Thursday, August 28, 2014

IT'S TIME FOR MY THURSDAY PICK ME UP! THIS TRIP WE ARE HEADED TO WASHINGTON D.C. TO SEE WHAT VAMPIRE GOVERNMENT PROTECTOR KIRA DOES WHEN AIR FORCE ONE GOES DOWN.

I first came up with the title for this book, "Presidential Heat" while watching President Reagan's funeral on television. I had no idea what was going to go in the book but I loved the title.  So former Marine Kira Jackson became a reality when I put her with a handsome but widowed president.  A former Ranger by the way who decides he does not need a woman guarding him. 


Kira arrived back in the cockpit to find Gareth ending his conversation with the pilot.
“Oh good, you’re back, Agent Jackson. I spoke to Malachi, and he will meet us when we land. Undoubtedly, he has a sixth sense for trouble. He’s already en route.”
“That would not surprise me, sir. I spoke to him also by cell, and we need to get you buckled in.”
“First—”
“Sir, Commander Bartlett will announce what is going on. Isn’t that right, Commander?” At Bartlett’s nod, she gently grasped Gareth’s arm. “We need to get back and make sure John is strapped in also.”
The president’s eyes opened wide for a second, allowing Kira a clear view of green. She also spotted anxiety riding the curve of his irises. The man certainly kept a cool air about him, not letting anyone see his inner thoughts. Gareth must be going nuts wondering if anyone else might get injured or even killed during the unavoidable crash landing.
“You’re right. John needs our help.”
Gareth walked with a steady but determined step as they descended the stairway and moved back to his suite. John lay sleeping on the small love seat. One of Dr. Shelton’s med techs sat with him.
She watched Gareth’s eyes touch on the tech’s scrub top. “Thank you, Private Waters, you are relieved of this duty. Please let Dr. Shelton know we are going to have a rough landing. He’ll apprise you about what to do next.”
Gareth accepted the private’s salute and returned one of his own as Kira bent over to check on John. His color looked good, but his breathing was a bit rapid for her liking. She hoped the ambulances would be standing by when they landed. John needed an X-ray and possible hospitalization.
“Sir, we might do better to move to your office. We can buckle up in there better.”
“All right, I’ll get—”
“Already got him, sir. You lead the way.” Kira boosted John onto her shoulder and followed Gareth. Once the president and John were strapped in, side by side on the sofa, Kira removed all objects that could turn into flying weapons. All possible projectiles went into desk drawers. She then punched in the number for the cockpit on the phone.
“Commander Bartlett, the president is secure. I will leave the intercom open for any instructions or information from you.”
“Thank you, Agent. Now, I suggest you strap in also. We are about five minutes from landing. I have already informed the rest of the crew and the press by the intercoms in those quarters.”
“Okay, and God bless us all, Commander.” She checked John’s pulse. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better, Kira. Thanks for doing what you did.”
“Like you wouldn’t have?”
“Sure, but you picked me up, and I’ve had grown men that couldn’t. I’d love to know how you did that.”
Kira resisted the urge to chuckle. If the man knew her trick, he’d probably run for the hills. Vampiric strength was a bonus for her, but something she preferred not to use around others unless she had no choice—like today.
“Plenty of exercise and vitamins, John. Now brace yourself.” Kira slipped into her seat and buckled her belt. Her acute hearing picked up the nauseating rate at which they were dropping.
“Assume crash positions, everyone.” The voice coming from the intercom was calm, but Kira picked up on more than a bit of hidden anxiety. She hated that her hands were tied by the fact that she couldn’t show any of her vampire traits. The only thing she could do was try to get Gareth and John off the plane as quickly as possible, in case of an explosion. The fuel streaming from the hole in the wing had soaked the left side of the plane, and the least bit of friction could cause a fireball.
Kira closed her eyes and sensed her surroundings. They were coming in at an unnatural angle. Probably due to the damaged wing. A vicious crack impacted her hearing. Her heart sped up. They had probably hit a tree near the edge of the landing strip. Not good, but it didn’t have to be fatal. A sudden dip, and the plane veered to the left before hitting the ground with an earthshaking thud. Kira was out of her seat before the plane stopped shaking, and was thrown immediately backward as it flipped onto its side.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and she could hear the shouts and screams coming from the press section. Located in the back of the plane, it should have been the safest place to sit, but at the moment, Kira wasn’t laying any bets that any of them were safe. The sickening smell of petroleum combined with the sweet scent of blood assaulted her nostrils. Someone was hurt, hopefully not badly.
The desk in the office careened forward, jerked loose from cement floor anchors, and slid toward the sofa. Gareth’s head jerked up, and his gaze met Kira’s before he glanced at what was coming toward him at an incredible speed.
Kira threw herself at Gareth and John, almost lying across their laps as she prepared to take the brunt of the desk.
“Kira, no!”
The impact took her breath away, and one edge of the desk cut into her back with a sickening rip. As she held the desk back, the lights in the cabin blinked off, the sirens sounded louder, and smoke began to filter in through the vents.
Not good.
Kira pushed back, and the desk reversed directions, gliding back to its original position. She eased to her feet. “Are you all right, Mr. President?”
“Are you crazy? What possessed you to fling yourself in front of that desk?”
So much for a thank-you. “It’s my job, Mr. President. Now, I have to check on John. We need to get off this thing before it explodes. And forget about making sure everyone else gets off. This is not a ship. You have to survive to lead the country.”
“We’ll discuss this later, but I agree we need to get off.”
Kira’s breath whooshed out in an exhalation of relief. Thank God, she didn’t have to pick Gareth up and tote him off, too. It would be stretching a mortal’s imagination that she had gotten that much strength from exercise.
“I’m ready. Please stay behind me, Mr. President.”
The corridor outside the president’s office was dark. Smoke filled the passageway with a thick gray fog. Kira inhaled. The gasoline smell was stronger. There was not a lot of time left to get off the plane before it blew.
She fought her way through the smoke. “Mr. President?”
“Right behind you, Kira.”
Good, the man was stubborn, but not stupid. The stairway to the cockpit wavered in a smoky haze. Maybe they should go up and hope the rescue team could get them out that way.
Kira used her free hand, the one not holding John, to feel for the iron banister. She should have been right at the spot where it should be. The cloud of smoke obscured her vision, even with her vampire senses. Her hand struck something hard and jagged. She followed the length and wanted to cry. The staircase was a twisted mass of metal.

* * * *

Gareth almost plowed right into Kira as his agent stopped so quickly. She must have eyes like a cat. He couldn’t see a foot in front of him. “What’s wrong, Kira?”
“Our closest escape is gone. The stairway took more than a hard hit when we landed. We have to keep moving if we’re going to get out. I just hope they can get the cockpit crew to safety. It’s quite a bit of a jump to the ground level.”
“Maybe I should—”
“There’s no way you can get up to the upper level. The metal is not only warped but beginning to warm up, which means we have a fire somewhere. So, for now, we have to keep going forward and try to get out by way of the stairs near the security and press section.”
“Kira?”
“What?”
Gareth ignored her snappish tone. For heaven’s sake, the woman was toting a two-hundred-pound man on her shoulder, and it was damn hot and uncomfortable.
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
Gareth came even with her, and Kira whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Her blue gaze glistened, probably due to the smoke, and the irises and the rims of her eyes were red. He expected his looked the same way. “It’s okay. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
The smile she gave him made Gareth want to shout, but he’d save that emotion for another time—if there was one.
“Why don’t you let me take John for a bit? Give you a break.”
“I’m fine, sir. It shouldn’t be much farther.”
Kira moved forward once more, and he followed her—not a position he liked or was used to. Always, he’d taken point in battles and in his presidential campaign.
They passed by the staff section and other compartments. All were empty. Knowing Sheltie, he’d already ushered everyone to the next exit. They continued to the guest section of the plane, moving at a snail’s pace. Gareth’s shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and his eyes burned like the devil. He tried his best not to inhale by holding his dirty shirtsleeve close to his mouth and nose. Poor Kira didn’t have that luxury.
“It’s here, sir.” Kira stopped and waited on Gareth to close ranks with her. Members of the press were exiting down the stairway as fast as the smoke would allow. Some still spoke into their cell phones. A few helped others traverse the almost invisible steps, and one or two stopped to stare at Gareth, Kira, and John before exiting.
Before they could move forward, Commander Bartlett and the rest of the crew from up top came to a halt behind Gareth.
“How did you get down?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, sir, we took a fire extinguisher, slicked the rails, and then slid down until we hit bottom.”
Gareth’s chuckle was raspy as he slapped Bartlett on the back. “Okay, everyone, off the plane now.”
“Not until you go, Mr. President. We are pulling up the rear.”
“No, you’re not. What you can do is get John off and give Kira some rest, since she won’t allow me share the load. Get her off, and yourselves, and I’ll be right behind you. I assume the football is already off and safe?” Football was code for the satchel that the president always had with him, and which contained a nuclear war plan.
“Yes, it and its keeper were the first off. Just as you’ve always ordered in case of an emergency.”
“Good! Kira, give John to the commander, and get the hell off this plane.”
Kira handed John off to two of the cockpit crewmen who stepped forward. She smiled briefly at John before turning back to Gareth. “I believe I am still agent on watch, and if you don’t want me to pick you up like I did John, I suggest you move your butt, sir.”
Bartlett guffawed at her words, and Gareth saw red. No way in hell was he going to let his agent carry him anywhere. “Fine, have it your way, Agent Jackson. Commander, if you will lead the way, Kira and I will bring up the rear.”
Gareth kept pace with her as they moved quickly down the stairs to the open hatch door and the evacuation slide. He gave Kira a stern look, one she must have understood, for they both jumped at the same time. A moment later, they were being hauled to their feet by an almost ashen-faced Malachi and Commander Bartlett.
As a unit, all four of them moved away from the plane. They’d barely cleared the tarmac perimeter when a whooshing sound came from behind them. It was all the warning they had before the plane ignited and blew up, tossing Gareth, Kira, and the rest of their entourage fifty yards forward onto patchy brown grass.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

SATURDAY RECAP!


Wow, did the week fly by or what?  So I started my first week back to school and no, I’m not caught up yet…lol.  But I plan to be.  It’s been an exercise in caution to juggle everything I need to do, but the Lord will help me, and for that I am indeed grateful.

I have enjoyed five consecutive hours of “Chopped,” I love that cooking show, and then I watched “Outlander,” on Demand.  Claire’s story seems even more dramatic and heart-wrenching watching it on television.  I love the references to herbs, and how she stood up to the priest.

As I said last week, there is definitely something about a Highlander in a kilt that is so hot, but I don’t have to tell ya’ll that.  So, if you could go back in time, which era and place would you go to?  There are a lot of awesome places I’d love to visit.  Perhaps Scotland, Ireland, and England might be some of the spots I’d want to hang out in.  Not sure how long I could stay in medieval times without my Wifi or without air conditioning, but it would be fun to find out. 

Perhaps I would go back to a time when my parents were alive and ask them all the questions I can’t ask now.  So, where would you go and when?

Have an awesome week!

Thursday, August 21, 2014

IT'S TIME FOR A THURSDAY PICK ME UP! LET'S HEAD DOWN TO NEW ORLEANS AND SEE WHAT TROUBLE DARACH AND ABBY ARE INTO!

"Immortal Justice" is the first book in my "Immortal Executioners" series.

Abigail Dupree is no stranger to paranormal activity, she has visions of her own, and can detect demons, but when sexy Highlander Darach MacRath saves her from a demon out for her blood, she wonders who will save her from the hunk with a big sword.

Even as she stood frozen in place, Abby couldn’t help but look in awe at the man before her, at least she hoped he was human and not demon.
Six-foot-six, or thereabouts. Without her shoes he looked even taller. His eyes were almost black but as she watched they went molten silver. Skin a golden bronze, the body of a pro-wrestler, and the face of an aged cover model completed the package. As she continued to stare and commanded herself not to drool, the black-haired avenger, for want of a better word, raised a sword. Where it came from, she had no idea. He approached the demon, but then stopped and glanced at her.
Abby felt like a bug as the giant of a man stared at her, his countenance a strong visage of determination. As she waited, the demon jumped to his feet and attacked the man. Again, the demon met the ground with what looked like a distinct lack of effort on the rescuer’s part. The man now checked the woman on the ground. He touched her face with a gentle hand before turning back to the demon. The giant’s furious gaze brimmed with metallic fire, and for one moment, it seemed as if he conveyed regret. One second he was motionless, the next his sword a blur of silver as he struck the attacker through the heart.
The demon’s body turned into molecules of dust. And as she watched, a thin vapor floated toward the sky. Possibly, the soul of the human he’d inhabited.
So quickly did it happen, Abby’s scream remained trapped in her throat as the man approached, his eyes now a soft onyx. When he sheathed the sword into a holder inside his long coat, she noticed the black shirt he wore hugged his muscular chest, and the leather of his pants and boots were silent as he drew near.
“Who are you?” she asked. Her question came out in a slow croak.
The young woman’s question took Darach back as much as she seemed to be taken by him. When he’d sensed what was happening, he zeroed in on the scene before actually materializing. His resolve to stop the crime before the demon went further deepened when he realized there were two women involved. He’d been in danger of swallowing his tongue when this young woman came to the other’s rescue. She had fought to protect the victim. Something you didn’t see that often—one mortal helping another.
Not only fought but also tried to give as good as she got. But by the looks of her face and the circle of blood droplets around her throat she should have stayed out of it.
Now he was in a quandary. Never before had there been a witness to his executions. Fie, he should have put the woman in a deep sleep before he unleashed his sword.
Yet, for some reason, the petite but generously curved woman flustered Darach. It couldn’t be her silver-blonde hair, nor could it be the softness in her eyes, the color of the lake by his birthplace—blue and vibrant. Possibly it was her courage, albeit misguided.
He looked toward the heavens and waited for some type of signal from Michael. What should he do with his witness? When no answer came, he made a snap decision.
He moved closer but stopped within a foot of her. “I ken what ye’ve seen is strange, but ’tis nothing but a dream. Ye will return to yer home, retire for the night, and then remember nothing in the morning.” Darach reached out to touch the woman, but she jerked away.
“Get real, this isn’t a dream.”
Startled, he stepped back. Instead of doing as he asked, she seemed immune to his forceful suggestion. The concept astounded Darach. He punched in 9-1-1 on his cell phone, spoke a few words, and then grabbed the woman by the arm. He needed to do some damage control.
“We need to talk. Now, close your eyes.”
Abby fought his touch, she didn’t plan on going anywhere with this whatever he was, but the ground dissolved, and the air around her twirled in a dizzying dance. When all was still once more, she opened her eyes and found herself in an ornate size room with her rescuer…or would that be kidnapper now?
“Who are you, and how and why did you just snatch me out of that alley to this place?” She pulled herself from his arms and backed away just a bit, but then stood her ground.
His soft rasp of laughter shot straight to her heart and other regions. The sound of his amusement was so potent, the man or whatever he was, could rev a dead motor. And she didn’t like that, not one bit. Handsome men could not be trusted. Especially not one who materializes out of thin air and carried a sword almost as long as her body.
“Ye were interfering with me job.”
His accent was mesmerizing, yet the edge to his words caused Abby to see red. She’d been through enough tonight, and wasn’t going to take any lip from Mr. Hot-but-Spooky.
“Oh please… What type of job allows you to go about killing demons and kidnapping people?” He moved a bit toward her, but she didn’t back up nor would she back down.
“How did ye know he be a demon?” His question was a rapid command of sound.
When she didn’t answer, he spoke again. “Ye might as well tell me, I’ll be finding out one way or another.”
For the first time, Abby felt a frisson of fear travel deep down her spine.
“And what does that mean, pray tell?”
He moved closer. To heck with bravery. Abby backed away a few feet.
“Okay, before something bad happens, don’t you think I should at least know your name?”
“I dinnae see the need, but ’tis Darach MacRath. And I be not going to hurt ye. Your face and neck need to be looked after.”
His accent thickened enough this time that if it weren’t for all the Scottish romance novels Abby devoured in her spare time, she wouldn’t have a clue as to what he just said.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby Dupree, and I’m fine.”
“I wish I could say the same, but yer meddling may have caused more than a bit of trouble.”
For a second he cocked his head, and it seemed as if he was listening to or for something. His brogue seemed to be back under control. A pity really, she could melt inside the butter-soft tone.
The Highlander reached out and touched her forehead before closing his eyes. Abby waited for something to happen, and when it didn’t, against all common sense, she reached up and touched his palm.
“Okay, what’s your game? You touch my forehead and what, I turned into a pumpkin?”
Darach opened his eyes. “Strange, ’tis not working. Ye should not be aware of anything that’s happened since the alley.”
“Oh, your touch is supposed to wipe my memory away?”
“Aye, something like that.”
Strange how his accent seemed to resurface when he was a bit upset. “So, what now? You’re going to let me go, tell me what’s going on?” She waited but Darach remained silent.
Darach’s puzzlement ran deep. Never before had he failed to wipe a memory. Still, this woman was different. She actually knew the attacker was a demon. Maybe if he tried to insert another memory it would work.
“Not yet.” Again he reached out and touched the silken skin of her forehead. Nothing! The trouble could lie in the fact he was immensely attracted to the woman—something that never happened when he dealt with women. He wouldn’t allow it—not after Briene.
“Okay, now that you’ve done the hocus-pocus thing and it didn’t work, I want to go home.”
Puzzled did not describe his feelings. Why was this woman taking everything he said in stride? If nothing else, she should at least be curious if not down right frightened by the night’s events.
“Ye dinnae have any questions about what’s happened?”
Abigail flung her hair forward and began to braid the mass of blonde strands falling around her face. “You mean the demon or you?” Her laughter was as musical as her soft southern accent.
“MacRath, I’ve lived in New Orleans all my life. I’ve been having visions since before I got my first bra. I’m not a stranger to fighting demons, although, I have to admit watching you do your appearing act and then spiriting me here was a bit unnerving, but hang around NOLA long enough and you see all kinds of things that would spook ordinary people.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m not one of them.”
“Ye make a habit of accosting demons?” The woman was just a wee bit touched.
Again, Darach sent up a mental S.O.S to Michael. Still no answer. What choice did he have? He had to tell her the truth, swear her to secrecy, and hope she kept her word.
“Then I willna be telling ye a pack of lies. Have a seat, and I’ll explain what I am and what I do.”
“Fine.” His guest took a seat on the high-back bench that served as a rough and uncomfortable couch.
Darach pulled the footstool from underneath the piano and placed it in front of Abby before seating himself.
“Would ye care for anything to drink?”
“Only if it’s got a lot of liquor in it. It’s been one heck of a night.” Her laughter bubbled forth again. This time it caressed his insides with a warmth he’d forgotten ever existed.
“I can get ye some whiskey.”
“That would work, but I think I’ll wait until after your story.” She cocked her head to one side. “Not only do you have an impressive Scottish accent, but your speech is definitely old-fashioned. Only it seems to come out in spurts, like you don’t always use it.”
Darach wished for a drink himself. The woman would probably think him mad. And what sane person wouldn’t?
“’Tis complicated, and ye will probably think me a bit loony, but I fear I have no choice.” He cleared his throat, and then allowed the words to flow.
“I was born over a thousand years ago in Scotland. I lived and died there also.”

I hope you have enjoyed this foray into only a bit of what is happening in "Immortal Justice."

Saturday, August 16, 2014

SATURDAY RECAP...

It's another Saturday night and I have to tell you I just watched the second episode of  Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander."  I originally read the books back in the 90's after purchasing the first 3-4 through Doubleday Book Club.  And for me the televised version is awesome!  The scenery alone will make you drool, not to mention the weaponry, the castle, and the feeling of being right there with Claire and Jamie as they explore their own new love for one another and try to escape the dangers of 1743 Scotland.

My love of Scotland became a reality when I read some of Ms. Virginia Henley's romances.  Since then it's been a wonderful love affair.  I love to read and write about Highander's, and the idea of time-travel is fascinating. 

Just imagine going back in time to an era so filled with violence, passion, and Highlanders. Did I mention Highlanders?  Yeah, you know with kilts? 

Sounds like it would make a great movie series.  Oh yeah, Starz did it and it rocks. 

Thursday, August 14, 2014

IT'S TIME FOR ANOTHER THURSDAY PICK ME UP! WHAT ON EARTH HAS GIDEON GOTTEN HIMSELF INTO?

"Gideon's Heart" is the third book in my "Bound By Blood, the Legends" series.

 

When a vampire from Katheryne's past comes back to steal her away from Gideon, the fangs fly and the southern gentlemen/ detective is out for blood, but will it be the evil Marcel's or Gideon's that soak the ground?

Gideon raised his glass for the fourth or fifth time, he’d lost count, as his friends toasted their good wishes. His hand still held onto Kat’s. He didn’t want to let her go. If he was dreaming, then he’d like to keep dreaming a bit longer.
Yes, she’d said yes, but her eyes didn’t smolder with the happiness he felt deep within his heart. Something was bothering Kat, and he just prayed she hadn’t changed her mind about marrying him. Of course he’d sorta, even though he’d hinted at it before, thrown it at Kat pretty fast.
He downed the champagne and set his glass down. Maybe he just needed to talk to her somewhere quiet. His house maybe.
“You about ready to go?” He took Kat’s almost full glass from her and placed it next to his.
“Yes. I think I am.” She smiled at him but it still didn’t light up her face like he loved.
“Okay then, we’re out of here.” He caught Kat’s hand and then spoke to his only family. “I’ll catch you guys later. I’ll send the limo back to pick ya’ll up. Thank you for your well wishes.”
“Night, you two!” Those words followed him from various sets of lips as he and Kat made their way out of the ballroom and the hotel. Once seated in the limousine he turned to her.
“Look, I may have rushed things tonight.” His words sounded flat just like the night seemed to have become.
“No—Gideon I’m thrilled, I mean I love—It’s just I think we need to talk about things.” Kat’s eyes glistened but her words were gentle.
Great, she had changed her mind.
“Okay, let’s go back to my place and we’ll hash everything out. Is that all right with you?” He prayed she’d say yes, that somehow he could convince her things weren’t moving too quickly. That they were right where they should be.
“Yes, that’s fine with me.”
The ride to his new home, and hopefully Kat’s in the near future continued in silence. Gideon tried to plug the hole in his heart that was getting bigger all the time. Why wouldn’t she smile at him? Why did she look like her heart was the one breaking?
Once there they entered through the front door. Gideon moved through the house to the kitchen. Moonlight shone through the large bay window ingrained in the kitchen facing the back of the property.
“Here have a seat. I want a beer. Drinking Champagne is like drinking water. You want anything?” Gideon tried to smile but felt like his face would crack.
“Uh, yes, if there’s any wine left, I’d like to have a glass.” Kat’s sultry voice was the opposite of the dread he spotted in her gaze. Did she want to change her mind?
He pulled the wine from the refrigerator and poured her a glass. Kat took several sips and when it looked as if she was going to take another he couldn’t stop himself.
“Okay, Kat, out with it. Why are you so upset? Do you regret saying you would marry me? Is that it? Do you want to back out?” His words sounded as desperate as he felt.
“No, not at all. I just need to clarify some things about myself.” The look she gave him was hopeful but definite in the implication that she meant what she said.
“I can accept that. We probably don’t know everything about one another. Lord, I snore.” He tried to smile.
She did manage a slight smile. “I already know that much.” Then her smile faded, “Gideon it’s something that could change how you feel about me.” Kat’s hand clenched around the stem of her glass.
“Nothing you could ever tell me would change the fact I love you. Nothing, Kat.” Gideon moved from the counter to stand with his back to the window. His stance was relaxed but his muscles jumped within his skin. Kat sounded so serious.
“What is it, baby? You can tell me anything.”
Katheryne opened her mouth to release the words that would grant her heart’s desire or seal her hopes of love forever. But before she could the bay window shattered, and the front of Gideon’s shirt blossomed red. She could smell the metallic scent of blood. Someone had shot him.
Oh God above. She jumped up and caught him in her arms before he could pitch forward.
“Kat, I…” His voice trailed off as his eyes closed. She lowered him gently to the floor. Another pinging sound echoed around the kitchen. Whoever had shot Gideon was still shooting. Was she the quarry now? It didn’t matter, if they hit her she’d survive, but she had to help Gideon or he might not.
Blood poured from his chest in copious amounts. She needed to stop the blood. Ah the blood, the scent called to her like nothing else could. She dragged her mind from the temptation before her, and her gaze lit on the cummerbund around his waist, it could help stop the blood. She yanked it off and pressed it against the wound. Crimson bled into the material turning it into a sodden mass.
It wasn’t working. She needed to call someone… Miranda, she could save Gideon. The phone! Where was his phone? Her search for the phone reminded her of another time he’d been injured. She prayed tonight’s outcome would be as good.
She dropped the phone twice, her hands slippery with his blood, but finally managed to get it open. She looked for, found Zack’s number, and punched it. Her fingertip left a bloodstain on the faceplate.
“Hello.” Zacke’s greeting registered above several background sounds. They must still be at the hotel.
“Zacke, it’s Kat. We’re at Gideon's house. Someone shot him. He’s bleeding badly.”
“Kat?” His tone turned into an authoritive rumble.
“Yes, it’s me. Gideon’s hurt.” She looked down at his washed out features, the blood staining the floor, and the wash of crimson covering the front of his body. “I think he’s dying. You have to do something.”
“Did you call for an ambulance?”
“No, I don’t know how, and besides he’ll die before they get here. You have to come now. We have to save him. Please.” Kat swallowed against the bubble of tears in the back of her throat. She knew death up close and personal. She’d seen men die before. Gideon would not last if something wasn’t done soon.
“Kat, call 9-1-1. We’re on our way.”
She didn’t bother to reply but tossed the phone down. Even if they drove like mad, Gideon would be dead before they reached him. She didn’t have to have a doctor’s degree to know this—she could feel the life leeching from her heart. His eyes remained closed, and his chest rose slower than before.
No, she had to do something and the only thing to do was turn him. Yet, if she did he would hate her, and wasn’t there a code about turning mortals? "Damn," the curse rolled off her tongue as she tried to think. The one thing she was sure of was she would not lose Gideon to death. She might have to give him up after he realized what she’d done, if he survived, but at least he’d be alive to make the choice.

I hope you enjoyed the teaser.  Leave me a reply and stay tune for other choice tidbits from my books on "Pick Me Up Thursday."

Sunday, August 10, 2014

WHAT TO READ? MAYBE IT'S NOT SO HARD TO FIND A NEW AUTHOR!

You know the times when you want to read something, but you just don't have a clue.  Well, I want to introduce you to an author who has traversed several genre lines in romance. Gini Rifkin

 

 I have followed her trail of awesome romance books from Medieval to Western.  She never fails to amaze me with her characters, plot, and resolution. 

 

And although she's made me cry when losing one of her characters, I always cannot wait for her next book.

 

You can check out her titles as well as a library of historical facts, pictures, and tidbits on Gini's fascinating life from a Midwest girl to a woman who is not afraid to face the sometimes hair-raising trials of living in Colorado by checking out her blogspot:

 "From The Heart With Gini Rifkin," as well as her website:

 Gini Rifkin, Author.

 

Check out some of her covers!

 


 




As I said if you want a new author to read you must check out Gini!




Thursday, August 7, 2014

IT'S THURSDAY, WHAT ABOUT A PICK ME UP? LET'S CHECK OUT WHAT IS GOING ON IN DUNBAR'S CURSE.

"Dunbar's Curse" is the second book in my "Bound By Blood, The Legends" series.  I love Miles and Hope. Here is a bit of a glimpse into what happens when Miles who is protecting Hope from mortal attackers, has his sleep interrupted by an inquisitive Hope.


She stepped off the bottom step and almost tripped over an uneven patch of floor. She aimed the beam of light at where the window should be. What on earth? A bookcase blocked out her expected light source. Miles was the only one who could have done that, but why would he?
The cold penetrated deeper, spurring Hope toward the furnace. Her foot caught on something soft but unyielding. She stumbled and ended up sitting on the something. Her hand recognized the contours of a mattress. A mattress that should have been stuffed in a corner, not lying out in the open.
Once again, she sent the light spiraling over the basement, nothing else seemed out of place. She brought the beam back to shine on the mattress and a body.
Her heart beat triple time before she recognized the body resting on its side, a scant two feet from her hand. Miles! Why was he sleeping in the basement and not upstairs? Her hand reached out toward his arm. Should she wake him or let him sleep? Common sense won—he had to be freezing. He didn’t even have a sheet. This time her palm brushed his sleeve before she gently shook his shoulder.
A hand caught her wrist in a cruel grip.
She bit back a cry of pain.
A second later she was flat on her back—Miles’ face above hers. But not the face she loved. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. His beautiful lips were drawn back in a snarl. A snarl that revealed one-inch incisors. The hand that held her down sported claws.
Miles wasn’t Miles. He was a monster. One of the beings she vaguely recalled from childhood nightmares. Only this time the nightmare was real.
He lowered his head bringing his sharp teeth too close for comfort. “Miles? Miles!”
Shades of color began to recede from his vision. Miles shook his head and tried to focus. The roaring in his ears quieted when he heard a whimper. He shook his head again. His vision sharpened, and he became aware of other things. His hand pressed against cloth-covered breasts. He looked down—into the tear-filled, petrified gaze of Hope. Oh, God above. What had he almost done? What had he done?
“Hope, angel, I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you—I promise.”
Hope’s expression didn’t change. One tear rolled off her bottom lashes and crept down an ashen cheek.
“I swear, love. Please. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe me. I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head.”
The woman beneath him, the woman he’d tear his heart out for, closed her eyes. He watched as she took a deep breath and then another. Finally she opened her eyes. “Then if you don’t mind would you take your hand off my chest and let me up?”
“Oh Lord.” Miles moved so quickly he almost fell. He reached out a hand to help Hope sit up and prayed she’d take it.
She didn’t.
Maybe if he moved back a bit more. The space of the room separated them before he found additional courage to speak. “Hope, I know this seems strange but I can explain.”
Hope slid her legs off the mattress and then stood slowly to her feet. She took a step forward and stumbled. The look in her eyes stopped him from going to her. The tears receded, replaced with a gleam of anger. Good. Anger he could handle. Anger meant she would get over her fright. Whether or not she forgave him was another matter.
Once her feet were steady, Hope straightened up. Her shoulders went back.
“Hope?”
“Unless you’re going to tell me this is some kind of sick joke, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you thought it would be a hoot to dress up as a vampire. Even as a joke that makes no sense. I mean who sleeps in fangs and claws. And that brings me to another matter.”
Hope advanced toward Miles. “Why were you sleeping in the basement in the first place?”
“I uh, like it.”
“You prefer sleeping in a frigid basement instead of a nice warm room?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You know what, you’re crazy.”
Hope moved closer. “What I don’t get, is why or how you could play such a cruel joke, especially after acting like you cared about me—like I was someone special.”
“You are.”
“Yeah, well, you have a strange way of showing it, Miles Dunbar.”
She now stood directly in front of Miles. Even quicker than his eyes could see, her hand moved. The blow across his face wasn’t hard but it still hurt—all the way to his heart.
“That’s for half-ass making love to me.”
Before he could react, Hope turned on her heel and strode across the basement. She went into a small room at the back.
“Damn it! Where did I put that lighter?”
Miles heard metal straining as Hope continued to curse. Not like his Hope at all but then again, she had every right to be upset. He moved closer to the doorway.
“Sorry, sleazy, son-of-a—”
Blessedly the sound of metal, slamming this time, prevented him hearing the rest of Hope’s words. She’d be amused to know, if he ever got the chance to tell her, his mother had actually been an English lady.
A couple of minutes later, Miles jumped back to avoid Hope running over him. It would hurt her a lot more than it would him physically.
“Hope, can’t we talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there is.” Miles didn’t try to put his arm around her. He liked having all his limbs attached. “Let’s go upstairs. You’ll be warmer and I’ll try to explain what you just saw.”
The scowl she leveled on him didn’t bode well for this or any future discussions. He didn’t want to think about what could happen to their future relationship.
“Fine. If you think you can dream up a story I’ll believe, then go for it.”
Miles followed Hope up the stairs, his steps a lot slower than hers.
He closed the door to the basement. Hope placed a kettle of water on the stove. The slow rise of steam tempted him. It would be so easy to dissolve into its mist. But, disappearing wouldn’t solve his problem. It also wouldn’t solve Hope’s. The men who had attacked her were still out there, and he couldn’t leave her alone.
Hope went about fixing her tea and ignored Miles. Only after she took her first sip did she look his way. “I’d rather not have this conversation at all but if we have to, let’s do it in the den.”
Miles followed Hope and bit back a groan when she sat in the recliner. She was putting the same distance between them as she had with Guy the previous night. Not good.
“So talk.”
Miles wasn’t sure how to start. Should he tell her everything—even about the almost abduction when she was young? No! Just the fact he was truly a vampire would be more than enough to send her running. If he told her everything it would send her over the edge.
“You think I was playing a joke—I wasn’t.” Miles paced the confines of the room. “Some things are hard to believe. My story is one of those. I don’t know how much to tell you. You’re going to think I’m lying through my teeth or ready for an asylum.”
He chanced a look her way. Hope’s face resembled marble. He’d hoped for just a bit of softening if for no other reason than she felt sorry for him. Fat chance of that.
Miles’ pacing took him to the door’s threshold. He leaned back against the sturdy wood. Hopefully it would keep him from fleeing like the coward he was.
“Why don’t you just spit it out, Miles.”
“All right. My full name is Lord Miles Sinclaire Dunbar. I was born in the year 1589 in England. I was a warrior for King James and during a campaign in Scotland, I was turned into a vampire.”