The Alchemy Initiative—a doomed scientist’s failed attempt to harvest human souls from the afterlife and bind them to complex machines—has been reinitiated. But it doesn’t take long to discover why the program responsible for making Ethan Remington the ultimate weapon was shut down when the spirit of the highly unstable and murderous Agent Drekker goes rogue, embarking on a sinister rampage in an attempt to claim the ultimate prize. That prize is Ethan—everything that Ethan has and everyone who he loves. No one is safe, especially young Hogan who has begun to display some frightening and incredible abilities. To stop this insatiable evil, Ethan may have to forfeit his humanity…and even his soul.
About the Author
Born and raised in a small sunny town in South Carolina, Eden finds thunderstorms to be inspiring. There are few things she loves more (except maybe cake) than curling up with a good book on a rainy day, often reading into the wee hours of morning when something really grabs her. Rather than being backed into a genre corner, Eden loves to blend elements of romance, fantasy, sci-fi, comedy, action, mystery and adventure into her novels.
Romance, humour and not just one happy-ever-after. A deliciously romantic and giggling read about love, loss and starting again by the Amazon Top 100 best-selling Author S J Crabb
My Kids live in Cyber Space and my mother lives in Cloud Cuckoo land. Me – I live in denial.
Somehow, I’ve got to the stage in life where my teenagers obviously hate me, my mother abandons me for exciting adventures and my ex-husband is getting re-married.
I am left gazing lustfully at just about any fit guy in an HRT induced belief that they would be attracted to me.
Is this really what I’ve become?
Have I reached the point in life where I should give up and accept my fate?
The trouble is, I always wanted more from life and now it appears to be on fast-forward.
So, it’s decision time. Do I just accept my lot with resignation and gratitude? Or do I take control and embrace the unknown?
What would you do?
Life begins at the end of your comfort zone. Follow Amanda’s path to re-discover the girl she once was before the woman she became took over.
About SJ Crabb
S J Crabb lives in the UK in Surrey and when she is not writing she likes to walk her dog and dream about playing guitar in a rock band. All of her books are Romantic Novels but switch between different genres depending on what is in her head at the time. From coming of age to comedy or suspense you should find something to suit your taste.
Lindsay Roselle’s biggest worry should have been what to wear under her gown at her college graduation, not how she was going to survive the night as a newly turned vampire. After catching the attention of the Rogue, a vampire out to destroy the Vampire Nation, Lindsay was forced to undergo the change herself. Convinced she’s fated for an end worse than death, Lindsay had all but given up until she’s rescued…by the last person she ever expected to see again.
Kayden Paris wasn’t anything like the playboy Lindsay remembered from the night they shared together…and she wouldn’t have forgotten the fangs. Kayden is the heir to his vampire clan and son of the mightiest warrior in the Vampire Nation, but even he may not be able to heal all the wounds Lindsay suffered at the hands of the Rogue.
In a life fraught with secrets, lies, and deadly enemies, Lindsay must first learn to trust herself in order to survive.
About Cat Miller
Cat Miller is the bestselling author of the Forbidden Bond Novels, Lucky Devil Series, and the New York Times bestselling Summer Fire Anthology. An avid reader of all genre of romantic fiction, Cat didn’t start writing until one of her daughters dared her to give it a try, and she never looked back.
On the verge of her long-sought career breakthrough, singer Isbel Vargas has just completed the performance of a lifetime when a kidnapper demands a ransom for her father. Thanks to his car theft and antiquities operation, her father will be arrested if she involves the Acapulco police. Who can she turn to?
Isbel’s ex-boyfriend, Cane Mullins, is once again south of the border, purportedly tracking down his beloved Camaro, a vintage street rod stolen years before by her father. Cane gets more than he bargains for, though, when he again crosses paths with the exquisite singer. Chased at high speed through the Sierra Madres, the former lovers search for Isbel’s father and a priceless sword he has hidden away, the sole surviving Aztec maquahuitl, while sparks fly and passion reignites. But can Isbel trust Cane again…with her heart?
from Chapter One
Acapulco, Mexico, 2008
“Isbel.” Clap. Clap. Clap.
“ISBEL!” Clap. Clap. Clap.
“ISBEL!” CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
Isbel laughed and danced to center stage in rhythm with the clapping. Three spotlights warmed her skin as her white sequined dress glistened and twinkled in reply. Spinning slowly, she loosened the clips holding her long black hair and let it tumble onto her shoulders.
“I’m Isbel Vargas,” she murmured into the mike. The theater erupted. “I hope you loved your evening in Paradise. I know I did.”
An understatement. Finally. She was home.
Wolf whistles faded and shouts of encouragement fell silent as she began to sing again, a final serenade for the perfect audience.
Her voice soared.
At the end of the song, she succumbed to the joy claiming her soul. This was what she was meant to do. The music swelled into a crescendo as Isbel let tears stream down her face. Lighter flames and cell phone screens glowed in the surrounding galaxy of fans. Isbel blew kisses and waved and then stepped back to catch hands with Hudson and Octavio as they lined up to bow together.
Backstage, goose bumps prickled her arms as Isbel palmed the tears from her cheeks. Her mountain of a drummer, Octavio, laughed and lifted her off her feet to spin her around. She looked over his shoulder and stiffened as he lowered her. Her feet touched down.
He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be. She’d banished him forever. Yet there he stood, an unwelcome specter from her past.
Hurricane. It really was him.
He said quietly, “You were sensational, Isabella. Better than I remembered.” His voice hadn’t changed. Smooth as a frosty beer on a salt-flats day, but quiet and low, taking its own sweet time to roll out each syllable.
Apparently Cane’s taste in clothing hadn’t changed either. A vivid yellow and green Hawaiian shirt topped new khakis and work boots. He looked strong and tan and unfairly handsome. Flashing the same stunning white smile as he pushed his red baseball cap to the back of his head, he freed more of his wavy dark hair. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he suddenly grabbed the brim of the cap and swept it low in a courtly bow.
“Guess I should call you Isbel now, shouldn’t I? Like everyone else does. Well, whoever you are, you could stop the Super Bowl in that dress.”
Isbel remembered to breathe.
“Hurricane Mullins,” she said softly, holding tight to her desire to march over and slap him. “The only thing you can call me is good-bye.”
Was it Hurricane who’d tailed her through traffic earlier in the day? Whoever it was rode a bright red crotch rocket. Funny how it matched Cane’s bright red cap. Definitely his style. Or more appropriately, lack of style. On top of that, only the band and hotel staff could get backstage. By facing her here, Hurricane thumbed his nose at all of them, at their pathetic security measures and semblance of control.
The hint of a smile on his face, he looked at the floor in front of her toes. Clearly, there wasn’t a contrite bone in his body as his gaze then swept up to relish every curve of her body. Amber flames ignited deep in his eyes. “Glad to see you haven’t lost that spitfire,” he said.
“Glad to see you’re enjoying the view,” she retorted. “Now get out of here. Or I’ll call security.”
Hurricane shrugged. “Okay by me. They have a couple of problem areas, and I can set them straight.”
“Look, Isabella. Isbel. I don’t want to fight. I came back down for the same reason I did the first time, when I took the job with your father.”
“What, did you actually find your precious car?”
Flipping his cap around in his hands, he shrugged and said, “Not yet. But there’s a new lead on the Camaro. If I get it back and your father did have something to do with it going missing, he might take the fall. Figured I could at least warn you.”
Isbel narrowed her eyes. “How big of you. Or are you just trying to find out where he is?”
Octavio leaned close to rest one hand on Isbel’s shoulder. “You okay, Isbel? Want me to get rid of this guy?”
Isbel hesitated. That would be the easy way out. At six foot four, Octavio stood a couple of inches taller than Cane and outweighed him by at least forty pounds. Cane looked tougher, though. Hardened. Like seasoned driftwood. She wondered if Octavio really could get rid of him if Cane fought back. But this was her battle, and she could handle Hurricane Mullins.
Isbel shook her head. “I’m fine, Tavio. Thanks. I’ll just be another minute.” He squeezed her shoulder gently but didn’t move. “Seriously. Go back over with the band. I’ll be right there.”
Octavio nodded slowly. He pointed at Cane. “I’m watching,” he said as he backed away.
Cane sighed and slipped his cap back onto his head. “I shouldn’t have even tried. You had nothing to do with it then, and you don’t now.”
“Nothing to do with it? You’re talking about my father!”
“Isabella, will you for God’s sake listen to me?!” He straightened to tower over her. “Just this once? Please? This time I want to talk about my family!”
Isbel clenched her jaw, trying to think of a jagged comeback. Drew a blank.
Hurricane hurried on. “I bought the Camaro with my brother. We decided to share the car but would hand it down to my kids or his—whoever had ’em first. We sweated blood rebuilding the damn thing. Had a blast, though. Always did, until those last few months.” Cane fell silent, gazed beyond Isbel at nothing. Then he said quietly, “Sky died in ’96, just after we finished restoring the car.” He cleared his throat, looked back at her. “I respected your decision, and I’ve stayed away, as you asked.”
“Cane. Your brother… You never…”
“Doesn’t matter. Not now.” He waved his hands between them, breaking their bond. “But even if it had been a clunker used for delivering pizzas, Mickey jacked it.”
“He said he didn’t steal it.”
“He pushed it through his chop shop.”
“You never proved that.”
“What if I would have?”
Isbel swallowed hard. At the sweet age of twenty it had been easy for her to blame Hurricane. Now, she knew better.
Her father wasn’t exactly honest, but the label “criminal” didn’t exactly fit him, either. But one thing she did know: she was absolutely furious that this all resurfaced today. Today, of all days, when she should be celebrating, Cane had to return.
“Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” Isbel said. “But you know, Hurricane, just like your nickname, every time you show up there’s a huge mess.”
“It’s not my nickname.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Well, stay out of my life. You don’t know anything about my father. Or me.”
“Isabella, I like your father. Always did.”
“Sure have a funny way of showing it.”
“I just want my car back.” Cramming his thumbs into his pants pockets, Cane inhaled raggedly. “And…it was…amazing to hear you sing again. There was a time when I thought I’d get to listen to you for the rest of my life.”
She turned her back on him, strode over to the refreshment table, and groped for a bottle of water. Twisting off the cap helped hide the tremor in her hands. She took a deep drink, nodded in reassurance at Octavio, who watched from the far end of the table, and then walked straight back to Cane. “Stay out of my life,” she said.
“I’d hoped that after all this time you would have cooled off and, when I finally explained why the Camaro is so important, that you could…well, that you would forgive me.”
She searched his eyes. Not a hint of insincerity. She understood better now. But forgiveness? It was too late. She couldn’t betray her badly-behaved father any more than Cane could betray the memory of his brother.
He nodded. Pulled a card from his pocket. “If you ever need me…”
About the Authors
Janet Fogg’s focus on writing began when she was CFO and Managing Principal of one of Colorado’s largest architectural firms. Fifteen writing awards later she resigned from the firm to follow the yellow brick road, and ten months after that signed a contract with The Wild Rose Press for her historical romance, Soliloquy, a HOLT Medallion Award of Merit winner.
Janet once participated in a successful rattlesnake hunt, has climbed two dozen of Colorado’s Fourteeners, was alternate on a winning trapshooting team, and recently received her motorcycle endorsement.
With husband Richard, Janet co-wrote Fogg in the Cockpit, one of five books nominated in 2012 by the Air Force Historical Foundation for best World War II book reviewed in Air Power History.
In 2016, Janet Fogg and Dave Jackson celebrated the release of their first book in a new adventure series for the young—and young at heart! In Misfortune Annie and the Locomotive Reaper, you’ll ride with Annabelle Fortune, an 1880s cowgirl tougher than Calamity Jane! Book Two, Misfortune Annie and the Voodoo Curse, will be released in late 2017.
In their newest collaboration, A Serenade to Die For, you’ll be introduced to a sultry singer, her hunky ex-boyfriend, his stolen hot rod, and the sole-surviving Aztec sword. (It ain’t over till the phat lady sings!)
Not your typical author, Dave Jackson started writing in his constant pursuit to become a renaissance man. Then he fell in love with the art form. Comedy remains one of his many passions and he writes and performs skits as well as stand-up. Also a songwriter and guitarist, Dave has composed over 300 musical titles. Settled now in Colorado, Dave is passionate about living life to the fullest with those he loves, especially his young son.
Molly Bell is an eleven-year old girl who used to be a whimsical, sporty type of a child with a zest for living. All that has been turned upside down by the untimely death of her cherished mother two years ago. To make matters worse, her father is getting remarried to a high-maintenance beauty that Molly seemingly has nothing in common with, and she comes with an annoying six-year old son, Henry, who finds a way to wreck everything in his path.
Molly can’t find anything about her new circumstances to be excited about, until her Aunt Joan tells her about the wishing well at Molly’s grandparents’ farm. According to Aunt Joan, every wish she ever made there came true. And it just so happens that Molly and Henry will be staying at the farm for a week while their parents are on their honeymoon. Molly is convinced if she could just find that wishing well, she could wish for her mom to come back to life and everything will be okay again.
But Molly is in for a few surprises, and more that a few hard lessons about being careful what you wish for when the consequences of Molly’s selfish desires wreak havoc on her entire family. Can Molly make things right again through the wishing well? Or will she need to find it within herself to bring back the joy in her life that has been missing all this time?
Molly was lying in bed, still as a mummy, star- ing up at the ceiling fan. The whirling of the fan and the rhythm of the ticking of the clock on the
wall should have lulled her to sleep hours ago. But sleep didn’t come easy when your mind buzzed as busy as a swarm of bees. As hard as she tried, Molly couldn’t get the thought of the wishing well out of her head.
What if Grandpa Cody’s wish didn’t come true because he didn’t believe hard enough? Didn’t Grandma Saige say that the power of a wish was be- lieving in it? What if Molly really believed as hard as she could, would it still be possible? The waiting drove her crazy. Too many questions remained un- answered. What did it look like? And why did her mom show it to her in a dream?
That was it. Molly had to find out. And now was as good a time as any, since she wouldn’t be getting any sleep anyhow.
Molly sat up, stiff and groggy, and pulled the cov- ers off of her. Luckily, the full moon outside cast a dull glow inside Aunt Joan’s room from the window. It gave Molly just enough light to find her way to her suitcase without turning on the bedroom light and risk waking anyone up.
What should she wear? Molly decided on jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. Even though it was most likely still warm and muggy out, she didn’t want the bugs pestering her. She fumbled her way through the suitcase and got dressed as quietly as possible. That was very hard to do in a mostly dark room.
But where were her sneakers? Molly’s heart sank. She had left them outside because they were muddy! Oh well, they were most likely still there. That was not a good enough reason for her to give up now.
Molly snuck the two pennies on the nightstand into her jeans pocket for safekeeping. She was ready, but not really. Molly was nervous. She didn’t yet have a plan. Oh, well, just go for it, she decided. What else was she going to do, sit up all night and think about it?
The first step would be to get out of the house undetected. Molly tiptoed to the bedroom door. She turned the knob ever so slightly. Phew, it wasn’t squeaky. Molly eased the door open and peered into the upstairs hallway.
All the other doors were closed. Molly paused to listen. It was noiseless, except for Molly’s breathing, which sounded too loud.
Molly put one foot out into the hallway to test and see if the floor was creaky. It was, a little. She imagined herself a burglar and inched across the side of the hallway, careful not to disturb any of the pictures on the wall. Her eyes adjusted to the dark- ness, but she could still see only about a foot in front of her at a time. Molly held her arms out to feel her way, relying on all her senses to maneuver down the hall.
The moonlight from the downstairs front win- dow illuminated the stairwell. She was worried about tumbling down and waking everyone up, ruin- ing her adventure. Not to mention hurting herself. So, like a fool, she sat down on the front step. And slowly, one by one, scooted down each step on her bottom until she safely reached the first floor.
Once she was downstairs, Molly looked up to make sure she was still alone. She was, and she sure felt like it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It felt really creepy. She fought against the urge to get back upstairs and tuck herself back into bed. Maybe this would be the re- solve that was needed to show the wishing well that she really did deserve to have her wish come true. Molly steeled herself and carried on.
She would need a light for outside. Molly remem- bered that Grandpa Cody had gotten a large, bright flashlight out of the pantry in the kitchen when the power had gone out during one of her visits.
Molly crept into the kitchen. The refrigerator buzzed. Funny, she had never noticed that sound before. The light from the clock display on the stove showed her the way to the pantry. Molly eased the door open. Everything inside looked the same, mostly cans and boxes. She took a breath to give herself patience. One impulsive move could send everything flying off the shelves and cause a ruckus.
She felt around the items on the pantry shelves, her fingertips guiding her from one thing to the next. Something felt like plastic. Molly carefully re- moved it and brought it close to her. It was a large container of ketchup. Disappointed, and not sure that she should bother to keep looking, she spotted a basket on the pantry floor. Molly knelt down and felt through it. Batteries, a radio maybe, and the flashlight!
With a sigh of relief and thanks, Molly grabbed the flashlight. As much as she wanted to turn it on for help, she knew she had to wait until she was far enough away. So she clutched it next to her body and snuck out the side kitchen door, being sure to shut the door slowly and quietly.
Thank goodness, Grandma Saige had left the outside light on next to the kitchen entrance. And there were Molly’s sneakers, placed neatly on the stoop. They had been carefully cleaned, shined up to a polish. Molly smiled. Grandma Saige must have done it.
Molly pulled on her shoes and breathed in the damp nighttime air. She noticed that far off into the distance, past the vegetable garden and the fields where she was headed, it was pitch black besides the moonlit glow way up in the sky.
It was so different than nighttime in her own neighborhood. At least there were streetlights there, homes all around giving a sense of not being utterly and completely alone. Here there was no such se- curity. It was just Molly, and the sound of bugs that couldn’t be seen.
Molly stood and walked briskly past the vegeta- ble garden. She strutted with a purpose, her arms around her waist for comfort, clutching the still un- lit flashlight. She was approaching the pathway be- tween two rows of cornfields. She would follow this narrow dirt path to the end of the corn, and then she should be close.
Molly’s concentration was broken by a rustling in the cornfield beside her. She froze, her heart screaming inside of her. It could be a coyote. Or a serial killer. What a fool she was!
Her hands trembling, she pressed the button of the flashlight to turn it on, and shone it in the di- rection of the unwelcome noise. “Who’s there?” she whispered loudly, sounding more like a scared little girl than she wanted to.
A shadowy shape emerged from the cornstalks. It moved low to the ground, creeping toward her.
Molly scolded herself for going outside all alone. What kind of trouble was headed her way?
About the Author
Bridget Geraghty lives in northern Illinois with her husband and three children. She taught elementary school for eight years before focusing on writing. It is her sincere hope that her stories inspire and uplift the minds and spirits of her young readers.