Thursday, October 31, 2019

For the first time in eternity, the clock is ticking - #Review #Vampires #Giveaway @LNightingale

Sinner's Opera cover

Blurb

Morgan D'Arcy is an English lord, a classical pianist, and a vampire. He has everything except what he desires most—Isabeau. As the Angel Gabriel he's steered her life and career choice, preparing her to become Lady D'Arcy.

Many forces oppose Morgan's daring plan—not the least of which is Vampyre law.

Isabeau Gervase is a brilliant geneticist. Though she no longer believes in angels, she sees a ticket to a Nobel Prize in Gabriel's secrets—secrets that have led her to a startling conclusion. Gabriel isn't human, and she fully intends to identify the species she named the Angel Genome. Morgan is ready to come back into Isabeau's life, but this time as a man not an angel. Will he outsmart his enemies, protect his beloved and escape death himself? For the first time in eternity, the clock is ticking.

Excerpt

A broken thing, once a man, sprawled in a congealed puddle of blood. My body rebelled, arms and legs unresponsive to my command. I held my breath, stifling tears. My fangs lacerated my lip. Gagging, I clamped a hand to my mouth. The horrified paralysis broke, and I stumbled toward my poor friend. Sorrow resonated in the marrow of my bones. Helplessness beat at me in waves. The hall clock ticked. Agonizing seconds. Finally, I looked at Avery. A pitiful whine wound from my throat.

My manservant’s neck had been savaged, the ever-present bowtie thrown aside. Rubies of blood winked everywhere on his perfect black suit. Countless wounds inflicted by the knife I had given him. I dropped to my knees and lifted his head onto my lap. He was alive, but his heart labored to pump what was left of his blood through his cold body. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing. I whispered his name. Dull eyes rolled open. The hope in them was unbearable, and I strangled on guilt.

Master. His bruised lips tried to form my name. I knew you’d come.

Oh, Avery, I’m sorry, so bloody sorry.” I stroked his cheek.

You’re crying,” he breathed. With the last of his strength, he gripped my sleeve, blue lips quivering. Do it now, Master.

For countless centuries, Man had searched for a way to convert base metals to gold. This vain hope was called the Arcanum. I could save Avery with the true Arcanum. The pale blood in my veins carried the virus that transformed mortality to immortality, but I simply could not. I had never performed the ritual, never intended to do so, unless Isabeau wished to join me in eternity. The hope in his faded eyes died. His pulse slowed, heart fluttering.

Review by Lisabet Sarai

I don’t read many vampire novels. If you’ll pardon a pun, the genre has really been done to death. Vampire fiction has become as predictable and boring as a political speech. Tropes have become clichés. Characters have degenerated into caricatures. It’s extremely difficult to find an author who can breathe some life into this ossified genre.

Linda Nightingale appears to be one such author.

In many ways, Sinner’s Opera hews to the traditions of vampire romance. The hero, Morgan d’Arcy, is more than four centuries old. He’s unbelievably powerful, irresistibly beautiful, seductive and charming, as well as wealthy. Outside the ken of normal humans, vampires have an elaborate shadow society, with formal rules and mysterious rituals (many named in Capital Letters to reinforce their grave import and consequences). Morgan is also a rogue, rebelling against the laws of the vampire kind in order to seek his own redemption.

Morgan needs blood to survive; his powers ebb quickly if he is starved. And like most fictional vampires, he has few qualms about taking human lives. Though he’s not without compassion, he does not hesitate to kill if that is required for his own survival.

Isabeau Gervase, the heroine, is perhaps less typical than Morgan. A celebrated geneticist, independent and a bit of a loner, she’s not the type to moon over a man, even one as gorgeous and accomplished as Morgan. Nevertheless, like all vampire romance heroines, she falls under Morgan’s spell. He pull hers into his magical orbit, where they share the Blood Bond, make intense and passionate love, and keep the world at bay. Isabeau stops working. Night becomes her day. She’s only full alive when she’s with Morgan.

All this must sound boring and familiar. However, many factors save Sinner’s Opera from being JAVR (Just Another Vampire Romance). First of all, the characters are far more complex, and more deeply flawed, than is typical in the genre. Morgan can be loving and loyal, but ultimately he’s selfish, prone to lying and breaking promises. One might hate him, if not for his absolute devotion to Isabeau. Also, he’s an artist – a brilliant pianist – so one has some incentive forgive his narcissism as the natural companion to talent.

Isabeau, we are told, is a scientific genius. Nevertheless when it comes to Morgan, she can be hopelessly blind. On the other hand, she’s amazingly courageous and resourceful. In one of the best scenes in the book, she rescues a weak and powerless Morgan from the clutches of his vampire enemies – using liquid nitrogen to temporarily freeze and disable his guards.

Now that’s an idea I’ve never encountered in a vampire novel!

The secondary characters in Sinner’s Opera are equally complicated. Two of them, Morgan’s elderly servant Avery and Isabeau’s best friend Kirsty, play critical roles in the plot. I had a harder time keeping track of the villains (of which there are many). There’s a lot of back story that I’m missing, since this is part of a series. I was sometimes confused, re-reading the same page multiple times as I tried to figure out who people were and how they were related.

Ms. Nightingale writes accomplished and evocative prose that brings both her characters and the atmospheric setting (Charleston, South Carolina) to vivid life. Each chapter begins with a quote, often from Oscar Wilde. Most are compellingly apt.

The book begins in the present, with a brutal and beautiful scene of lust and carnage, then flips back to the past. By the end of the novel, we know why Morgan has ended up in a church, weak and close to dead with a gaping hole in his chest. In the process, the author creates one dramatic scene after another, replete with blood, magic, revenge, lust and love. This is an erotic romance, and Ms. Nightingale does not close the bedroom door. Still I think there are more sword fights than love scenes.

Overall, I enjoyed Sinner’s Opera, much more than I expected, if I can be honest. There’s a lot of traditional vampire lore here, but Ms. Nightingale gives it an original spin. Meanwhile, the ending was (for me) pleasingly ambiguous. Die-hard romance fans will likely be incensed that Morgan and Isabeau do not get a standard HEA. In fact, they are separated. Still, they’ve both cheated death, and we know their love survives – presumably to deepen and develop in the next book of the series.

About the Author


She enjoys dressing up and hosting formal dinner parties!

After 14 years in Texas, Linda just returned home to her roots. She has seven published novels, four of which are available from Audible.com in audio. For many years, she bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses on their farm in Five Forks. So, she’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer. Our local author has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers’ Magnolia Award and the SARA Merritt. She retired from a career as a legal assistant at MD Anderson Cancer Center to write full time.

She has two wonderful sons—one in Texas; one in England—and four equally marvelous grandchildren.

She loves horses, sports cars, music, and piano.










Linda Nightingale is giving away 
a $25 Amazon/BN gift card during her tour.
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Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Special Sale! #VegasBabes #NewRelease #99Cents


Sale banner 

The latest book in my Vegas Babes series, Babes in Bondage, will be released on Friday. 

In fact, you can buy it today, on pre-release, at Amazon and Smashwords.

To celebrate (and to give those of you who are new to the series a chance to get to know my characters and their world), I’ve dropped the price of the first book to only 99 cents - but only for the next week!

Get your copy of Hot Brides in Vegas while it’s under a buck!

Not sure if you’re interested? Here’s the blurb and a sexy excerpt.

Never underestimate the power of a horny bride.

Francesca Torellis tycoon father is throwing a lavish Las Vegas wedding for his only child. Her fiancé Jake and his buddies set out for a stag night, exploring the fleshpots of Sin City. Meanwhile, Fran and her bridesmaids Laura and Chantal are stuck at the resort under the watchful eye of her stern Aunt Giulia, who has promised her brother that Franny will come to the altar a virgin.

Frustrated and annoyed by these double standards, the young women hatch a plan to escape their chaperone and have some fun of their own. With the help of a susceptible concierge, a butch ex-cop limo driver and a scandalous French couturiere, they find their way to The Foxs Den, the most exclusiveand outrageous—gentlemen’s club in the city. Owner Larry Archer and his crew of strippers, bouncers, voyeurs and sluts are more than happy to welcome the delectable trio as contestants performing at the club’s famous Amateur Night.

The gleeful permissiveness of the Den challenges the women’s assumptions and undermines their inhibitions. Complications ensue when Jake and his groomsmen arrive to find Fran in the midst of her strip act. Then Aunt Giulia crashes the party, determined to save her virgin niece, and things get really sticky—both figuratively and literally.

Will love triumph? Will Francesca be drawn over to the dark side? Is there a difference?

Only 99 cents until November 7th!




Excerpt

Larry beamed at the customers, waiting for the hubbub to die down. “And now,” he said, “I’d like to introduce our first contestant. Put your hands together and give a big Vegas welcome to the lovely Laura!”

The first bars of her chosen music filtered through the din. “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak, a song that always made her feel sexy. Laura stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light on the stage.
The applause hit her like a physical blow. She would have stumbled on her sky-high heels, but the music held her.

The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you…

Like fire, lust raced through her. She raised her arms above her head in a luxurious stretch, then pivoted so her back was to the crowd. Ever so slowly, she bent at the waist, walking her hands down her legs to her ankles.

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do…

She felt her clinging, skimpy dress ride up the back of her thighs before completely baring her ass. Her thong tightened between her cheeks, adding delicious pressure against both her rear hole and her pussy. Laura swung her hips in a figure eight, in perfect time with the music. The audience was silent—hypnotized by her slow, sensual moves—but she felt their eyes on her.

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way…

She twirled on her high heels, until she once more faced the crowd. At the same time, she grabbed the hem of her costume and eased the garment up to her waist, showing off her flat stomach, her shadowy navel and the lace-sheathed plumpness of her pussy. A guy sitting at the bar leaned toward her, holding out a ten dollar bill. With a smile she hoped was enticing, she crouched down in front of him, holding his gaze. He stuck the cash into the elastic waistband of her thong. In a flash of wickedness, she pushed the bill under the triangle of fabric that barely covered her sex, then palmed her pussy and rubbed hard.

The spectators burst into wild applause. Meanwhile, Laura went rigid as a mini-climax raced through her. The spotlights dimmed and the room whirled as she struggled to remain standing.

Did the people watching know? Of course they did. But maybe it was common for dancers at The Fox’s Den to come on stage. She wouldn’t be surprised.

The song died away, haunting and erotic. Laura pulled the stretchy dress over her head and shook her blonde curls free, as Donna Summer picked up the beat.

Sittin' here, eatin' my heart out waitin'
Waitin' for some lover to call…

Laura strutted around the stage, shimmying her shoulders so that her breasts swung back and forth. People were clapping in time with the music as she bent once more and shook her ass in their faces. She felt high from the lust that washed over her. They wanted her, every single one of them.

Take it all off,” yelled someone in the back.

She obliged, teasing the thong down over her hips little by little, until everyone could see her shaved pussy. The drenched Alexander Hamilton fluttered to the floor. Oh God!

A voluptuous brunette at the bar pumped her fingers in and out of her month, then made a come-hither gesture. Laura sank to the stage directly in front of the woman, knees spread wide, swollen cunt lips gaping. Her eyes locked to Laura’s, the dark-haired lady slid her fingers bit by bit into Laura’s weeping slit. Drawing them out, equally slowly, she dragged them over Laura’s clit.

Fireworks shot through Laura’s body. Juices gushed from her, puddling on the stage. It was lucky she was already kneeling; in this onslaught of sensation, her legs would not have held her.

Hot stuff!” came a call from the audience, audible even above the thunderous applause. She recognized the deep voice. Steve!

Mingled shame and lust triggered another climax. Still shaking, she rolled onto her hip and somehow made it to a standing position. The music had ended, or at least she thought it had. The clapping made it hard to tell.

She made an awkward curtsy, then bent to retrieve her tangled dress, acutely aware she was showing off her ass once more.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

No typical lady - #RegencyRomance #MarriageGame #Giveaway @ellaquinnauthor


Book cover
Blurb

Polite society has its rules for marriage. But for Ella Quinn’s eligible bachelors, their brides will show them that rules are for the faint of heart . . .

Phoebe Stanhope is not a typical Lady. As feisty as she is quick witted, no one can catch her, especially when she is driving her dashing phaeton with its perfectly matched horses. And unlike her peers, experience has guarded her against a growing list of would-be suitors. But when she encounters Marcus Finley, what she fears most burns deep within his blue-eyed gaze . . .

For Lord Marcus, the spark of recognition is but a moment in the love he has held these many years. Now that he’s returned to England, all the happiness he desires rests on Lady Phoebe never finding out that he was the one who turned her heart so cold and distant. He must work fast to gain the advantage—to convince her what she wants is exactly what she denies—but in order to seduce her into his arms, he must be willing to give up more than he can control . . .


Excerpt

Marcus Finley arrived at the White Horse Inn with his friend Robert, Viscount Beaumont, who had reserved rooms there. Marcus found chambers across the street at the Red Unicorn. They met later to dine in a private parlor Marcus hired.

Quite good ordinary they have here.” Robert sat back in his chair, crossing one highly polished boot over the other. “The brandy is as good as any I’ve had. Must be French, though I don’t wish to know how the landlord came by it.”

Marcus grinned. “Yes, it’s very good and probably smuggled.”

Silence fell for a few moments, then Robert sat straight up in his chair. “Marcus, my boy, I saw the most beautiful gal I’ve ever seen in my life at the White Horse.”

Marcus lounged in his chair, lifting a brow in inquiry. Robert was known to be a favorite with the many disenchanted matrons of the ton.

And where did you find this paragon of nature?” Marcus asked in a languid drawl. “In the tap?”

No, no, my boy, not a game-pullet. Not at all. She was a lady.”

Marcus raised his quizzing glass and regarded his friend more closely. “Married?”

No. Put that thing away, you know I don’t like it. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me. She is a well-bred, unmarried lady. Beautiful, I tell you. Tiny. Has a good figure, quite a neat ankle, and the most gorgeous gold-red hair. Perfect in every way.”

Marcus’s fingers tightened around his glass. Robert’s conquests were legend, but they didn’t extend to well-bred innocents. A terrifying thought began to fill Marcus’s mind. It couldn’t be Phoebe. She was at Cranbourne Place.

He fought to keep his face calm, his gaze focused on his friend. “Who is this lady, do you know?”

Yes, got my groom to ask one of the ostlers. Stupid fellows, those ostlers, giving out that kind of information,” Lord Beaumont ruminated, definitely on the go. “Yes, now that I think on it, I believe I shall have a word with the landlord. The servants ought not be giving that sort of thing out.”

Marcus tapped his fingers on the table. “Her name, Robert?”

Her name?” Marcus repeated and waved an impatient hand to encourage his friend to continue.

Oh, yes,” Robert finally said. “Lady Phoebe Stanhope. Heard of her of course. Never seen her before. Don’t, as a rule, attend those types of events. Not much for the Grand Strut you know. Must avoid the matchmaking mamas. M’grandmother’s been after me to marry. Lady Phoebe is a devilish good looking gal. I may have to make a push.”

Marcus fumed. Lady Phoebe. His Vision. Friends or no, he would be damned if he’d let Robert anywhere near her.

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Ella Quinn's studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them.

She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and two beautiful granddaughters, and a Great Dane. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat. After cruising the Caribbean and North America, she completed a transatlantic crossing from St. Martin to Southern Europe. She's currently living in Germany, happily writing while her husband is back at work, recovering from retirement.

Ella loves it when readers connect with her.

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Monday, October 28, 2019

As Baltimore burns and ghouls roam the streets - #UrbanFantasy #Giveaway #Demons @fictivate

House of Ash and Brimstone cover
Blurb

Hell has come to collect…

but Gisele Walker has no plans to pay the debt.

As a half-demon paranormal bounty hunter, Gisele is used to flirting with death, but stealing a curio and opening a portal to Hell’s demon court is more than your average day job.

Now, she’s partnered with an infuriatingly handsome demon, Shade, who has more levels of grey than she can count.

Who can she trust to help save the city as Baltimore burns to the ground and ghouls roam the streets?

With a white-hot attraction burning between them and secrets blocking their path, Gisele must face her past and venture into the twisted heart of the demon royal court.

But with no memory of her past…

will she be able to save their future?

Excerpt

Wings burst from the doppelgänger-Shade’s back, massive and talon-tipped and tensile. They billowed, leathery and black as the forelimbs of a giant bat. Shadows shifted behind them as they spanned, making them appear to fill the width of the room. Patches of skin darkened and pebbled before ripping into tiny, hardened scales that gleamed in the soft glow of the containment tanks lining the walls, and bones elongated, protruding at knuckles, elbows, and clavicle, hulking the creature in both muscles and height until it towered over her. Two thickly ridged, ebony horns cut from its temples, banked in loose ash-brown locks that roiled about its shoulders. A long tail whipped against a tank, shattering glass.

She wanted to scream but couldn’t, numb, frozen like prey before a monster.

Shade’s demonic form speared her with eyes blacker than the depths of Hell, glistening with pure evil. They were the eyes of a creature that would suck out her soul and sanity and laugh at the corpse it left behind. This was what she’d always known in the back of her mind, that Shade was dangerous. That he was a born killer, a full-blooded Devil from the deepest regions of Hell.

No, wait. That wasn’t right. Sure, she was scared of Shade’s true form—he was a powerful and nightmarish-looking beast. But she also had flashes of him smiling and protecting her, worried and protecting her, laughing and crying and screaming her name, all while baring those same obsidian wings.

A gun was in her good hand, but she didn’t remember having drawn it. It wavered, trembling where it was outstretched.

Shoot, shoot to kill, a whispered voice not her own pounded in the back of her head, incessant. Shoot him before he turns on you, then shoot yourself.

With a start, she realized she’d aimed her sight at the real Shade’s back. She was a breath away from firing.

Buy links  

The book is $0.99 during the tour.


Amazon Print (won't be live until released day): https://smarturl.it/Gate1AmzPrt





Publisher (City Owl Press): https://smarturl.it/Gate1CO


About the Author

Megan Starks is the award-winning author of the Gatewalkers urban fantasy series and a game writer at Obsidian Entertainment. A Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® finalist, Writers Guild of America award nominee, and Pitch Wars alumna with an MFA in fiction, Megan enjoys reading and writing paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and fantasy novels. Whether it's dark demons, brooding vampires, howling werewolves, or feisty witches, Megan loves it all.

When she's not penning novels about magic and strong, kick-butt heroines, she enjoys playing video games and spending time with her husband and their cat, Sushi, in California.

Look for Night of Sunder & Sorrow, the sequel to House of Ash & Brimstone, coming in Spring 2020.

Get a free prequel to House of Ash & Brimstone by joining Megan’s mailing list at:


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Megan Starks will be awarding a prize pack of best selling urban fantasy romance + a copy of House of Ash and Brimstone to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.





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