Whoa, this was supposed to post yesterday, but something happened as I tried to include the cover. Or rather, nothing happened. No internet connection. Which, when you live rurally and have the same company providing your TV, telephone, and Internet, means you have no connection with the outside world. So, I thought I just needed to reboot the system—something I have to do every other day. I sought out the box unplugged, replugged, then waited half an hour… Nothing. Huh. Just to check whether anyone else was in the same boat (and not at all because I wanted a cup of joe with my dd after all my frustrations), I headed to her place across the street. She had no connection either and had been WTFing for an hour, too.

When her cop hubby came home, we found out that every business and residence in the area using that same service was out as well. A construction crew had severed their fiber optic cable. And that’s technology for you. You’re dead without a backup solution. I did however get to bed super early because I was bored out of my mind.

And I’m rambling again. It’s 6AM, and I just checked connection. It’s back! So, I had to vent before I hit PUBLISH! 🙂

This book’s coming next Tuesday! I wrote it when I was sick as a dog, which somehow translates to “I wrote nothing but sex.” If you love a paranormal where a satyr (horse-man) and a jinn take a witch for a mate, you know this one is full of kink and a naughty ménage.

Harvest Moon

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives.

Five witches…Too many demons to count…

Radha’s sister witches become concerned when her health begins to fail. Her sleep is never restful, but they are unable to pinpoint what is wrong.

Khan, a jinn who’s been tasked to serve as her guardian, has watched her restless sleep and believes he knows the answer. Her dreams may be haunted by a demon set on draining her of power. As much as Khan loathes the idea, he seeks an old enemy, a vanir, whose magic should allow him to enter Radha’s nightmares to slay the Mare, an enemy bent on taking advantage of Radha’s vulnerability to make her his own.

Until the vanir arrives, Khan and the satyr who is her other guardian must keep her safe—even from their own lustful natures.

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Excerpt

The door opened behind her, and she turned with a smile. Only it wasn’t Ali.

Nikon gave her a wink. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

“I’m not dis—”

He cut her off with a quick rise of his brows.

Radha rolled her eyes. “I’m feeling a little restless.”

“If you like, we can walk into the village. We need to restock the refrigerator. We need more meat.”

“I thought horses were herbivores,” she teased, knowing his love of beef.

“Only half horse, here.”

Radha gave a glance in the mirror, decided the long work apron she wore over her wrap-around sari skirt would have to do, and grabbed a large tote as she headed toward the door.

Nikon held it open but stared down at her feet.

“What?” she said, staring at her toes. “I’m earthing.”

“As much as you witches like to be barefoot, it’s a wonder you don’t all have calluses as thick as hooves. Or how you don’t find every pebble in your path. And it’s October.”

She slipped past him and skipped down the porch stairs to the grass, chuckling softly. “October in the bayou isn’t that cold. Besides, the Goddess protects us. Without shoes, our feet connect more directly with her. It gives us a recharge.”

His long legs brought him quickly to her side. “Have you ever actually talked to her? Or seen her?”

“I’ve heard her. Not as clearly as I hear your voice, but like an echo inside my head. And I feel her when I stand in the moonlight.”

She gave him a curious sideways glance. Nikon really was a handsome man. Bright glints of red and gold shone in his brown hair. His hazel eyes were more green than brown. With a rugged body and square chin, he looked the part of a guardian. Her guardian. Why hadn’t she experienced more of an attraction for him? Her life would be a lot less complicated with someone like him rather than her tricky jinn. “Do you plan to stay here in Bonne Nuit, long-term?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I like working for Vindlér Construction. Ethan’s a fair boss, and he encourages his employees to move up. I hope to run my own crew someday.”

So, he had ambition. “Where are you from, originally?”

He grinned. “Kentucky,” he said. “I was raised on a farm. Not some little operation. Our horse clan owned a huge tract of land, a grant from some governor when Kentucky was being settled, so we were free to be ourselves, hidden away.”

“Why did you leave?”

He grimaced and glanced up at the sunlight peeking through the tree branches. Many trees were already losing their leaves. “Wasn’t by choice. The council demanded more tribute. More than we could sustain. So, we disbanded quickly, before they had a chance to claim a portion of the proceeds from the sale of the land. Every family took its cut and fled. My father moved us to Oklahoma. When Katrina hit, I was looking for work and saw that Vindlér was hiring more people to expand their operations during the cleanup. That’s how I got here,” he said, flashing her a toothy smile.

“Did you know Ethan was Other?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Not until he shook my hand and gave me a quick flash of his troll eyes.”

She nodded. “A human would have thought it was a trick of the light.”

“Ethan had a knack for finding those of us who were living outside of council control, even when we were doing our best to blend in.”

A sudden cool wind sifted through the trees, and Radha was glad of the three-quarter sleeved shirt she wore beneath the apron. The wind blew again, a little harder this time, and she felt something drift across her arm, like a fingertip, only she was standing away from Nikon.

Nikon frowned and lifted his nose, scenting the air. “Something’s wrong.”

“I feel it, too,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter.

“Hope you can ride,” he muttered then tore off his shirt, kicked away his boots, and dragged down his jeans. Before she had a chance to think about the fact he wore no underwear, he shook his body and transformed.

She’d forgotten how large he was in his satyr’s skin. He reached out a hand, and she let him swing her up onto his long horse’s back. Then she scooted toward his torso and slipped her arms around him, holding tight.

Nikon made a sound like a loud whinny and charged down the darkening path toward Bonne Nuit.

They skirted the village, keeping to the trees so the humans wouldn’t see them. Unfortunately, they didn’t count on passing Gus Hearn, the local ferryman, who sat high in his deer stand in the woods.

When they were hidden again by brush, they heard cussing and a crash behind them, and then more cussing as he shouted to himself, or into a phone.

“They’ll think he drank a little too much of Ole Winnie’s hooch,” Nikon muttered, sounding not a bit out of breath although he galloped like a racehorse.

They passed the trail leading to the bed & breakfast, and Radha didn’t say a word, knowing he was likely heading straight for Vindlér, where there would be less chance a human might see them. She held on, her knees gripping his sides, her arms tucked under his, and her palms clutching his chest.

“I don’t feel it anymore,” she shouted. When the fear dissipated, another emotion rose, bringing with it some very confusing sensations—like the way her breasts tingled as they rocked against his back, and how the coarse hair on his horse’s body abraded her inner thighs.

“I don’t feel it anymore, either,” he said. “But I’m not taking the risk. I promised I’d protect you.”

His pace didn’t slow until they entered the clearing. To the left was the large oak, the witches’ sacred tree. To the right stood the building that was still partially under construction because they kept expanding.

Before they came to a halt in front of the steps leading into the building, men flowed from the sides of the building and through the front door.

Ali and Ethan raced toward them, Ali extending his arms to catch her when she unwound her arms from the satyr’s torso and dropped.

“Was there trouble?” Ethan barked out.

“We were walking to town,” Nikon said, his chest billowing. “The air grew suddenly cold, and both of us felt a presence.”

Ali hugged Radha against his chest. “You did right bringing her here.”

“Were you seen?” Ethan asked.

Nikon grimaced. “By Gus Hearn at his deer stand.”

“Then I think we’re safe,” Ethan drawled, aware of the ferryman’s penchant for booze. “Hit the locker room and get changed.”

Radha glanced to the side to see Nikon shake. A millisecond later, he stood nude in his human flesh and walked up the steps—after giving her a wink, because he’d caught her staring at him.

Ali tucked a finger under her chin, raising her face. “Did you enjoy your ride?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing.

Thank you for inviting me to write a guest blog.

In 1915, my grandfather and his brother enlisted with the Australian Imperial Forces and set sail for what so many believed would be the adventure of a lifetime. Teach the Germans a lesson and be home by Christmas. For the next three years they were involved in horrific battles on the Western Front – Amiens, Fromelles and Villiers Bretonneux to name a few. Both came home but were never the same men again.

In 2015, I joined an Anzacs on the Western Front tour, visiting those battlefields. Looking at the lovely towns and villages it was hard to imagine the horrors of that war until our guide held up enlarged photos of blackened, treeless wastelands torn apart by shelling and littered with bodies of men and horses. Visiting the immaculately kept Commonwealth War Graves and memorials was humbling. Thousands of graves of young men who never came home. Particularly sad was the inscription on so many headstones – “Known Only to God”. I could only assume their bodies were unrecognizable and their identity discs destroyed or buried in the mud or blown elsewhere. When our guide told us the huge numbers of deaths in each battle, it brought home the utter waste of that war and how awful the task would have been identifying and recording deaths and injuries on their service records.

After the tour ended, I got to wondering if it was possible for a soldier to swap identity discs with another who had been killed in battle. In those days, war service records were hand-written with basic personal descriptions – name, date of birth, place of birth, marital status, nationality, religion, height, weight and colouring. Curiosity grew to a real need to know because I was sure it would have happened — a soldier suffering shock and wanting to escape or desperate to make a new life somewhere else. As a historical fiction author, I believe we must research the era of our story to provide an authentic as possible background. We can’t throw our characters headfirst into history and hope for the best. So, I contacted London’s Imperial War Museum and the Australian War Memorial in Canberra asking that question — were discs stolen or swapped. Both replied that it was possible, but the chance of discovery was very real and the penalties very harsh. Neither would confirm it did happen but that was good enough for me to begin my third book, The Proposition.

The Proposition

They met on the eve of battle. One enlisted to avoid prison, the other enlisted to avoid the money lenders. On the bloodied fields of France, Harry Connelly collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It’s a risk, a hanging offence, but it’s his only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs. Now Andrew, he’s just another face in post war London until a letter arrives with a proposition, plunging him into a nightmare of murder, family jealousy and greed. To survive he must live this lie without a mistake, until Lacey, the truth and the consequences.

Excerpt

“Excuse me, call of nature.”

The niggling coil of unease had been growing and now, as Andrew watched the dining room door close behind Elliot, his instincts were jabbing at him. His host had been charming and hospitable. Last night, after a delicious dinner at Browns Hotel, they’d touched on their family connection, unsure of what to say without offending the other. Elliot had twirled his glass between his fingers. “My grandparents made a lot of money from the textile industry, my father sold seventy percent of those businesses and invested in other profitable enterprises. To put it simply, he was a very astute, successful businessman, but I’m afraid he was not a good husband and father. He cared little for us and it distresses me that he cared even less for you and your mother.”

Today, Elliot had proudly introduced him to his pride and joy, a dark grey Austin-20hp and they’d motored smoothly out of London and onto the soft Essex countryside. When they’d stopped at Thaxted’s Swan Inn for lunch, Elliot had commented, “Every spare acre in Essex has been growing vegetables, doing their bit for the war effort and rationing.” When they continued on to Saffron Walden, he’d pointed to his left, “Railway station, a branch line from Audley End. Made a big difference to this town.” They’d stopped briefly in High Street, then through the marketplace, bumping over cobblestones to a wider road and finally stopping at the entrance of a large Victorian house. He’d been shown to his room overlooking the rear of the house with its garden rows of vegetables.

Elliot had apologised again, business to attend to and please make himself at home. Not used to the substantial meals, he’d slept until five pm. At seven pm, he’d joined Elliot in the dining room where silver serving dishes containing roast beef, baked potatoes and green vegetables sat on spirit warmers. “Very informal this evening,” Elliot had said breezily. “I asked my daily help to prepare something easy for us, so please, help yourself.” The only time his host’s friendliness disappeared was when the daily help tapped on the door to tell him she’d answered the phone and left the message on the phone pad. Something was very wrong, or perhaps he was too jumpy from living on this tight rope of lies.

The door opened again. “Much more comfortable,” Elliot grinned. “More wine?”

“No thank you, I might not be able to climb the stairs, but I must thank you for another very pleasant evening.”

Elliot’s grin disappeared. “It’s time to discuss the business proposition which will give us both what we want.”

“I confess I was intrigued when I received your letter,” Andrew replied guardedly.

“You will perform a service and if that service is completed satisfactorily, I will pay you three hundred pounds and pay your outstanding debts.”

Andrew went perfectly still. “Perform a service?”

“You will impregnate the woman I married.”

About the Author

Jan Selbourne grew up in Melbourne, Australia. Her love of literature and history began as soon as she could hold a pen. Her career started in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting then a working holiday in the UK brought the history to life. Now retired, Jan can indulge her love of writing and travel. She has two children and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

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janselbourne@gmail.com

This is a pic from one of my favorite Halloween memories! My family takes their costumes seriously!

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accompany the kids tonight when they go trick-or-treating. 🙁 I’m fighting a horrible cough that’s making my back and ribs hurt like hell. If you all partake, I hope you have fun! Even if it’s only to rave over the kids’ costumes when they come to your door for candy!

Happy Halloween! ~DD

Although it has been decades since I left India, cricket still has a place in my heart. So baseball was a natural transition. I did court football once (the one they play in Europe) but I love baseball. Hence, my hero, Rafael Henley, is a ball player. He had to be a pitcher because the body mechanics involved fascinates me. Karma Deepika Huntington is an independent woman and my books all feature strong female characters.

Invariably, a lot of food is featured in my books. People are always getting together and making a meal. It is such a basic need and necessity. Rafael Henley has everything he has ever wanted. Except for that one thing. He thought he had it but lost it. Karma is not his type at all, fiercely independent and self-sufficient. Opposites do attract, they just have to have the right environment to blossom. My protagonists wear many hats. Just to name a few, Rafael is a father, a baseball pitcher, a chef and an avid reader; Karma is a sports writer, a foodie who likes to make pizza from scratch, a loving daughter and a writer.

I’d just finished another book set in Bollywood and New York and wanted a change, so I set Karma’s Slow Burn in an undefined city on the shores of a lake. There is a river, the St. Lawrence, which is less conspicuous. I see Lake Ontario every day and every day I’m struck by how big it is. How it seems to reflect my moods. Like today, on this mild autumn Halloween day, the sun has decorated it with golden sprinkles, lifting my almost blue mood to a bright red.

Karma’s Slow Burn

Karma’s Slow Burn, promo price of $1.99 on pre-order
until date of release on 1 Feb 2020.
Buy Links:
www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07ZJSZD5X
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/957769

Sportswriter Karma Huntington is going to hit Rafael Henley, star pitcher for the Sliders, hard to avenge her husband’s death. Rafael cannot ignore the chemistry between them and decides a one-night stand is in order. Karma agrees. Just to get that itch off. But once they get into each other’s pants, things get complicated. Revenge and guilt take a back seat with sizzling chemistry in control. Rafael likes willowy blondes and women who don’t look to him as their protector. Yet here is, lusting after the complete opposite: petite, raven-haired, Karma with a rose tat running up her neck. Can Rafael overcome the dark secret he hides and give in to what his heart wants? Will Karma finally admit she needs Rafael?

Excerpt Karma’s Slow Burn

When she finished the article, Karma called an Uber, packed her stuff and left the bar to wait for her ride. It was a dark evening, thick and heavy clouds hanging from the sky. Karma could sense a thunderstorm coming. The air was moist, filled with an earthy fragrance. She took a deep sniff. She half-turned when she heard gravel crunching behind her. A hairy arm snaked around her shoulders. Fumes of alcohol hit her nose. Coarse hair rubbed against her cheeks. He was huge. Her back rubbed against his soft belly. God! She hadn’t thought of him at all! Was this the way her beautiful evening was going to end? No fucking way!

Karma let her bag slide from her shoulder and her body went slack. With her head hung forward, she bent her elbows and jackknifed them into the softest part of his belly with all her might. It got a grunt from him and loosened his arm around her shoulder. She flipped around to face him, lifted her knee and jabbed it into his groin while slamming her ringed fingers on his nose.

With a groan, he dropped like a stone even as her legs gave way under her and she flopped to the ground, sharp pricks from the gravel biting into the heel of her palms. She didn’t feel the stones tear through the skin or the burning pain in her knuckles.

“I see you don’t need my help.” From far away, Rafael Henley’s voice drifted toward her in the night.
In the glow of the streetlamp, she saw him pick up her bag and walk toward her, the sound of his soles soft on the gravel. He set her bag on the ground beside her.

“You okay, Karma?” The concern in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

Dammit!

Words refused to pass her lips. He came closer and bent down to her level. He took one of her hands in his. She winced and he frowned. Reaching forward, he put his arms came around her and lifted her to her feet. She stumbled against him then stilled as he brought her to his chest.

“You’re safe now, Karma. You made sure of that.”

She leaned her head on his chest, her hair screening her face and her hands trembling. Her blood pounded so hard in her ears and chest, she swayed on unsteady legs. His arms tightened around her. She wanted to say something but her lips were still locked. All she could do was fold her body into the comfort of his embrace and breathe in his clean smell, trying to erase all memory of the stink of the other man.

He was a solid wall against her wobbly legs. Her shaking body had him bend down and hook an arm around her knees. Not a word of protest crossed her lips. He carried her to his SUV and opened the door. He settled her in the seat, buckling her in.

“Wait, no. Have an Uber.” She managed to croak the words out.

“What kind of car?”

“White Camry.”

“I see him coming around the corner. I’ll let him know you don’t need the ride. I’ll take you home.”

Karma did not utter a peep of protest. For once, she let someone decide for her. When he got in the driver’s seat, he paused.

“Let me see your hands.” He switched the interior lights on. She refused to comply. He leaned over, grabbed them and turned them over. She sucked in a breath. “A few scratches and some bruising on the knuckles. Rewards of a warrior.” He nudged her chin up with a finger and looked into her eyes. She slapped his finger away. “And we’re back.”

She hated to show him her vulnerable side. She did not need a knight in shining armor. But she had needed his embrace. And that was it. Nothing more.

Fireflies in the Night

Literary Fiction, winner of the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Award; Best Books of 2016 by Kirkus Reviews; Starred Kirkus Review; Finalist Foreword Reviews Indie Fiction Award. A historical, coming-of-age novel.

Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01HZS28CW

About the Author

Nalini Warriar dreamed of being a writer then forgot the dream for a bit as she went on to garner a Ph.D in Molecular Biology. While in her lab, the dream came back and hit her on the head and she’s never looked back writing through her years as a scientist. After more than a decade in cancer research, Nalini returned to the creative part of her soul and now devotes her time to dreaming up the perfect alpha male and feisty woman to appear in her books. Her novel, Fireflies in the Night, was a Foreword Reviews Fab Award finalist and won the Next Generation Indie Book Award in 2017. Kirkus Reviews awarded Fireflies in the Night a starred review and named it Best Books of 2016. Karma’s Slow Burn, a contemporary romance will be released in February 2020. She’s working on her next romance, a Crenshaw Brothers book, to be released in 2020. She lives in Ontario, Canada.

Author Links:
www.facebook.com/authornaliniwarriar
www.amazon.com/author/naliniwarriar
Twitter: @nwarriar

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Do you love Halloween? I do, I do, I do. In the UK, where I live, a lot of people complain about it. “What is this American invention that has crossed the Atlantic and is spreading its commercialized tentacles everywhere, etc.” What those good folk don’t realize is that it’s all our fault. Yes, we British actually invented Halloween. Possibly in cooperation with the Irish.

It started with the pagans (doesn’t it always?). In Ireland, and possibly in parts of Britain, too, Halloween was called Samhain. In my mother’s homeland, Wales, it was Nos Calan Gaf, Winter’s Eve. And the Saxons called it Blood Monat, the month of blood. It was a festival that marked the arrival of winter. A time of magic and danger, when the barrier between this world and the Otherworld became so thin that gods and monsters could cross into our universe and walk among humans. On that night, people who had been enchanted and turned into animals could regain their human form, until dawn.

Later, the Catholic Church adopted the feast and made it into a festival of the dead. 1 November was the day of All Hallows, All Souls. So the day before became All Hallows’ Eve — Halloween. Still a time of danger and magic. Poor people went round to the houses of rich people and offered to pray for their souls in return for food. Rich people would bake special cakes to give out, called “soul cakes”. The practice was called “souling”. Irish immigrants took it to the US where it became trick o’treating.

So the monsters are still with us, though usually in the form of little kids wandering the streets in costume. Normal rules are still suspended — it’s the only night in the year when we positively encourage our children to accept sweets from strangers.

It’s also a perfect time to read ghost stories and paranormal tales. I would like to suggest two of them, which have been inspired by Halloween and the old Celtic myths that accompanied it.

MYSTIC DESIRE is a collection of brand new paranormal romance stories by talented BVS authors. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2
It includes stories about hot warlocks, Native American dream catchers, mystical jewelry, lustful vampires, a grumpy leprechaun, a ghostly terrier, a zombie apocalypse and things that go bump and ooh! in the night. There is something for everyone in this anthology!

MUSIC FOR A MERMAN, on pre-order at the special promo price of $0.99 until the release date of 1 November, is Book 2 in the Sea of Love series, a fantasy romance trilogy inspired by Welsh folk tales. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/mdG7Bw

Rob Regor knew that humans were trouble. All the shape shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands knew it. And human women were double trouble… especially when they were lying on the road in front of a digger.

Can Rob, merman and rookie cop, fight his attraction to the sexy eco-warrior Charlie? Can Charlie open up her heart to Rob, when a secret buried in her past surfaces and changes her completely?

Read below an extract from The Sweetest Magic of All, my story in the Mystic Desire anthology…

Saffy knelt on the grass and opened the book of spells. Book was a strong word for the worn diary in which Auntie May had recorded her enchantments, but all witches had books of spells. So she’d call it a book, just as she called herself a witch.

Though she was only an apprentice. A chill crept over her skin, as if a shadow had blotted out the summer sun. She stared hard at the spidery handwriting, but all she could see was the thin body of her aunt, almost swallowed up by the tubes and machines that were keeping her alive. Only one thing could help her now, the magical amulet that she’d once worn around her neck. The amulet had vanished a week ago, on the day she’d had a stroke, and they’d rushed her to the hospital in Swansea. No one had been able to find it since.

Cold enveloped Saffy and seeped into her limbs. The amulet was her aunt’s last hope. She had to find it. Now.

She took a deep breath. The familiar smells of the seaside meadow streamed into her nose, pushing back the icy fear that dug its claws into her flesh. Salt on the wind. Wildflowers. Good, rich earth, softened by the morning dew. “I can do this,” she said.

She placed the book on the grass and waved her hands above it, the way her aunt had shown her. Auntie May had made magic look so easy. Saffy had never managed to cast a spell on her own, but today she had to try, and succeed. She kept breathing, in and out, to keep herself calm. The spell to find lost objects was supposed to be easy. And this meadow was a special place, where the ancient magic of the world flowed fast and strong. Surely the spell would succeed here.

Saffy laid her hands in the grass, on either side of the yellowed pages. A ladybird landed on her index finger and walked down onto the book, as if to encourage her. She concentrated. All her life seemed to pour into the breath she was taking… into her tongue as it formed the words.

“Bound and binding
Binding, bound
See the sight
Hear the sound
What was lost
Now is found.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the vision that would show her where the lost amulet was. All she saw was the red light of the sun, shining through her lids. She opened her eyes. There was only the meadow, frothy with oxeye daisies, and the turquoise dome of the sky. A perfect midsummer day, mocking her and her pathetic attempts at magic. Bitter dismay surged, burning her throat and the back of her eyes. She let out a strangled cry. “Fuck and triple fuck!”

“What have you lost?”

The male voice, behind her, made her jump. She turned. A man, wrapped in a black coat, was staring at her, just a few feet away. A warm tide of embarrassment rose from her neck to her cheeks. He must have heard her say the spell. He’d think she was nuts.

Busy Bee, here! You know, when I was in first grade, the summer reading program at the air base’s library was called the Busy Bees… Don’t know why that popped into my head. I was very competitive and read a ton of books. Think my favorite was about a Siamese cat named Ping…

Anyways, here’s a puzzle. It’s a huge hint about what’s coming your way next week! Love shapeshifters, witches, and things that go bump in the night? Yeah, this is a sexy one, y’all!