Thursday, November 26, 2020

This particular lawyer won’t stay dead! #NewRelease from @SeelieKay

First We Kill All the Lawyers cover

I’m delighted to welcome Seelie Kay back to Beyond Romance. Today’s she’s celebrating the release of her latest book, First, We Kill All the Lawyers, a contemporary romance with elements of suspense from Extasy Books. She’s agreed to answer a few questions for you...

Q. Why do you write romance?

Because I am fascinated by the games people play to find and secure a lasting relationship, which is not always love. There’s the chase, the courtship, the falling, the surrender. That’s what I try to capture in my stories.

Q. Do you prefer a certain type of romantic hero?

I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I they have to be paired with strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want, even love.

Q. Why did you write First, We Kill All the Lawyers?

I have wanted to write a vampire tale for some time, but had difficulty coming up with something consistent with current tropes. Finally, I decided it was time to break all the rules. After all, vampires have been around for centuries. Surely, they have evolved by now. And no doubt, they have many of the same societal problems that humans do. However, I also wanted the vampire to be a lawyer. The title came from my experience as a lawyer. I can’t tell you how many times someone would quote Dick the Butcher, “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” (Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part 2, Act IV, Scene 2.) They would laugh heartily, like they had just told a wonderful joke, but for me, it was great inspiration for a story. What if someone was killing lawyers?

Q. Obviously, your former profession as a lawyer impacts your writing!

My friends say I am obsessed with justice and I guess that’s true. After 30 years, the law and the legal world are so firmly embedded in my brain that I can’t flush them out. That has become the lens through which I view the world and that naturally guides my characters and plots. Injustice infuriates me, but it also leads me to great stories! Even in this book, I find a way to explore social and criminal justice issues.

Someone is killing lawyers, but a particular vampire lawyer won’t stay dead.

Donovan Trait is a marked man. Flamboyant, stunningly handsome, and notoriously insatiable, his attitude and style belie his skills in the courtroom. No one survives a cross-examination at Donovan’s hands. His knowledge of the law and trial practice has accumulated over the years… and years, of experience. More than three hundred years. You see, when Donovan isn’t seducing judges and juries, he’s a creature of the night. And now that someone has decided that it’s time to kill all lawyers, his lust for attention has set him in the murderer’s sights. The problem is, vampires don’t die. Not easily, anyway. That’s good news for Donovan, not so much for his very human lady love, also a target of the serial killer. Will several unsuccessful attempts on his life expose Donovan’s true nature? Will the killer learn the secret that will guarantee a permanent death? Or will Donovan finally manage to put an end to the killer’s murderous spree and live happily ever after, with his lady love?


Donovan’s cell phone pinged. He pulled himself into a small alleyway, away from the stampede trudging back to their workplaces after lunch, and leaned back against a building to read a text. His face screwed up in confusion. The text read, The first thing we do, let’s kill all lawyers! Starting with you!

What the bloody hell?” he muttered. “Is this some kind of joke?” Donovan’s eyes surveyed his surroundings. He gazed right, then left. It did not appear that someone had made him the focus of their attention. Everyone was scurrying about, like mice in pursuit of a big cheese. “Must be Finley,” he said. “Finley is always plying me with lawyer jokes. He thinks he’s funny.”

Donovan shrugged. Not funny at all. He left the alleyway and re-entered the mass migration on the sidewalk. He approached the crosswalk at Michigan and Superior and emitted a snort of frustration as the light changed and the crosswalk filled with cars. He was bumped hard by someone behind him. Donovan was forced to step into the street to regain his balance. A cab rushed by and narrowly missed clipping his side. Donovan jumped back onto the sidewalk.

A woman screamed and Donovan jerked his head around, trying to see what all the fuss was about. The woman was pointing at him. Donovan frowned and turned away. God save me from simpering females who saw the last issue of City Magazine. Donovan had appeared on the cover after being named as one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. Since then, he had learned that the female population was comprised of women of questionable morals and distressing behavior. He was growing weary of the attention. While his colleagues thought it a wise marketing strategy, it had brought him nothing but unwanted female attention. He had become prey.

Vampires were predators. They stalked their victims. Sometimes, they pursued them with a vengeance. That was why he had joined the legal profession. His predilections were well-suited to that particular world. Now, his role had apparently shifted and he was not pleased.

Someone tapped Donovan on the shoulder. “Sir? Are you alright? You’re bleeding. It appears someone stuck a knife into your side.”

Donovan’s mouth gaped and he turned toward the man who had spoken. Then he looked at where the man pointed. There was indeed a knife sticking out of his left side and a stream of his blood was flowing onto the sidewalk. He had a very high threshold of pain. He hadn’t felt the knife thrust into his side. If it wasn’t so appalling, he would be embarrassed. Donovan opened his mouth to reply. Then the pain in his side exploded and his vision dulled. Slowly he slid onto the sidewalk as if he planned to sit on the curb.

Then everything went black.

Book Trailer:

Buy Links

Extasy Books:

Amazon: Coming

Barnes & Noble: Coming

Kobo: Coming

About Seelie Kay

Seelie Kay is a nom de plume for a writer, editor, and author with more than 30 years of experience in law, journalism, marketing, and public relations. When she writes about love and lust in the legal world, something kinky is bound to happen! In possession of a wicked pen and an overly inquisitive mind, Ms. Kay is the author of 18 works of fiction, including the Kinky Briefs series, the Feisty Lawyers series, The Garage Dweller, A Touchdown to Remember, The President’s Wife, The White House Wedding, and The President’s Daughter.

When not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.

Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define you!

Author links



Twitter: @SeelieKay



Amazon author page:

Prior Books

Kinky Briefs,

Kinky Briefs, Too,

Kinky Briefs, Thrice,

Kinky Briefs, Quatro,

Kinky Briefs, Cinque,

The Garage Dweller,

A Touchdown to Remember,

The President’s Wife,

Snatching Dianna,

The President’s Daughter,


Seizing Hope,



The White House Wedding,


Coming soon

The Last Christmas, date of release: December 11, 2020.

Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Sign up for the next Charity Sunday - 29 November! #CharitySunday #Altruism #Gratitude

Here comes the sun
 Image by lohannaps from Pixabay

This coming Sunday, the 29th of November, will be the next Charity Sunday. Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give us authors a chance to give back to the world—as well as, hopefully, attract new readers.

How does it work? Each participant selects a favorite charity. Before Charity Sunday, you should prepare a blog post that: 1) talks about the charity and why you support it; 2) provides a link to the charity; 3) includes an excerpt from one of your books; 4) includes the code to show links to other participating blogs.

It’s fun if you can make the excerpt relate somehow to your chosen charity, but this isn’t required.

For every comment left on your post, you commit to giving some amount to the relevant charity. The specific charity and the amount to donate are up to you. The posts stay open all month, to maximize the amount of donations. You can set an upper limit to your donation if you want.

If you’d like to participate in the next Charity Sunday, just sign up using the Linky List below. Please be sure that the link you enter will lead directly to your Charity Sunday post, not just to the home page of your blog.

You can get my Charity Sunday banner here.

For an example, check out last month’s Charity Sunday post:

Review Tuesday: Where the Crawdads Sing -- #ReviewTuesday #Nature #Mystery #NorthCarolina

Where the Crawdads Sing cover

Where the Crawdads Sing
by Delia Owens

GP Putnam’s Sons, 2018

Everyone in the coastal North Carolina hamlet of Barkley Cove knew that Kya the Marsh Girl was strange and wild. How could she be anything else? Abandoned by her abused and desperate mother at age six and by her cruel and bitter drunkard of a father a few years later, she grew up alone in the marshes outside of town, the gulls and the herons her only friends. Somehow she’d managed to survive, foraging along the channels that laced the wetlands, bartering mussels and smoked fish, cultivating vegetables behind the rickety shack that sheltered her from the elements. Ragged, unschooled, too shy to speak, too proud to beg, Kya was practically a myth to the people of the town. It was all too easy for them to believe she was responsible for the murder of Chase Andrews, scion of what passed for high society in Barkley Cove.

Only her friend Tate knows she’s innocent. The son of a local shrimper, Tate has loved Kya all his life, but a broken promise in his teens drove a wedge between them. Tate knows the real Kya: brilliantly intelligent, fiercely independent, deeply connected to the land and the sea that have fostered her. He’ll do anything for the lovely but guarded young woman. He taught her to read. With his help, she has developed her affinity for the natural world into an occupation that can provide her with a steady income. Even Tate’s love, however, can’t shield her from the prejudice that has kept her isolated and which now threatens to rob her of her cherished freedom, perhaps even her life.

Reviewing a best seller can be difficult. Where the Crawdads Sing, a remarkable first novel to have been written a wildlife biologist with a PhD in animal behavior, has sold more than five million copies and garnered over one hundred thousand reviews on Amazon. What can I possibly say that’s new?

Actually, reading a best seller has its own problems. One has, perhaps, inflated expectations. A close friend recommended Ms. Owen’s book to me, swearing that I’d absolutely love it.

Sometimes it’s better to happen on books without knowing anything about them.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I enjoyed this novel. It’s beautifully written, evoking the coastal marshland environment in lush, lyrical prose and bringing Kya’s lonely but occasionally ecstatic life into sharp focus. The narrative, which shifts back and forth between the fifties of Kya’s childhood and the late sixties of the murder trial, is deftly executed. The twist at the ending surprised and delighted me; though I thought I understood Kya, I had not discerned all her secrets. The fractured romance between Tate and Kya is both heart-breaking and satisfying.

Still, I can’t bring myself to say that this was a truly great novel. Is this because I’m holding it to a higher standard than something I picked up randomly in the used book shop? Or because my idea of “great” includes a level of originality that I didn’t find in this tale? Or am I just a curmudgeon, reluctant to agree with the masses?

I really don’t know. I’m glad that I read Where the Crawdads Sing. I’d recommend it as engrossing and intelligent, with a number of cogent lessons. I guess I will give it five stars. But I must apologize because I didn’t “absolutely love it”. Your mileage may vary.

Sunday, November 22, 2020

It’s not just her taste buds that are tingling - Moonstone, #ReverseHarem #EroticRomance is now an #AudioBook @cw1985 @voiceofholland

Moonstone audio cover


Christmas gifts aren’t the only surprises Ginny is going to get this year.

Moonstone Guinevere ‘Ginny’ Miles is in Silver Springs visiting her parents for the holidays. They moved to the town five years ago, and adore their new life here. Used to the hustle and bustle of London, England, Ginny isn’t convinced at first—what’s so great about a small town in Upstate New York, anyway? Despite her own opinions, it’s clear to Ginny the move has done her parents the world of good—they look years younger. There’s clearly something magical about this town.

Following some exploration of her own, Ginny discovers Silver Springs has its charms—Jewels Cafe is amazing, for starters, as is its pumpkin spice latte. Ginny’s drunk a lot of lattes in her thirty-three years, but nothing quite like this.

Her taste buds are still tingling from the tasty treat when she comes across a broken-down truck on the way back to her parents’ place. And when she spots the three gorgeous guys with the vehicle, it’s not just her taste buds that are tingling.

Is Ginny’s vacation in Silver Springs about to get a whole lot more interesting?

Moonstone is a standalone contemporary reverse harem romance. It is part of the Jewels Cafe series.

Listen here:

Amazon UK:

Amazon US:

Audible UK:

Audible US:

Authors Direct:

Apple Books:

Barnes & Noble:



Google Play:




*The audiobook is also available via many library systems, so if you listen through your library, please do contact them and find out if Moonstone can be added to their catalogue!



Moonstone Guinevere Miles—known as Ginny to people who didn’t want to incur her fierce and everlasting wrath—heaved her suitcase off the luggage reclaim belt with an “Oof!” and placed it on the floor, a sigh of relief escaping her. At least the thing had wheels—she didn’t really have the energy for carrying a heavy suitcase all the way through Customs and out to Arrivals. The long, tiring flight had seen to that.

No matter how much she tried, no matter how exhausted she was, she simply could not fall asleep on a plane. Ever. Eye mask, ear plugs, meditation, bloody whale music—nothing helped. She’d long since resigned herself to staying awake while snores from other passengers emanated around the cabin. At least it had only been about seven and a half hours since taking off from Heathrow—she couldn’t imagine what state she’d be in if she ever flew any longer than that—to Australia, New Zealand or somewhere.

Doubtful that would ever happen, though. It had taken long enough for her to get her backside out to the east coast of America, where her parents had been running a retreat since retiring five years ago. But then, things were different now, weren’t they? Which was why she was even here in the first place—it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.

Thinking of her parents brought an inevitable smile to her face, and inserted a little more spring in her step. Despite the energy and mood suck that had been the flight, she was excited to be here. She was eager to see her parents, and to find out exactly what they’d built up over the last five years. She’d seen photos and videos, but it wasn’t the same as actually being there.

When they’d first announced they were using their retirement nest egg to open a retreat in Upstate New York, she’d been floored. Who the hell retires, only to take on a massive project like that? Surely the whole point of retiring is to wind down, enjoy some free time, relax? But no, her mum and dad—who, to be fair, had never been what one would call conventional—had set their hearts on it. They’d had a huge purge of their belongings, sold their cars and house, and jetted off across the pond, leaving Ginny shocked and not a little bereft. She’d been used to having them close by and had quickly realized just how much she’d taken that for granted.

At the same time, her career as a chef had taken off and she’d become so busy that her parents’ sudden distance hadn’t made the blindest bit of difference. She barely saw the inside of her own flat, never mind her friends and family. This was the first Christmas she’d had off work since then, too, and she was looking forward to spending it with her parents more than she could put into words. They’d been big on the festive period ever since she was a baby, and as such, Ginny’s brain was stuffed full of warm, fuzzy memories of Christmases past. They’d been useful to get her through the last five crappy ones, too, where a microwaved ready meal was the best she could hope for, if she hadn’t managed to wangle a free meal from the place she’d been working at at the time.

Her smile widened, and she walked faster still—God, just how big is this bloody airport?—desperate to see her mum and dad and start the Christmas holiday with a bang. Anticipation rushed through her. They’d have turkey and roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, mounds of vegetables, desserts laden with enough calories to last them until Valentine’s Day, Christmas carols, amazing decorations, a beautiful tree, fairy lights…

And Santa Claus. Two of them, in fact, jumping up and down enthusiastically and waving wildly at her, with not a rotund belly in sight.

Ginny was so excited, she couldn’t even be bothered with the embarrassment she might have felt at being greeted in a public place by her parents dressed up in Santa outfits. Plus, nobody knew her here anyway, so who cared?

She scurried around the barrier, almost flipping her case in her haste to turn a corner, then covered the remaining distance between them in seconds flat and released the handle of her suitcase. A series of squeals and exclamations went up—from all three of them—and then everything went dark as Ginny was enveloped in a warm, fluffy embrace, her face crushed up against what she suspected was the white fur trim on her mother’s jacket, and kisses rained down on her. It was all she could do to suck in oxygen as she was squeezed and squeezed them right back. She was assailed by the scents of clean clothes, shampoo, perfume, and cologne—all perfectly lovely smells by themselves, but somewhat overwhelming all at once. Unintelligible murmurings reached her ears, but she didn’t bother to reply since she had no idea what was being said. And she didn’t need words, anyway. All she needed at that moment in time was to soak up the enormous outpouring of love she was experiencing.

She was so bloody happy, she thought she might pop.

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here:

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Friday, November 20, 2020

Rendezvous in Paris -- #Fantasy #FlashFiction #IsadoraDuncan

Isidora, dancing

"I named my first car after you." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to snatch them back. My clumsy attempt at homage comes out as insensitivity, given the tragedies of her children's demise, and her own. My companion simply smiles, though, her expression a bit vague - the effects, perhaps, of the vin ordinaire we've shared (one glass so far for me, three for her).

"That's flattering, I suppose," she says finally. "Though I've never cared much for machines..." The lowering sun slants between the narrow buildings, drawing bars of gold on the cobblestones. A gaggle of primary schoolers erupt from one side of the square, tumble past us, and disappear in a cloud of shrieks and laughter on the other. Her moist eyes follow their progress, but her lips still quirk up at the corners. "The natural exuberance of childhood," she murmurs. "I still feel it."

She's pulled her silver-streaked hair into a classical bun, but stray locks have escaped to tangle upon her thin shoulders. The many layers of her clothing, dove gray, hide her body from me, but as she shifts in her chair to pick up her glass, I sense strength and grace, a purity of form that illuminates even her smallest movements. She drinks deep. I stare at the ruby drop that lingers for a moment on her upper lip, before her tongue darts out to gather it in. The tiny, casual gesture sends bolts of heat to my sex. I understand why she fascinated so many men - and women.

"Please, go on." She turns her full attention to me. I feel blood rushing into my cheeks. Laughter bubbles in her voice. "Why in the world would you christen your automobile with my name?"

"Freedom. That's what you've always been for me, a beacon of freedom in a world of constraint. You followed your heart, your vision, your passion. You didn't care what people thought of you. You defied convention. I've always wanted to be that sort of person."

"So why not be?" She leaned forward, fingers fluttering across my cheek, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. "No one can give you freedom, my dear. You must seize it for yourself."

"You make it sound so easy."

"No, it's never easy. You have to be brave. There will always be people who condemn you, who label you as trivial, or immoral. Who put obstacles in your path. Who try to bury you. It's far easier to give in and do as you're told. In the end, though, their approval means nothing. It won't compensate you for frittering away your soul."

I nodded. I already know the truth in what she says - otherwise, I wouldn't be here, in the waning Paris afternoon, ordering another round. Isadora winks at the slender young waiter who sets her goblet down on the table in front of her. He stumbles, almost spilling the contents into her lap. "Such lovely dark curls," she comments as he scurries back to safety of the bar. "I wonder if he has hair on his chest. Drink quickly, Lisabet, so we can get him to come back."

"Tell me about your dancing," I urge, needing to change the subject, simultaneously embarrassed and aroused by her sexual aura. "When did you first start? Where did you get your ideas?"

"I probably danced in my mother's womb. I don't remember ever not dancing. It wasn't something I chose. The dance chose me."

"I think I know what you mean," I respond. No one ever really taught me how to write. It was just something I've always done, a part of who I am.

"The Greeks really did understand - making the Muses into goddesses. There's a core of the divine in every art. And every artist has a touch of divine madness." She giggles, shaking her head till her long hair springs free from its chaste arrangement and tumbles over her breasts. I ache to run my fingers through those wild locks, working out the tangles. I imagine stroking a finger tip across her nipple, sensing the stiffening response. I wonder what the wine would taste like, sampled from her laughing red mouth.

"And what about your dancing, my dear? I know that words are your primary medium but I sense that your lovely petite body craves movement."

I want to drop through the pavement. I want to gather her in my arms. I stall, sipping the blood-hued liquid and feeling liquid courage course through me.

"Sometimes - sometimes I dance. Sometimes I just forget myself and let the music take me over, control me." I don't tell her that the surest way for a man to seduce me is to dance with me.

"No, no, it's not the music. It doesn't come from outside. It's Spirit, that spark of truth, of the gods, inside all of us. The rhythm calls it forth, perhaps. You must let your guard down, let it out."

"I try. Sometimes I succeed. And then, the joy...."

Isadora's face is luminous in the dusk. "Yes. Nothing can quench that bliss. Poverty, illness, death... none of them has any power in the face of that glorious perfect grace. The bad things don't vanish, oh no, but somehow the dance transforms them. I transform them, weaving them all into the Art."

She's taken my hand now. She leans forward until I feel her warm breath on my face. "That's the secret," she whispers. "The body, this weak, misshapen, gross thing we lug around for half a century or more, is the crucible where we transmute base existence into transcendent beauty."

She grins as though mocking her own seriousness and waves at the boy cowering inside the café. The slight motion is so eloquent it brings an ache to my chest. "Garçon! L'addition, s'il vous plait!"

"A pity he's so shy," she adds, in a conspiratorial tone. "Ah well. He's probably too young to know much about love anyway."

Our check settled, we rise from our seats, so perfectly in unison that we might have been choreographed. Gas lights flicker into life around the square. Overhead the sky gleams a translucent teal. The café has filled up while we talked; the chatter of the other patrons is loud around us but velvet stillness has invaded my heart. I wait upon my companion.

Isadora surveys me, pleasure obvious in her expression. Desire surges through me, leaving me sweaty and trembling. She flings her scarlet silk scarf behind her and reaches for my hand. "My pension is a few blocks away. Shall we walk?"

Thursday, November 19, 2020

An alien hybrid and a banker save the world! ... #Giveaway #SciFiRomance #99cents @keri_kruspe

Empath cover


The aliens we thought were long gone are coming back.

Just his luck, alien-hybrid Ben Duncan is the only one for the job. Being an empath and a financial wizard, he’s called in to uncover an essential ally at a small regional bank in Vegas to thwart a plot his alien ancestors, the Akurns, seemed to have started there. If their heinous plans are successful, the global economy would crash and weaken mankind for their invasion in less than five short months. When Ben arrives at his assignment as a covert consultant, he meets the intriguing Julienne and is instantly alarmed at the intense attraction he has for her. He’d love to indulge in his obsession with the delectable woman, but knows he has no choice but to stay as far away from her as possible. The fate of billions don’t leave time for anything personal.

As senior vice-president, Julienne King leads a stressful life immersed in organizing a huge merger for a local bank in Vegas. And meeting some arrogant, hotter-than-hell, aloof outside consultant makes things worse. When she stumbles on an insidious money laundering scheme that threatens the global economy, she’s caught and kidnapped by one of her hateful bosses. While in captivity, she’s threatened with alien experimentation, death, or both. But what shocks her the most is it turns out she may not be who or what she thought she was.

Now it’s a race against time. Can a banker and an alien-hybrid overcome their misconceptions and to not only work together, but to realize their love is the key to mankind’s salvation?


Crap on toast! She’d never seen such a gorgeous man in the flesh before.

Her mouth dried. He had to be in his early thirties, around six foot two or three, with curly dark-blond hair styled in a professional cut. The thick lashes around his light-blue eyes contrasted with the dark tan of his skin. He had a slight overbite, giving him a boyish look around full, lavish lips. Which was a stark contrast to the masculine cleft in his chin.

She sucked in her bottom lip while she scanned down his expansive torso. A costly gray silk suit molded a fit, trim body that no tailor had to hide. His conservative red tie and Italian dress shoes completed the outfit. He screamed high-priced and exclusive. If this man was a banker, she was a cheerleader for the Vegas Golden Knights’s hockey team.

She bit that lip. Damn, every woman in the bank would be hot after this guy.

Yeah, and she’d be first in line.

After the man and Claude exchanged greetings, her boss turned to introduce her. With a flourish, he waved between them.

This is Julienne King.” He clasped his hands behind him and nodded to the younger man. “Julienne, this is Ben Duncan.”

Her hands twitched, eager to touch any part of his flesh. Whoa, where did that come from? Shrugging off her inappropriate urge, she let a goofy smile plaster her face.

Then the man, Ben, did a strange thing. He leaned toward her with a slumberous half-lidded gaze.

About the Author

Keri Kruspe, award-winning “Author of Otherworldly Romantic Adventures” loves nothing more than to write about romances that feature “feisty heroines who aren’t afraid to take a chance on life… or love”. Her writing career started when she became irritated that most SciFi romances had women kidnapped before they could find love. Determined to create something different, she turned “the alien kidnapping trope upside down” (Vine Voice) and the ALIEN EXCHANGE trilogy was born.

Keri’s latest SciFi Romance novel, ALIEN LEGACY: THE EMPATH, is the first in a five-book series of the Ancient Alien Descendants, taking the Ancient Alien motif and mixing it with a sensual, romantic twist.

A native Nevadan, Keri is a lifelong avid reader who lives in Northwestern Michigan with her hubby and the newest member of the family, a Jack Russell Terrier named Hestia. When not immersed in her made-up worlds, she enjoys discovering the fascinating landscape of her new home and pairing red wine with healthy ways to cook. Most of all, she loves finding her next favorite author.

If you want to know when Keri’s next book will come out, please visit her website at http:/, where you can sign up for her mailing list. You’ll get a FREE copy of the novella, The Day Behind Tomorrow that is a prologue to the ALIEN LEGACY series. Not to mention being kept updated on the life of a dedicated, obsessed author.

The book is on sale for $0.99 on Kindle or Nook during this tour.

Amazon Buy Link:

Keri Kruspe will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

A long and happy future – #Christmas #MMRomance #ParanormalRomance #MFRWHooks

Necessary Madness cover

For today's Book Hooks blog hop, I’m featuring a holiday-themed snippet from my MM paranormal romance, Necessary Madness. Although the book is not explicitly a Christmas tale, it takes place in central Massachusetts in November and December – and it ends with a wedding on Christmas Eve! Before Rob and Kyle get their happily ever after, though, they must confront and defeat a devious and seductive sorcerer who lusts after Kyle’s power to see the future.


Nineteen-year-old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating. Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with 'gifted' individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man - an attraction that appears to be mutual.

When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.


The Hook

Relax, Kyle. Breathe in. Now out. In. Out. When you breathe out, let everything go. Your tension, your fear. Just release it and allow your breath to carry it away. Focus on your breathing. Inhale. Exhale. There’s nothing else in the world but the rhythm of your breath.”

Elspeth’s voice was soothing and hypnotic. Kyle sat with his eyes closed, trying to follow her instructions. Once or twice, the blackness rippled ominously, a vision threatening to explode into his consciousness. Listening to Elspeth’s calm chant, breathing slowly, he allowed the disturbance to drift away.

Good, very good. Now, Kyle, I want you to send your mind out into the future. This time, though, don’t look for flames. Seek out a different kind of light, one that makes you glad rather than fearful.”

Kyle guided his thoughts into the channels Elspeth had revealed to him, the invisible routes leading from now into the unknown. There was the newly-familiar sensation of movement through the darkness. Far away, points of warm gold twinkled in the blackness. He steered his mind in the direction of the lights.

The air was chill and fresh. A tranquil melody filled his head. He heard voices, adults and children. The sparkling lights adorned an evergreen two storeys tall, with shiny red globes suspended from its boughs and a silver star on top. The grey stone tower of City Hall rose behind it, spotlit against the night sky. A crowd surrounded the tree, bundled up in coats and gloves, holding hands and singing at the top of their lungs. He could see their breath, white in the cold. He could feel their excitement, their joy.

“‘Silent night’,” he began to sing under his breath, caught up in the vision.

Where are you? What do you see?” Elspeth’s gentle probes did not disrupt the sensory impressions.

On the Worcester Common. There’s a Christmas tree. Lights. Singing…”

Excellent. Now, try to find out when. The way we practised.”

Kyle traced back along the route he had followed, letting the time flow through his mental fingers. Two days, three days, a week… “I’m not sure, but I think it’s sometime around the end of this month. Maybe the twenty-eighth or the twenty-ninth.”

Good job, Kyle! Come back now. Let the vision go.”

He found that he was slightly reluctant to leave the scene, to relinquish the peace and the positive energy flowing around him. Don’t be lazy, he thought. Rob wouldn’t like that. He turned his back mentally on the oversized tree and was swept back into his body, sitting cross-legged on the floor on the glassed-in porch that Elspeth called her ‘sunroom’.

He opened his eyes to find the matronly witch searching the newspaper, while her cat peered at him with glowing yellow eyes.

Ah yes. Here it is.” She pointed to an item in the Calendar section of the Telegram. “Tree-lighting ceremony and kick off for the Christmas shopping season. Saturday November twenty-eighth at six p.m.” She beamed at him. “Well done. You’re making tremendous progress.”

Thanks.” Kyle stood up and worked the kinks out of his knees. He swept his eyes over Elspeth’s back yard, trying to adjust to the light. It was barely three-thirty in the afternoon, but the sun had already sunk behind the thick ranks of fir bordering her property. “I’m pretty pleased myself. So when can I go back and see Rob? It’s been three long days.”

Elspeth laughed merrily. “How about tomorrow? You’re doing so well, I think you can spend the weekend with him without my worrying that you’ll derail your training. But I’d like you to come back on Monday. Next, we’ll concentrate on searching the future for a specific person rather than a general concept.”

Maybe I should try to see what Rob will be doing tonight,” Kyle teased. She was obviously a powerful witch, with a rich knowledge of the psychic realm. Nevertheless, she made him feel completely comfortable, even when it came to his passion for another man.

Do you really want to know?” Elspeth grinned back at him. “Seriously, I’m quite sure that he’s waiting eagerly for your return. His feelings for you—they’re strong and true. I can guarantee that.”

Kyle felt something leap inside his chest. “Yeah, well, I hope that you’re right. Because to be honest, I’m crazy about him. If anything happened…if it turned out that he didn’t care after all…well, I don’t think I could bear it.”

Elspeth smoothed his long hair back from his forehead. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. I’m not prescient, but if you can conquer and control your visions, and I think that you can, I predict that you and Rob will have a long and happy future together.” 


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