Thursday, April 30, 2015

Ask the Dark by Henry Turner

Ask the Dark
by Henry Turner
April 7, 2015

Billy Zeets has a story to tell.

About being a vandal and petty thief.

About missing boys and an elusive killer.

And about what happens if a boy who breaks all the rules is the only person who can piece together the truth.

Gripping and powerful, this masterful debut novel comes to vivid life through the unique voice of a hero as unlikely as he is unforgettable.

Kathie's Review:

I picked this up because the blurb was pretty gripping. You know from the first chapter that Billy is going to survive, and I was glad to know it as there are some really intense, hard moments for this young guy to survive. I'm putting a trigger warning here. While we don't see the rapes of several young men, it is alluded to. There is also a lot of swearing, and while Billy tends to apologize for it, the words are still there. This is rated YA, and I'm sure most teens have read these words before, but do be aware.

This book is written as if Billy is telling us the story in the here and now, with grammar errors, odd phrasing, and rather weird spellings. It took me a long time to get into the flow of the story because of this. I thought about putting it down many times, then would tell myself to just finish it. Finally did, mainly because I needed to find out how Billy put all the clues together.

Because that's what he did. Billy is out and about in the town a lot. He's got his eyes open, mostly because there are a few other kids that have it out for him, and want to beat him up. Billy hadn't been a good boy all that long. He used to just do "stuff" for the heck of it. And people called him on it. A promise to his dying mom and issues with his dad made him try to toe the line. It was a hard line for him, too. When boys start disappearing, he starts putting the clues together about the missing boys.

I rooted for Billy. And I worried about him. Still wanted to take my editor's pen to his words. I think the "style" here took away some of the tension of the tale. But I still wanted to see him become a hero, and he did, even when it was hard for him. The story unfolds over the course of months, and sometimes it felt like the author was just moving time along.

An interesting debut novel for the author. Will be interested to see what he comes up with next.
Thank you, Clarion Books and NetGalley, for the opportunity to read this book.

Henry Turner grew up in Baltimore Maryland, in Roland Park, an old neighborhood heralded, on a historical plaque outside its local shopping center, “The oldest planned Garden Suburb in the United States”. He went to public schools. He was always interested in storytelling in one form or another, and as a teenager he started making films with his brother and neighborhood kids.

Henry wound up making five feature films, writing and shooting and cutting them. When his films won awards and attracted some attention he moved to Los Angeles, after getting a call from a movie production company that was looking for scripts. He stayed in L.A. and helped build a fledgling film festival that has since become well-established. He also wrote much freelance entertainment journalism, interviewing well-known filmmakers such as George Lucas, Brian Grazer, Quentin Tarantino, James Cameron, and many others. All along he was writing stories.

During a year spent in Greece he made a total commitment to writing fiction. Returning to Los Angeles, he met his future wife, who encouraged him to study fiction writing with a novelist he admired – John Rechy. Henry stayed in Rechy’s private writing group for a number of years and also studied privately with Hubert Selby. Since that time he and his wife have had a son, Hugo, who is now nine. Henry Turner is now writing a new novel.

Connect with Henry Turner:

Website * Goodreads * Facebook * Twitter @

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Second Helpings at the Serve You Right Cafe by Tilia Klebenov Jacobs

Second Helpings at the Serve You Right Cafe

by Tilia Klebenov Jacobs 
April 8, 2015

What if the world didn’t want you to go straight? 

Out on parole after almost ten years in prison, Emet First is repairing his shattered life. He has friends, a job, and his first date in a decade. The young woman, Mercedes Finch, is lovely but wounded. When her deranged brother learns about Emet’s past, he will stop at nothing to destroy him—and suddenly Emet has everything to lose.

Kathie's Review:

This short story kept me on the edge of my seat. And it made me hungry, too. Emet works for Eden Rose at the Serve You Right Cafe. The pastries made me drool. I think Ms. Jacobs could write a second book that just contained the recipes for the goodies in this one.

Emet has only been out of prison for a month. He has spent the last ten years in jail for manslaughter. Eden Rose feels everyone deserves a second chance and Emet is an extraordinary baker so she hires him. When we first meet these two, Emet has asked Mercy (a woman he met out and about) out on a date, and she said yes.

While Emet, Mercy and Eden are central to the plot, there are a lot of secondary characters that make this a lovely read, including an elderly couple who live in the park. Ms. Jacobs writes in an author's note at the end of the book that she had all these little stories in her head and when she drove by a coffee house one day, they all came together in a fictional coffee shop in her head. I liked many of these characters, so I'm glad it gelled!

Mercy's twin brother, Clay, is everything she's not. She's driven, kind, smart, and sweet. He is not. After their mother is moved into a home, he knows that Mercy is on her way out, too. He can't stand that. He deserves to be catered to, taken care of, fed, and housed, or at least that's what his stoned brains are telling him. When he sees she really is going, he decides to do everything in his power to make her stay. To say he is delusional would be an understatement. And his conniving, violent, and evil ways kept me on the edge of my seat. 

There were some truly wonderful lines in this book. Here are a couple:

Emet smiled at her. "Do you ever get tired of being right?"

"Never. It's a constant thrill."


"Everyone has a past," he said. "And no one has the future. We all have now, and right now, I like what I see."


"I live for the midnight info-dump. In fact, when I got up this morning I said to my cats, 'You know what's missing in my life? A late-night confessional to curl my toes."


"Do you always go shopping at the Crazy Store? It sounds like you bought out their entire stock."


There were many cute moments (along with the TENSION) in this one. And while it's short, it still has all the things I want in a novella: A beginning, middle and an end! I will definitely be looking for more from this author.

Thank you, Linden Tree Press and NetGalley, for the opportunity to read this book.

Tilia Klebenov Jacobs holds a BA from Oberlin College, where she double-majored in Religion and English with a concentration in Creative Writing. Following an interregnum as an outdoor educator with the Fairfax County Park Authority in Virginia, she earned a Master of Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School and a Secondary School Teaching Certification from the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Despite lacking the ability to breathe fire except in the strictly metaphorical sense, Tilia has taught middle school, high school, and college. She has also won numerous awards for her fiction and nonfiction writing. She is a judge in the Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition, and she teaches writing in two prisons in Massachusetts. Tilia lives near Boston with her husband, two children, and two standard poodles.

Connect with the author:

Wedsite  * Facebook * Goodreads * Twitter @TiliaKJacobs

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The Werewolf Wears Prada by Kristin Miller

Happy Release Day!!!

The Werewolf Wears Prada

a San Francisco Wolf Pack novel

By Kristin Miller

Pub Date   

Melina Rosenthal worships at the altar of all things fashion. Her dream is to work for the crème de la crème fashion magazine, Eclipse, and she'll do much anything to get there. Even fixing up the image of a gorgeous, sexy public figure who's all playboy, all the time. Even if he's the guy who broke her heart a year ago...
Even if Hayden Dean is a werewolf.
Since his father's death, Hayden's the heir apparent to the San Francisco Wolf Pack—well, once he settles down. Hayden isn't interested in giving up his partying ways, except he's pretty sure he's found his fated mate, and the fact that she's a non-shifter is bad news. Now he must find a compromise between the traditions of his wolf world and his certainty that Melina is his...before fate (or another werewolf) bites them both in the butt.
Kathie's Review:

This is the first book in the San Francisco Wolf Pack Series by Kristin Miller. She uses her shifter rules again in this new series, she's just moved them to San Fran from the Seattle Wolf Pack

Melina is ready to go to a huge affair with Hayden. She's wearing her fanciest dress, and in her case, that means DESIGNER TOGS. She felt a connection with him when she interviewed him earlier in the day. He might actually be someone she wants to get to know, long term. Her chagrin and hurt is deep when she sees him on TV with TWO other women...and she knows she's been stood up. Hayden really should have kept the words "a woman scorned" close at hand.

They meet again several months later. She is going to be the writer that gets his reputation under control and shows the world (and his pack) that he will be a worthy Alpha. Of course, she has no clue that he is a shifter. Makes for some fun scenes as she gets to know him. She's shocked that he doesn't really seem to be the womanizer that she expected. She does like him, and he her. 

For his part, Hayden has been staying away from Melina. He felt that draw, too...but the pack has only accepted him (as a turned wolf) on his father's say so. Now that his father, the Alpha, is gone, he needs to prove himself and there are those wolves that think him less worthy and that turned wolves need to be destroyed. He has his job cut out for him, and it appears there is someone in the pack that is trying to keep him out of the running for Alpha.

A couple timeline issues that bothered me, but otherwise a very enjoyable read.

This was a great first book in a series. Plenty of wolves to follow in the next books, for sure, and I'll be reading the rest of them just as soon as they come along. If shifters are  your thing, you'll enjoy this one.

Thank you, Entangled and NetGalley, for the opportunity to read this book

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Kristin Miller writes sweet and sassy contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and paranormal romance of all varieties. Kristin has degrees in psychology, English, and education, and taught high school and middle school English before crossing over to a career in writing. She lives in Northern California with her alpha male husband and their two children. She loves chocolate way more than she should and the gym less. You can usually find her in the corner of a coffee shop, laptop in front of her and mocha in hand, using the guests around her as fuel for her next book.

Connect with Kristen Miller:

Website/Newsletter * Goodreads * Facebook * Twitter  


The Brass Giant by Brooke Johnson

Title: The Brass Giant
Author: Brooke Johnson
Publisher: Harper Voyage Impulse
Genre: Steampunk
Format: Kindle
Published: May 5, 2015

Sometimes, even the most unlikely person can change the world

Seventeen-year-old Petra Wade, self-taught clockwork engineer, wants nothing more than to become a certified member of the Guild, an impossible dream for a lowly shop girl. Still, she refuses to give up, tinkering with any machine she can get her hands on, in between working and babysitting her foster siblings.
When Emmerich Goss–handsome, privileged, and newly recruited into the Guild–needs help designing a new clockwork system for a top-secret automaton, it seems Petra has finally found the opportunity she’s been waiting for. But if her involvement on the project is discovered, Emmerich will be marked for treason, and a far more dire fate would await Petra.
Working together in secret, they build the clockwork giant, but as the deadline for its completion nears, Petra discovers a sinister conspiracy from within the Guild council … and their automaton is just the beginning.
To Purchase The Brass Giant


Brooke is a stay-at-home mom, amateur seamstress, RPG enthusiast, and art hobbyist, in addition to all that book writing. As the jack-of-all-trades bard of the family, she adventures through life with her fiercely-bearded paladin of a husband, their daughter the sticky-fingered rogue, and their cowardly wizard of a dog, with only a sleep spell in his spellbook.
They currently reside in Northwest Arkansas, but once they earn enough loot and experience, they’ll build a proper castle somewhere and defend against all manner of dragons and goblins, and whatever else dares take them on.
For More Information
Visit Brooke at her website
Visit her at the following locations:
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Brooke and Harper Voyage Impulse are  giving away a $25 Gift Card!

Terms & Conditions:
  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Gift Certificate to the e-retailer of your choice
  • This giveaway begins April 27 and ends on May 15.
  • Winners will be contacted via email on May 17.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!



April 27
Book excerpt at What is That Book About
Guest blogging at Gothic Moms
Book excerpt at Mikky’s World of Books
April 28
Guest blogging at I Smell Sheep
Book featured at First Page to the Last
April 29
Book reviewed at Taking it One Book at a Time
April 30
Book review and Guest blogging at Reading Reality
Book reviewed at Martha’s Bookshelf
May 1
Guest blogging at Lisa Loves Books
May 4
Book featured at Sapphyria’s Book Reviews
Book featured at Chosen By You Book Club
May 5
Book reviewed at Queen of All She Reads
May 6
Guest blogging and Q&A at Coffee and a Keyboard
May 7
Book featured at Reader Girls
May 8
Book excerpt at The Literary Nook
May 11
Guest blogging at The Dark Phantom
May 12
Book excerpt at Review From Here
May 13
Book reviewed at Blooming with Books
May 14
Book excerpt at Literal Exposure
May 15
Book reviewed at I’m Shelf-ish
A machine is more than its function, more than the parts that shape it. The gears, pinions, and springs, they make the machine tick, but deeper than that—beyond the spindles and bearings, beyond the weights and levers—a machine is truth.
Lady Chroniker

Chapter One

Petra Wade stood at the foot of the University steps, her hands in the pockets of her borrowed trousers. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked upon the gleaming monument of scientific study, the anticipation of this moment finally a reality. She nervously twisted the stem of her pocket watch, feeling the familiar click of the ratchet against the winding gear.
Until now, her only experience with clockwork mechanics and design was her weekly studies with Mr. Stricket after her shift at the pawn shop, repairing pocket watches and grandfather clocks, or making clockwork contraptions out of spare parts, but she knew she had talent enough to compete with the best engineers the school had to offer. Yet the Guild would never allow it. The world of tickers was the world of men.
So, slipping her hands from her pockets, she tucked the loose strands of her hair back into her borrowed cap and gave herself the once-over, making sure that her brother’s clothes covered any femininity that might betray her to anyone inside. Satisfied that she looked the part, she marched up the University steps, determined not to let something as trivial as her sex stop her from pursuing the career she deserved.
Students milled about the door, discussing pitch circles and circumferential velocities. Petra’s skin quivered as she passed over the threshold. The rich scent of paraffin and gasoline replaced the salty air outside. The floor pulsed with the jarring oscillations of the subcity below, the steady hum of perfectly fitted gears vibrating within her bones. Her fingers twitched toward the screwdriver in her pocket. From the foyer, she could see the cluttered mess of schematics that papered the walls of the main workshop. Columns of unused gears stood at attention in the far corner, waiting for an engineer to affix them to a gear-train. Levers rocked and cranks spun, driving gears and sliders. Steam whistled through pipes. Blowlamps hissed and sputtered over metal joints. The workshop sang an engineer’s lullaby.
Petra grinned. She belonged here.
To the left and right of the entry, lift gates stood closed before clusters of students, the lights above the doors flashing yellow as the lifts sped up and down the shaft, disappearing beyond the high, arched ceiling, brass so polished it gleamed like gold. From the lifts, stairs curved upward along the foyer walls, leading to the upper-level workshops, with the entrance to the main workshop below.
Petra inhaled a deep breath. She could do this.
She marched toward the large, circular desk in the center of the entry hall, walking stiffly and purposefully with her hands clenched at her sides. Behind the desk sat a weedy, thin sort of man, annotating a printed letter. His hair was thin and graying, and he wore a name plate pinned to the breast of his coat—W. Plaskett.
Petra cleared her throat.
“One moment,” he said without looking up, continuing to scribble in the cramped margin at the bottom of the letter, until finally, he capped the pen and put the letter aside. “Yes?”
Petra cleared her throat again and spoke in the deepest voice she could muster. “I’m here to apply for the upcoming term.”
“Are you a returning student?” he asked.
Mr. Plaskett reached across the desk, grabbed a blank application file, and readied his pen. “Your name?”
“Wade,” she said, her heart beating faster. “Solomon Wade.”
He scribbled the false name. “And date of birth?”
“March 22, 1864,” she answered, knowing that she didn’t look the least bit nineteen, though only two years shy of the age herself. She tugged on the brim of her hat, shading her soft features from the overhead lighting.
“Former institution?” prompted Mr. Plaskett.
The scratching of his pen stopped.
Petra stiffened. Solomon said they’d accept anyone from Eton. Mr. Plaskett bent over and dug through a drawer of files, mumbling the names of institutions as he thumbed through the tabs. Petra gripped the stem of her pocket watch and waited, panic creeping up her throat.
“Ah, here it is,” he said. “Eton.” He slapped the folder onto the desk and flipped to the back pages, running his long, narrow finger down a list of names. With a frown, he turned to the next page and scanned the first few entries. “Hmm.” He shuffled through a few more pages before finally closing the file. He clasped his fingers over the folder and peered at her with an accusatory glare. “There is no Wade here.”
“Sorry?” Her voice cracked.
“I have a list of every student who requested a transfer to the University from Eton, and there is no Solomon Wade on that list.”
She stared at him a moment, winding the stem of her pocket watch as she tried to think. She and Solomon hadn’t planned for this. She could demand he check again, but the name wouldn’t be there, no matter how many times he read the list. The winding stem resisted against her fingers as the spring tension in the watch reached its peak. Hastily, she released the stem before the mainspring snapped.
“So, I’m not from Eton,” she blurted out.
He eyed her properly now, taking note of her petite size and the state of her borrowed clothes—oversized and soot-stained. “No. I believe not.”
She raised her chin and stared defiantly back, refusing to be judged, refusing to let him think she didn’t belong just because she didn’t look the part. “You can’t stop me from applying.”
Mr. Plaskett leaned back in his chair. “I have no desire to prevent worthy engineers from submitting applications to the University. However, as a non-transfer student with no credentials or statement of reference, I will need your registration of birth, a transcript of records from your former institution, a seal of approval from the Guild of Engineers, and your tuition fees for the first term. If you can manage that before September, you may then apply for the upcoming term.”
Petra’s heart sank. “What about scholarships? I thought—”
“Scholarships are for students of academic merit only, not—” He arched an eyebrow and appraised her with a sweeping gaze. “—the impoverished. We are not a charity.”
She tightened her hands into fists, the hair on the back of her neck bristling.
Mr. Plaskett smiled thinly—a smug, self-satisfied smirk plastered onto his face. “Now then, if that is all?” When she did not respond, he took Petra’s application file, balled it up in his fist, and tossed the paper into the bin behind his desk. “As I thought. Good day, Mr. Wade.”
Gritting her teeth with a grunt of frustration, Petra swiveled away from the desk and stalked toward the door. The prat. She shoved through a group of students and stumbled over a discarded knapsack, falling to the ground. Her knees banged against the hard metal tiles, and her pocket watch and screwdriver slipped from her pockets and skated across the polished floor. As she moved to reach for them, her hat fell from her head, revealing her long, braided hair.
“Why, it’s a girl,” said one of the boys behind her.
Haughty laughter echoed through the chamber, attacking Petra from all sides. Blood rushed in her ears, and her cheeks flushed under their judging gazes. Not one of them came to her aid or offered to help. Of course they wouldn’t. She didn’t belong there—a girl dressed in boy’s clothing. Humiliation burned at the corners of her eyes. The vibration beneath the floor nauseated her. The smell of oil suffocated her. The clacking and shrilling of the machinery rattled her brain. She had to escape.
Biting back the urge to shout at the boys to mind their own business, she scrambled to her feet and snatched her things off the floor, stuffing the screwdriver back into her trouser pocket and jamming the hat onto her head. Her eyes stung, but she dared not cry. Petra Wade didn’t cry.
Her pocket watch lay on the floor a few feet away. The case had sprung open, and the watch face glimmered in the overhead light. Clenching her hands at her sides, she stepped forward to retrieve it, but a shadow crossed her path and snuffed the yellow gleam reflected in the polished surface. The room hushed.
A large, heavy man crouched in front of her, reaching for her treasured timepiece. His coat strained against him as his fat pinched and bones creaked, like an old, cumbersome machine running without oil. He wore a pin on the breast of his coat, the working planetary gear system of the official Guild seal, ticking in a mesmerizing array of orbiting gears. The largest of the gears was acid-etched with a floral pattern, marking this vast fellow the University Vice-Chancellor, Hugh Lyndon. His thick fingers closed around the gilded case of her pocket watch and fastened it shut. When he stood, the boys around the foyer snapped to attention.
Vice-Chancellor Lyndon stared at the watch, running his stubby thumb over the ornate C that decorated the front of the case. “At ease, gentlemen,” he said. His voice was deep and gravelly, and though he spoke quietly, his voice carried through the hall.
The room relaxed at his command, but the boys remained, the air in the foyer still and silent as they stared on at the pair of them—Vice-Chancellor of the University and this unknown girl—as if they were some spectacle.
Lyndon flipped the watch open, and deep frown lines creased his brow. The reflection of light on his round glasses obscured his eyes, but then the glare on his glasses shifted, and his gaze flickered from the watch to Petra. He searched for something—fear, subordination, shame. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She gathered to her full height, raising her chin in defiance. He might have been Vice-Chancellor of the University, but Petra wasn’t going to bow down to anyone, least of all him. He was the reason she couldn’t attend the University in the first place.
But he did not challenge her, did not ask why she was there or who she was. He merely looked once more upon the watch, and the crease in the center of his forehead deepened.
Petra watched him carefully, wondering if he had seen the watch before, recognized it somehow—but it must have been years and years ago, before she was born, before Matron found her and took her in. Her pulse quickened. If he knew something of the watch, knew its maker or who might have given it to her, perhaps he knew the answers to questions that had plagued Petra her entire life, questions she had all but given up on. The watch, and the screwdriver in her pocket, were the only two things she owned that were truly hers, found in her pockets the day of the fire, the day she became an orphan, but neither had led her to her true home. Who had she been before the fire? Who were her parents?
Slowly, Vice-Chancellor Lyndon shut the case over the watch face, again running his finger over the gilded C. Petra chewed her lip as questions bubbled up inside her, but she was too aware of the crowd of students standing around her, judging her, mocking her. She held her tongue.
Burying her curiosity and anger and humiliation, she held out her hand to receive the watch and in the politest tone she could muster, addressed the Vice-Chancellor of the University. “May I please have my watch back, sir?”
Lyndon glanced up at her, as if just remembering she was there. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “Of course.” Closing his fist over the pocket watch, he tentatively placed it in her palm.
Afraid she would lose her calm if she stayed a moment longer, Petra nodded curtly and left the foyer without another word, fastening the watch chain to her belt. Ignoring the silent stares of the students, she descended the steps into the courtyard, stealing a brass-plated bench on the far side of the square. The hot metal scorched her skin, even through her trousers, burning the bitter embarrassment away.
She never had a chance.
Even with a disguise, even if she forged all the necessary documents, she would never manage to procure enough money to cover a semester’s tuition. She sighed and buried her face in her hands.
She would never attend the University. She would never become a qualified engineer. She would forever be the shop girl at Stricket & Monfore, or if Matron had her way, she’d be married off to some well-to-do idiot with no sense for mechanics.
A shadow passed between her and the sun.
“Guess you’ll be heading to work soon, then.”
Petra lowered her hands from her face and looked up at the leering face of the pawnbroker’s son, Bartholomew Monfore. Beneath the brim of his newsboy cap, he wore a smirk to match Mr. Plaskett’s.
She fumed. “Shove off, Tolly.”
“Don’t be like that,” he said, plopping down next to her on the bench. He nudged her with his shoulder. “Now listen... me, Norris, and Hoyt are playing cards tonight, and we need a fourth. You in?”
Petra groaned. “Can’t.” She reached up, twisted her braid into a knot on the top of her head, and hid it away with her cap. “I’m working with Mr. Stricket tonight.” Even if she wasn’t working, she’d come up with an excuse.
“Why bother? They said no, didn’t they?” he asked, gesturing to the University. “That’s why you’re out here pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“What do you call this then?” he said with a laugh. She scowled. “Oh, come on, Petra. That school is no place for you. They know it. I know it. Only person who don’t is you. Girls aren’t supposed to be engineers.”
“Shut up, Tolly.”
He merely shrugged. “Just telling it like it is, Pet. Someday, you’ll admit I was right.”
Petra stood up and exhaled sharply. “I have to go.”
Tolly grinned. “Don’t be late for work.”

Monday, April 27, 2015

Pros and Cons by Sydney Logan

Pros & Cons
By Sydney Logan

February 21st, 2015
Con artists Jenna York and Ethan Summers always seem to cross paths during their travels around the world. With their partners in tow, the cunning criminals wreak havoc across the globe, stealing from the rich and giving to the richer. While Jenna tries to convince herself that she sees him as nothing more than a professional rival, Ethan finds it a little harder to fight his attraction to the beautiful thief. When tragedy strikes, Jenna and Ethan join forces, but are the stakes too high? Can they escape this last job with their lives—and their hearts—intact? 

Kathie's Review:

This story has it all. Four con artists are at the top of their game, two want out to start their lives together, one last diamond heist on the books to fill the coffers...and some off the charts UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension) between the other two. This made for a fun, exciting read. And then I cried. Then I wanted someone to pay. Such a roller coaster of a book!

Ms. Logan's writing is smooth and pulls me right in. She gives us people to root for. I especially enjoyed the supporting character of Ethan's pilot and friend. Tickled me that he was a pilot named Gabriel. An angel in the pilot's seat! I'm thinking I'd read a book just about him.

There were some really intense scenes in this book that kept me on the edge of my seat. There was tenderness that was touching, and revenge. Yep, just the thing to read to keep one warm on these chilly winter evenings. Of course, if you are reading this review in the summer, it's also good for warm, sultry nights! Yes, a good book to read anytime!

Disclosure: I was blessed to be an editor on this one. I can honestly say, I LOVED IT!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Book Trailer:

Amazon bestselling author Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree in Elementary Education. She is the author of three novels - Lessons Learned, Mountain Charm, and Soldier On. Sydney has also penned four short stories and is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul. A native of East Tennessee, Sydney enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat. 

Visit her website at She can also be found on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

As I slip quietly out of the suite and rush toward the elevator, I can’t deny I’m feeling a little better about Vegas. That is, until the elevator doors open. Standing there, leaning against the stainless steel wall with a cocky smile on his face, is the one person I really didn’t want to see this weekend. With a miserable groan, I step inside the elevator and furiously stab the button.

“Are you following me, Summers?”

 “I’d follow your dimples anywhere, York.” Ethan Summers is infuriatingly charming and handsome. Both assets have proven to be beneficial to his career and detrimental to mine.

 “Well, these dimples just lifted Bradley Jones’ credit card numbers.” 

 “Impressive. Although, one might argue that a more superior con artist would be capable of accomplishing such a feat without showing a little skin. Really, Jenna, I’m disappointed.” He rarely calls me by my first name. Last names have always been our thing. 

 “Were you watching me?”

 “Every heterosexual man in the casino was watching your little performance. Nice legs, by the way.” Crap.

 “Not good,” I mutter. 

 “No, but I enjoyed it.” Ethan grins as the elevator doors open. I don’t protest when he grabs me by the elbow and leads me toward the nearest exit. It’s not brightly lit, but there’s a very nice bouncer that Ethan greets by name who allows us to walk right out the door and into the starry Nevada night. He doesn’t let go of my arm as we hurry toward a black SUV. 

 “Why are you helping me?” 

 “You drugged a millionaire and stole his credit card info. I think it’s best we get you out of town.” That doesn’t really answer my question, but I can’t argue with his logic. Ethan opens the passenger door and helps me inside. 

 “Nice stilettos.” I glare at him, and he shoots me a sexy smile before slamming my door. It’s really too bad that I hate his guts. Ethan Summers and I have crossed paths many times throughout the past couple years. It’s unavoidable, considering we’re two of the finest criminal minds in the world. That’s what the news says, anyway. 

 “Let me guess,” Ethan says as he pulls the SUV out onto the highway. “You used Rohypnol on Jones?” 

 I roll my eyes.

 “I’m a thief, not a sexual predator.”

 “Well, you obviously slipped something into his drink.”

 “Sleeping pill.” Ethan hums his disapproval. I can’t argue with him. Slipping Bradley a sedative is so amateur. “I was desperate. The entire weekend has been a complete waste of time. When did the Viper install dome cams?” 

 “A few weeks ago. The casino’s hosting the U.S. Poker Championship next month. Ceiling cams are a requirement.” 


 “I know.” 

 “So, if you knew about the cameras, what were you doing at the casino?” 

 “Let’s just say a little birdie told me you were hitting the Viper tonight. I had a feeling you might need my assistance.” 

 “So you’ve been talking to Abby.” He remains silent and keeps his eyes trained on the freeway, giving me the chance to study his profile. Ethan has a mop of unruly dark hair and deep blue eyes that make most girls go weak in the knees. Not this girl. Nope. 

“Like what you see?” My face heats. I hate when he catches me ogling him. 

“You’re an ass.” 

 He laughs. “Someday, Jenna, you’re going to stop fighting this attraction between us. I’m really looking forward to that.”

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Nightkind by Robin Bonzon

Welcome to the blitz tour for Nightkind by Robin Bonzon!

About the Book:

NIGHTKIND FINAL An ancient vengeance threatens to arise when Jenna is visited by a cryptic man who desperately needs her help to break an evil curse. She reluctantly agrees and soon discovers that there's always more to any situation than meets the eye. Can Jenna tap into a power hidden deep inside of her and save them both? Or will her growing affection for the mysterious man serve as their demise?




The clock flashed in the darkness, mocking her sleeplessness and paranoia. The recurring nightmare of her childhood – the one where she saw herself laying in a vast clearing in the woods under a full moon, bleeding to death – hadn’t haunted her in years. Tonight, however, it shook her from her sleep, and she was wound too tight to lie back down.

The night seemed to whisper in a tone meant to caress her soul, but the sound was tinged with something darker than the moonless sky outside her house. It chilled her to the core. She anxiously searched the room again for something tangible causing her fright, but it was an exercise in futility. Nothing lurked behind the cracked door to her closet, and no frightening devils under her bed waited to grab her and pull her into the Netherworld. She was utterly alone.

And perhaps that’s what was most frightening.

Her terror overwhelming, she offered a prayer against the darkness in a frantic whisper. Her mother used to recite this prayer with her, over and over, until she put aside her fear of the dream and fell asleep. As a child, it had been her only sanctuary.

Now, she was on her own, and she spoke the words fervently, hoping to find the same peace it had brought in her youth. “Please do not forsake me to evil. I ask you to protect me from whatever beast, man, or spirit steals my peace and robs my sleep.”

A cry ripped through the heavy silence, shattering the last of her calm. She cringed against the headboard, backed away from the sound of large wings flapping outside the large window that now seemed like a portal into hell. She drew the thin sheet up around her neck as if it offered protection. The darkness seemed to thicken and solidify before her eyes as she stared at the delicate glass, and a scream bubbled in her throat. She swallowed against it as the first tear spilled down her cheek.

The whispers came one on top of the other. Try as she might, she couldn’t make out the words, and they jumbled in her head in a painful knot. Her heart pounded near explosion, and she gulped deep, sobbing breaths. “Please, God, no!” she cried, though she didn’t know what threatened her. Wisps of night swirled around her like clouds, brushing against her cheek and leaving a trail of ice in their wake. She swatted at them, and her sheet slid to the floor, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. As she prepared to cry out, the voices condensed, and a single word rang so clear she didn’t know if it was aloud or in her own head.


About the Author:

author pic

Robin Bonzon has been writing since she was a child, and has always been passionate about the stories in her head. She has a penchant for the Paranormal and can't resist hoping that werewolves and vampires really do exist. She lives in Dallas, TX, where she spends a great deal of her free time watching horror movies with her husband, Justin, and dancing with her very mature 1-year-old son, Tristan.


The author is offering e-copies of NIGHTKIND to 5 winners of the Rafflecopter.

a Rafflecopter giveaway