Monday, December 9, 2019

Please Welcome Roxanne Bland as She Tells Us About Her Paranormal/Urban Fantasy/Science Fiction Romance, THE UNDERGROUND


The Underground
by Roxanne Bland

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy/
Romance/Science Fiction Hybrid

Publisher: Blackrose Press
Date of Publication: Oct. 1, 2019

ISBN: 9780996731621 (print)
ISBN: 9780996731638 (electronic)
ASIN: B07X6RRL5B
Number of pages: 376
Word Count: 100,261
Cover Artist: Zelena

Tagline: There’s no room for morals when survival is at stake.

Book Description:

In an alternate Seattle, communities of “exotics”—shapeshifters, witches, elves and vampires—live among the murderous human population and are ruled over by the cruel vampire Master, Kurt.

The powerful alpha male of the werewolf pack, Parker Berenson, is one of the Master’s enslaved servants and he would like nothing more than to hasten the downfall of the vampire overlord who stole his love, the beautiful mage Garrett Larkin.

But in a night city already on the razor’s edge—in the midst of a spate of bloody murders—Parker’s passionate encounter with a stunning interstellar assassin could upset the very delicate balance and ignite a war neither exotics nor humans can survive

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Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1    

“Stay human. Stay human. Stay human.”
Parker Berenson, alpha of Seattle’s werewolf pack, slammed the door to his aging brown Chevrolet Caprice. “Stay human. Stay human.” Hands clenched into fists, his feet pounded the icy pavement leading from the driveway to his blue-gray stucco house. Though the February fourth night was unusually bitter and he wore neither overcoat nor jacket, he didn’t feel cold. Sweat streamed down his face and neck. His white dress shirt was soaked, as were his trousers. Tiny tendrils of steam rising from his muscular shoulders made him look as if he were smoldering.
His wolf’s hard push against the mental bonds that held him inside their shared body and mind made Parker stumble. Fuck staying human. I want out! he roared.
Regaining his balance, he ignored his beast as best he could and kept walking. “Stay human. Just stay human.”
I’m—
“At least wait until we get inside,” he said through his teeth.
The porch light was out again, but Parker could see by the streetlamps’ ambient glow. He shoved his key into the front door lock and gave it a savage twist. The bolt didn’t move. Using more pressure, he tried again and nearly snapped the key in two. “Open, you sonofa…” he muttered, jiggling the key in its slot.
That’s it, his wolf snarled and gave another hard mental shove. Tear the sucker off—
“No!”
The key finally turned. Parker threw the door open, stormed over the threshold, then banged the door shut.
One day, I swear-to-God, I’m gonna kill that—
“You and me both.” He leaned against the door, panting. “Now calm down, will you? Calm—”
Calm down? After what he did to us tonight? Again? Calm down my—
“Shut up. We need a drink.”
I don’t need a drink. I need—
“Shut up, I said.”
His wolf didn’t reply. That was a good sign.
Parker strode away from the small patch of faux-slate tiles that served as a tiny foyer. The room he marched across comprised nearly all of the main level. White walls supported glass and metal sculptures with jagged edges sharp enough to carve a holiday roast. These stood in stark contrast to the rest of the sparse furnishings—the clean, straight lines and ninety-degree angles formed by industrial-grade steel pipe. The black leather cushions on the sofa and chairs did little to soften the interior’s threatening appearance.
The decor wasn’t pretty but it had its uses. The lack of furniture allowed enough space for all of his wolves to sit when the pack met at his place. And in case his neighbors discovered what he was and decided to do something about it, the wall hangings and furniture could be broken into makeshift but lethal weapons.
Parker headed for the freestanding bar about twenty feet away. He grabbed the jumbo-sized Jack Daniel’s bottle from the counter and then snatched a double shot glass from a nearby rack. Pouring the glass full, he drank it in one gulp, ignoring the liquid fire searing his throat. He tossed down two more shots.
After his fourth drink, he felt at least some of the tension leave his shoulders. Holding the glass in two large, strong, and trembling—but very human—hands, he set it down on the upper counter. Leaning against the marble, he closed his eyes. “Okay. We’re okay now. Right?”
His wolf remained silent. Another good sign. The last thing he wanted was to morph into his other, a gargantuan man-wolf eight feet tall. A forced morph was triggered in werewolves by the full moon and sometimes, like now, by powerful emotions. And the greater the size differences between the human and were selves, the more agonizing the change. Parker-the-human stood six feet, six inches tall in his stocking feet. Morphing into his eight-foot were hurt like a knife-wielding bitch.
Parker had been just about to let out a sigh of relief when he caught a whiff of cologne clinging to his shirt. It wasn’t his. He ripped the still-wet shirt off and threw it across the room. His broad, hairy chest heaving with anger, he watched the discarded garment land in a crumpled heap about ten feet away.
No, we’re not okay, his wolf growled. Human, when are you going to wake up and smell the blood? That bastard is driving us insane.
“That bastard” was Kurt, the vampire Master. Old and extremely formidable, Kurt extended preternatural protection from Seattle’s human horde to just about every exotic—zot—that lived there. The smell Parker had picked up was the vampire’s favorite scent.
He poured a fifth shot of whiskey into the glass. “Quit calling me ‘human.’ Besides, what do you suggest we do about it? We’re Kurt’s servant. Bound to him by blood. Day or night, he calls, we come, and then we do whatever he wants.” He downed his drink and grimaced. “Like we’re his damned dog or something.”
His wolf’s anger surged. Guess you like it, huh? Like this, maybe? A mental picture flashed in their shared mind’s eye, one Parker would rather not have seen. Kurt’s grinning face was poised above him. He heard the seductive whispering in his ear and felt the sweet ecstasy of fangs piercing his flesh.
Parker’s face reddened. “You think I wanted to go down to Kurt’s nightclub tonight?” he shouted. “You think I wanted his hands on me? No. You know what he does. Takes over my mind and twists my head around until I’m practically begging for it.” He tossed down a sixth shot. “And while he’s doing it I sure don’t feel you trying to stop him.”
That’s bull and you know it.
“Shut up.” He poured himself an seventh shot and drained it, which was followed by an eighth. But Jack wasn’t doing the job. The humiliating images of what had happened to him and his wolf in Kurt’s office beneath the vampire’s Last Chance nightclub refused to fade.
Parker gripped the shot glass harder. His blood pressure skyrocketed. Rivers of sweat burst from his pores and ran down his face and chest. His wolf’s snarling inside their shared mind swelled into a howl. He started grinding his teeth, a sure sign he was going into a forced morph.
“Oh, shrrit!”





About the Author:

Award-winning author Roxanne Bland was born in the shadows of the rubber factory smokestacks in Akron, Ohio but grew up in Washington, D.C. As a child, she spent an inordinate amount of time prowling the museums of the Smithsonian Institution and also spent an inordinate amount of time reading whatever books she could get her hands on, including the dictionary. A self-described “fugitive from reality,” she has always colored outside the lines and in her early years of writing, saw no reason why a story couldn’t be written combining the genres she loved and did so despite being told it wasn’t possible. Today, she writes stories that are hybrids of paranormal urban fantasy, romance, and science fiction. Enamored of Great Danes, she has been owned by several and lives in Maryland with her current owner, Daisy Mae.







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Sunday, December 8, 2019

Six on Sunday - MISTELLE, The D'Jacques Dynasty, Book 2, a Futuristic/Post-Apocalyptic Romance

Six on Sunday

Six paragraphs from MISTELLE, The D'Jacques Dynasty, Book 2, a futuristic, post-apocalyptic romance.


1. Mistelle observed her father introduce his wife to the delegation just as Mattox came inside via the large double doors in front. He went up to stand by Yulen’s side, directly behind Mastin. A few of the delegates visibly reacted upon seeing her brother’s dark red eyes. Most newcomers usually did. Some even whispered under their breaths that the oldest D’Jacques son had to be more demon than Mutah, but the family was used to the slurs. 

2.  Her mind wandered back to past escapades. To times when she’d been a young girl, and strangers new to Alta Novis had approached her. Normally, the other children in the compound steered clear of her. Not so much because she was the battle lord’s daughter, but because once any of the newcomers discovered her Mutah secret, she had two brothers who were instantly there to defend and protect her. As a result, she’d had some interaction with other boys and men, but nothing ever became of it.

3.  “Father?” Mattox spoke up from where he stood guard against the front door. Yulen gave him a nod to continue. “Lucien and I went to visit with Cullum’s soldiers after we showed them where they could bunk down. Those men are loyal and stalwart, but there’s something about them I just don’t like.” He touched the side of his eye. “They’re too twitchy.”

4. Going to the rear door at the end of the hallway, she unlocked it and slipped outside into the warm night air. Nevo was a dark shape waiting for her in the shadows by the wall. The nearest sentry was several yards away as he walked the parapet twenty-plus feet above them. If he noticed them, he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t matter if he did. The guards were accustomed to seeing the twosome going for long strolls in the middle of the night.

5. Her head ached where they’d slugged her. It was still nighttime, but every so often she caught a glimpse of bright moonlight piercing the tops of the trees. The woods were a blurry haze, from what she could see through the filmy gauze curtain wrapped around her upper body. She didn’t dare move her arms for fear of signaling to them she was awake. Instead, she tried to remain alert. If by some chance they stopped to relieve themselves, or for any other reason, all she needed was a handful of seconds to get up and make a break for it. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. No man could. Even her mother, who was among the swiftest at the compound, wasn’t able to best her.

6. “Your father’s reign of terror is over, sweetheart. You can kiss the D’Jacques dynasty goodbye.” Lifting her head higher to the point where the pressure on her neck became almost unbearable, Rayburn leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. This time, it wasn’t gentle or sweet. It was hard, brutal, and a definite portent of things to come.

Excerpt and Buy Links

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Now Available as an Audiobook! TICKLE MY CANDY CANE, Tales of the Blakeney Sisters, Bk. 2

Now Available as an Audiobook!

Tickle My Candy Cane
Tales of the Blakeney Sisters, Book 2
Humorous Erotic Urban Fantasy Paranormal  Romance
by Linda Mooney writing as Carolyn Gregg Word Count:  18.8K
$1.99 e / $6.99 p / $6.95 a

Narrated by
Jasmine Winters
Length: 2 hrs, 11 min


Once upon a time, there lived a man with five rambunctious daughters. They were an average American farming family except for one minor detail. The man was a warlock, and all of his daughters were witchlets--half witch and half human.



With Christmas only two days away, Tamberly Blakeney has given up hope of finding her heart's call this year. That is, until Jonathan Mauk walks into the market and into her life. With the magical swirl of a candy cane's stripes, she knows he is the man meant to be her lifelong love. But first he has to pass the sex hex test, which she is sure won't be a problem.

What she doesn't realize is that there is something in Jonathan's past that deeply disturbs her father. And until Daddy gets all the answers, there could be hell to pay.

Sunday, December 1, 2019

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