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Thursday, March 31, 2016

The Hidden Reality by Stephen Martino Book Blitz

We're thrilled to be hosting Stephen Martino's THE HIDDEN REALITY Book Blitz today!  Pick up your copy!

Title: The Hidden Reality
Author: Stephen Martino
Publisher: Light Messages
Pages: 318
Genre: Science Fiction/Political Thriller

In the year 2084, the brilliant inventor, Alex Pella, finds himself at a precarious crossroad between the pursuit of justice and preservation of his own sanity. While attempting to undermine an international New World Order government created by the financial juggernaut known as The New Reality, he must also face the hidden truths about his own genetic heritage that are slowly destroying him. After receiving an ambiguous message sent from a former New Reality executive who died 2 years prior, Alex learns that the only possible means to confront this New World Order is to defeat a long-forgotten enemy almost 2500 years old.

THE HIDDEN REALITY is the second stand-alone novel in a trilogy starring Alex Pella, created by New Jersey-based neurologist and entrepreneur Stephen Martino. With his fusion of history, politics, and science fiction, Martino joins such masters of the thriller genre as Dan Brown, James Rollins, and Michael Crichton.

Martino’s villain is a corporation run by a cadre of ruthless international bankers known as The New Reality. Directed by the most corrupt and morally unscrupulous of the bunch, Myra Keres, the company has economically seized control of the world’s governments and the population’s personal freedoms in the process. In order to save humanity from this despot ruler and the unwonted atrocities to which she plans to perpetuate on the world, Alex Pella must infiltrate the company and face an enemy that has unknowingly haunted both him and history for almost 2500 years.

Martino says he wrote THE HIDDEN REALITY more than just to entertain the reader. He wanted to create a modern day Orwellian ANIMAL FARM to allegorically forewarn his readers of a possible dystopia future that awaits all of mankind if humanity continues to proceed down its path of self-destruction.

In THE HIDDEN REALITY, Martino has included such hot-button contemporary topics as genetic cloning, unprecedented economic debt, the rise of big government, and the threat of a New World Order run by the economic elite, while bringing the reader back almost 2500 years into the past when the ancient city state nation known as Greece fought the mighty Persian Empire for world domination.

All of these elements, Martino maintains, separate his book from the pack. He calls THE HIDDEN REALITY “issue-oriented fiction. There are real concerns facing society today that threaten both the sovereignty and prosperity of our future generations. Though fictional, my novel addresses some of these issues and predicts the potential consequences we face as a nation and the world if they are not properly addressed today.”

For More Information

Book Excerpt:
October 11, 1786 Landsbut, Bavaria
THE HYPNOTIC MELODY of the whistling wind and the patter of raindrops hitting the roof ordinarily proved more comforting to Xavier von Zweck than the most angelic lullaby. On this night, the grandfather clock had just chimed 2:00 a.m., and Xavier could barely close his eyes, let alone fall asleep.
Insomnia was no friend of his but had become an accustomed bedtime partner over the past year. Though the night was unusually warm and muggy for a Bavarian October, Xavier pulled another quilted blanket over his body, covering himself as if he were trying to make a cocoon.
“Xavier?” his wife mumbled, half asleep. “You’d rest better with the lamp off.”
“Mind your own business,” he quipped. Not wanting to start another argument, his wife simply turned away and drifted slowly back to sleep as if nothing had occurred. She had become accustomed to her husband’s quick fits of temper and erratic behavior. The man she married in her late teens was certainly not the man she had grown to know over the past year. His gentle, caring demeanor had been transformed into one of paranoia and fear. Though she cared for him dearly, their relationship dwindled as quickly as Xavier’s sanity.
If she only knew, Xavier thought. She would not be sleeping so soundly.
He double-checked his bedside table drawer for the tenth time that night to ensure that his gun was in the proper place. He had loaded the flintlock pistol and stowed it there in case of any emergency. Assured the gun was where he stored it, Xavier rolled on his back and looked blankly up at the ceiling. It was such a noble and just cause, he lamented. The enlightenment we would have brought to Bavaria, if not the world, would have made the Renaissance pale in comparison. Now they hunt us down like a pack of dogs, wanting to rid their country of any contrary thoughts or points of view. The government and church are nothing more than instruments of suppression that hinder man’s true nature to achieve enlightenment and pursue humanitarianism.
Xavier startled as the front door rattled.
Was it just the wind?
He lifted his head, trying not to make a sound. His breathing became shallow while his pulse raced. He could feel his heart pound and temples throb. He listened intently, hoping it was just the storm. Seconds passed like hours. Every raindrop sounded like raging bulls charging through his home. In his heightened awareness, the wind seemed to grow to hurricane proportions. His head darted to the bedroom window as a windblown tree branch only gently scraped across it.
They found me, he trembled. Just as they did all of the other brothers of the order! Baron Kruigge-Philo, Baron Bassus, Ferdinand Brunswick. All taken. Never seen or heard of again.
He looked at the window, expecting soldiers to come barging through it.
Xavier slowly began to ease himself back down to bed after a few terrifying moments.
 False alarm.
Just as he was about to breathe relief, the door rattled once again. This time the sound was unmistakable. This was not the storm or some wayward tree branch. Someone was out outside trying to get in.
Wearing only his white-laced nightshirt, Xavier sprang to his feet. Grabbing the fluted lantern from the night table by the base with his right hand and the pistol with the left, he dashed over to the top of the stairs. From that vantage point he had a clear view of the front door. Illuminated by ornate lanterns on both sides and burning candles in the hallway, the door was clearly visible in this moonless night.
Xavier pointed the pistol down the stairs, waiting for any unwanted visitors to enter his home. Though the ivory and gold festooned weapon was an inaccurate shot, at close quarters it should prove accurate enough to stop an intruder.
 The door rattled once again, and the person outside accompanied the rattling with seven distinct knocks. There were two doublets and one triplet all separated by a short interval. Could it be? Xavier hesitantly descended the steps, keeping his pistol pointing at the door. The knock was unmistakable. It was the secret cadence required to gain access to the order’s clandestine meetings.
Was it one of his brothers or was this just some sort of rouse the police were using for him to open the door?
“Cato,” a muffled voice said from behind the door.
Stunned, Xavier stood motionless after he descended the last step on the stairs.
“Cato. Open up,” the muffled voice beckoned once again.
This was no rouse or trick. Only a high-ranking brother in the order would know his code name. After a brief moment of disbelief, Xavier placed the pistol in his nightshirt pocket and scurried over to unlatch the lock on the door.
Which of my brothers could it be? There are so few of us left.
He slowly opened the door, peering around the corner just in case this visitor was accompanied by other unwelcome guests. The man was alone and drenched from head to toe. His large brimmed top hat concealed his face, making him unrecognizable.
“Cato,” the man asked in a raspy voice, “May I come in?”
“Yes. Yes,” Xavier finally answered, still not able to recognize the man’s identity or even his voice. “Where are my manners, good sir? Please come in brother.”
As the man walked into the house, Xavier immediately shut the door and fastened the lock behind him. Though the man was a brother, he needed to secure the house in case he had been followed.
“Let me take your hat,” Xavier quickly offered.
Obliging his request, the man handed the soggy hat to his host. Water trickled down from it onto the hardwood floor as Xavier placed it on a coat hook standing next to the door.
Though the man before him was about twenty pounds lighter, and drenched from his balding head down to his long blue-buttoned overcoat. Xavier immediately recognized the man’s identity—Adam Weishaupt. With a slight double chin, cherub-like cheeks and a dubious smile, he was thought to have been put to death after Duke Karl Theodor outlawed their order. But the former leader of their order was obviously still alive and now standing here in his hallway.
“Cato,” Spartacus immediately responded in a rushed and rasped tone. “There is little time. Do you still have everything?”
“Yes,” Xavier responded, still in disbelief that his brother from the order was still alive. “I kept everything hidden just like you requested.” Before he could say anything else, he grabbed Spartacus’s wet shoulders and asked, “How are you old friend? I was certain Duke Theodor had your head after he disbanded the order.”
Spartacus had little time for pleasantries. “Please, Cato. You must quickly bring me everything from the order. A new wave of reasoning is about to ignite in Europe starting in France, and I must be there to foster the initial spark.”
Xavier patted him on the shoulders and smiled in delight. “There’s no rush. Come and change into something dry. Have a cup of tea. The storm should break soon, and I will ready you fresh supplies for your journey ahead.”
“I may have been followed,” Spartacus quickly responded.
Xavier’s delight quickly soured at the revelation, though he knew the good of the order and its message meant more than his anonymity or even his own life.
“Yes. Follow me,” Xavier responded, quickly escorting his friend over to a wooden chest in an adjacent room. Though he had so many questions to ask, he understood he would have to wait for answers.
The room was dark and lit only by two candles almost completely melted to their base. With his lantern held in front of him, Xavier scurried over to the wooden chest and grabbed one of the brass handles along its side. Spartacus grabbed the other, and with little effort the two moved the chest to the side, revealing a small trap door underneath.
Xavier lifted the door by a small latch attached to it and brought his lantern closer so they could both get a better look. In the dim light provided by the lantern, Spartacus could just make out its contents.
Two large books, each with the order’s distinctive symbol imprinted on their cover, lay atop a beautifully ornate silver shield. Though the details of the shield’s artwork were lost in the darkness, the symbols certainly were not: an all-seeing eye surrounded by a pyramid.
The symbol was none other than that of the Order of the Illuminati.
A loud hammering on the front door caught them both by surprise.
Xavier almost dropped his lantern as he jumped back, nearly stumbling in response.
Clamoring from the back door in the rear of the house now accompanied the noise echoing from the front.
 “Adam Weishaupt,” a voice bellowed from outside as the incessant banging on the doors continued. “Open up!”
Xavier quickly put down the lantern and wrapped the shield and two books in the linen on which they were lying. “I must get you out of here.”
Taking the linen package, he opened up the chest and grabbed a large leather satchel especially made for these items. Xavier looked at Spartacus while placing the linen package in the pouch. “You must leave now.”
Before he could say anything further, Spartacus interrupted. “Is this everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this everything?” he reiterated over the clamoring noise.
With each new bang, the doors sounded as if they were going to collapse under the intense battering.
“Adam Weishaupt,” another voice from the rear of the house began to yell.
Time was dwindling. It would only be a few moments now before one of the doors would succumb to the beating.
Complicating the commotion, Xavier’s wife came running down the stairs. Carrying a lantern and wearing her nightshirt and cap, she asked, horrified by the commotion, “Who are these people, Xavier? And what do they want?”
“Go back up upstairs,” Xavier responded pointing back towards their bedroom.
Another strong pound came from the front door as its hinges began to give way.
Xavier’s wife stood in the hallway, motionless, looking at her husband and then the door, not knowing what to do.
“Go upstairs,” Xavier insisted with more emphasis.
“Is this everything?” Spartacus emphatically interrupted, taking the leather pouch.
The hinges on the front door continued to loosen and with each new thump the door opened just a small fraction more. Xavier’s wife began to cry and shiver under the stress. Though her husband cared for her dearly, he understood that the order’s cause meant more than even her safety.
He turned to Spartacus, “I have some other papers hidden in the kitchen. Come with me.”
 “Who are these people?” Xavier’s wife cried out.
“We are here under the direct orders of Duke Theodor,” a voice from behind the front door insisted, the clamoring momentarily stopped. “Adam Weishaupt, come out.”
Xavier’s wife quickly went over to the door and began to fumble with the lock. She respected the authorities and certainly wanted no trouble with the Duke. Whoever her husband was harboring at this moment needed to leave.
“No!” shouted Xavier as he turned in disbelief to see his wife begin to unlatch the door.
He attempted to stop her but Spartacus grabbed him by the shoulder. “The other papers,” Spartacus shouted. “I must have the other papers!”
“But—” Xavier was cut off as Spartacus shoved him towards the kitchen.
The door to the rear of the house smashed open, leaving pieces of wooden shards all over the floor. Soldiers in long blue overcoats carrying bayonet rifles in their hands came barging through and into the storage room. The room was cluttered, wet from the storm, and blanketed in total darkness, which proved to be Xavier’s best defense.
One of the soldiers began to shout in agony as his companion accidentally bayoneted his leg upon tripping.
“Move it,” a boisterous voice from the rear urged, grabbing the fallen soldiers and attempting to bring them to their feet on the slippery floor.
“Take this,” Xavier insisted, removing the pistol out from his nightshirt pocket. “It will provide only one shot. Make it count.”
Spartacus took the weapon but again insisted, “What about the other papers?”
“There is no time,” Xavier responded, “Go down…”
“Where is he?” a voice echoed from the hallway. “Where are you hiding Adam Weishaupt?”
A weak voice responded, “Some man just took my husband into the kitchen.”
“I have a horse ready just outside the wine cellar, in a stall I placed there in case of an emergency.” Xavier continued as he began to perspire under the stress. “There are two days’ worth of supplies and some money strapped to the saddle.”
“But the papers,” Spartacus insisted. “They must not fall into anyone else’s hands.”
Two soldiers suddenly appeared next to the kitchen. “We found him!” one of them yelled.
Xavier quickly handed his friend the lantern and rushed over to the soldiers, hoping to use his body as a shield and give his friend an extra second to escape. “Go now!” he insisted.
Spartacus took the lantern and immediately smashed it against the kitchen table covered in fine linen as Xavier ran over to the soldiers with his arms spread, hoping to block their pursuit. Flaming oil from the lamp spewed out upon the table and onto the walls upon impact, catching them on fire.
Xavier looked back in horror as his house was consumed by flames, while his friend, still holding the base of the lantern, slowly backed away towards the wine cellar.
What’s he doing?
Spartacus knew there was no other option. If the remaining Illuminati papers in the house somehow became public, it could compromise the entire movement. France would remain under its tyrannical rule from the king; all of Europe would remain masked in darkness.
The soldiers began to push past Xavier as he stood motionless. He had grown up in this home, and was the fourth generation of Zwecks to live there. All his belongings and generations worth of memories were turning to ash.
The soldiers stopped their pursuit as Spartacus pulled out the pistol Xavier had given him from his pocket. Taking close aim, he fired. A puff of black smoke momentarily obscured his vision. The bullet directly hit its mark, piercing the man’s heart and sending him tumbling backwards.
Mortally wounded, Xavier fell towards the soldiers who did nothing to stop him from falling on the hard wooden floors. Xavier struck the ground as blood poured from his chest. Letting out a single grunt, he lost consciousness before he could understand what had just transpired.
Spartacus ran down into the wine cellar. The reflection from the burning fire in the kitchen gave him just enough light for him to see his way back towards a set of steps in the back of the room. Though he had just murdered a close friend and brother of the order, he had no time to lament or second guess his actions. The importance of the Illuminati movement far outweighed the significance of one man’s life or worldly possessions—Xavier’s death was for the greater good of all mankind.
The soldiers followed Spartacus in quick pursuit. With their bayonets pointed forward, they ran through the fire-lit kitchen and towards the stairs.
Spartacus heard the soldiers in pursuit; they were closing in on him. Pushing up on a door at the top of the steps, he ascended into a covered barn with an already saddled horse seemingly awaiting his arrival.
A few already burning lanterns in the stall provided just enough illumination for him to see. He then quickly unlatched the barn’s only door and mounted the horse. A bluster of wind blew the door open just as Spartacus began to ride towards it.
Seeing their target attempting to ride away, one of the soldier’s took aim with his rifle before he ascended the final step of the wine cellar. With only one shot and his fellow companion still behind him, he knew the bullet needed to count. His orders were to bring back Adam Weishaupt dead or alive. Dead would work just fine.
The rifle went off with a black puff of smoke.
The bullet passed through Spartacus’s dark overcoat, inflicting only a minor flesh wound to his thigh. Barely noticing the pain, Spartacus put his head down and rode out into the night. With the shield and two books safely secured, he knew the course of mankind would be irrevocably changed from this moment forward.

About the Author

Stephen Martino is neurologist practicing in New Jersey. Though not separating conjoined twins like Dr. Ben Carson, he is part of an active medical practice and is currently participating in concussion research and inventing new medical products. When he is not working, he can be found with his five children doing homework or cheering them on at a soccer field, basketball court, or dance recital. Martino is a member of the Knights of Columbus, a Cub Scout den leader and is an active public speaker, helping to provide stroke education to the local community, EMS squads and healthcare professionals.

His latest book is the science fiction/political thriller, The Hidden Reality.
For More Information


Eolyn by Karin Rita Gastreich Book Blast and Giveaway


by Karin Rita Gastreich


GENRE: Fantasy



In a land ravaged by civil war, the Mage King Kedehen initiates a ruthless purge of the magas. Eolyn, last daughter of the magas and sole heiress to their forbidden craft, seeks refuge in the South Woods.

When she meets the mysterious Akmael, heir to the throne of this violent realm, she embarks on a path of hope, seduction, betrayal, and war. Desire draws Eolyn toward Akmael’s dark embrace, but fate binds her to Corey of East Selen, a cunning mage whose ambition challenges the limits of love and loyalty.

Can she trust either man?

Hunted in a realm of powerful wizards and brutal deceptions, Eolyn must find her own path to freedom or she will burn on the pyre.

"Vigorously told deceptions and battle scenes, with a romantic thread." -Publishers Weekly



Eolyn knew Akmael did not agree with her decision, and for a moment she thought he would ruin their last meeting by starting another argument. Instead he drew back his sleeve and said, “I would like to give you something to remember me by.”

The symbols embroidered into the fabric of his robe reflected the forest in multiple shades of green. Underneath the folds, Eolyn saw a silver band around his arm. Removing the jewel with care, Akmael offered it to Eolyn.

Awed, Eolyn turned the bracelet over in her hands. On the etched surface she recognized multiple forms of Dragon: winged serpent, snake, lion, butterfly, river otter, fish and many others. Each figure blended into the next, creating a single creature as fantastic as imagination itself.

It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

It was a gift from my mother.” Akmael’s voice broke with quiet emotion. “She gave it to me before she died.”

Retrieving the armband gently from her grasp, Akmael slipped it over Eolyn’s wrist and moved it just past her elbow. The metal coiled into a perfect fit against her skin.

Akmael’s hand traveled back down Eolyn’s arm. He caught her fingers in his and studied her for a moment. “I will miss you, Eolyn.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed her.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Karin Rita Gastreich writes stories of ordinary women and the extraordinary paths they choose. She lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where she is part of the biology faculty at Avila University. An ecologist by vocation, Karin has wandered forests and wildlands for over twenty years. Her past times include camping, hiking, music, and flamenco dance. In addition to The Silver Web trilogy, Karin has published short stories in World Jumping, Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman, and 69 Flavors of Paranoia. She is a recipient of the Spring 2011 Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency.

Twitter: @EolynChronicles

Karin will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Relics of Camelot by LH Nicole Book Blitz

Relics of Camelot (Legendary Saga #3)
Release Date: 03/29/16

Summary from Goodreads:
Making a devil’s bargain with a Fae queen is a dangerous thing.

Thrown back to the golden days of Camelot, the Destined One needs to find the object that will lead her and the Knights of the Round Table to the Grail of Power. But Aliana must also figure out and complete a mystery task before she can return to her own time. 

The consequences of revealing Camelot’s future to King Arthur or any member of the Round Table family could be devastating. She is forced to keep secrets, feeling more alone than ever, even with the support of new friends and allies. With the unwelcome knowledge of their looming deaths, will she be able to resist the temptation to save the people she loves?

The attentions of Sir Galahad and King Arthur are a delightful yet confusing distraction. Her feelings for Arthur—even this version of him who doesn’t know her—continue to grow. The sparking sensation she’d felt whenever she touched Sir Galahad is mysteriously missing, but she can’t deny a continued connection with the protective knight.

Weapons powerful enough to destroy even Excalibur surface along with a shadowy figure that even seems to have influence over Mordrid. The time of the eclipse grows ever closer and everything Aliana thought she knew will once again be tossed into question again as she continues on her Legendary quest.

Buy Links:

Book One:
(cover linked to Goodreads)
Buy Links: (on sale for $.99)


Book Two:

Buy Links: (on sale for $1.99)


Are you excited for the games tomorrow, Aliana?”

Aliana turned, her face almost colliding with Galahad’s wide chest, her heart beating in her ears. Her eyes looked up to meet his laughing blue ones. “You really must stop sneaking up on me, Galahad.”

He smiled broadly. “It would seem I have a talent for finding you when you are lost in your thoughts.”

Aliana’s stomach started to fill with butterflies. Before the very perceptive knight could read her she turned back around, leaning her elbows on the cold stone of the rampart. “Are you excited for the games?”

He took a spot next to her, his arm brushed against hers as he mimicked her pose. “There are many things about these coming festivities that excite me.”

Aliana glanced at him briefly as he looked down at the arenas. “You mean you’re excited to prove you are the best of the knights of Camelot?”

Perhaps.” His body presses a little closer against hers. “There are few things that I enjoy more than facing a worthy opponent. And these games bring out the best in Camelot and the other kingdoms.”

Aliana giggled lightly. He is such a guy!

You laugh at me?”

No.” She glanced at him. “Well, maybe. Part of me is afraid to ask what you enjoy more than beating on other warriors.”

His grin widened. He turned his body so he was facing her, one arm leaning on the stone wall. “I enjoy being with those I hold most dear.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Heat raced through her, but not the silver sparks that she had had always felt from his touch. Her ears and cheeks turn red. In movies and TV, this is the part where the girl would look at the guy and they would share a passionate kiss. But Aliana’s resolve had already weakened once. She took a step back. She wasn’t sure she was ready to let it happen again.

About the Author
I am a seasoned Pastry Chef in our nations capitol and a life long fairytale (Disney and Grimm) lover, believes in love at first sight, is addicted to 80’s & 90’s cartoons and anything that can capture my ADD-way-to-overactive-imagination. Joan Lowery Nixon and L.J. Smith were the first authors I became addicted to and who inspired me to steal away whenever I could to read and write. You can keep up with me, and all my news and adventures on Facebook, Tumblr, Pinterest, Blogger and Legendary Saga website.

Author Links:
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The Maurin Kincaide Series by Rachel Rawlings Book Tour

The Morrigna
The Maurin Kincaide Series
Book One
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy


Number of pages: 326

Cover Artist: Joseph Eastwood

Book Description:

I'm Maurin Kincaide, a psychometric, and until a few days ago I was working for Salem's Preternatural Task Force as an interrogator. I cracked more cold cases and got more confessions than anyone else in the department. Of course that was before I traded in my badge for an ancient Celtic sword. Now, I'm the Special Liaison for the Council, the governing body of the Others, and I take my orders from witches, werewolves and vampires.

I didn't just make a career change though. I'm not the same person I was before. I'm stronger, I can heal from wounds that would kill a normal person. I'm developing latent psychic skills at a breakneck speed. Oh yeah, and it would seem that a Pagan goddess has taken permanent residence in my body and mind. Crazy thing is, I'm starting to feel normal, like this is who I'm supposed to be.

Of course, there are those who don't agree. Morrigan and her sisters for example. Actually, I'm pretty sure they'd like nothing more than to see me dead. And if I can't stop them and the demons they've raised, they just might get their wish.

Available at    Amazon    Audible    BN

Excerpt: The Morrigna
I couldn’t help feeling a little vindicated as the Captain told him his theory was pretty much paper thin, but he hadn’t even started on me yet.  He dismissed Masarelli with a wave of his hand, but Masarelli didn’t move.  He just stood there like he was waiting for more instructions or perhaps to hear me get chewed out.  He would get neither. 
   “Now, Masarelli.”  The tone in Matthison’s voice had me sitting up straight.  “Shut the door behind you.”
   Captain Matthison waited until Masarelli closed the door and was sure he had walked far enough away not to overhear our conversation before he continued.  Definitely not a good sign.
   “You’re not going to like what I have to say, Kincaide, but I’m going to say it and you’re going to listen.  I’m putting you on paid administrative leave.  Effective immediately.”  He was his usual calm self as he handed out my punishment.
   “For how long?  Wait a minute, what the hell did I do?  I came in here, tried to do my job and now you’re punishing me because I didn’t get the desired results?  You never said that there would be repercussions if I didn’t produce every time when you offered me this job!”  He might be calm, but I was fuming.
   He lowered his head and ran a hand through his short brown hair.  “I realize every case can’t be easy, that there will be times when you simply can’t get the answers we need.  That’s not what this is about and you know it.”
   “No, I don’t actually, so why don’t you enlighten me.”  It probably wasn’t smart to get flippant with the Captain, but I couldn’t have cared less in the heat of the moment.
   “There’s something going on with you.  I’ve noticed things over the last couple of weeks, ever since we’ve been dealing with this demon case.  Even before that, if we’re being perfectly honest.  There‘s no way that witch should have walked out of here like she did.”  He was mussing up his hair again, like he didn’t want to finish, so I didn’t give him the chance.
   “If the arresting officer had caught that witch’s charms, we wouldn’t even be talking about her right now!  And you can’t seriously think I had anything to do with any of this?  That my not feeling well is in any way related to the demon running loose?  So why put me on leave?”  I didn’t even try to hide my disgust at the thought.
   “Would you shut up and let me finish.  We both know it’s more than you ‘not feeling well’.  ‘Not feeling well’ implies that you’re coming down with a cold or something.  That is not what is happening with you.  And of course I don’t think you had anything to do with the demon.  As for being related?  Who knows?  From what Masarelli says, our best, though admittedly thin, lead had you in some kind of trance.  You were catatonic in our interrogation room for Christ’s sake!  That’s never happened before.  Not once in the three years you’ve been here.  You have been getting stronger.  I’ve seen it.  You spend less and less time with the suspects and walk away with more and more information.  But the witch?  Charms have never stopped you before.  And then you face O’Neil and it’s like you’ve got nothing, no abilities at all.  He should have been a cakewalk for you.  He didn’t even register on any of our psychic scans.  It’s like with more power comes less control.  I don’t know what’s going on with you and you don’t either.  So until you figure it out, you’re on leave.  I just can’t risk you being injured or blowing a case - both of which are very real possibilities and you know it.  I don’t want you near the station or anywhere near this case.  That’s an order.”  He didn’t have the same tone in his voice as he had with Masarelli, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear what he had just said.
   “Do you want my badge too?”  Okay, it was slightly juvenile, but I couldn’t help myself.

   “Are you offering it to me?  Because as much as it would disappoint me, I’ll take it if you are,” he said.

Witch Hunt
The Maurin Kincaide Series
Book Two
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy


Number of pages: 316

Cover Artist: Joseph Eastwood

Book Description:

Maurin Kincaide is back in this action packed follow up novel to The Morrigna. No longer a member of Salem's Preternatural Task Force Maurin is the new liaison for The Council, governing body of Others. During what should have been a routine meeting with her former Captain, Maurin is brought in on a murder investigation.

Three dead witches, three cryptic clues, no sign of the killers and the Salem coven is losing allies within the Council. If Maurin and her unlikely partner Captain Matthison can't stop the killers, the Witch City might be without its namesake.

Available at Amazon    BN   Audible
Witch Hunt  Excerpt:

Maurin Kincaide.” That was my professional greeting.
“It’s Matthison. You need to- ” I cut him off.
“Too late. You already approved the pass. You don’t get to change your mind now.” He wasn’t going back on the pass, not after I had already sent word that it had been approved.
“First, I only said yes to you. You don’t have my signature on the form yet. And second, I absolutely could go back on it if I wanted to, and there isn’t a damned thing that you could do about it. But that’s-” He didn’t get to finish.
“I could get someone to whip up a potion. I know people.” I interrupted.
I was almost to the corner. I pulled my coat a little tighter. It wasn’t officially winter yet, but the Solstice was only a week away. I could almost see the sign for the Daily Grind; coffee was almost within my reach.
“They wouldn’t and you know it. I didn’t call about the pass, Maurin. You need to come back in.” The friendly banter was over.
“Come back in? You make it sound like I’m wanted for questioning. Am I a person of interest, Captain?” I asked.
Something was up - so much for a decent cup of coffee. Looks like I’d be slurping down more of the sludge they keep in the coffee pot in the break room.
“You are one of the most interesting people that I know. I need to talk to you about a case.” I could hear him talking to someone, but his hand was over the receiver, muffling his voice.
“Wow! Sounds like you need to meet some more people. Don’t you have any cops working for you anymore, or did you transfer all of them too? Why didn’t you ask me about this when I was in your office?” Of course, I had already turned around. My curiosity was definitely peeked, but I didn’t want him to know that.
“I’m looking at it now for the first time. Just get your a** in here.” He hung up.
When I got back to Matthison’s office, he was gone. It didn’t take me that long to get there; I was right outside, for crying out loud. I scanned the desks outside his office and found him bent over a folder with my least favorite detective - Masarelli. The one good thing about not being on SPTF anymore was not seeing Masarelli’s ugly mug every day.
I walked over to Masarelli’s desk. “Captain.” I didn’t even bother acknowledging Masarelli, the prick. I did, however, try to look at the file on his desk.
Before I could get a good look at anything, Matthison scooped up the folder and waved me into his office. Masarelli turned his best thousand-yard stare on me – as if I was intimidated by him. I was a better interrogator than he was and he knew it. Of course, he would say it’s because I have advantages that he doesn’t. While it is true that I have what I would call “helpful abilities”, it isn’t my fault that I have them. Besides, I was convinced that I would be a better interrogator than Masarelli even without those abilities. I gave him a wink and a smile over my shoulder, and then followed the Captain into his office.
He dropped the file onto his desk. “I need you to make a call.”
I shut the door behind me. “I’m sorry, what?” I hadn’t expected him to ask me to make a phone call. Talk to a suspect for old time’s sake maybe, but not a phone call.
“You’re the liaison. I need you to call the Council. Mahalia, specifically.” He started rubbing his forehead, which was always his tell that something was very wrong.
“Okay, and what is it that you’d like me to ask her?” I asked. It was never good when he reminded you what your job was. Something was definitely wrong.
He dropped down in his chair. “Tell her that I’ve got a dead witch on my hands and I need her to ID the body. She can meet us at the morgue. They’ve already finished processing the scene.”
“How are you so sure it’s a witch? If they only just finished at the scene, then there’s no way you have lab confirmation. What makes you say witch?” I was really hoping that he was jumping the gun on this.
There were lots of Norms who liked to masquerade around as witches in Salem. You could find a body in front of a cauldron with a broom in one hand and a wand in the other, and it still wouldn’t mean you had a real witch. True witches have a slightly different genetic make-up than Norms, but you’d never know it without the lab work.
He slid the folder across his desk, spilling its contents. “Besides the ‘thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ carved into her abdomen, you mean?”
“S***.” I picked up a photo off his desk. “Are her, are her hands cut off too?” Despite all the gross stuff I’d seen recently, I was still swallowing hard.

“Yeah, and her tongue was cut out too. Why would someone do that?” He wasn’t really asking me, which was good - because I didn’t have an answer.

The Maurin Kincaide Series
Book Three
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy


Number of pages: 78 Novella

Cover Artist: Joseph Eastwood

Book Description:

Given the choice between her sister's wedding and witnessing the challenge for Alpha of the Salem pack, Maurin knows exactly where she'd rather be. Smack dead center in a pack of snarling werewolves wearing eau de filet mignon.

Until Francesca takes off the morning of her wedding. Being her sister's keeper will not excuse her from her job as the Council Liaison. Torn between obligations to a family she's avoided for almost a decade and the Council of Others, Maurin has less than twenty-four hours to set things right.

Available at 

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Wolfsbane Excerpt:
I woke in a cold sweat to the sound of heavy gun fire. I grabbed the Retaliator from the empty side of the bed and bolted out of my room. My front door was open and I was out in the little stairway that led to my third floor walk up before I was awake enough to realize there was no danger. My first clue should have been Conry- a Cwnn Anfwnn, gift from my father and personal guard "dog"- just rolling over and burying his head beneath his massive paws. The sound of grenades and Dempsey's voice coming up the stairs told me it was just my new neighbor playing COD Zombies with the TV full blast at three o'clock in the morning again. I was still in boy shorts and a tank top but I didn't bother to go back in my apartment to change. He'd seen me in less. I stormed down the flight of stairs to Cash's apartment with my sword in hand.
"It's going on four in the morning! Turn that s*** off or I'll send some real zombies to your apartment!" I yelled while I pounded on the door.
How the guy on the first floor slept through it I'll never know. But it had been me stomping on my floor and banging on Cash's door every night for the last month.
"What's the big deal? I figured a fanger like you would be used to staying up late." Cash casually replied upon opening the door.
"You can be such a jerk." I said with more venom than the insult commanded.
"Jerk? That's the best you could come up with?" Cash said through his laughter.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not at my wittiest when I wake up to the sound of World War III at three in the morning." I said tartly.
"It's Modern Warfare, not World War III." He smirked.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not the only other person who lives here you know. I can only imagine what it sounds like downstairs. The poor guy probably has to sleep with ear plugs in." I scolded.
"Mike works third shift. He doesn't get home until after seven in the morning. " He was still smirking.
"He's only lived here for like three weeks and I haven't even talked to him. You two are what, like best friends already?" I asked, irritated.
"What can I say? People just like me better than you." He was past smirking and into a full grin.
I probably shouldn't have but I couldn't help myself. I swung the Retaliator around until the tip of the blade pressed against his Adam's apple. "Just turn the TV down or we'll see how good of a gamer you are without your thumbs."
I stomped away. "And stop staring at my a**." I said as I started up the steps. If the challenge for Alpha of the Salem pack didn't happen soon Roul was going to start getting wake up calls at three in the morning. I didn't know what the holdup was anyway. He was too busy to help us with the Inquisitors and the demon they unleashed a few weeks ago because of his "pack business" and now it's delay, delay, delay. It's been unusually quiet in Salem but I haven't had a decent night's sleep in four weeks because of my new neighbor.
Well, it wasn't all Cash's fault. Aidan had a little something to do with it - too bad it was just talking. Aidan made his feelings for me clear but was still insisting we take our time. Vampires could be very patient. Having spent most of my life living more like a "norm" than an immortal I found it infuriating. He wanted to be sure the effects of Mahalia's spell were gone. I assured him that any feelings I had for Oberon died the minute I found out he hadn't. I thought I had killed him, pulling too much power through the tie that bound us. In order to save himself, he broke the connection  and the false feelings for him Mahalia had spelled into my heart.
I tried on more than one occasion to convince Aidan that I hadn't felt more like myself since Mahalia's magic had been broken. That had been a monumental waste of time. It takes powerful magic to control someone's heart and mind, he explained during one of our all night conversations. I had had other things on my mind, things that didn't involve so much talking. I used all my feminine wiles to persuade him - unsuccessfully. He was convinced lingering magic would try to latch itself onto the next person to vie for my affections. His conviction to determine my true feelings made for more than one long and frustrating night. Not to mention my temper was becoming increasingly short. Which might explain why I was down here threatening to cut fingers off my irritating neighbor's hands.
"No kiss good night?" Cash asked sarcastically.
I didn't bother with a response. Cash was one of the few people I knew who had as many smart a** comebacks as me. If I didn't walk away we'd be going at each other until the sun came up.
"How about a kiss for good luck then?" He called out as I was half way up the stairs. "The challenge is tonight."
I turned around slowly. How weird was that? I was just ranting to myself about how Roul was dragging his ass. If I didn't know better I would have thought Weres had suddenly developed the ability to read minds. Thankfully they hadn't or my thoughts about Roul wouldn't have been the only thing Cash would have glimpsed. He didn't need any more ammunition when it came to aggravating my vampire. If Cash even suspected my frustration with Aidan it would be like arming a nuclear war head.
"The only lips she'll be kissing are mine, wolf." Aidan's voice carried up the stairway from the first floor. I'd hardly seen him over the last couple of weeks. Just hearing his voice sent shivers up my spine and I silently cursed him, knowing full well we wouldn't get further than second base again tonight.
I'm sure Cash knew he was there, hence the kiss comments but I hadn't been expecting him. So why had he suddenly shown up on my doorstep? Curiosity over his surprise visit quieted my suddenly raging hormones. He had been working every night on some new assignment that he couldn't talk about. It was starting to piss me off actually - not the constantly working part, the not knowing part. To be honest, my increasingly bad mood may have stemmed more from being out of the action than Aidan staying out of my bedroom. Sure the time off from saving Salem from imminent danger was great. At first anyway, but it had been almost a month of peace and quiet. After only a week I found myself wishing for some sort of Armageddon. Whatever Aidan was working on seemed to be the cure for my doldrums - and pent up sexual energy - but Agrona had me on the sidelines with no intentions of letting me play in their vampire games.

Blood Bath
The Maurin Kincaide Series
Book Four
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy

ASIN: B00IJ16Z56

Number of pages: 202

Cover Artist: Joseph Eastwood

Book Description:

Bodies are piling up and all signs point in one direction. Rogue vampire. Except things aren't always what they seem, especially in a murder investigation.

With her current relationship on the rocks, her father playing match-maker and her neighbor tossing his hat in the ring, the body count isn't the only thing on the rise. Maurin is neck deep in magic, mayhem and murder.

Can she catch the killer before the killer catches her? One things for certain, when hunting vampires there will be blood.

Available at   

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Blood Bath Excerpt:

"You need to come to the station with me." He moved to open my door, like that would get me into motion. Conry took interest in the detective again and Masarelli quickly removed his hand from the handle. 
"Look, I was going to talk to you about the Salem pack. I'll spare you the bullshit excuses and just admit I forgot. Cash is the new alpha. If I promise to come in tomorrow and tell you about it can I go? I'm already late for an appointment." I glanced at the clock on the radio. It was the only unoriginal thing in the car, well that and the speakers. I was now ten minutes late for my meeting with Arawn.
"It's not about the wolves. It can't wait until tomorrow." He backed up enough for me to open the car door.
"I'm not getting out of the car until you tell me what the hell is going on." I started to put the window back up.
"I am not going to discuss this on the side of the road. Quit busting my balls and get out of the dammed car."
"Quit busting your balls?" I opened the door and stepped out in a rush, thrusting my hand out. "Hello, pot, my names kettle. It's nice to meet you. Why can't I just follow you?"
He ran a hand over his face, across stubble that was too long, even for him. "This is exactly what I was talking about. Because I know you won't follow me. Now would you please get in my car so I can take you to the station and get your expert f****** opinion on something?"
I relinquished any hope of salvaging my night, leaned inside the Camero, put the window up, grabbed the keys from the ignition and whistled for Conry. I glared at Masarelli over my shoulder as I walked to his car, daring him to question me about my dog. Masarelli locked and shut the car door, giving the Camaro one last approving look before heading back to his filthy unmarked patrol car.
Since I wasn't under arrest - at least not yet, the night's still young - I opened the car door myself and slid in behind the driver's seat. "Remember that movie we watched last week, Conry? The one where the dog ate the nice policeman's headrest?" I gave him a big belly rub as he stretched out over my lap and the rest of the back seat.
Masarelli gave me his best cop stare in the rear view and headed toward the station. "So you just forgot about the fact that a black ops merc killed the alpha and took control of the Salem pack? You got papers for this guy?"
"It's a pack not the AKC." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Matthison approved his pass personally."
"It's expired." He blipped the lights and burped the siren to get through the intersection.
"Cash is Alpha now. The paperwork is irrelevant at this point. Unless of course you want to run him out of town on a technicality and create a power vacuum." I gave Conry a little nudge, my legs were falling asleep.
Masarelli spared a quick glance in the rear view mirror. "What happened to Roul? They eat him?"
"Eighteenth century France called. They wanted their superstitions back. How did you get this job again? They buried him, following pack ritual." Not even ten minutes with him and I was already exhausted.
"And his mate?" He couldn't know, could he? Was this what the mysterious trip to the station was really about? He needed my expert opinion on some trumped up murder charge?
"Dead." I didn’t elaborate.
"Killing the mate isn't covered under the Meneur de Loupes agreement." He was fishing for something, anything to get rid of Cash.
My mouth was moving before I thought about the consequences. "It doesn't need to be covered by the Leader of the Wolves agreement since a werewolf didn't kill Olwyn. I did and it was self defense."
"And that's why you didn't bother telling us about it? I have to file a report and take your statement. I don't suppose you have someone to corroborate your self-defense story?"
S***. "Besides the pack you mean?"
He shook his head. "What do you think?"

"No." If this sounded half as bad to him as it did to me I might actually be in trouble. 

Mistletoe Meltdown
The Maurin Kincaide Series
Short Story Book 4.5
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy


Number of pages: 28

Book Description:

What do you do when you're out voted on hosting a holiday party, complete with gift exchange and all the trimmings?

Tie on the apron and deck those halls.

Self proclaimed Scrooge, Maurin Kincaide accepts the challenge and tackles the yuletide with all the determination she would a Council task.

But not everyone is brimming with holiday cheer. A blood coven threatens to bring the holiday festivities to an end.

Can Maurin stop the dark magic before the clock strikes twelve, signaling the solstice?

Available at    

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Mistletoe Meltdown Excerpt:

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like Eskimos." Nat King Cole's smooth voice blared from the outdoor speakers hidden in the greenery that turned the walking mall into a winter wonderland, soothing the savage holiday shopping beasts surrounding me. I tried not to overanalyze the lyrics but I'd met the Hoar Frost King once and he'd do a lot more than nip at your nose.
Besides, did anyone really have a Christmas like the ones people sang about?
The Kincaides, my adoptive family, practiced every holiday tradition from Midnight Mass to the extravagant family dinner to a house staged similar to something from a Martha Stewart Living magazine. It didn't change anything. The tinsel and twinkling lights only highlighted the hatred.
So imagine my enthusiasm when my real father Arawn suggested we have a Christmas/Solstice dinner. With friends. At my apartment. I understood his need to create memories--he'd missed out on most of my life--but as a self-proclaimed Scrooge I'd avoided anything to do with the holidays since I'd left Beacon Hill at seventeen. But here I was layered up underneath my leather jacket, knit hat pulled down to my eyebrows, basically dressed like the aforementioned Eskimo.
The numbness in my hands increased with each block I walked back to my car. Not from the cold--my purple wool gloves did a decent job--but from the shopping bags cutting of my circulation. I loaded up the Rabriolet, an old metallic blue VW so named because the guy who sold it took all the Rabbit badges off and replaced them with Cabriolet, the convertible's small trunk barely holding my haul of gifts and groceries for tonight's festivities.
The temperature inside the car barely rose a degree above the outside temperature during the short drive back to my apartment. I pulled into the parking space I'd shoveled out this morning after the snow stopped but didn't rush to get out of the car. Two pep talks later I dragged myself and my multitude of bags up the three flights of stairs which led to my place.

Ill Fated
The Maurin Kincaide Series
Book Five
Rachel Rawlings

Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy


Number of pages: 270

Cover Artist: Joseph Eastwood

Book Description:

Some things are destined to end in death. After the first attempt on her life Maurin wasn’t scared. Hell, she was almost flattered. But someone put a price on her head and things are getting complicated. Trouble is brewing in the fae courts and it’s spilling over into Salem. The UnSeelie Dark Guard have answered the call for her head on a platter and people closest to her are disappearing.

Can Maurin master court politics and find her missing men before someone claims the bounty on her head?

Available at BN

Ill Fated Excerpt:

"You're awake?" He sounded more than a little surprised.
"I'm not really sure the state I'm in qualifies as awake."
"Here I was, terrified to poke the dragon, and you're already drinking coffee and talking in complete sentences."
I snorted and took a sip of the aforementioned liquid gold. "Are you always like this in the morning?"
"If you'd let me sleep over you'd already know the answer to that question. Why aren't you asleep?"
In general or just tonight, I silently wondered. "Bad dream. I've been tossing and turning all night. I finally gave in and got out of bed."  
Papers rustled in the background and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, intimate."You want to talk about it?"
"Something tells me my nightmares are the least of our problems."
"You have no idea. I need you to come down to my office."
I sighed. "Can it at least wait until after sunrise?"
"Would I be breaking the no phone calls before noon policy if it could wait?"
“There really is no rest for the wicked, is there?”
He laughed and the sound warmed me more than a hundred cups of coffee. "Apparently not, in your case. Now, there's a dirty chai latte and a croissant for you if you're here before Amalie. I can't promise real coffee and pastries will survive beyond five minutes of her arrival."
"It's four-thirty in the morning, Mas. If you know what's good for you, you'll make sure at least  one dirty chai and croissant remain unmolested."
"I'll see you soon." He was laughing as he hung up the phone.
Three hours ago I’d practically crawled through the doorway, exhausted from cleaning up after a newbie vamp who’d broken the Jus Sanguinis Intergentes when she killed her donor. The blood pact between people and vampires had a clear no killing, no exceptions clause.
It was up to the maker to ensure their child was ready to feed unsupervised. If something went wrong and the Council found out about it, we cleaned up the mess and the sire was subject to heavy fines and possible revocation of their rights to expand their blood lines. She’d been quite literally a bitch to track and take down.
It had been a long night and it was shaping up to be an even longer day.
I wasted little time getting dressed, opting for a slip on black jersey dress, eighteen hole Docs and a leather jacket. Jewelry was a hindrance in my line of work. My meeting with Mason could easily turn into a run. Choked with my own chain? No, thank you. Unclasping the necklace, I set it in a glass dish on my bathroom counter. I ran a brush through my hair, a toothbrush over my teeth and slipped into the between. I stepped out of the alley two buildings down from the station and walked the last block and a half.
Amalie was swarmed by detectives trying to get at the goodies she brought over from the Daily Grind. She greeted me with a warm smile, shaking her head when I offered to pull her out of the fray. She had managed to endear herself to the entire department in record time. All it took was real coffee and fresh pastries. I pointed to Mason's office. She'd make her way over once the starving masses had their fill.
Mason was so engrossed in the file on his desk he didn't hear me come in. He looked as tired as I felt - too many double shifts. Despite an uptick in activity, SPTF was short staffed due to budget cuts. Without enough man power to staff the shifts properly overtime was mandatory.
"Is that for me?" I pointed at the to-go cup and white paper bag on his desk.
He finally looked up and gave me a smile which lit up his whole face. "As promised."
I stole a quick kiss, grabbed the coffee and croissant, and settled in the chair across from him. I took a long sip of my latte, savoring the delicious mix of tea and espresso. "Man, I needed this. Is that the case you're working on?"
"Yeah, we've got a real problem on our hands."
"Don't we always." I tried to peak at the file.
Mason closed the manila folder. "I'd rather wait until everyone is here."
"Who else is coming besides Amalie?" My curiosity was definitely peaked now. I reached across his desk, hoping to grab the file.
"You look exhausted. Tell me about your dream while we wait."
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "I see this for the obvious distraction it is but you're right.” Sighing, I rubbed my temple.“However, I'm exhausted, too exhausted to argue. So I'll tell you. Prepare to be confounded."
He listened intently as I filled him in on the nightly visits from the weathered old woman who washed my clothes and hauntingly called my name. I expected him to laugh and tell me it was just a dream, that I had nothing to worry about.
I didn't expect him to look so stricken.
"Bean Nighe." He all but whispered the name.
"You've heard of her?"
"Of course I've heard of her. How long has she been coming to you?"
I stared at him curiously. "A few weeks. Why?"
"A few weeks and this is the first I'm hearing of it?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control his temper.“We talked about this. No holding things back, remember?"
"I thought it was just a dream.” I shrugged.“Honestly, I didn't think it was a big deal."
"It was a big enough deal for you to research it." Agitation rolled off him in waves.
When I agreed to give this thing with Mason a chance I also agreed to some conditions. No more flying solo, no more rash decisions or rushing off to play the hero. We were a team, in everything. This was just one of many set-backs.
"I got curious, did a little digging. Until tonight, everything I found pointed to deep seated family issues, particularly with a mother figure. I've told you about my childhood, does that dream analysis surprise you?"
His growl told me he wasn’t in the mood for reasonable—at least to me—explanations. "When did you discover the true meaning of the dream? How long have you known about the Bean Nighe?"
"Tonight. This morning. Before you called me." I held up a hand to stop the tongue lashing I knew he wanted to give me. "I would have told you. I got the impression on the phone there were more pressing matters than my insomnia."
"Is this why you won't let me stay at your place?” His gaze roamed over my face, searching.“Why you never stay at mine?"
"Is that the real reason why you're so upset?" I arched my brows. “Because we’re not having sleepovers?”
"I stayed at your lovely apartment the first night we met."
I turned to watch Aidan glide into the room, stopping behind my chair. Rolling my eyes, I snorted and muttered, “In the closet.”
Mason's jaw twitched but he didn't take the bait. "Aidan."
"It's almost sunrise. Shouldn't you be hunkered down for the day?" I sighed, wondering what he was doing here. I was too tired to deal with Aidan and Mason and their combined testoserone.
Putting the three of us in a room together was like throwing lit matches at sticks of dynamite - eventually one of them will explode.

About the Author:

Rachel Rawlings was born and raised in the Baltimore Metropolitan area. Her family, originally from Rhode Island, spent summers in New England sparking her fascination with Salem, MA. She has been writing fictional stories and poems since middle school, but it wasn't until 2009 that she found the inspiration to create her heroine Maurin Kincaide and complete her first full length novel, The Morrigna.

When she isn't writing, Rachel can often be found with her nose buried in a good book. An avid reader of Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, Horror and Steampunk herself, Rachel founded Hallowread- an interactive convention for both authors and fans of those genres.

More information on Hallowread, its schedule of events and participating authors can be found at www.hallowread.blogspot.com  and www.facebook.com/Hallowread .

She still lives in Maryland with her husband and three children.