Tag Archives: PARANORMAL ROMANCE

Divine Justice Blitz

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The Divine Chronicles, Book 7

Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy

Date Published: July 18, 2022

Publisher: Winged J Press

A Prince must die.

Ryse and Avery Castille have no choice but to deliver the gods’
justice to Ashton Avondale. His list of treacheries grows daily. First, they
must find him. Their search for Ashton and his warehouses of demon-Olympian
hybrids takes them all over the globe. Thank the gods for a talented
teleporter, their key in winning the battle. They will face new foes, old
friends, and a world of chaos.

Hades has spoken. The god of the underworld wants what is his and he will
show no mercy if he does not get it.

Avery’s ability to absorb Olympian gifts is both her greatest weapon
and the biggest risk to their people. Her tendency to find trouble
guarantees that Ryse will have his hands full, not only with the
enemy—but with his wife. It’s up to Ryse, Avery, and their
ever-growing team of Elite warriors to track a traitor, save those who have
been taken, and prevent the rise of a demon army before Hades steps in. But
this is war, and no one will walk away unscathed.

Avery is the spark that started the fire.

When the final battle is fought, will her flames be their salvation or
their damnation?

Other Books in the The Divine Chronicles

 

Divine Justice paperback

 

Divine Awakening

The Divine Chronicles, Book One

 

Divine Destiny

The Divine Chronicles, Book Two

 

Divine Judgment

The Divine Chronicles, Book Three

 

Divine Encounter

The Divine Chronicles, Book Four

 

Divine Pursuit

The Divine Chronicles, Book Five

 

Divine Deception

The Divine Chronicles, Book Six

 

AMAZON

 

About the Author

JoAnna Grace

 JoAnna Grace lives in a world of alpha males and strong females where true
love conquers all—at least in her books! From the time she started
holding a crayon she began to create magical worlds. Living in the real
world was never an option. A proud indie, she has published over a dozen
novels including The Divine Chronicles series, The Blake Pride series,
Riverview Romances, and more. This writer loves to read contemporary,
paranormal, and urban fantasy romance novels.

JoAnna’s tales are spun at her home in East Texas where she lives
with her Prince Charming, three kids, and a few dogs and cats. When not
hiding behind the computer screen chugging coffee, you can find her having
fun with family and friends, singing, camping, or managing multiple
businesses.

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Bee and Harp Teaser Tuesday

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Paranormal Romance, LGBTQ

Date Published: July 15, 2022

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dublin Museum Curator Bee McBride’s research tour is interrupted by a
shady stranger with a broken harp — and a broken heart.

When Bee, the stranger, and the harp are kidnapped by art thieves, Bee
discovers the dusty instrument is the legendary magic harp of the ancient
Celtic god Dagda.

Can her buzzing fervor find a way to unlock the harp’s music and the
stranger’s ardor before Midsummer Night?

 

 

Bee and Harp paperback

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2022 Siondalin O’Craig

 

July 1

Kevin O’Donnell called the place where he’d been resting his
head these last couple of years the Marble Arches, after the caves in
Fermanagh. These caves under FDR Drive weren’t etched into limestone,
however; their side walls were crumbling concrete from an early era of
Manhattan development. Bits of shell and round stone sloughed off onto the
floor each time he brushed by it. The supporting pillars were concrete of a
more modern vintage, but in the same rotted condition, stained by runoff
from the road above, broken flakes exposing lines of rusted rebar.

The back wall was raw Manhattan bedrock, and in this heat it had the
advantage of staying cool, and while the drought was doing murderous damage
elsewhere, it meant the floor of the Marble Arches stayed blessedly dry for
the moment. Sitting with his back against the bedrock, Kevin could look out
across the docks and over the East River to Brooklyn, watching the yachts,
the tour boats, and the giant freighters that taunted him with their ability
to leave this place and bring their sailors back to homes and families far
away.

* * *

For ten days, Kevin had been trying to coax sound from the harp. He sat
with its base tucked between his legs, cushioned by the neatly folded wrap
of linen, its soundboard held tight to his chest in a lover’s embrace.
Sometimes his fingers floated silently over the strings. Other times he just
held it close, feeling energy flowing from it into his body.

Kevin cleaned the wood slowly, carefully, using a bandanna he found in the
gutter, and the water from a dozen half-full plastic water bottles he pulled
from garbage cans. Rich carving emerged from the grime. Clasped in the
dragon’s claws were two large roses, so lifelike that it appeared
fresh drops of dew spangled their petals. The roses were bundled with oak
leaves, and acorns tumbled down the pillar.

“Daur da Bláo,” Kevin whispered. The Oak of Two
Blossoms.

He had stopped in at the sailor’s mission on the Bowery and begged a
pair of nail clippers. He clipped his ragged nails straight across, slightly
longer than the tips of his fingers. Plucking the strings of an ancient wire
frame harp was done with the fingernails.

He found enough change on the street to buy a cup of tea at the coffee shop
across from the Strand bookshop and used the foaming pink soap in their
restroom to scrub the layers of grime from his hands. He pumped more soap
into his empty paper teacup and took it back to the Marble Arches. He bathed
the wire strings in the soap and let them soak, then poured clean water over
them and rubbed them down with the bandana.

He’d been right. The corr, or pinboard, was brass, embossed with
four-stranded knotwork. The tuning pins were also brass, burnished to a
sheen, their leaf-shaped heads inset with silver triskeles. But the strings
themselves were pure gold. The harp of legends, he thought. This can’t
be real
.

His perch under the roadway suddenly felt confining, stifling. He wrapped
the harp and walked out onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was burning hot
and blindingly white, but the air over the East River was stirring. The
tourist crowd was subdued in the heat, and the joggers who usually occupied
a steady lane of the walkway were completely absent.

He found an unoccupied bench in the shadow of the bridge’s dark
limestone towers. He wrapped his arms around the harp. A breeze wove between
the strings, and he thought he heard a faint, high-pitched hum. He pressed
his ear to the frame and listened. Yes, there. So fragile. So distant. But
the harp did have a voice, inside the soundbox. The harp was alive.

He put his fingers to the strings, his left hand reaching out to the high
strings nestled in the point of the frame, his right hand over his thighs,
spread over the bass strings. The hand position was the opposite of that on
modern harps, but this was the way frame harp playing was depicted in the
ancient carvings and medieval manuscripts, and so it was how frame harps
continue to be played by the small handful of people in the world who had
any familiarity with them.

He bent his head as if in prayer, pressed close against the soundboard. He
plucked a string with the middle finger of his right hand, then with the
ring finger, silently playing the pick-up notes to Pretty Maid Milking a
Cow
. The lyrics had emerged in the nineteenth century, but the origins of
the hauntingly poignant harp tune underneath the ballad was lost in
antiquity.

His hands bloomed into motion, the ghost of the soundless tune echoing in
his mind. A living vine of energy began to grow between his body and the
ancient harp, its gold strings glittering.

The notes in his mind tangled with the breeze rising from the water, and
swirled into visual images. A woman’s hands, her wrists, her forearms
bare, in dim light, glistening with water. Her shoulders, rising from a dark
lake. A curve of hip, strong legs, bare feet on a stony shore. Drying her
auburn hair. Looking at him with soft brown eyes. Eyes that were full of
warmth. Eyes that were full of love. Full of desire.

He stopped and straightened his spine, hands reaching to damp the strings
by habit, though they had yet to make a noise. He felt a current coursing
through his body, from his fingertips up through the long disused muscles of
his forearms, muscles that used to pop with sinewy definition when he played
ten hours a day. The power ran down his spine and through the long lean
muscles of his legs, taut from walking countless miles of lonely
sidewalks.

Kevin realized, as if he were watching himself from a distance, that his
cock was pressed rigidly against the harp. He froze, motionless, as if his
erection were a wild bird that he did not want to frighten. He took his
hands away from the harp, resting them on his thighs. His body came back to
the bench on the Brooklyn Bridge, but something inside of him had
changed.

I am Kevin O’Donnell, he thought. Kevin O’Donnell, the
harper
.

About the Author

Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on an
autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey, turn
the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the mountains
of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the wheel of the
year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays a wicked
Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at
siondalinocraig@gmail.com to sign up for her newsletter.

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Salted Caramel Bliss with a Wedding Kiss Blitz

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One Scoop or Two Series – Standalone

Paranormal Romance

Date Published:  August 24, 2022

Publisher:  The Wild Rose Press

 

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Roman Briggs built a life for himself in Siren’s Cove. He restored
the Sugar Cones Ice Cream Parlor and turned it into a popular stop along the
boardwalk. He has everything he needs until a certain blue-eyed woman
wanders back into his life.

Seer and witch Peyton Woods isn’t sure why her latest visions feature
a man and boy she’s never met. Determined to find out, she casts a
spell that leads her to a small beach town in Maine and, to her utter
surprise, the man who broke her heart eight years earlier.

Peyton’s left with one question. Why didn’t her magic show her him?

Salted Caramel Bliss with a Wedding Kiss tablet

About the Author

Cherie Colyer

Professional network technician by day, novelist by night, Cherie lives a
quiet life in the Chicago suburbs with her charming husband. She has four
amazing sons who she loves dearly. Cherie magically weaves together stories
with a paranormal twist. She’s the author of the Embrace series,
Challenging Destiny, Damned When I Didn’t, and Friends to the End. She
waltzed into the adult novel world with Merry Little Wishing Spritz.
She’s delighted to be back with Salted Caramel Bliss with a Wedding
Kiss.

 

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The Cave of Ruin Arsa Blitz

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The Cross of Ciaran, Book 3

Paranormal Romance

Date Published: 05-25-2022

 

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Ciarán Donnelly is ready to leave his past behind and concentrate on
his new life, but his past may not be finished with him. His dreams have
returned with a vengeance, and this time they’re telling him
Ruadhán, the long-dead priest who entombed him fifteen hundred years
before, is threatening to kidnap his unborn twins. Of course, his dream
interpretation leaves a lot to be desired, especially when it comes to those
he loves.

As if the dreams are not bad enough, his anxiety over them is causing
stress on his new marriage, which is the last thing Caitlin needs in her
current condition. The twins are on the way, and everyone advises him the
dreams stem from his own insecurities over becoming a father. After all,
Ruadhán was the chief priest, a member of the high council, loyal to
his goddess unto death. What are the chances he suffered the same fate as
Ciarán and survived fifteen centuries?

The theory sounds reasonable, and he’s happy to accept it, until
Aodhán comes across an empty tomb in the Hills of ár Sinsear
that looks as though it may have been occupied at some point. Could
Ruadhán have survived after all? And if so, where is he now? To
complicate the issue, Aodhán stumbles across another piece of
information that could alter the possible meaning of his brother’s
dreams. But will Ciarán manage to put the pieces together before
it’s too late, or will he lose his family to an ancient
adversary?

About the Author

Andrea Matthews

Andrea Matthews is the pseudonym for Inez Foster, a historian and librarian
who loves to read and write and search around for her roots, genealogical
speaking. She has a BA in History and an MLS in Library Science, and enjoys
the research almost as much as she does writing the story. In fact, many of
her ideas come to her while doing casual research or digging into her family
history. She is the author of the Thunder on the Moor series set on the 16th
century Anglo-Scottish Border, and the Cross of Ciaran series, where a
fifteen hundred year old Celt finds himself in the twentieth century. Andrea
is a member of the RWA, LIRW, and HNS.

 

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The Devil’s Necromancer Sale Blitz

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Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, LGBTQ, Murder Mystery

Date Published: October 2021

 

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On Sale for $0.99 for a limited time

Lionel, a necromancer and consultant for the Brunswick Police Department,
wants nothing to do with immortals. Specifically, he wants nothing to do
with Lucifer, who shows up on his doorstep one day with a ridiculous
proposal. Lucifer, also known as the Devil, wants Lionel to be his pretend
boyfriend. Except the pretend part is something the Devil doesn’t
really seem to care for.

Lucifer has read enough romance novels to know that a good dose of forced
proximity might be just the thing to get the stubborn necromancer he desires
into his bed. The Devil’s plans are soon complicated when Lionel
proves more uncooperative and oblivious to love than Lucifer could ever
anticipate.

While the Devil wants to claim Lionel, all Lionel wants is to get away from
Lucifer. Meanwhile, magic users are being murdered in the city. Lionel
cannot escape the implications of those murders for long, and the case soon
takes a different turn. Will Lionel be able to escape the Devil’s
thrall, or will the necromancer fall for the immortal seducer?

 

Publisher’s Note: The Devil’s Necromancer contains scenes
involving dubious consent that some readers may find offensive.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

 

It was past midnight, and the stars that looked like sprinkles of white
chocolate in the velvety dark night sky were overshadowed by the city lights
and the waxing moon. I lay on the embankment, North Bridge’s metal
frame rising just to my right and further hiding the chocolate sprinkle
stars. My feet were wet, but I didn’t mind, not the embankment or the
wet feet or the stars melting away in the light and the artificial
structures around me. The zombie was oozing all over me from its — his —
caved-in skull, and I did mind that. Zombie ooze was a bitch to get out of
clothes, even if I’d given up on wearing colors years ago. Black
simply was the safest bet for a necromancer.

Zombies reeked when they weren’t really fresh, and this one was ripe
— fish-market-in-the-summer-heat-three-days-after-closing ripe. I looked up
and considered my life choices, all of which had led me here.

“Do you need CPR?” someone said. It was a warm, manly voice,
and I was reasonably sure it could make chocolate melt, star-shaped or
otherwise.

I stuffed my self-pity away and turned my head to get a better look at the
speaker. He was as handsome as a devil, with skin that looked like marble in
the glow of the city at night. His hair shimmered liquid black, but it might
have been some shade of brown in proper lighting. It went well past his ears
and looked styled with care to get that messy, I just got up out of bed
after a night of hard fucking look.

“Why the fuck would I need CPR?” I asked. My voice didn’t
sound like I’d just considered crying a moment ago, and I was proud of
that.

The guy shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with humans. Your kind is
so accident prone, and you seem to be having trouble breathing. Or maybe you
hit your head? Do you remember how you got here?”

Did he fucking think I was suffering from amnesia or a head injury or
something? “I’m having trouble breathing because I have a
fucking dead zombie on my chest, asshat,” I said. In my considered
necromantic opinion, I was being perfectly polite, even though I
couldn’t be sure what kind of creature the guy was. I’d given
him a quick glance with my mage sight, and human he was not.

Jeez, I hated gods and otherworldly beings.

“All zombies are dead,” Mr. Sexy said. “It’s a
prerequisite. This one seems to have had its brainstem properly destroyed,
however.”

“Oh, smarty-pants, thanks a bunch for the lecture. The basics of
necromancy have ever escaped me, even after I raised my very first corpse
thirteen fucking years ago.” It had been a blackbird that had died
when he crashed into a window at my school. I had cradled the poor thing in
my hands as it breathed its last, had cried, and that had triggered my
necromancer power. Pretty boy did not need to know that. Every other person
I’d ever told had made fun of me for it.

“You could have suffered a head injury with amnesia. How am I
supposed to know what you know?” He walked toward me. His movements
were silent, cat-like, and more elegant than was right. Even despite the
zombie oozing out on me, my cock couldn’t quite ignore him. Seriously,
though, what was up with his fixation on first aid and amnesia?

He grabbed the zombie by the legs and pulled the dead-dead corpse off me.
“Oh. You caved in its skull with a rock,” he said when he saw
the murder weapon in question, the goo glistening on its stony surface.
Well, it wasn’t really a murder weapon, seeing as how the zombie had
been dead, but details. “How traditional.” He held out a hand to
me, and I took it and let him pull me back to my feet. “I’m
Lucy, by the way. Short for Lucifer, but I prefer Lucy. As in Lucy Westenra,
the woman who almost single-handedly turned Dracula into the first reverse
harem romance novel ever before she made the wise decision to claim
immortality instead. She was such an underrated character, and I really
don’t know why people don’t like her more.”

I dusted myself off. Didn’t help with the wet feet or the zombie
ooze, which I really only distributed, like soft butter on hot toast. The
shirt I was wearing was ruined. Good thing I had a dozen other plain black
shirts just like it back home. “Maybe because she fucking ate
children.”

He shrugged. “Well, everyone has a craving now and then. No one
judges women’s monthly chocolate cravings, and I don’t see how
that was so much worse.”

My brain caught up with the conversation. Lucifer? The Lucifer? The fucking
Morning Star, seducer of stuffy virgins and lover of apples? I looked at
him. Up at him. Asshole was tall and handsome, the kind of guy I could only
ever talk to with about three drinks in me. “You’re the Devil?
Satan? Beelzebub?”

“Lu-cy,” he said, slowing down as if he was reconsidering the
brain damage thing. Even his eyebrows were perfect, which I only noticed
because he pulled one of those up, something most people couldn’t do
in real life. He could. And he looked hot doing it. Hotter.

About the Author

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from
straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing
stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in
them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or
TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

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