It takes everything all while watching any remaining goodness rot to hate.

—Kill

[ORN_SB]

Darkness.

That was my world now. Literally and physically.

The back of my skull hurt from being knocked unconscious. My wrists and shoulders ached from lying on my back with my hands tied behind me.

Nothing was broken—at least it didn’t feel that way—but everything was bruised. The fuzziness receded wisp by wisp, parting the clouds of sleep, trying to shed light on what’d happened. But there was no light. My eyes blinked at the endless darkness from the mask tied around my head. Anxiety twisted my stomach at having such a fundamental gift taken away.

I didn’t move, but mentally catalogued my body from the tips of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head. My jaw and tongue ached from the foul rag stuffed in my mouth and my nose permitted a shallow stream of oxygen to enter—just enough to keep me alive.

Fear tried to claw its way through my mind, but I shoved it away. I deliberately suppressed panic in order to assess my predicament rather than lose myself to terror.

Fear never helps, only hinders.

My senses came back, creeping tentatively, as if afraid whoever had stolen me would notice their return.

Sound: the squeak of brakes, the creak of a vehicle settling from motion to stopping.

Touch: the skin on my right forearm stung, throbbing with a mixture of soreness and sharpness. A burn perhaps?

Smell: dank rotting vegetables and the astringent, pungent scent of fear—but it wasn’t mine. It was theirs.

It wasn’t just me being kidnapped.

My heart flurried, drinking in their terror. It made my breath quicken and legs itch to run. Forcing myself to ignore the outside world, I focused inward. Clutching my inner strength where calmness was a need rather than a luxury.

I refused to lose myself in a fog of tears. Desperation was a curse and I wouldn’t succumb, because I had every intention of being prepared for what might happen next.

I hated the sniffles and stifled sobs of others around me. Their bleak sadness tugged at my heartstrings, making me fight with my own preservation, replacing it with concern for theirs.

Get through this, then worry about them.

I didn’t think this was a simple opportunistic snatch. Whoever had stolen me planned it. The hunch grew stronger as I searched inside for any liquor remnants or the smell of cigarettes.

Had I been at a party? Nightclub?

Nothing.

I hadn’t been stupid or reckless. I think…

No hint or clue as to where I’d been or what I’d been doing when they’d come for me.

I wriggled, trying to move away from the stench. My bound wrists protested, stinging as the rope around them gnawed into my flesh like twine-beasts. My ribs bellowed, along with my head. There was no give in my restraints. I stopped trying to move, preserving my energy.

I tried to swallow.

No saliva.

I tried to speak.

No voice.

I tried to remember what happened.

I tried to remember…

Panic.

Nothing.

I can’t remember.

“Get up, bitch,” a man said. Something jabbed me in the ribs. “Won’t tell you again. Get.”

I froze as my mind hurtled me from present to past.

I’ll miss you so much,” she wailed, hugging me tighter.

“I’m not dying, you know.” I tried to untangle myself, looking over my shoulder at the final call flashing for my flight. I hated being late for anything. Let alone my one chance at escaping and finding out the truth once and for all.

“Call me the moment you get there.”

“Promise.” I drew a cross over my heart—

The memory shattered as my horizontal body suddenly went vertical in one swoop.

Who was that girl? Why did I have no memory of it ever happening?

“I said get up, bitch.” The man breathed hard in my ear, sending a waft of reeking breath over me. The blindfold stole my sight, but it left my nose woefully unprotected.

Unfortunately.

My captor shoved me forward. The ground was steady beneath my feet. The sickness plaiting with my confusion faded, leaving me cold.

My legs stumbled in the direction he wanted me to go. I hated shuffling in the darkness, not knowing where I came from or where I was being herded. There were no sounds of comfort or smothered snickers. This wasn’t a masquerade.

This was real.

This is real.

My heart thudded harder, fear slipping through my defenses. But full-blown terror remained elusive. Slippery like a silver fish, darting on the outskirts of my mind. It was there but fleeting, keeping me clear-headed and strong.

I was grateful for that. Grateful that I maintained what dignity I had left—remaining strong even in the face of the unknown terrors lurking on the other side of my blindfold.

Moans and whimpers of other women grew in decibels as men ordered them to follow the same path I walked. Either death row or salvation, I had no choice but to inch my way forward, leaving my forgotten past behind.

I willed snippets to come back. I begged the puzzlement of my past to slot into place, so I could make sense of this horrible world I’d awoken in.

But my mind was locked to me. A fortress withholding everything I wished to know.

The pushing stopped. So did I.

Big mistake.

“Move.” A cuff to the back of my head sent me wheeling forward. I didn’t stop again. My bare feet traversed…wood?

Bare feet?

Where are my shoes?

The missing knowledge twisted my stomach.

Where did I come from?

How did I end up here?

What’s my name?

It wasn’t the terror of the unknown future that stole my false calmness. It was the fear of losing my very self. They’d stolen everything. My triumphs, my trespasses, my accomplishments and failures.

How could I deal with this new world if I didn’t know what skills I had to stay alive? How could I hope to defeat my enemy when my mind revolted and locked me out?

Who am I?

To have who I was deleted…It was unthinkable.

“Faster, bitch.” Something cold wedged against my spine, pushing me onward. With my hands behind my back, I shuffled faster, negotiating the ground as best I could for dips or trips.

“Step down.” The man grabbed my bound wrists, giving me something to lean against as my toes navigated the small steps before me.

“Again.”

I obeyed.

“Last one.”

I managed the small staircase without falling flat on my face.

My face.

What do I look like?

A loud scraping noise sounded before me. I shied back, bumping against a feminine form. The woman behind me cried out—the first verbal sound of another.

“Move.” The pressure on my lower back came again, and I obeyed. Inching forward until the stuffy air of old vegetables and must was replaced by…copper and metallic…blood?

Why…why is that so familiar?

I gasped as my mind free-fell into another memory.

“I don’t think I can do this.” I darted away, throwing up in the rubbish bin in the classroom. The unique stench of blood curdled my stomach.

“Don’t overthink it. It’s not what you’re doing to the animal to make it bleed. It’s what you’re doing to make it live.” My professor shook his head, waiting for me to swill out my mouth and return white-faced and queasy to the operation in progress.

My heart splintered like a broken piece of glass, reflecting the compassion and responsibility I felt for such an innocent creature. This little puppy that’d been dumped in a plastic bag to die after being shot with BB gun pellets. He’d survive only if I mastered the skills to stem his internal bleeding and embrace the vocation I was called to do.

Inhaling the scent of blood, I let it invade my nostrils, scald my throat, and impregnate my soul. I drank its coppery essence. I drenched myself in the smell of the creature’s life force until it no longer affected me.

Picking up a scalpel, I said, “I’m ready—”

“Holy fuck!” The man guiding me forward suddenly whacked the base of my spine. The hard pain shoved me forward and I tripped.

“Wire—get me fucking reinforcements. He’s started a motherfucking war!”

Wind and body motion swarmed me as men charged from behind. The darkness I lived in suddenly came alive with sound.

Bullets flew, impaling themselves into the metal sides of the vehicle I’d just stepped from. Pings and ricochets echoed in my ear. Curses bellowed; moans of pain threaded like a breeze.

Someone grabbed my arm, swinging me to the side. “Get down!” The inertia of his throw knocked me off balance. With my wrists bound together, I had nothing to grab with, no way to protect myself from falling.

I fell.

My stomach swooped as tumbled off a small platform and smashed against the ground.

Dirt, damp grass, and moldy leaves replaced the stench of blood, cutting through the cloying sharpness of spilled metallic. My mouth opened, gasping in pain. Blades of grass tickled my lips as my cheek stuck to wet mud.

My shoulder screamed with agony, but I ignored the new injury. My mind clung to the unlocked memory. The fleeting recollection of my profession.

I’m a vet.

The sense of homecoming and security that one little snippet brought was priceless. My soul snarled for more, suddenly ravenous for missing information.

I skipped straight from fumbling uncertainty into starvation for more.

Tell me! Show me. Who am I?

I searched inside for more clues. But it was like trying to grab on to an elusive dream, fading faster and faster the harder I chased.

I couldn’t remember anything about medicine or how to heal. All I knew was I’d been trained to embrace the scent of blood. I wasn’t afraid of it. I didn’t faint or suffer sickness at the sight of it pouring from an open wound.

That tiniest knowledge was enough to settle my prickling nerves and focus on the outside world again.

Battle cries. Men screaming. Men growling. The dense thuds of fists on flesh and the horrible deflection of gunshots.

I couldn’t understand. Had I fallen through time and entered an alternate dimension?

Another body landed on top of mine.

I cried out, winded from a sharp poke of an elbow to my ribs.

The figure rolled away, crying softly. Feminine.

Why aren’t I crying?

I once again searched for fear. It wasn’t natural not to be afraid. I’d woken up alone, stolen, and thrown into the middle of a war, yet I wasn’t hyperventilating or panicked.

My calmness was like a drug, oozing over me, muting the sharp starkness of my situation. It was bearable if I embraced courage and the knowledge that I was strong.

My hands balled, grateful for the thought. I didn’t know who I was, but it didn’t matter, because the person who I was in this moment mattered the most.

I had to remain segmented, so I could get through whatever was about to happen. All I had was gut instinct, quiet strength, and rationality. Everything else had been taken.

“Stop fighting, you fucking idiots!”

The loud growl rumbled like an earthquake, hushing the battle in one fell swoop. Whoever had spoken had power.

Immense power. Colossal power.

A shiver darted over my skin.

“What the fuck happened? Have you lost your goddamn lovin’ mind?” a man yelled.

A sound of a short scuffle, then the fresh whiff of tilled dirt graced my nose.

“It’s done. Throw down your weapons and bend a fucking knee.” The same earthquake rumbled. The weight of his command pushed me harder against the damp ground.

“I’m not bending nothing, you asshole. You aren’t my Prez!”

“I am. Have been for the past four years.”

“You’re not. You’re his bitch. Don’t think his power is yours.”

Another fight—muffled fists and kicks. It ended swiftly with a painful groan.

The earthquake voice came again. “Open your eyes and follow the red fucking river. Your chosen—the one you hand-picked to slaughter me and take over the Club—he’s dead. Did you ever stop to think Wallstreet made me Prez for a fucking reason?”

Another moan.

“I’m the chosen one. I’m the one who knows the family secrets, absorbed the legacy, and earned his way into power. You don’t know shit. Nobody does. So bend a fucking knee and respect.”

Another tremor ran down my back.

Silence for a time, apart from the squelch of boots and heavy breathing. Then a barely muttered curse. “You’ll die. One way or another, we won’t put up with a Dagger as a Prez. We’re the Corrupts, goddammit. Having a traitor rule us is a fucking joke.”

“I’m the traitor? The man who obeys your leader? Who guides in his stead? I’m the traitor when you try and rally my brothers in a war?” A heavy thud of a fist connected with flesh. “No…I’m not. You are.”

My mind raced, sucking up noises and forming wild conclusions of what happened before me. Was this World War Three? Was this the apocalypse of the life I couldn’t remember? No matter how I pieced it together, I couldn’t make sense of anything.

The air was thick with anticipation. I didn’t know how many men stood before me. I didn’t know how many corpses littered the ground, or how such violence could be permitted in the world I used to know. But I did know the cease-fire was fragile and any moment it would explode.

A single threat slithered through the grass like a snake. “I’ll kill you, motherfucker. Mark my words. The true Corrupts are just waiting to take you out.”

The gentle foot-thuds of someone large vibrated through the ground. “The Corrupts haven’t existed for four fucking years. The moment I took the seat, it’s been Pure Corruption all the way. And you’re not fucking pure enough for this Club. You’re done.”

I flinched as the sulfuric boom of a gun ripped through the stagnant air.

A crash as a body fell lifeless to the grass. A soft puff of a soul escaping.

Murder.

Murder was committed right before me.

The inherent need to nurture and heal—the part of me that was as steadfast as the beat of my heart—wept with regret.

Death was something I’d fought against on a daily basis, but now I was weaponless.

I hated that a life had been stolen right before me. That I hadn’t been able to stop it.

I’m a witness.

And yet, I’d witnessed nothing.

I’d been privy to a battle but seen nothing. Knew no one. I would never be able to tell who shot whom, or who was right and who was wrong.

My hands shook, even though I managed to stay eerily calm. Am I in shock? And if I was, how did I cure myself?

The woman beside me curled into a ball, her knees digging into my side. My first reaction was to repel away from the touch. I didn’t know who was friend or foe. But a second reaction came quickly; the urge to share my calmness—to let her know that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. We faced the same future—no matter how grim.

Voices cascaded over us, whispers mainly, quickly spoken orders. Every sound was heightened. Being robbed of sight made my body seek other ways in which to find clues.

“Get rid of the bodies before daybreak.”

“We’ll go back and make sure we’re still covered.”

“Send out the word. It’s over. The Prez won—no anarchy today.”

Each voice was distinct but my ears twitched only for one: the earthquake rumble that set my skin quivering like quicksand.

He hadn’t spoken since he’d condemned someone to death and pulled the trigger. Every second of not hearing him made my heart trip faster. I wasn’t afraid. I should be. I should be immobile with fear. But he invoked something in me—something primal. Just like I knew I was female and a vet, I knew his voice meant something. Every inch of me tensed, waiting for him to speak. It was wrong to crave the voice of a killer, but it was the only thing I wanted.

Needed.

I need to know who he is.

Wet mud sucked loudly against boots as they came closer.

The woman whimpered, but I angled my chin toward the sound, wishing my eyes were uncovered.

I wanted to see. I wanted to witness the carnage before me. Because it was carnage. The stench of death confirmed it. It was morbid to want to see such destruction, but without my sight all of this seemed like a terrible nightmare. Nothing was grounded—completely nonsensical and far too strange.

I needed proof that this was real.

I needed concrete evidence that I wasn’t mad. That my body was intact, even if my mind was not.

I sucked in a breath as warm fingers touched my cheek, angling my face upward and out of the mud. Strong hands caressed the back of my skull, fumbling with my blindfold.

The anticipation of finally getting my wish to see made me stay still and cooperative in his hold.

I didn’t say a word or move. I just waited. And breathed. And listened.

The man’s breath was heavy and low, interspersed with a quick catch of pain. His fingers were swift and sure, but unable to hide the small fumble of agony.

He’s hurt.

The pressure of the blindfold suddenly released, trading opaque darkness for a new kind of gloom.

Night sky. Moonshine. Stars above.

Anchors of a world I knew, but no recognition of the dark-shrouded industrial estate where blood gleamed silver-black and corpses dotted the field.

I’m alive.

I can see.

The joy at having my eyes freed came and went as blazing as a comet.

Then my life ended as our gazes connected.

Green to green.

I have green eyes.

Down and down I spiraled, deeper and deeper into his clutches.

My life—past, present, and future—lost all purpose the second I stared into his soul.

The fear I’d been missing slammed into my heart.

I quivered. I quaked.

Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.

Every part of me arched toward him, then shied away in terror.

Him.

A nightmare come to life.

A nightmare I wanted to live.

If life was a tapestry, already threaded and steadfast, then he was the scissors that cut me free. He tore me out, stole me away, changed the whole prophecy of who I was meant to be.

Jaw-length dark hair, tangled and sweaty, framed a square jaw, straight nose, and full lips. His five-o’clock stubble held remnants of war, streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that shot a quivering arrow into my heart, spreading his emerald anger.

He froze, his body curving toward mine. Blistering hope flickered across his features. His mouth fell open and love so achingly deep glowed in his gaze. “What—” A leg gave out, making him kneel beside me. His hands shook as he cupped my face, his fingers digging painfully into my cheekbones. “It’s not—”

My heart raced. Yes.

“You know me,” I breathed.

The moment my voice webbed around us, storm clouds rolled over the sunshine in his face, blackening the hope and replacing it with pure hatred.

He changed from watching me like I was his angel to glowering as if I were a despicable devil.

I shivered at the change—at the iciness and hardness. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. His lips parted, a rumbling command falling from his mouth to my ears. “Stand up. You’re mine now.”

When I didn’t move, his hand landed on my side. His touch was blocked by clothing but I felt it everywhere. He stroked my soul, tickled my heart, and caressed every cell with fingers that despised me.

I couldn’t suck in a proper breath.

With a vicious push, he rolled me over, and with a sharp blade sliced my bindings. With effortless power, so thrilling and terrifying, he hauled me to my feet.

I didn’t sway. I didn’t cry. Only pulled the disgusting gag from my mouth and stared in silence.

I stared up, up, up into his bright green eyes, understanding something I shouldn’t understand.

This was him.

My nightmare.

q

About the Author:

q

Pepper Winters wears many roles. Some of them include writer, reader, sometimes wife. She loves dark, taboo stories that twist with your head. The more tortured the hero, the better, and she constantly thinks up ways to break and fix her characters. Oh, and sex… her books have sex.

She loves to travel and has an amazing, fabulous hubby who puts up with her love affair with her book boyfriends.

Her Dark Erotica books include:

Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)

Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)

Her Grey Romance books include:

Destroyed

STALK Pepper: Website | Pinterest | Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Goodreads

THANK YOU!

The Rock Stars of Romance

Tour & Recommendation~Sins Of Lethe by Arden Aoide

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Sins of Lethe

My name is Shula. Today is my wedding day. Today is the day I die.

What would you do if you were betrothed to a monster? Could you be tied to a man whose most terrible secrets are buried with the dead?

What if you were given a way out? Would you take it? Even if it meant you would never truly be free?

A Consummation pulls you into a patriarchal society of secessionist Texas. It’s far too real to be merely dystopian or futuristic. It is hopeless from the first sentence, but even though the outcome is bleak, we want to be a witness to Shula Kelley’s last day.

We find that it is not her last day, but a first of many. We follow her and the desperate lust she feels for her husband Jared, despite archaic gender roles.

Not To Be gives us first person narratives of the mother and father of the current Agnesson clan. It’s a captivating exploration of unapologetic psychopathy as you see James through the lens of his young bride.

Devoutly takes us across Texas, the States, and Mexico. The lives that James Agnesson has touched wait quietly on the sidelines while he distracts himself with judging the sins of others and the wives of his youngest sons.

Shula and Jared still explore desires that contradict their conditioning, while Jude convinces himself that gender is irrelevant when he beds his new wife, Clara.

In To Be Wished, Jared battles his own demons with tragic results. Jude gives his father an ultimatum, and we meet a new brother who has traveled to the States to spread the Good News.

This introduction into the Sins of Lethe world is both seductive and distressing, and will leave you breathless.

I am not afraid of death. Because my mother taught me there are far worse things. But with Jared by my side, I’m ready to live.


sexual woman relaxing and lying in bed wearing elegant bra, looking at camera


EXCERPT

She was newly eighteen, but she still felt so much like a child. Far too young for what was expected of her. Her naked body, covered in constellations of freckles, goose fleshed and covered in the dark remnants of her copious locks, memories of braids and pigtails and innocence. It felt wrong to curl and primp for a man older than her own father, no matter how many might have coveted the position. Though decorating herself for the day’s final end did seem to amuse her, she wanted his disappointment of her to be profound, not just in their marriage bed, but as soon as he lifted her veil. So, she had brought out the scissors. She wasn’t a girl any longer, and her hair had no purpose as it had served her beauty with ultimate betrayal.

She couldn’t abide traitors.

She watched detached, as she brushed the thick dead clumps that covered her breasts and skimmed her belly, and clung to the hair on her pubis. She brushed it away absently at first, but she found her senses heightened by her nudity and the stimulation of her falling hair. She slid her fingers against her clitoris, smiling at the rush of arousal, and realized that she would miss this. Sexual thoughts were taboo, and unless you had the express consent of your husband, self-gratification was punishable by a life married to Christ, sequestered with the rest of the girls who would never be accused of keeping their hands to themselves.

Naturally, Shula was quite adept with masturbation once she’d discovered her clitoris, and once she’d heard about the sacrament of virginity, she’d tried out every vegetable from the garden. She’d tried candlesticks, her fingers, and even the hilt of a very large kitchen knife, though the horsewhip was her favorite.

She would miss it all. James Agnesson ruined everything.

Earlier in the week, when James had come calling, and he had sampled the food she had prepared for him, she would have poisoned him had she known. As it was, her hatred grew for him, rather than their situation, and her plans for their wedding and honeymoon became quite morbid. She found that her future groom’s frustration wouldn’t be nearly enough, nor her lack of hymen. He would not have the gift of her purity, nor the proof of it, nor would any man now, because even imagining his realization as he’s rutting inside her didn’t bring her pleasure as it had when she imagined it was his son, Jared. She didn’t want to just ruin his day. She wanted to ruin him. For Jared, his confusion would have been satisfactory enough, but for his father…death was preferable than having him touch her.

The day had come, and a more wretched ending was born. She would not have the honor of seeing his face when he gazed upon her in their marriage bed, but like all charity, it’s best not to be selfish in your giving. She would strive for humbleness, because martyrdom wasn’t effective without a captive audience.

Her mother had probably taught her a great many things, the domesticities of their gender not withstanding, and she’d taken almost all of it for granted. The one thing that she’d always remember though, was the most profane: Sometimes suicide and the Seventh Circle of Hell were a far desired fate if the alternative was life and all the Circles combined.

Today was that day. Her wedding day. Tonight, she would excuse herself early, and he would surely allow it. Women, for she was a woman now, needed time to prepare for bed. To ready themselves for their husbands and their pleasure.

She would pull down the coverlet, open the cigarette case, and fashion a distorted crucifix with her mother’s ashes and the water from the traditional roses she was sure to be beside the bed. She would lie down in the center of bed, pull the razor from the cigarette case and slit both wrists quickly and efficiently. She would spread her arms wide.

It was pure drama, but if one gets to choose their passing, make it memorable.

Make a fucking point.

Her only regret was that she was sure her father wouldn’t see. James was sure to cover it up somehow, the drama of it, even though he’d have no scruples relaying the slit wrists.

Her father would probably never see her bled out on her mother’s ashes and she hated that. She hated her father even more than James Agnesson. She knew it was wrong, but she was prepared for Hell, so all unspoken sins were at the forefront of her mind.

As it was, since she was choosing, she’d rather have the chance of spending an eternity in Hell with her mother than with the likes of James, no matter how horrible.

She wasn’t sure she believed in Hell of the after death variety anyway, but her mother spared two years for her. Shula would never forget the fight, nor the sound of the gun. Worse yet, she would never forget the sound of her mother hitting the floor, nor of her father’s silence.

And his continued silence.

She hated him.

He was going to give her away to that monster and her mother’s death had been in vain. She would have certainly stayed had she imagined this outcome.

Shula had been betrothed to Jared Agnesson since the day she was born and they were to be wed the day after she turned sixteen. She wasn’t much happy about it, but all the girls got married at that age, and Jared seemed nice enough. He was painfully shy, quiet, and probably handsome, if one considered a boy handsome. He’d not quite caught up with his brothers in stature and Shula wasn’t afraid of him like she was of other newly-made men.

James had told her that Jared had disappeared into the woods after he took the death of Anna, James’ late wife, quite hard, and he had shown no signs of returning and fulfilling his contract, so he had deigned to fulfill it himself.

She wanted to be angry at Jared, but found that she didn’t care. He hadn’t owed her a thing. She could not fault him for escaping when he could. At least he had that option.

Her mother had not wanted it. Shula didn’t quite understand as it was normal for girls to marry, and she couldn’t imagine Jared had offended her mother since he was so silent and awkwardly polite.

The morning of her mother’s death, every muttered curse spoke of Jared’s father, and she didn’t know what that had to do with Jared himself. Shula belatedly realized that her mother hadn’t wanted her involved with the Agnesson family at all, but she was never brave enough to ask her father why. They’d barely spoken these last two years, and she didn’t know what her mother saw in him, unless she didn’t have a choice.

Of course she didn’t have a choice.

But, it must have been something terrible for her to take her own life to prevent a marriage to a harmless boy.

She took comfort that she wouldn’t bleed out on her own bed, her grandmother’s old bed, because she would be moving into James Agnesson’s house, but thankfully she wouldn’t be required to be mother to men who were older than her. Surely, he could see the wrongness of it.

A wrongness she wouldn’t tolerate. Shula was pleased she could still feel relief.

Her betrothal to Jared had still been under contract, but the death of a mother, by Law, would postpone any such commitments until she reached majority. Her contract was amended, and signed by both her father and James one day before her eighteenth birthday, replacing the son with the father. If she would have known at dinner before, none would have left the table alive.

That was three days ago, and Shula can’t imagine why it isn’t a scandal. She was appalled when he had married Anna, as they had been close in age and grew up in church together. Shula would be his third. The mother of the five boys: Jacob, Jonah, Josiah, Jared, and Jude, had died during childbirth, and James Agnesson had married Anna, newly sixteen, and she died last year of an apparent suicide. Anna had been the same age as Jude.

The rumor was that Jude had found her in her bed, and that was all Shula had heard about it.

Shula could guess, but that made her feel smug, and she wondered if that even scratched the surface of what her mother might’ve known. Her mother knew something, and her father knew it too, but curious as she was, she’d rather die than know, unless she could find out today.

Two suicides in two years, especially after his last wife’s sudden death, should bring about a much more intense scrutiny. There was a reason her mother hadn’t wanted her in his house, and it had been worth her life. Shula had not forgotten that.

She was relieved in a way. She was lonely, but trusted no one, and it was a scary existence.

She watched herself in the mirror as she touched herself expertly. She always had philosophical thoughts on sin. She liked to list them in her head from ones she deemed not so bad to the worst ones, like cruelty and complacency. She didn’t understand how this God-given pleasure was only a means to tempt and trap.

As a woman, she wasn’t allowed to read The Bible. Only the men were allowed, and it was up to them to explain their sinful natures to them. Sometimes Shula would sneak a few paragraphs when she cleaned her father’s room, if he had it out of the locked trunk. It was paragraphs and paragraphs of confusion, and she would turn the pages quickly, looking for the list of sins that would seem an obvious addition. She never found them.

So, she compiled them in her head. Sins, taxonomy of.

She would write them down, but she hoped that her corpse would display his deepest sins and eat at James Agnesson the way God’s disappointment was supposed to.

After Shula brought herself off, she took a few deep breaths and grabbed the broom behind the door. She swept up the remnants of her youth and the death of it, and when she was finished, she looked toward the dress hanging on the hook on the door.

Her mother’s beautiful, meaningless frock, yellowed with age, and smelling of decay and mothballs. The lace was matted with cobwebs and even blotting it with a washcloth thickened the strands.

She fished out her father’s scissors and snipped the lace from the bodice, eyeing the netting of the veil briefly, knowing it would cover her thoroughly, until it was lifted.

The lace lifted easily and she dropped it carelessly into the trash. She pulled the dress over her head, slipping it onto her naked body, mindful of her mother’s ashes. It was a little too snug, but she knew it would give just a little as the day went on.

She stepped up to the mirror and she still looked terribly young. Even with her neutered hair, and her darkened eyes, and low bodice, she still looked much too young.

It was a tragedy.

The only thing that kept her tears at bay was that this was what James Agnesson would see when he lifted her veil.

He would see who he’d chosen to be his wife.

Shula affixed the veil to her head and covered her face and chest. She grabbed her purse and suitcase, and walked it to the front door where her father was waiting. He opened the door without a word, and led them to the car. The veil was sheer enough for her to see images, and the haze of black from the ashes made the sky look like rain.


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JABB
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I began this series with just one novella…HOLY HELL the wait was agonizing to get my hands on the next installment! Being able to grab this in a box set, you don’t know how lucky you are; because once you start…you will not be able to put it down.

This series takes place in Texas 200 years in the future. But in the future country of Texas things have taken a very large step back when it comes to the role woman play. There are so many things going on but one man stands in the epicenter, James Agnesson.

Agnesson is the patriarch of the Agnesson clan and he is one mean and sick SOB. He will go down as one of my favorite characters. Why you may ask… Because the hate and sickness this man unleashes into this small town of Texas has created some of my favorite characters.

The depth involved in each tale of each of the Agnesson men had me dangling on a string, on the verge of insanity only to be introduced to yet another twisted tale. I would then find myself complete engrossed yet again. (Although I have to say my all-time favorite character is Raphe. His wit, humor and lack of filter had me from the start)

I can definitely say I was Arden Aoide‘spuppet. She had me dancing and following her lead with every turn of the page. This series has everything. The humor, sweet butterflies of young love, blistering hot sex, blind faith, victorious self-discovery, oh and did I mention blistering hot sex (NO SERIOUSLY I was squirming in my seat! DO NOT READ in public… I’m brown and I think people could still see me blush!!)

Author Arden Aoide didn’t shy away from telling a fantastic story that included so many different facets of society and human nature. This series is dark and not for everyone. But for those of you that like to push the envelope. For those of you tired of the mundane romance. For those of you looking for something that will hold your attention, and give you those “WTF” moments, to those “where the hell is my vibrator” moments. The Sins Of Lethe is the perfect book for you.

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Arden Aoide

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Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.

She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.

She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.

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