Authors, check out this call for submissions to an anthology I'm editing with L. Andrew Cooper .
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Anthology Call for Submissions: "Reel Dark: Twisted Fantasies Projected on the Flickering Page"
Friday, July 18, 2014
Friday Guest Post: Cate Masters
Goddess,
Awakened
by Cate Masters
Blurb
With a
little help from a goddess, battling evil is a piece of cake for Jocelyn
Gibson.
A descendant of the goddess Iris, Jocelyn Gibson may have forgotten about the realm of magic, but it hasn’t forgotten her. When Eric Hendricks is targeted by a demon, Joss must step in to battle the evil and save the town’s awkward, but endearing, vet…who also happens to be the man she loves.
Joss’s new inn, a culinary career specializing in cooking with lavender and a new love all make for a fine recipe of disaster. She needs to embrace her inner goddess and harness the powers she never knew she had before it’s too late.
Goddess, Awakened
The
Goddess Connection, Book 1
Fantasy/paranormal
romance novel
About
89,700 words
The
Goddess Connection Series
Every woman should embrace her inner
goddess. What’s your connection?
In each novel of The Goddess Connection series, the heroine is somehow
connected to a goddess. Her lifelong quirks will become strengths once she
finds her true place in the world, and accepts herself for who she really is.
And in each, the heroine is encouraged to embrace her inner goddess. And
the hero treats her like one! As it should be for every woman.
About
the Author
Cate
Masters has made beautiful central Pennsylvania her home, but she’ll always be
a Jersey girl at heart. When not spending time with her dear hubby, she can be
found in her lair, concocting a magical brew of contemporary, historical, and
fantasy/paranormal stories with her cat Chairman Maiow and dog Lily as company.
Look for her at http://catemasters.blogspot.com
and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.
Contact
Details
Website: http://catemasters.blogspot.com
Email: cate.masters@gmail.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cate-Masters/89969413736?ref=ts
Twitter: @CateMasters
Book
video
Embed code:
Mini excerpt for GODDESS,
AWAKENED
In starting
her life over, Joss had expected some resistance, even some trouble, but not
this. The bedroom floor boards trembled beneath her golden-slippered feet.
Tendrils of an unseen power curled upward from deep within the ground, tingling
through her toes. She paused to steady herself, then continued to put the
finishing touches on her costume. The tremors grew into rumbles and their hum
seeped beneath her skin. When their tiny wisps twined through her mind, she
clenched her hands. Enough. Go away.
Thick as
starlight on a clear summer’s eve, sweet as the lavender blossoms she had yet
to plant, energy whooshed up through the cracks of the worn wood and out into
the October night.
She gripped
the bureau until it passed, the vibrations rolling over her in lessening waves.
Bubbly, effervescent waves. “Third time tonight, Taz.” Each departure took
longer, and more of the essence remained.
When the
dog whined, she stroked his fur. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you.”
Even if
tonight the waves were palpable enough to make her hairs stand on end. Oh, no, please.
Nothing
could ruin tonight. More than a party, this event would determine her future.
And after three years of grief, she’d never allow anything to trap her in its
clutches again.
Full
Excerpt
The sting
remained with Joss long after Eric fled the inn. Deep-rooted pain emanated from
him when he’d first entered, and his palm against her arm sent an electric
shock straight to her bones. The poor man. Grief kept him its prisoner. Joss
understood how easy it was to fall into that dark trap. The way he’d held her,
he sought escape. Comfort.
He awakened
deep-seated sensations in her. In the few moments with him, she’d felt more
alive than she had in three years.
So strange.
Normally, one look allowed her to see the person inside. With Eric Hendricks,
her receptivity went into overload. His soul, pent up for years, stirred to
life and churned up love, fear, joy, hopelessness, yearning, jumbled and
shifting faster than light. He displayed great strength in his firm stance and
gentle touch. Beneath a hard veneer of sheer pain, one other trait came through
clearly—purity of spirit, and integrity enough for many men.
The arrival
of more guests drew Joss to the foyer again. Another matronly witch and an
older man wearing a checked flannel shirt, jeans, and boots stepped inside,
followed by a princess and a boy in a fabric turtle shell.
Joss
recognized the girl as one of the riders whose horse was boarded at the inn’s
stable. After greeting them and pointing them toward refreshments, she returned
to Lydia. “Sorry about Dr. Hendricks.”
“Don’t
apologize. It’s wonderful you have so many guests.” Lydia fingered the flowers
in the vase on the table.
One woman
stood in the archway to the front room, her bright-eyed glare directed at Joss.
Wearing a short white shift adorned with large red hearts, the woman held a
wand topped with a glittering red heart.
Confused by
the woman’s malevolence, Joss approached and fought to overcome the negativity
oozing from her. “Did you try some of the booscotti?”
The woman
tilted up her chin. “I’m not hungry, Mrs. Gibson,” came her familiar nasal
reply.
Recognition
finally hit. Of course—the girl who worked at the diner in town. “Sheree?”
At her curt
nod, Joss forced a smile. “I love your costume.”
Sheree’s
gaze darted her length. “Likewise.”
What could
be her problem? The woman wielded her wand like a weapon, ready to strike.
“Please have a drink and make yourself at home.”
“Thank
you.” Her narrowed eyes swept the room as if suspecting an ambush, and then she
moved stiffly away.
Joss
crossed the room to Lydia. “That was weird.”
Lydia
whispered, “Be careful of her.”
“Sheree? I
can’t imagine why.” Could she be nervous the inn would take away some of the
diner’s business? Though Joss would have liked to think it was the cause of her
strange behavior, Sheree’s vibes told Joss otherwise. Business had nothing to
do with it. The waitress directed her bad juju at Joss personally. Had Joss
unintentionally insulted Sheree? She’d barely met the woman.
Leaning
close, her aunt spoke sternly, “I warned you to watch for others who seek the
power of this place.”
Sheree? Her
aunt must be mistaken. The woman’s terrible attitude resulted from something.
Maybe an imagined slight? Joss would find a way to put Sheree at ease.
More guests
entered, and Joss excused herself. She left Lydia deeply inhaling the air. Joss
couldn’t deny the charged atmosphere was one of the reasons she’d bought the
place. Not to tap into any lines of power for herself, but maybe to enhance the
lavender field she planned. Joss needed the garden to thrive so the inn would
as well.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Excerpt Wednesday: Death Sword
“Fail this assignment and don’t bother coming back.”
Xariel grasped the handle of his concealed dagger, recalling Metatron’s warning. Why did Karla Black interest his superior? Orders to kill then revive her ran counter to Xariel’s normal duties. Karla’s dossier indicated nothing remarkable except heterochromia iridium. A recent headshot sent to Xariel’s email revealed a pale oval face framed by a cinnamon bob cut so it angled along her jaw. Most noteworthy, though, were Karla’s eyes. One was cobalt, the other, emerald.
He inhaled a drag from his cigarette, flipped the butt over the rail and watched it disappear beneath the choppy waters of the Ohio River. Back to work. Concentrating, he locked his internal radar on her position. Third and Market. He’d finish this assignment, return home to his Courier-Journal and Crown Royal.
Thank Seraphim cold, damp temperatures kept people away from Riverfront Plaza tonight. No one to witness him teleport.
Xariel closed his eyes. Seconds later, he appeared behind Karla, shoes making no sound on the concrete. She shifted from one foot to another, her calf-high PVC boots drawing his attention to the short denim skirt she tugged down over black tights. Eyes focused on the don’t walk sign, she muttered an impatient expletive.
Was she a street walker? He didn't recall reading so in her file, only that she worked as a barista at a local coffee shop. At least she had sense enough to wear a short wool jacket against the damp chill permeating downtown Louisville.
Before Karla registered his appearance, he grabbed her from behind, slapping a hand over her mouth. She struggled to jerk free. One stiletto-booted heel kicked back, aimed for his instep. Xariel dodged and dragged her into a nearby alley, ignoring the muffled cries vibrating against his hand. There, he focused on setting up a temporary barrier. He couldn't risk her escaping, not after Metatron’s warning.
The force field wouldn't last long. Xariel shoved Karla back against the brick facade of an office building. He pulled out his dagger, plunging it into her stomach. Her eyes, narrowed in anger, widened in shock as blood drained from her face.
Xariel withdrew the knife, blood dripping down the blade. Karla slumped to the tarmac. He
watched her soul, a wispy tendril indiscernible to the human eye, slip through her slack mouth.
He unscrewed the dagger handle and directed her soul into the hollow recess. Although he’d only a short time, he needed to be methodical, cautious. Move too fast and a fragment of psyche might escape. She’d be damaged, worthless.
Satisfied no essence remained, Xariel sealed the dagger and invoked the prayer Metatron had taught him.
He pierced Karla again in the same place, willing her soul to reenter her body and the wound to heal. She remained unresponsive.
Xariel drew a sharp breath. Failure? Shit. Metatron would have his head.
Published by Lyrical Press/Kensington Publishing Corp.
Available for
Amazon Kindle
Barnes and Noble Nook
Kobo
Xariel grasped the handle of his concealed dagger, recalling Metatron’s warning. Why did Karla Black interest his superior? Orders to kill then revive her ran counter to Xariel’s normal duties. Karla’s dossier indicated nothing remarkable except heterochromia iridium. A recent headshot sent to Xariel’s email revealed a pale oval face framed by a cinnamon bob cut so it angled along her jaw. Most noteworthy, though, were Karla’s eyes. One was cobalt, the other, emerald.
He inhaled a drag from his cigarette, flipped the butt over the rail and watched it disappear beneath the choppy waters of the Ohio River. Back to work. Concentrating, he locked his internal radar on her position. Third and Market. He’d finish this assignment, return home to his Courier-Journal and Crown Royal.
Thank Seraphim cold, damp temperatures kept people away from Riverfront Plaza tonight. No one to witness him teleport.
Xariel closed his eyes. Seconds later, he appeared behind Karla, shoes making no sound on the concrete. She shifted from one foot to another, her calf-high PVC boots drawing his attention to the short denim skirt she tugged down over black tights. Eyes focused on the don’t walk sign, she muttered an impatient expletive.
Was she a street walker? He didn't recall reading so in her file, only that she worked as a barista at a local coffee shop. At least she had sense enough to wear a short wool jacket against the damp chill permeating downtown Louisville.
Before Karla registered his appearance, he grabbed her from behind, slapping a hand over her mouth. She struggled to jerk free. One stiletto-booted heel kicked back, aimed for his instep. Xariel dodged and dragged her into a nearby alley, ignoring the muffled cries vibrating against his hand. There, he focused on setting up a temporary barrier. He couldn't risk her escaping, not after Metatron’s warning.
The force field wouldn't last long. Xariel shoved Karla back against the brick facade of an office building. He pulled out his dagger, plunging it into her stomach. Her eyes, narrowed in anger, widened in shock as blood drained from her face.
Xariel withdrew the knife, blood dripping down the blade. Karla slumped to the tarmac. He
watched her soul, a wispy tendril indiscernible to the human eye, slip through her slack mouth.
He unscrewed the dagger handle and directed her soul into the hollow recess. Although he’d only a short time, he needed to be methodical, cautious. Move too fast and a fragment of psyche might escape. She’d be damaged, worthless.
Satisfied no essence remained, Xariel sealed the dagger and invoked the prayer Metatron had taught him.
He pierced Karla again in the same place, willing her soul to reenter her body and the wound to heal. She remained unresponsive.
Xariel drew a sharp breath. Failure? Shit. Metatron would have his head.
Published by Lyrical Press/Kensington Publishing Corp.
Available for
Amazon Kindle
Barnes and Noble Nook
Kobo
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)