Got Witches?

First, let me thank Ginger for inviting me here today. It’s always an honor to be one of her guests.

As most of us know who have written a historical or researched for any reason, the seasons or holidays…well…though some of us might not want to admit it, a lot of our holidays are steeped in Pagan Rituals.

When I decided to write the Winslow witches of Salem series, I had to do tons of research because I had very little knowledge about witches, other than they were associated with Halloween and brooms. Frankly, I was surprised at the amount of information about witches and festival seasons.

Since I intended to use Beltane as a serious role in the witch books, (I made it the breeding seasons for witches) I went digging for any and all information surrounding this Spring holiday and thought I’d share a small piece of something I found...I fully admit this article has been plagiarized from the Internet and take no credit for it…But, since it was the first time I’d come across this particular writing, I thought it was interesting and just another way of sharing the wonderful Spring season…


In many parts of the Highlands, the young folks of the district would meet on the moors on May 1. They cut a table in the green sod, of a round figure, by cutting a trench in the ground of sufficient circumferences to hold the whole company. They then kindled a fire, dressed a repast of eggs and milk of the constituency of custard. They kneaded a cake of oatmeal, which was toasted at the embers against a stone. After the custard was eaten, they divided the cake into as many portions as there were people in the company, as much alike as possible in size and shape. They daubed one of the pieces with charcoal, til it was black all over, and they were then all put into a bonnet together, and each one blindfolded took out a portion. The bonnet holder was entitled to the last bit, and whoever drew the black bit was the person who was compelled to leap three times over the flames. Some people say this was originally to appease a god, whose favor they tried to implore by making the year productive.

No matter how we celebrate the coming of Spring, I think we’ll all agree it’s a joyous time of the year to celebrate new life and we’re just as anxious today to laugh, dance and make merry around the May Pole…

I’ve included an excerpt from my latest release, Witch’s Fire; book five of the Winslow witches of Salem. Everyone who leaves a comment today will have their name entered in a drawing for a free E-copy of it. The winner’s name will be announced tomorrow right here, so be sure and check back to see if you’re the lucky person…

BLURB/WITCH’S FIRE/TABITHA SHAY

In a world where magic is dying―two people meet under unusual circumstances…

Realm of light―New to this witchy stuff, Kirrah Walker crashes her broom into a stranger and knocks him unconscious. Feeling guilty, she takes him home with her and nurses him back to health. However, she soon discovers a terrible secret―the stranger is on a mission to assassinate a witch. Now Kirrah must decide if she’ll set him free or keep him tied to the headboard of her bed…

World of darkness―Prince Stry, future King of Ru-Noc awakens to find he’s not only a captive, but captivated by the charming witch who flutters around him like a nervous butterfly. Her magick is wild and so out of control, he knows in his heart he should steal her soul, but kissing Kirrah is habit-forming.

Kirrah and Stry―magical beings who must face the fear of their past, acknowledge their future and trust in destiny in a world gone mad…


EXCERPT: WITCH’S FIRE/TABITHA SHAY…PG-Rated

She sighed, shoved up her sleeves and went to work dragging off his low-heeled boots and socks. Carefully, she swung his legs onto the bed. Only―somehow her legs tangled with his. She stumbled and fell clumsily across the poor man’s chest.

His eyes flew open. A half-smile flirted at the corners of his handsome mouth. Kirrah glared at him. How the heck did he manage to look so darned sexy with a big ole’ purple bruise fanning over his right eye?

Slowly, he slid his arms around her hips and squeezed her buttocks. “Well, hel-lo.”

Kirrah widened her eyes. Oh, crap, that’s all she needed, a concussed Romeo with a sexy voice hot enough to curl her toes and set her thighs on fire, a voice that both compelled and could easily lead a woman astray.

The man looked at her as if he’d never seen her before and had just discovered his favorite eye-candy. “Aren’t you just a sweet little beauty?” he purred, sounding for all the world like a hungry cat whose appetite had just been satisfied. A big, dopey, contented cat.
Sweet little beauty? She blinked. Oh, yeah, the man was definitely off his meds. Obviously he was no stranger to seduction 101, either, if the way he massaged her butt was anything to go by.
And damn, did he have to have such dreamy bedroom eyes? Tiny gold specks sparkled like angel dust in the warm amber depths. Thick gold tipped lashes completed the allure of his heavy lidded gaze. He had the kind of gold-flecked irises that attracted a woman and sucked her right in.

He might as well wear a sign around his neck that read: Come and get it, sinful indulgence right here!

And boy was she ready to go get it.

Her brows knitted together in a deep scowl. What was wrong with her? All of a sudden her hormones were out of control? She wondered if her face was as red as it felt. Since she had red hair, her complexion was the fair one typical of redhead’s. She blushed as easily as she sunburned.

His gaze wondered from her hair to her lips. Oh, my. Those tiger-colored eyes fixed on her mouth. He licked his lips as though he’d just discovered a delicious snack he contemplated nibbling on.
Startled, Kirrah gasped as he suddenly tugged her closer.

Her hands splayed across his wide chest. “Uh-Mr. Wa-Wa, I think you might be getting a tad bit carried away here. Unhand me.”

“No.” One hand slid up her back and his fingers curled around her nape holding her in place. “I don’t think I should do that at all. You belong to me,” he whispered, and took her mouth.

That was the only word for it. Took. He ravaged her mouth with a slow steamy gut-wrenching kiss. Warm and wet. Hot and melting. Yum. He might be half-dead, but he had a mouth to die for and he knew how to use it.

Witch’s Fire is available in print at Amazon or at Moongypsy Press

Be sure and visit my website to view some lovely art of my witchy characters. Previous editions of earlier books can be found in E-format at Fictionwise or in print at Amazon.com.

As always,
Happy reading,
Tabs

A Visit by Julie A. D’Arcy-The Cross Of Tarlis

Firstly I would like to say thank you to Ginger for giving me this opportunity today to tell you a little about my new novel coming out at the end of April. I am an Australian author, living in Victoria with her 2 cats, who has been published for 12 years, and writing for 13. My first published book WON the RIO Award, and placed in the PEARL, SAPHIRE, and the Australian RUBY Award of that same year.

The Cross of Tarlis has been ten years in the writing, as I have not wanted to let go of my baby ;-) It is a fast paced Heroic Fantasy. With lots of action, excitement, magic and romance, to suit both male and female readers. It is a long book but a very fast read, as it is pacy, so please do not be put off by its length. I promise you will find it rewarding!

THE CROSS OF TARLIS

Five hundred years has passed since the great Mage War. Sernon of Asomos is defeated and his bones lay at the bottom of a glacial lake. His spirit roams forever in the void. Tarlis is at peace. Or is it?

Deep within the waters of Lake Dalen-Gae, evil stirs...

A Princess of the Wolfhead is kidnapped by the High Priest of the Urakians and used in a dark ritual to raise Sernon of Asomos, a sadistic necromancer bent on enslaving the people of Tarlis.

There is an Urakian uprising and enemy warriors swarm the land.

One woman is named in an ancient Elisian prophecy. She is Tannith, Princess of Ellenroh, descendant of Dragonbane, King of the old code. Only by her hand can the pieces of the legendary Cross of Tarlis be assembled, and with its use in raising their God Magus can freedom be restored to their realm.

But someone else also desires the famed talisman.

In a perilous land, facing an uncertain future, Tannith pins her hopes on two men: Kaden of the Wolfhead, bastard son of a cursed king, haunted by his failure to save his family, and stop his older brother from being transformed to an Ice Tiger; and Etanandril Jarrisendel, Captain of the Elisian Elite, Tannith’s childhood friend, and the man who loves her.

One will become a king. The other will face his fears and become a hero.
Both will become legends.

A mixture of Heroic Fantasy, myth, magic, adventure and passion.

READ AN EXCERPT
She had heard what Etan had said about her, and heard Tannith come to her defense. He would rue the day he was unkind to her.

Her fists clenched in the tiger’s fur, and she heard the animal growl softly, and smiled. She knew instinctively he wouldn’t hurt her. Not consciously anyway.

She had taken to riding the tiger of late, rather than on the horse with Etan. “That ungrateful son of a Panpheon Ape—”

“He is a fool, little one, if he cannot see what is before his eyes,” rumbled a deep voice inside her head. Skylah spun—and stilled.

“Who said that?”

“Do not be afraid, 'tis I, the beast upon which you ride.”

“Tiger? How did you do that?” She swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat. “Usually I can only communicate with birds, it has never happened with such a large creature before.

“That I cannot answer, yet 'tis enough that it be so. Do you not think?”

“Perhaps,” said Skylah still a little disconcerted. She sat for several heartbeats contemplating the matter. “So, what do you see tiger, when you look at me, other than a Fayrie and a tasty morsel?”

“I would never see you in that vein, little one. And call me Erik, for that is my name”

“Then you may call me Skylah for that is my true name. Now tell me what you see.”

Erik gave the Fayrie's question some thought. “When I look upon you I see before me a woman with luscious red-gold hair, laughing green eyes and a body a goddess would yearn for. You are most lovely.”

Skylah flushed. “You are very gallant, my furry friend. Though you also see small, do you not? And that is all Etan will ever see. My size. Yet how can he not? For that is who I am. A tiny Fayrie to be brushed aside at whim.” She sighed. “If only I were tall, with fair hair, and beautiful like Tannith. Then he would take notice. I would make him.”

I would do more than notice, thought Erik. “The trouble with men of his kind,” he said, “is that they only see with their eyes, not with their hearts. If you see with your heart, anything can be possible. After all, we live in a realm of myth, magic and legend. Who is to know what can happen in the future? I have heard tales of men being transformed to wild beasts. Surely it would not be so hard to change one small Fayrie into a full-sized woman?”

“Is that what happened, Erik? Were you transformed?” She smiled. “If so, tell me who you are? A vagabond, a poet, a mercenary, a King? You can tell me Erik. I can keep your secret. I have one of my own, you know?”

Erik tensed and withdrew into silence for several paces. When he spoke, his words were chosen with care. “I’m sorry little one, I cannot do that. Just know, sometimes things are not what they seem.”


If you have any questions please feel free to send me an email at julie-darcy@bigpond.com

This book will be available at the end of April at www.moongypsypress.com

in ebook, Kindle Reader and Print. My book can also be purchased at Amazon, and All Romance ebooks.

Read another excerpt from THE CROSS OF TARLIS

Thank you for taking the time to read my work and visit with me today

Welcome, Cindy Jacks

Just Do It

There I am staring at what looks to me as a couple tons of twisted steel. My son is tugging at my hand begging me please to try the ride with him. My stomach and I are not so sure we agree, but against my better judgment, I acquiesce. After all, I had a light breakfast.

We wait in line for our turn and finally, when it comes, the operator harnesses us into the death trap aka the Ring of Fire roller coaster. I think, I've spent most of my life trying to avoid situations in which I will put my butt over my head, yet here I am volunteering to do so. Crap, I'm scared. My son, on the other hand, is vibrating with excitement. Literally. He can't sit still.

While I watch his anticipation, the part of my brain that deals with courage kicks in--you know, the part that flips off the common sense and says, "Oh come on. Just do it!" Besides, I have no choice now. I'm strapped in and the coaster cars have started to move.

The agonizing climb up the first hill begins. My son kicks his feet and gives me a hundred-watt smile. I return a less than sincere grin. We stop for a second at the hill's crest...and then plunge down at break-neck speed.

And I love it.

My little boy and I are laughing and howling now. The rest of the ride is a blur of dips, turns, loops, and dives. It's terrifying and fantastic all at the same time. Kinda like writing a book.

Granted the chances I take when producing a novel are more emotional than physical, but the rush from the successful completion is no less palpable. Though most days I'm attached to my laptop, not a roller coaster, I believe I'm addicted to the thrill of, as Hemingway would put it, "staring down the bull." And I don't think it's an addiction I'll be getting over any time soon. Every time I sit down at my computer, my courage kicks in and I think like a Nike commercial--Just do it!

****
Cindy's up coming release, All the Good Men, can be found in May from Moongypsy Press. Don't forget to check out Cindy's other releases on her website.

Kayden McLeod; The Foxworth Coven Series

Dear Reader,

Some of you already may have met the Cornwalls, the Vancouver Coven of vampires. But they are not the only ones in the area. There are others, like the Surrey Coven; the Foxworths.

The series begins with Book One; Death of Innocence, a first person POV “diary” of the two lead characters, Gregory and Canya Foxworth. The Council, the government ruling over the vampires have taken note of these vampires, and how they've grown in so much power, they can compete with those who rule them. Something the establishment fears, and demands to know more about.

A full report is to be given, of exactly what happened a century ago.

In 1904, the Leader of the Surrey Coven, Canya Foxworth was an almost human girl with vampire-blood in her lineage, bringing her gifts she had to hide, as her parents demanded of her. She hated her life, and would go to drastic measures to leave it behind her.

And it would damn near kill her.

Gregory Foxworth recalls his side of the story, how he found a dying woman who'd been tricked, and cast aside like garbage. Despite common practices when it came to a vampire healing a human, he’d done it without thought.

It begins a journey for them, and the Foxworth ruling family will ever forget it.

Death Of Innocence

Paranormal Romance (MF, Vampires, Ghosts, Deities)

Length: Apx 98K

Tag-Line:

Even unconditional love cannot always banish an eternal nightmare

Summary:

The Foxworth family has blazed a trail through human and vampire history alike, changing the ways of both races in Canada for all time. The Council has demanded a full report for the long and twisted tale of how the Surrey Coven had come to be the most powerful and feared; an assemblage that anyone would question before coming up against.

The Leader of the Surrey Coven, Canya recalls how her family came to be. A story filled with pain and heartache, until she meets Gregory Foxworth; a debonair CEO to the family shipping company. He takes her away from a life that shocks him, hoping to shelter and love her. But little does he know all he has done, was make her a target for a sadistically warped man. One who will have her and his own personal brand of vengeance. Sometimes, a grudge is forever.

Prelude

The sky was overcast, grey and temperamental, much like my mood. The ocean was a bluish-grey, reflecting the clouds above, while the waves lapped at the long expanse of glittering sandy beach.

I loved my house in White Rock, a nice city in British Columbia within the Fraser Valley. It was our main residence, but we owned a lot of property all over the territory that we were charged with to tend.

I sat outside on my patio with expensive white paper and a pen, but I wasn’t sure where to begin. When a story went on for decades, where does one start?

I thought of my family to give me strength.

The Foxworth’s had grown and changed so much in the last century. They too were asked to tell their parts of the tale, but they’d decided that it was when I discovered the new world remaining even now in shadows, that this story should begin.

It was almost a century to the day, when we finally ended what plagued my family for so long. Was a hundred years too long to hold on to hope that your loved ones will eventually survive and thrive, even if some have to die to see it happen?

The Council, our governing body, paid me a personal visit yesterday. Though it had been an official visit, I didn’t have a great track record with those. I was respected, but all in my Coven were also feared for their individual reasons, their individual pasts.

Over the years our Coven had been allied with some of the most powerful entities this world knows. We have the forces of nature on our side, the power of dreams and the most feared monsters that make humans run and hide under their beds to avoid.

The Council only ‘requested’ this document, because it was as unbelievable as it sounds. I believed they wanted to watch us fail to give the facts; to prove what we said was real, beyond doubt.

We have proof of all of our accomplishments, but I still suspect they don’t believe some of what my children and friends claim. Even to us, who are vampires and know of all sorts of real magic, our story is very far-fetched. Our experiences rip apart our own beliefs, not just the human view-point, stitching them back together again, to know the real truth of what lays just out of even our sight.

For a race with our real origins, you would think that they’d believe our tale.

I wouldn’t have ever chosen to put this to paper, but when the Council decrees something, you refuse or disobey at your own risk.

Some think we were lucky for what we are now. Others consider it a curse on top of the Curse that all vampires already share. We’re the damned that had at one point been blessed. We were the ultimate oxymoron, the personification, if you will.

Our kind had seen both sides of the balance, and now we were precariously hanging by our fingertips, trying to protect mankind from ourselves. We moved steadily forward, but Rogues kept trying to throw us back into the dark ages.

We would always stand between the evil in us, and the good in everyone else. Though we cannot protect humankind from their own forms of evil, we could do our part to keep the harmony on our end.

That was the Foxworth Coven’s mission statement. We lived with humans, not just among them. We tried not to abuse our power, and assimilate into humanity the best we could. We raise our children with those beliefs, in hopes that one day we’d have real freedom and understanding. It was only one small step in the face of many.

Possibly this record of our family would convince at least a few vampires, that just because we are at the top of the food chain, manned with more power then any being had a right to, didn’t mean they got to abuse it.

Maybe it will show that no matter how bad life appears at the time, hope is always at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes it will just take a little time to get there.

In the end, I knew just how lucky I was. As a child I’d known real love existed, but my parents had never been examples of that. They almost hated each other, and liked me even less. It was a match for necessity and nothing more.

My cousin had once told me years ago, I’d been born to be a servant. Since the time I had been old enough to clean and mind the cattle, it was my life. Being taught to cook simple meals before I was ten, it was expected to serve them nightly.

Under my mother’s watchful eye, I grew up alone and afraid. My father had been a big, burly man who was far too gruff to ever have children. I believe he had me only because it had been expected of him. After me, they’d never tried for a boy. Something that enraged my Father, something I had to suffer for continuously.

But it isn’t my childhood hell that begun my long journey, nor my terrifying family legacy. For generations my family held within their grasp, magical gifts, but we were required to keep them quiet, for our own survival. The differences between those who are gifted and those who did not understand them, were vast in the early twentieth century, anymore than they had in the nineteenth.

As a teenager I’d been starved for love and affection, something that all of my friends had, received and gave so easily. I had searched far and wide for it, a way to leave my past behind me. To finally get out from under my parent’s thumb; or I would surely go mad.

They didn’t want me to go; they made no move to marry me off. I still believe that if the occurring events hadn’t have taken place, they would’ve found a way to keep me tied to them forever.

At almost twenty years of age, I was practically an old maid when meeting Thomas. For months we had met secretly, and I thought nothing of it, since I didn’t want my parents to know until it was too late to stop me.

I went to Thomas willingly, time after time, needing to feel human and liked. So much abuse from my parents made me desperate to jump into something far too quickly, before my normally intelligent mind had time to warn me of the impending dangers in direct relation to the hard-pressed decisions.

I had mistaken lust for love, and that really had been my downfall, and breakthrough for survival.

If I had not met Thomas, I doubted I would’ve met my true love.

Every cloud has a silver lining, even the darkest and most deadly ones.

***

Deep Water Legends; Paranormal Science Fiction, Moongypsy Press, is an introduction into this series, and Foxworth Coven. You meet Arcadia and Ceanna Foxworth, in the present day as Council Hunters who have grown tired of the leashes put on them by the Council.

Throughout the Foxworth Coven Series, Arcadia and Ceanna grow up from mere children, showing what it took to impose such rigid meddle in the twins, what made them the vampires that make almost every other cower in fear of them.

To Buy Deep Water Legends:

http://www.amazon.com/Deep-Water-Legends-Kayden-McLeod/dp/1449581684/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1269796430&sr=8-5

Website

http://kaydenmcleod.com/

Kayden’s Blog

http://kaydenmcleod.blogspot.com/

Kayden’s World Of Paranormal Blog

http://www.kaydenmcleodparanormal.blogspot.com/

Thank you Ginger for having me today, it was a blast!

Cheers,

Kayden

Welcome, Foery MacDonell

Laird of the Mist is the first in a series of three books which chronicle the MacDonell family through the Highland Clearances in Glengarry, Scotland.

Laird Carrick MacDonell believed he fought well at the Battle of Culloden Moor in 1746, but not well enough. Having lost most of his clan as well as his beloved pregnant wife, Jenny, who had come to the battlefield to aid the wounded, he is a broken man. To assuage his pain, he seeks the assistance of a witch to mix him a potion so he can take his own life. Instead, she informs him that his wife is reincarnated in 2009 and she sends him through time to find her.

Carrick arrives in 2009 and finds Jenny, now Caitriona MacPhail. Believing him to be a reeanctor from a Highland games, Cat puts no stock in his story and turns him over to her Scottish grandfather, a retired doctor who believes Carrick's tale. Cat eventually remembers Carrick and they are wed in Scotland. Cat is accidentally transported back to 1746, two days before Cumberland wreaks destruction on the glen. Carrick and Cat's grandfather and sister find a way to travel back to 1746 to save her. They arrive amidst Cumberland's butchery and begin to pick up the pieces of their lives.

Laird of the Mist is unique among Highland novels in that Laird Carrick MacDonell is one of the few Highland lairds who does not evict or cause his tenants to emigrate, nor clear his lands in favor of sheep. Instead, he continues to protect his people, raise Highland cattle and fight excise men against discovery of his distillery. He manages to keep family and clan together in Scotland despite every attempt to destroy their traditional way of life.

Read an excerpt from Laird of the Mist.

an excerpt from Laird of the Mistead an excerpt from Laird of the Mist

Me, A Liar?

I was honored with The Best Liar Award by not one, but TWO good friends. Lea Schizas and Lisabet Sarai both are under the impression that I can't hide a one little truth among a bunch of lies. To that I say, "Ha!"

Of course none of these awards come without hurdles...so here are the ones I must jump through:

1: Thank the person who gave you the award and link to them. DID THAT
2: Add the award to your blog. DID THAT
3: Tell six outrageous lies about yourself and One Truth.GONNA DO THAT
4: Nominate six creative liars... I mean writers and post links to them. PICKING MY VICTIMS...I MEAN NOMINEES NOW!
5: Let your nominees know that they have been nominated. WILL DELIVER THE GREAT NEWS.

So...now find the one truth in this list.
1. I sleep in the nude.
2. My middle name is Sonia
3. I once went parasailing at 700 feet in Hawaii.
4. I'm not afraid of snakes.
5. I love to skydive.
6. I'm an avid football fan.

My list of awardees consists of:
Kayden McLeod
Cate Masters
Tabitha Shay
Sharon Donovan
Lorrie Struiff
AnitaDavison

I hope my pals will forgive the extra workload, but anything we do to get our name out on search engines helps promote our work. I've linked to each of your blogs and I'll be checking to see if you're carried out your assignment. *smile*

Also...for those who read, find the truthful statement and comment, I'll draw a winner from the correct answers for a free download of my upcoming release, White Heart, Lakota Spirit. You can read more about it at MoonGypsy Press.

Welcome, Jannine Corti Petksa

Gypsy Love and Marriage

Love is in the air during the month of February. From a candlelit dinner to jewelry to a box of chocolates and flowers, men and women treat the love of their life with extra kindness and kisses. However, it wasn't always like this, especially in the Gypsy camps during the Medieval period.

My latest book, CHARLOTTE AND THE GYPSY,available from Moongypsy Press, taught me a lot about Gypsy life. They were a practical people, close-knit, protective of their own. The rigors of the Gypsies' nomadic existence brought about little discipline in the Gypsy child and teen. Growing up, they learned by example. Their parents were responsible for their manners and attitudes as well as their contribution to the camp and their eventual marriage. One thing was for certain: Bachelorhood was frowned upon. Weddings were a time of celebration that often lasted for days. Most Gypsies married in their teens. In Rom society, a male Gypsy couldn't be called a Rom until he was married. So you can see the importance of matrimony in their culture.

Marriages were arranged by the parents. The prospective couple might be consulted, but their opinions didn't count. Usually, the parents of the groom selected his bride-to-be. They measured the girl's worth by her disposition, health, and her family's prestige in their community. She must be strong, enduring, and open to having many children. Then the father of the groom met with the father of the bride to discuss the bride price, which compensated the father losing his daughter. It was a price that covered the cost of raising his daughter from birth. With an arranged marriage, the couple didn't have a formal courtship. Was love ever involved? Rarely...although there was always hope that eventual feelings of love would bring the couple closer.

Gypsies were not allowed to marry a non-Gypsy, although an occasional gaje (non-Gypsy) slipped through the cracks. That couple would be kicked out of their clan. To the Gypsies, outsiders were unclean and couldn't be trusted. These facts made writing this book a bit tricky. I had to balance fact with fiction and come up with a damn good reason a blonde-haired, blue-eyed female lived among the Gypsies.

For Rafael and Char's wedding, I used many different Gypsy customs, which differed from clan to clan. (You'll have to read the book to learn about these customs. ) Marriage by abduction was a possibility, but as you will read in the short excerpt below, Char did not approve of this method. (Of course, she's quite opinionated.)

The Medieval period being a man's society, once the couple wed, the bride belonged to the groom and lived among his family. She basically had no say. Instead, she cooked, washed clothing, took care of the children, and appeased her man's lusty appetite. Poor Rafael. He was born with a large dose of lust. What would a Gypsy hero be if he wasn't hot-blooded? You'll feel a bit sorry for Rafael. Women fall at his feet. Through no fault of his own, he gets into situations that stretches Char's trust and emotions. But in the end, love conquers all. It doesn't hurt that Rafael is gorgeous and a bloody good romp in bed. ;-)

Thank you Ginger for hosting me today. And to all latcho drom (Romany farewell).

Blurb:
Charlotte Nikolos keenly feels the difference between the dark coloring of the Gypsies who raised her and her own pale hair and skin. When she learns she has two sisters somewhere who share her looks and psychic powers, she's determined to search for her lost family and find answers about her past. But how?

For three years, Rafael Cazares has been away from the Gypsy camp and the woman who makes his blood boil. He's determined to win back Char's trust and recapture her heart. He insists on helping her find her true family, but someone or something is determined to keep them apart. When a deep dark secret is revealed, Rafael would do everything in his power to keep the only women he has ever loved out of harm’s way. Even if he must die.

Short excerpt:

“Return me to my father at once.”Rafael planted his hands on his hips and gazed down at her with a long-reaching light of amusement. A light that brought clarity to Char.
“You wouldn’t dare!”

“But I did.”

“I’ll not be your wife by abduction.”

“You have no say in this, Char. I’ve paid the bride price. Your sire gave his blessing for our union.” He handed her a kerchief to wear.

Char refused to tie it around her head to show her acceptance. “You’ll not touch me.”

His raised brows mocked her.

Char straightened her shoulders. Rafael ignored her stubborn stance and gripped her upper arms, dragging her up his length.

“In time, you will beg me to take you to my bed.”

His mouth quashed her protest. No matter how much she abhorred Rafael, she succumbed to his meaningless kiss.

Check Jannine's website for more information on all her great books.

Welcome, Julie D'Arcy

He was watching her. She could feel his gaze upon her yet she was unafraid, more curious. There was something familiar about his carriage, yet he sat just enough in shadow for his face to remain unseen.

Alara had arrived at the nightclub at eleven and taken her usual seat in the corner. The band who played were midrange, not good, not bad, but would never be chart toppers.
She ordered a margarita and settled back to observe the crowd. Twenties to thirties, they fit the profile of the usual night-clubber, in their glitzy body hugging clothes.

All except him.

He was dressed totally in black. Boots, long leather coat, open and pushed back to reveal a black shirt and dark pants. Hair, raven, and short, and she knew he was looking.

It was not conceit, or in any way related to the fact she thought herself attractive to men. If anything, she was too wiry and her chest too flat. It was the strange tingly feeling that persisted in the pit of her stomach.

She turned her gaze from him and pushed through the noisy crowd to fetch another drink.

“I’ve been watching you all night. Wanna dance?” A lanky well-oiled male in a bright blue shirt, hip hugging black pants and a multitude of gold chains, blocked her path. She winced as his body odor invaded her nose and throat.

“No thanks, I don’t dance.” She made to step to the side, but his hand clamped down on her arm. “I think you do.” His tone was terse. “I think you would dance real fine with a body like yours.”

“You heard the lady. She does not dance.”

He stood behind her assailant, his hand resting on his shoulder. Alara had never heard a voice like it, rich like caramel, deep as the ocean, and smooth. He was at least a head taller than Mr. Oily, and his eyes peered right into hers, seeking her soul, stroking chords, which had not been touched for a decade. With eyes almost as black as his hair, he made her feel like someone of worth, not just a piece of ass in a tight skirt.

But he was definitely not her type.

Oily man’s face darkened, his mouth opened and he swung to see who had him, but his words caught in his throat and he stumbled over them. “I’m…ah, I’m sorry, buddy. Didn’t realize she was yours.”

“I am certain the lady is her own person, but that gives you no excuse to accost her.”

“No. No, of course not. Sorry.” The man shifted his gaze, and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“It is not I to whom you should apologize.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled barely audible before making a hasty retreat into the crowd.

“I could have taken care of myself.” Alara raised her chin as her savior studied her. She came barely to his shoulder.
“I am sure you could.”

He turned in the direction of the table he had occupied, and her hand shot out.

“Wait.” She gripped his arm. Hard, muscular, beneath his coat sleeve.

What was she doing? He was not her type at all, but she knew she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet anyway.

“Yes?” He stopped, but didn’t look back.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She cringed. Did she sound desperate? She saw him stiffen. “In thanks for saving me.”

He turned, slowly and her hand fell away. What were those earlier thoughts? That he was not her sort of man. Was she insane? He was every woman’s sort of man. She could feel his body reaching out to her. She had heard of animal magnetism, but… Not even with Ice had she experienced this pull, and she had loved him. Dammit! This was almost palatable, powerful. She had to run. Put one foot in front of the other and turn away. Run now!

“One drink?” She forced a smile. “Just to say thank you.” How weak could one woman be?

His eyes were dark, brooding. Why didn’t he speak? What was he thinking?

“There is no need. I saw you were in trouble. I helped.”

“There is every need.” What was it about this man that kept her talking, saying things she would never say to another? She was forced to work in a male dominated profession, but always she stood on the outside, looking in, never getting close, never wanting to be close. She had loved one man. He had died. Left her — she would not be hurt like that again. She knew she should leave, but… "Please, I insist.”

He frowned and glanced away. She thought for a moment he'd refuse.
“Would you sit with me at my table?” He asked, looking back at her.
Alara swallowed hard, mesmerized by his voice. Deep, soft, yet strangely compelling, as were his eyes. Fathomless black eyes that seemed old beyond their years. Eyes that seemed to look into her and through her at the same time. As they were now.

“I’ll get the drinks,” she said too fast. “You do drink, don’t you? I noticed that there were no empty glasses on your table.” She blushed and glanced into the crowd. Blushed, her, a cop. She could feel the heat still suffusing her cheeks. She had never blushed in her life, and now he would know she had been watching him.
“A red wine will suffice. Do you need help?”

“No…I can manage.” Quickly, before he could change his mind, she pushed through the crowd toward the bar. What a fool he must think her. Such a naive, inexperienced fool.

She reached the bar and after what seemed forever, finally placed her order. He was sitting in the shadows again. She caught a glimpse of him as she slowly maneuvered her way back through the room, and although the dance floor was packed she did not spill a drop. It was as if she was being lead safely along and no one could touch her. Like a fly to a spider, but the most irksome part of it was, she was walking into a web of her own making.


My Vampire romance 'Darkness I Weep" is NOW available at Moongypsy Press for pre-order, and will be released Feb. 2010 in ebook format, and March in Print.

Please visit my new website.

Welcome, Tabitha Shay

It’s Valentine’s Day! (Well, almost.)

Hi Readers,

Thank You, Miz Ginger, for inviting me to blog on your website. I’m paranormal romance author, Tabitha Shay. I also write contemporary western romances under the name of Jaydyn Chelcee.

Since we’re nearing Valentine’s Day, love is in the air….Right? Traditional symbols of Valentine's Day include hearts, doves, Cupid and love notes. The American postcard above, circa 1900, reveals all the symbols we‘ve come to think of as representing Valentine‘s Day, except perhaps for a box of chocolates and flowers, darn it.

Did you know the origin of Valentine’s Day descended from a pagan festival of love and the day was taken over by the Church that disapproved of the romantic and sexual connotations, renamed for "Saint Valentine" and made into a day for martyrs?

Lucky martyrs!

Boy, I wonder what the Church back then would do if it got its hands on some of the romances written by today’s authors? Whoo! Those of us who write erotica or very sensual romances would probably be stoned, hanged, certainly tied to the dunking stool and dipped in the pond to cool us off.

However, romance, sex, passion, lust, flowers, candy, cards, Cupid, oh boy! give them all to me, I’ll take my chances!

I’ve decided that today, I’ll post an excerpt from my next paranormal romance scheduled for release this very month, Witch’s Fire, book five in the Winslow witches of Salem series due to be released around Feb. 25th from Moongypsy Press.

Everyone who leaves a comment today, I’ll drop their name in the witch’s hat for a chance to win an E-copy of Witch’s Fire later on this month when it’s available. I’ll hold the drawing at 6 pm CST, and post the lucky winner’s name right here. But please remember, you won’t receive your copy until after its release date.

Be sure and check back later today or leave a way for you to be contacted so you can get your prize…

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT.

EXCERPT: WITCH’S FIRE BY TABITHA SHAY

She spooned a healthy-sized portion of the mousse in her mouth and swallowed. “Oh, my stars, that is unbelievably light. I didn’t even feel it on my tongue. It vanished in a soft fizz, but felt like creamy butter on my tongue.”

Stry waved his hand again and half the candles went out. The room filled with gentle, flickering shadows. Soothing music flowed around them, seductive. “Dance with me?”

Kirrah nodded and rose to her feet. “I’d love to.” She went into his arms. Her head rested lightly against his chest.

Stry swallowed and pressed his hands to the small of her back. They danced in slow circles to the soft bluesy tune. Kirrah flung back her head, her gaze searching his. “What’s a bawk?”

“Never mind. I don’t care.” He lowered his head, rubbed his mouth against hers. Teasingly, he licked her lips. “You missed a dab of chocco.”

“And you found it.…”

“Yes.” He took her mouth, deepened the kiss, until Kirrah thought her lungs would explode from lack of oxygen. At last, he reluctantly released her lips. “I want you, Kirrah, so much I feel like I’m on fire all the time. I’ve never felt this way before.”

She smoothed her hands across his wide chest. “I want you, too.”

Stry squeezed her against his body. He slid his hands around her hips, cupped her buttocks and fit her against his erection. The unmistakable ridge was like a branding iron against her, hot, hard and proof of his urgent need for her.

“I don’t just want you, Kirrah, though the gods know the wanting is killing me. I want you to understand that I don’t just want to use for the relief mating with you will give me. You know how you took those pictures into your heart and made those people in them your family? How you love them?”

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

“I want to be loved like that. I want you to love me like that, take me into your heart and give me a home there. I want you to need me in your life the way you needed those pictures. Will you love me like that? I need you to love me as if I have no one who cares about me.”

Kirrah lifted her gaze to meet the surprising tenderness in Stry’s gold-colored eyes. “Love you like that?”

“Unconditionally―because you see something in me worthy of loving? I need a home, Kirrah. A family. Will you give me those things? Will you surrender your heart into my care, your body, your―soul? Trust that I love you back in the same manner?”

He looked at her as if he could eat her up, but there was something else in the somnolent smokiness of his steady gaze. Something genuine. There wasn’t a hint of laughter. He wasn’t poking fun at her or how she felt about her pictures and the people in them.
Kirrah licked her dry lips and nodded. “Yes, I already love you unconditionally. I love you.”
****************************************************************

Scope out my book covers, reviews and some incredible artwork of some of my witchy characters on my website or, scope out my publishers Eternal Press and Moongypsy Press.


One last word, my books are available in print at Amazon. Just type in my name under "books." Happy Valentine’s Day….Tabs

White Heart, Lakota Spirit - Coming Soon

I'm tickled pink to have my cover for White Heart, Lakota Spirit, my historical romance set in the Dakota Hills during the 1800s. Dawne Dominique is the amazing mind behind this eye-catching beauty.

WHLS is an upcoming release from Moongypsy Press, a new publisher with a talented line-up of authors and staff already in place for the grand opening later this month. I hope you'll be on the lookout for it. Check out Moongypsy Press

Here's an UNEDITED excerpt from WHLS:

Lone Eagle crossed the compound in search of his son. Nearing his mother’s lodge, he heard raised voices and saw a crowd gathering at the far end of the village. He quickened his pace toward the commotion, thoughts of finding Little Cloud lost.

Six young warriors rode into camp—their faces and horses painted for war. Shock and confusion jolted Little Eagle at seeing his nephew, Little Elk, among them. Where had the group been? He had no idea they’d left the village. He shoved his way through the throng.

His gaze shifted to the white woman tethered and stumbling behind the Appaloosa of his nephew’s closest friend, Black Crow. Each faltering step testified to her exhaustion. She struggled to remain standing. Her chin lifted momentarily, and she looked directly at Lone Eagle. Long blonde hair hung in matted strands. Her blue eyes, barely visible beneath the dirty tresses, widened with fright. One sleeve of her soiled dress hung in tatters down her arm, and her wrists looked painfully chafed. Raw and weeping red spots peeked through the veil of dust on her bare feet.

Rage burned within Lone Eagle. He stood in the path of Black Crow’s horse and raised his hand. “As your Chief, I demand to know what you have done.”

The band dismounted. Little Elk came forward, pride shining in his eyes. “My uncle, we rode together to make war against the whites. We have brought a captive as evidence.”

Lone Eagle’s icy glare spanned the young braves. He stepped closer to Little Elk and leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. “Your chest puffs with pride, but your actions were foolish.” He fought the urge to shake some sense into his nephew and knotted his fists at his sides. “How dare you decide something without advice of Tribal Council! You have no right to put the tribe at risk of war. By bringing a wasichu captive to our camp, you place our people in danger and bring shame upon yourselves.”

“But, Uncle...”

Lone Eagle held up his palm. “I will not hear from you now. We will discuss this among the elders, but first, is anyone injured?”

Little Elk hung his head. “None of us here...but...but two of our brothers now walk the ghost trail.”

Blood pulsed in Lone Eagle’s temples. “Do you see what your foolish impulse has cost?” He scanned the faces of the young men. “Because you wanted to prove your manliness, two of our people are dead. I will go and call a tribal meeting at once to discuss your actions.”

Lone Eagle spun and stormed away from the crowd.