Demon Inhibitions by Gary Starta

Demon Inhibitions

by Gary Starta

About The Author:

Gary Starta is a former journalist who began writing multi-genre fiction in 2004. He likes to include science theory in his stories as well as elements of paranormal, fantasy, mystery and romance. 

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Genre: Paranormal Romance/Science-Fiction

Publisher: Self-Published at Amazon Kindle
Release Date: March 15, 2013
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Book Description:

Most people don't travel to another universe to get a new job, house and boyfriend but psychic investigator Caitlin Diggs did. Now she's living the life of her alternate self, working for the FBI's Preternatural Division where her first case just happens to include chasing a genetically engineered man hell bent on stealing souls. Well, there had to be consequences. 

Demon Inhibitions Excerpt

When she found I had visited Manners, Briana began scurrying about her house, scooping up a pair of scissors and a red candle. Before I could speak further, she came at me. I backed away from her in fright. Her placid face revealed nothing malevolent. But the shears were headed right for me. I tried to dive away from the contradiction. Who was the real Briana? The sweet woman who made cookies for me--or her shears wielding maniac counterpart now standing before me? She screamed not to worry. I heard a snip. I felt a strange sensation. Not pain. But something was no longer attached to me. It was a piece of my hair. She caught the floating lock in her hands as if it were a runaway feather.

“It is very important we get to work, Caitlin.” Too stunned to process the weird moment, I could barely utter a groan.

Then she explained how she must protect me. “He’ll surely make a visitation now that he has met you.”

I tried to explain it was a good thing. I would probably get a vision of him and then I could determine his part in the slayings.

She interrupted. “A visitation is what he’ll do to you. I don’t know how to break this to you but the cat judge is an incubus. He’ll surely come to you in your dreams. And in case he is our murderer, you’ll need a protection spell, pronto.”

I reminded her I carried a firearm. I had worked in the FBI.

“No earthbound weapons can harm the judge once he joins with you. An incubus enters your dream world.”

'How do you know this?” My tone grew edgy. She had obviously withheld knowledge of Manners. Maybe the two were friends or even lovers. And she just admitted an incubus could have committed these crimes without fear of being harmed or caught.

“I know things because I’m a witch, Caitlin. That explanation will have to suffice for now.”

If you’re truly a witch, Briana, you must know he’s our best suspect.”<br<

“I do not wish to make sentence of him, yet. He could very well be innocent, even though he is not human. You must not be quick to judge. Don’t forget you now have paranormal abilities. You wouldn’t want to be labeled guilty just because of who you are.”

She had me there.

I settled in for the spell.

“I will create a mind shield for you, Caitlin Diggs.”

She began to chant, inviting me to join her.

“I call upon the helpful powers of my ancestors. Please protect and shield me from harm. By the ancient ancestral power, blessed be!”

Briana played soft Celtic music for me as we waited for the spell to take effect. I tried to distract myself with the lovely dulcet tones of harps and violins. It almost worked until my stomach rumbled--again. We never had supper. Briana was too intent on saving my ass. For what seemed hours we held hands waiting for the candle to burn down. I had plenty of time to drink in the ambience of the McFadden household. Floral print furniture and lacy doilies surrounded me. But most disturbing, a poster of Cher is depicting the actress as a witch in the film Witches of Eastwick, hung right before my eyes. When the candle finally expired I yawned and thanked Briana.

“Don’t thank me yet. The night is now upon us. We must return to your house if we hope to engage the judge.”

“Won’t your presence discourage Manners from coming?”

“No.” She paused to smile. “You could have twenty police armed to the hilt and he’d still come. Nothing from the waking world can harm him.”

muttered something unintelligible even to me.

“I’ll be in the next room to supervise so to speak. When he comes I’ll sense it. I will then cast a binding spell so he can’t attack you – or worse, drain you. Now the spell won’t last indefinitely so you won’t want to waste time with small talk. Hopefully you’ll be able to determine his innocence or guilt in your dream.”

had once interrogated an evil man named Crowley in a dream state. It didn’t go so well. But at least he didn’t threaten to harm me. Maybe he couldn’t. I still don’t know; but I was sure of one thing if the judge threatened me in anyway I would defend myself. I didn’t care what Briana said about the dream and waking worlds. I went to bed packing a handgun.

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Kindle Fire Giveaway Celebrate The Sinner by Steven Merle Scott

Celebrate The Sinner

by Steven Merle Scott

Gambling with an Unsympathetic Protagonist

Bikers should recognize the feeling of being misunderstood. They know what it means to get a bad rap based on first appearances. When a wind-blown, longhaired, leather-clad biker rumbles down the road with his pipes throbbing, many onlookers choose not to take a second look. Is that fair? Is it reality?

The unsympathetic protagonist assumes a similar risk of being dismissed without being given a second chance. Friends, parents, concerned pastors, agents and publishers offer the same counsel: Don’t do it! Don’t spend years of your life creating a character the reader will hate. You might get away with it in a short story, but not in anything longer—and for God’s sake, don’t expect Hollywood (or even Sundance) to bid for the film rights.

And yet, authors still do the deed, and why is that? Is it because they’ve never known anyone nice?  Have they only encountered abusive parents, cranky teachers and crooked politicians? Have they grown up without a single positive role model during their pathetic lives? Dostoyevsky is a perfect example of an author with a miserable outlook. When he wrote Crime and Punishment, his life had fallen into the sewer: he’d gambled his way his family’s fortune and was overwhelmed with debt, faced with bankruptcy and forced to hock what he had owned. When Dostoyevsky sat down to write the novel, he hated just about everyone. Consequently, his protagonist, Raskolnokov, didn’t stand a chance. The poor boy turned out to be a cold, arrogant misanthrope who saw himself as being superior to everyone and justified in ridding the world of vermin. There is nothing remotely likeable about Raskolnokov, and yet Crime and Punishment has endured as one of the great novels in Western literature.

Given a choice, most of us choose to cozy up to nice guys (or not-so-nice guys that become nice by page 346). However, that character type does not represent the totality of people out there. The author who gambles with the unsympathetic protagonist has a right and a responsibility to honestly describe his seamy character, but the author must find a way to do so without alienating his reader. And by the end, there has to be a huge payback for asking the reader to spend time with such a sordid individual. After all, without the payback, what’s in it for the reader? Why should she pay good money to live with the creep without a reward?

In my novel, Celebrate the Sinner, Ted is not a likeable old man—I’ll leave it at that. Although he is a main protagonist, the larger story is the novel’s attempt to explain the man. He didn’t start out that way. When we first meet young Teddy, he is the innocent boy seen on the cover. As we share the life of the boy, if I’ve done my job, we should able to identify with him and sympathize with why he turned out the way he did. The reader does not have to like the main character, but she should care about what happens to him, at least on some level. Sympathizing with the protagonist isn’t the same as liking, but it calls for understanding the choices being made and the consequences that ensue. If the author is able to give the reader that insight, the reward may be great enough to forgive him for time spent cozying up to a creep.

About The Author:

S.M. Scott was raised and educated in Oregon, Alaska, France and Africa. Born in the Willamette Valley, his father, grandfather and great grandfather were Oregon lumbermen. When he was eight, his parents packed up the family and their portable sawmill and moved to Anchorage, Alaska where they began cutting homesteader timber in the summers and teaching school each winter.

He later returned to Oregon to pursue undergraduate studies at Linfield College. Along the way, he has studied economics, biology, French and medicine. He attended medical school in Colorado, undertook surgical training at the University of Utah and completed his cancer training at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. He and his family now live in Salt Lake City in the warm company of Saints and sinners. He is a practicing orthopedist and cancer surgeon.

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Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Blue Amber Press

Release Date: January 30, 2013

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Book Description:

“Unsettled conditions anywhere give rise to fear,” Old Ted remarks. “Fear finds scapegoats and easy solutions.”

In 1924, Marie walks through the Waverly Baby Home and chooses Teddy because he looks like the child she deserves...but the boy has hidden defects. Five years later, against a backdrop of financial ruin, KKK resurgence, hangings and arson, Marie's husband, Merle, struggles to succeed, Marie loses her way, and troubled seven year-old Teddy begins to see what he and his family are missing.

CELEBRATE THE SINNER unfolds with the onset of The Great Depression after Teddy’s father buys a bankrupt sawmill and moves his small family to an isolated Oregon mill town. Merle feeds his hunger with logs and production, while his young wife feels like rough-cut lumber, unworthy of paint and without a future. When a conspiracy threatens the mill, Merle adds the powerful KKK to his business network. Untended, Teddy strays as he searches for a connection outside himself. He loves the machines that take the trees, but he also worships his new, young teacher. He discovers the Bucket of Blood Roadhouse and begins spending his Saturday nights peering through its windows, gaining an unlikely mentor: Wattie Blue, an ancient, Black musician from Missouri, by way of Chicago, plays the lip harp and calls out square dances. When Wattie faces the Klan and his past, Teddy and his family are confronted with equally difficult choices.

Framed by solitary, narcissistic, ninety-year-old Ted, this story of desperate people contains humor, grit, mystery and an ending that surprises, even stuns. "Spines and bellies soften and round off with the years," Old Ted muses. "Thoughts, too, lose their edge, but secrets scream for revelation. Perfect people, after all, don't hold a monopoly on the right to tell their stories.

Excerpt:

YOUNG Teddy with his mother:

“Teddy,” Mother called through her bedroom door. “I need you.”

I left the front window and knocked on her door. She insisted I do that. If she answered, I could come in. If she didn’t answer, it meant I should go away.

“Come in,” she said.

Mother had just finished bathing. She was at her dressing table, sitting on the chair with the soft embroidered seat, staring into the mirror, studying her image. A white towel bound her hair. I stood in the doorway and watched her pat and squeeze the towel. Her hands traced its length from top to bottom, working the moisture into the fabric. As she let the towel fall, with a single hand, she carried her thick braid forward and laid it beside her breast.

“Sit here, Teddy, and brush my hair.” She patted the seat cushion and inched forward. “We can make room.”

I climbed onto the chair behind her, my legs astraddle her naked hips, my spine pressed against the hard wooden back. The wet length of hair seemed to swell against the loose braid that held it. I released the braid and watched the strands fall apart. As I picked up the hairbrush and started with the damp ends, I knew that when I finished, when her hair had dried, it would ruffle and fan out like the tail feathers of a bright red bird.

I was Mother’s spectator, her silent confidant, forever held by the promise of more. Small secret jars, some pink and lavender, some with gold lids, others with glass stoppers, she arranged across her dressing table like figurines. She touched a shade of color with her fingertip and carried it to her cheek with the love of an artist completing a masterpiece. She reached for a second color, sampled it, but chose another. Rarely did she move her eyes from the glass in front. And rarely did I.

Mother’s eyebrows were slender because she plucked them, but her lips were full. When she looked down, lids masked her eyes like shades lowered, but the aching green behind them was always present. She wore her makeup bright red across the lips for the world to see, but more subtly along her cheeks and at the angle of her jaw. In her jewelry box, she kept gold hoops and bobs to wear when she and Father went out. During the afternoons at her dressing table, I chose the earrings she wore.

“You are the best little man,” she told me as I worked the brush through her hair.

“I know I am.”

I carried the brush higher and used it to massage her scalp the way she had taught me. She tilted her head to the left and then to the right to change the angle of view, the cast of light, and I followed her movements, careful not to pull. The thin muscles at the front of her neck tightened and released and slid beneath her pale skin like silk ropes under tension.

Held between the chair back and her spine, I barely moved, the warmth of her bath rising against me, damp like the rope of hair between us.

“I am so lucky to have you,” she said.

I searched her mirror for an echoed smile, a flickered glance, the small treasures she’d hide for me to find, me alone.

Mother stood and moved away, but moisture from her thighs remained on the brocade cushion, altering the color of its fabric from blue to purple, which, after years, became an imprint that stayed.

“Go play, now.”

I left with only the scent of her bath.

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The Secret Guardian

by Wes Dodd

Wes Dodd was born in Lynchburg, Virginia in 1958, currently residing in Southside Virginia. He has two daughters and three grandchildren. Within the last couple years he has discovered a passion for creating and breathing life into great stories. He has published three novels: The Crimson Key, a mystery, The Secret Guardian, fantasy and Saving Faith, a romantic thriller.

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The Secret Guardian

Genre: Fantasy

Publisher: CreateSpace & BookTango

Release Date: April 2013

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Book Description:

A Sacred Society exists amongst us all. Believed only as a myth—its origin thrives in secret. Once transformed, each generation of its members become the elite of our society—some for good and some for evil as well. Troy Anthony, unknowingly and somewhat unwillingly, is about to join the elite, like his father before him. It takes a close family friend to ultimately expose the Secret to Troy, revealing his true destiny, and then she becomes a valuable ally. They inadvertently share a unique bond—one of which many doubt its very existence. Troy is taken to two magical places where he learns many secrets of the world, many of which we all have been curious about. It becomes an epic battle where Troy clashes with an evil tyrant, his father’s assassin, a distant cousin sharing many of Troy’s unique abilities.

Claire Anthony suddenly rose up in bed, escaping the nightmare which held her hostage. Breathing heavily as if running from fear, she threw back the deep heavy quilts and sat nervously on the edge of her bed. Still shaken, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, gently sloping along her narrow cheekbones. Her silken auburn brown hair was drenched along the hairlines. She sighed heavily as she glanced at the clock on her night stand—2 a.m.

This was not a rare nightmare, but rather a recurring one, brought on by a Secret she had kept for many years, an ancient secret known by only a few. She needed to reveal the Secret to her son, Troy, even sooner than she wished. The Secret would change their lives forever if Troy decided to fulfill his destiny—like his father before him.

She noticed a mysterious shadow lingering on her rug from the bright moon shining through her window. Driven by curiosity, she walked to the window to take a peek, as if searching for someone or something in particular. The brilliance from the moon illuminated the entire farmyard, almost like day. After a thorough examination and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she quietly returned to bed. She once again buried herself within heavy handmade quilts passed down to her from her grandmother, most of which Claire as a child watched her make.

Claire and her son, Troy, lived on her grandparents’ farm in Virginia where she was raised. She lost both of her parents in an auto accident when she was barely eight years of age. When her grandparents both passed, she inherited the farm. She and Troy moved back there after the loss of her husband, Bruce, in the North Tower during the 9/11 attacks in New York City. Much like herself, Troy had to deal with death at a very early age. After the tragedy and some healing time, she thought it best to get her son out of the city, which prompted her move back to the farm. The farm was nestled in a small valley amongst the Blue Ridge Mountains near the sleepy little town of Sweet Springs. Claire recollected the good times she had growing up there. The clean fresh country air and the friendly people made it a perfect place for raising her son and teaching him strong values. The beautiful scenery and a laid-back lifestyle made it perfect for her as well.

Claire was a slender woman of forty years, about five-and-a-half feet in height. Her vivid green eyes and captivating smile made everyone take notice when she entered a room. Even with hints of gray blending in with her auburn brown hair, she appeared to be at least ten years younger than her age. Many men had come calling on her, but she had turned them all away—graciously.

The next morning dawned cool and crisp with a bite in the air that rendered noses and cheeks rosy red, much like good old Saint Nick’s. The heavy frost had the appearance of a coating of freshly fallen snow. As the sun peeked over the horizon, the trees sparkled and glimmered as if infused with magic. The hillsides were speckled orange with pumpkin patches. The valley was consumed with the fragrance of seasoned oak and hickory burning in fireplaces. In the home of Claire and Troy, the aroma of freshly cooked bacon filled every room—making your tongue tingle, mouth water and stomach cry.

This aroma awakened Troy every morning at 6:30 sharp. He would always leap out of bed, bounce down the stairs, and be at the table anxiously waiting before his mother could finish preparing breakfast. This morning was oddly different. Claire had finished cooking and Troy was not yet at the table. She glanced at her grandmother’s antique clock on the old mantle—6:45. She was astonished, for she had never had to call him for breakfast before. She made her way to the hallway, then called up the stairs, “Troy, are you up yet?”

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Saving Faith

by Wes Dodd

Wes Dodd was born in Lynchburg, Virginia in 1958, currently residing in Southside Virginia. He has two daughters and three grandchildren. Within the last couple years he has discovered a passion for creating and breathing life into great stories. He has published three novels: The Crimson Key, a mystery, The Secret Guardian, fantasy and Saving Faith, a romantic thriller.

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Saving Faith

Genre: Romantic Thriller

Publisher: CreateSpace & Book Tango

Release Date: June 1, 2013

Book Description:

Fate rides on the wings of life, steering life along its unforeseen journey, thus fulfilling one’s destiny. Fate can also bring two paths to cross, though traveling in opposite directions, lives that had once ran parallel. So it was in the lives of Trevor Logan and Faith Thomas, two paths traveling parallel, destined to be one at a young age. Then came a sinister plan, painted with pictures of deception, sending their lives reeling in opposite directions. But after over twenty years, fate caused their paths to cross once again, by way of an unusual chain of events. Their paths crossed just when Faith’s life was in danger, leaving Trevor to risk his own to save hers, thus keeping a strange promise he had made to her father—over twenty years before.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, Graduation Day, and blue skies stretched from one side of heaven to the other, with a few white clouds dotted here and there just to add a bit of color. A temporary stage sat on the football field, adorned in blue and white, the school colors. The banners waved gently in the warm tender breeze, as if waving farewell to the seniors seated before them. The principal, vice principal and guidance counselor all sat up on the stage, with Faith’s father as well, who was to give a prayer to begin the ceremony. The bright faces of seventy-six seniors sitting in folding chairs faced them, eagerly waiting to begin the next phase of their lives. They were seated in alphabetical order with the men wearing blue and the ladies in white. The bleachers adjacent the stage were filled with proud parents, including Trevor’s mom and dad.

On cue, Mr. Thomas rose and approached the microphone. He gave a short speech on how proud he was of each senior, and especially the one of his own. After embarrassing Faith, he proceeded with a very beautiful prayer for the graduating class. The principal then took over, giving a short dignified speech. The vice principal then added a speech of his own, pointing out some humorous events that happened this past year. The football field echoed with laughter, at the expense of certain humiliated seniors. The principal then came forward to begin handing out diplomas as the vice principal called out the names of each graduate.

All seventy-six seniors made their way across the stage and back to their seats, where they all stood eagerly waiting for the announcement, to then throw their caps high into the air in celebration. The principal gazed out over the graduates, as an unusual smirk grew upon his face. He then made a most unusual request, calling Faith Thomas back to the stage. All eyes fell curiously upon Faith as she made her way through her classmates and then slowly onto the stage. Faith wore a confused expression as she stared into her father’s smiling face. His glassy eyes then turned to her rear—causing hers to follow. To her surprise, Trevor was approaching, wearing a smirk of his own.

Trevor stepped close, placing her hands within his. “Faith,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “I pledge my whole heart and soul to you…today and for all the tomorrows that the Lord will bless me with.” He lowered to a knee, his sneakers and blue jeans peeking out from under his graduation gown. Faith’s mouth dropped and eyes watered, as all the girls in the crowd squealed. “Faith, will you marry me?” he asked as silence fell—all waiting for her reply.

With tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Faith watched as Trevor opened a tiny black velvet box, revealing what she thought was the most beautiful ring she had ever laid eyes on. Everyone in the audience quietly waited for her response. Too choked up to speak, she nodded in agreement as Trevor slipped on the ring. The crowd erupted in celebration, as the graduating class yelled while throwing their caps high into the air.

But not everyone shared in the excitement. One particular senior still sat in her seat with her cap still on her head, glaring through tear-stained eyes at the happy couple on stage. All her hopes and dreams were laid to waste by a tiny diamond ring. With Faith away at college, and Trevor at home attending the nearby community college, Denise had planned on turning up the heat on her pursuit for Trevor. With Faith gone and not running interference, it would be only a matter of time before Trevor would give in to his desires. She was attractive enough to weaken the knees of any devout man, which left an eighteen-year-old hormonal machine without a prayer of surviving her seduction.

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The Presley Thurman Mysteries by Laina Turner

The Presley Thurman Mysteries

by Laina Turner

About The Author:

Who am I? It kind of depends on the day. I am a human compendium of unrelated things. I used to think I was just weird, had shiny ball syndrome and couldn’t focus, scattered, you name it. Then I decided it was OK to be all over the place as long as each avenue I wanted to explore had meaning and purpose or was fun. So I embrace the fact I am a college professor, a writer of fiction and non-fiction, promoter of other authors, human resource professional, business consultant, mom, and all around interesting person (according to my closest friends).

When I’m not working toward my goals I like, ok fine, LOVE wine, coffee, shopping, and books. I enjoy my kids, they are awesome. I hate the cold but yet live in the mid-west. Vegas is one of my favorite spots as I love to people watch and if I ever get married again it will definitely be in a drive through chapel by a fake Elvis.

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Genre: Mystery Romance

Publisher: Five Seas Ink

Release Date: July 2012

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Book Description:

This six-book set includes...

Stilettos & Scoundrels

Presley tells her boss what he can do with her job in HR and embarks on a new career as a freelance journalist. What seems like a simple interview with a Senator turns to murder when the day after her interview the Senator turns up dead. Does the fact that Presley was one of the last people to see him alive make her a suspect? Her ex-boyfriend Cooper, who was in charge of the Senators security, might think so. Presley is determined to clear her name but can she do it and resist Cooper’s charms?

Necklaces & Nooses

When Presley’s boss is found hanging she thinks its suicide until the police discover its homicide. Who would want to kill a boutique owner? Presley’s not sure but she’s determined to find out. The cute detective assigned to the case makes it all the more exciting.

Handbags & Hooligans

Presley went to Vegas to watch her friend Anna get married and the event turned into solving the mystery of her brothers girlfriend disappearance. But Ashley wasn't exactly the schoolteacher she appeared to be. Who was she and was she kidnapped?

The holiday short…Mistletoe & Murder

In this holiday short story, Presley goes home for Christmas expecting it to be a relaxing holiday until her old boyfriend, Brian, asks for her help finding out who has been stealing from him and it turns from theft to murder. Why would anyone want to kill Tommy and what was he hiding?

Gems & Gunshots

Presley heads to San Diego to hang out with Cooper and enjoy the great west coast weather. She didn’t expect that while hanging out at the local coffee shop she would be a witness to a robbery and murder at Gemstone’s Unlimited. Much to Cooper’s dismay Presley feels compelled to investigate. She discovers that not only was the store owner a womanizer but also was filing false insurance claims for diamonds that weren’t really stolen. Was that why he was being blackmailed? Was that why someone robbed his store? Presley is determined to find out!

As a bonus get the short story prequel, A Day in the Life of Trixie Pristine.

In this short story prequel, Trixie and her friends Berklie and Sophie, considered themselves typical thirty something females until someone turned up murdered in their newly opened bookstore/wine bar. They thought they would be living out their dream in their new shop not trying to catch a killer. Who killed Sylvia and why? Or was one of them the intended target?

Excerpt One:

Stilettos & Scoundrels “Hello?” “Presley! I need to talk to you right away!” It was Helen Daniels, hysterical. I could hardly understand her. “What is it, Helen? What’s wrong?” I had fallen asleep, but the sound of fear in Helen’s voice quickly woke me up. “Just meet me at Gardner’s old warehouse in thirty minutes. If you’re not there, I will not be able to wait. It’s not safe. You have to hurry!” “Helen! Calm down, safe from whom? Why all the drama? Helen…Helen?” She’d hung up. I glanced at my watch. Crap! I’d never make it there in thirty minutes. All I could hope for was Dirt and his deputies were out investigating the Senator’s murder rather than trying to keep the streets safe from speeders. I ran out of the house, running past my mother still working in her garden. “Presley, where are you going? “I’ll be back in a bit.” “For dinner?” “I don’t know.” I said exasperatedly. I didn’t need the third degree. “Where are you going?” “I’ll explain later. Just eat without me if I’m not back.” “Pres!” “Bye, Mother.” I pushed seventy in a forty-five mile an hour zone, my Kia humming, just hoping to get there on time. I was surprised my car could go that fast. In Chicago, the traffic was so bad you didn’t really have a chance to speed this much. My phone rang again, but I didn’t look at it. I needed to concentrate on my driving. Gardner’s warehouse, located about twenty miles outside of town, used to be a production plant for some automotive part. The plant closed years before, when I still lived here. It was so long ago that I couldn’t remember what the company actually produced. I pulled in the parking lot, gravel flying, hoping Helen was still here. The clock on my dash said it had been thirty-three minutes since she called me. I pocketed my keys, not wanting to weigh myself down with my purse, and jogged around to the front entrance. I had on flip-flops, not the best jogging shoes, but I was so startled when Helen called I just ran out of the house without paying attention to what I had on. This was a big place, and I huffed trying to catch my breath. I really must get in shape, I wheezed to myself. Helen hadn’t specified exactly where to meet her, so I assumed she might be at the front entrance. She wasn’t waiting outside for me, so I tried the front door or what I presumed was the front door. It was unlocked, which I thought strange for an abandoned building, but I assumed Helen had unlocked it. Though had it been locked, I could have crawled through one of the many broken windows. I carefully stepped inside the building and the darkness engulfed me. The little bit of light in the building was let in by the broken windows, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. It smelled dank and musty, and I could hear the scurrying of what were probably little furry rodents. I shuddered involuntarily and didn’t want to think about what type of creepy crawlies were in this building, especially with me in flip-flops. I wasn’t thrilled about stepping any further into the building. “Helen,” I called softly. No answer. Where the hell is she? I tiptoed a little further into the building in an effort to be quiet, though I still couldn’t see very well, so tiptoeing wouldn’t do me any good if there was anything in my way. All of a sudden, I felt a hand on my arm; I jumped about ten feet and started to scream. “Shh, Presley. It’s just me,” Helen said. “Do you think you could be a little quieter?” “Then don’t ask me to come to an abandoned building and grab me when I’m not expecting it. I can’t see! You could have been anyone or anything,” I retorted. “I am not a big fan of the creepy things I am sure are in this building.” I took one look at Helen and grew concerned. She was usually one of those women who always looked impeccable, but her dark brown hair, usually in a knot at the nape of her neck, was disheveled and loose. I could tell Helen had been crying, from her smudged make-up. She definitely wasn’t her normal well put together self. I could see that, even in this poor light. I still felt a stab of jealousy because, even a little worse for wear, Helen looked better than most women. Not fair at all. “So what is going on, Helen? Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why did we have to meet here, of all places?” I asked, looking around and waving my arms. “Should we even be here? The place looks about ready to fall down. I’m sure the owners wouldn’t be too happy if we fell through the floor or something. This building is quite a liability.” “It’s the only place I could go where I could easily see if I was being followed. Besides, we own the building. Or rather, I do now,” Helen, replied giving a little laugh—the hysterical kind, rather than the ha-ha kind. “Why would anyone be following you?” I took a step forward, concerned Helen might really be in danger. It seemed so surreal. Helen tried to keep herself from crying again. “They called my house, Presley. They called my house and demanded money. They said if I didn’t pay up, they would make sure I met the same fate as Tom. I knew they would want their money, but I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought I would have some more time. I can’t get my hands on that kind of money right now. It would look too suspicious; besides, I don’t even know yet where I am going to get it!” Helen then burst into tears. I waited for a few uncomfortable moments for the tears to subside. To help Helen, I needed her to calm down and tell me everything she knew. Plus, I had a few questions of my own. “Do you know who it was that called you, Helen? Who did the Senator owe money to?” “I don’t know specifically who the caller was, nor who Tom owed money to. I didn’t recognize any voices and they didn’t tell me their names. Tom tried to hide as much as he could from me about this aspect of his life, I told you that already, and when I forced the issue, he told me as little as possible. Usually just enough to get me to shut up. To be honest, it got to where I didn’t even ask much because I didn’t really care.” “Who else knows about the Senator’s gambling problem? Maybe that’s who called you. Could it be blackmail?” I thought blackmail seemed as good a reason as any. “The only people who know about this, besides the people he owed the money to, are me and Tobey. As the Senator’s assistant, Tobey was privy to a lot more information than I thought he should have been,” Helen explained. “Tom said he would find out anyway, and that we could trust him. I don’t think Tobey is the type to try to blackmail anyone. Other than that, there is no way Tom would have told anyone else. He might have been a gambler, but he wasn’t stupid. At least not that stupid.” “What about Garrison Palazzo.”

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Faelon by AJ Kelton

Faelon

by AJ Kelton

About The Author:

AJ Kelton are the dynamic writing team of Angel and Jordan. The couple met online several years ago on an Alexander fan site and have been friends ever since. Angel soon found that Jordan had a flare for storytelling with several half-finished stories on her computer. Angel encouraged Jordan to finish the stories and with help in creative description she decided to send the stories off to MLR press. They were both shocked and excited when they got the news that Faelon was accepted for publication. While Jordan may have a flare for storytelling she doesn’t enjoy the smaller details in getting a story ready for publication. That is where Angel comes in; she spends countless hours getting the story ready after line edits, going over each line in proofing and formatting, making decisions such as covers and fonts, all things that Jordan just has problems focusing on.

Angel is always on the lookout for her perfect mate, a cross between Ethan from Under the Australian Sky and Evan from Marco. Until Mr. Perfect appears at her door, or in front of her booth wanting an autograph she loves to read, take pictures and attend concerts of all kinds. She loves all things 80’s. Angel lives in Texas with her two dogs, Daisy a beagle who she insists is nothing like snoopy and her Chihuahua Bonita.

When not writing Jordan loves to read anything from Amish romance to the dark taboo books of fiction both M/M and Het. She is a very avid reader, except when writing because she doesn’t want to be influenced by what she is reading. Jordan loves to travel and often her latest vacation spots show up in his books. While Jordan is always looking for that perfect place to live at the moment she can be found in Kansas.

Both writers have solo projects coming out in the future, Angel with Misunderstandings under the name Angel Rothamel. Jordan with Legion under the name Rider Jacobs.

Both authors would love to hear from you. You can contact them via their web page AJKelton@AJKelton.com. You can also find them on Facebook under both AJ Kelton, Angel Rothamel and Rider Jacobs.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter| Yahoo Group

Genre: M/M Romance

Publisher: MLR Press

Release Date: April 5, 2013

Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Book Description:

Who knew that loving a Nephilim could be so dangerous. Faelon, a 3000-year-old nephilim, fleeing a demonic master, found safety with the church. He has repaid their kindness by translating various artifacts. Father Donovan has watched as Faelon became a recluse, fearing those who would harm him. Jax, wanting a change, moves to Salem, MA where he finds work as a churches security guard. Not believing that Faelon is a nephilim, he is forced to confront his own beliefs in the supernatural. Can he learn to accept Faelon, and be the master he requires? Or lose the man he loves to the demons who would harm him.

Excerpts:

*NOTE* Some Graphic Language

“I have been called many names in my life, but I don’t think ‘crazy-ass’ was one of them.” The man smiled at him.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Jax pulled out his cell phone. “You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me who you are and why you are here, or you’ll be explaining it to the police.”

The other man pushed off from the door and sauntered toward Jax. “There is no need to get the police involved. My name is Faelon, and I live in the basement where I happen to be cataloguing all those important items and translating those dusty old books into English. It isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but, hell, it keeps me a bit busy, and at this moment I find I’m enjoying it.”

“You live in the basement?” Father Donavan mentioned that Faelon worked late at night, but he didn’t mention that the man actually lived down there. “Father Donavan didn’t mention that you lived in the basement.”

Faelon shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he started toward the side door. “Yes, I have a small studio apartment down there. It’s why no one is allowed to enter the area without my express invitation. Ask Father Donavan tomorrow if you don’t believe me. I’m going out, grabbing a bite to eat, and maybe I’ll watch the water for a while. Tell me, is it warm out? Are the tourists here yet?”

Jax shrugged his shoulder. “It was a nice day for October and the tourists are always here, aren’t they? Especially this time of year?”

“I find that they are, yes. As to why they would come to this place when there are so many others across this nation that hold just as much mysticism at a warmer temperature is beyond me. Until tomorrow, Mr. Security Guard,” he said as he started walking again.

“Jax.”

“Jax?” Faelon turned his head in inquiry.

“My name, it’s Jax. At least that is what everyone calls me. It’s short for J-Jackson,” he stammered. He had no idea why he was rambling, other than the fact that Faelon was sexy as hell, and he wanted to speak to him just a little longer. There was something about the soft musical quality of his voice with just a trace of an accent that made Jax want to keep him talking.

Faelon gave a slight smile, and for a brief moment, Jax thought he had to be the hottest man alive. “Until tomorrow then, Jax.”

Jax watched him walk out the door. Giving himself a brief mental shake, he breathed in deeply to clear his head. He had never been so instantly attracted to someone before. When Father Donavan had told him about a researcher, but he’d never pictured a young man with skin-tight leather pants, a black biker jacket, and lips that looked like they would be right at home wrapped around a cock.

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