Thursday, October 31, 2019

Audio Blitz & Giveaway: The Journals of Octavia Hollows by Stacey Rourke (NA Fantasy)

Title: The Journals of Octavia Hollows
Author: Stacey Rourke
Genre: NA Fantasy
Audio Producer: The Audio Flow, LLC
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb: With a touch of her hand, Octavia Hollows can restore life. Yet, she couldn’t save the man she loved from the horrific accident that stole him from her. Octavia thought she could outrun the pain, but ghosts from the past refuse to be silenced. Out of options, she chooses to retrace her wayward journey across the country in search of answers. Surrounded by baffling mysteries of the undead, what she learns about herself along the way might become her greatest weapon.
This six novella series chronicles Octavia's adventures in:
Wake the Dead
Dead Man's Hand
Caught Dead
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Dead Ringer
Dead as a Doornail

Audible links:

Stacey Rourke is the award winning author of works that span genres, but possess the same flare for action and snarky humor. She lives in Florida with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant dogs. Stacey loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction, and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head.

Author Links:
Audible links:

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Book Blitz & Giveaway: Dorothy and the Land of Monsters (Oz Revamped, #1) by Garten Gevedon (Young Adult Paranormal Fantasy)

Dorothy In the Land of Monsters
Garten Gevedon
(Oz ReVamped, #1)
Publication date: October 11th 2019
Genres: Fantasy, Paranormal, Young Adult
Shifters, Zombies, and Vampires? Oh my!
My name is Dorothy Gale, and I think I might be dead.
When my dog Toto and I got swept up in a twister, we landed in hell. A very colorful hell. Like a rainbow dripping in blood. Now it looks as though this dreadful underworld plagued with vampires, zombies, and shifters will be the site of my eternal damnation.
They say this terrifying land called Oz isn’t hell or purgatory and escape is possible, but first I must survive the journey down the blood-soaked yellow brick road to the only place in Oz where vampires dare not tread—The City of Emeralds.
With enchanted footwear and the help of my three new friends—a friendly zombie, a massive shifter lion, and a heartless axe murderer of evil night creatures (who also happens to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen)—Toto and I have a chance to make it to the Vampire Free Zone. When we get there, I must convince the most powerful wizard in this magical land of monsters to send us out of this radiant nightmare and back to the world of the living. They say he’s just as frightening as this monstrous land, that he detests visitors, and even the most horrifying creatures cower in his presence. But I must seek him out. And when I find him, I’ll do whatever it takes to make him send me home.
Gray everywhere. As I stand on the porch of my aunt and uncle’s home, all I can see is the great gray expanse of prairie on every side. No trees, houses, buildings, people, nothing at all breaks the broad sweep of flat gray country that reaches to the edge of the gray sky in every direction. The sun scorched the plowed fields into a dusty, gray mass that expands to the horizon line, the endless gloom broken only by the little black shadows of the fissures running through it like the marbling of a corpse.
Even the grass is dead and gray—the hot sun singed the blades until they were the same lifeless gray color that blankets everything. Years ago, the house was a pristine white, but the torrid summer sun burned and blistered the paint and the heavy winter rains battered it away, and now the house is as weathered and gray as everything else here. It’s fitting for what it’s like to live here in Middle of Nowhere, Kansas. It looks like what it is—bleak, leached of any color, any excitement, anything interesting at all—drained of life. Gray is gray is gray is my life. It surrounds me from all sides, all the time. And it sucks. Thanks a lot, climate change.
I came to live with my Uncle Henry and Aunt Emily on a crappy little farm when my parents died in a car accident. I was thirteen. Because Emily was the only family I had left, she got stuck with me. She could have refused me and left me as a ward of the state, but she was kind enough to take me in. Even though I don’t share the same connection with Emily and Henry that I did with my parents, they’re still family—the only family I have—so, I may complain about this being the middle of nowhere, but it’s better than being in an orphanage or foster care or some group home. Yeah, their place is tiny, and old, but at least it has four walls, a floor, and a roof.
The two-bedroom farmhouse I live in is as weathered and brittle as the farm it’s set on. One story with no attic and no basement, the only feature it has is a cyclone cellar which we’ve had yet to use since I’ve lived here. It may lack color and any of the luxuries most people in America have these days—cable, wifi, consistent hot water to shower with—but I am grateful I have somewhere to live, even if life here is so gray that the grayness proliferates, turning everything in it to a gray as dry as dust.
When Aunt Emily came here to live with Uncle Henry, she was a young, pretty, vivacious woman with golden hair and bright emerald green eyes—or I thought I remembered her that way. Even she’s gray now. Just like it changed this once green land, the sun and wind have changed her, and her once sparkling green eyes are now dim and muted, tinged with a melancholy gray. Living here in this sweltering, exanimate world has stolen her radiance and left her ashen. It’s exhausted the red from her cheeks and lips, and now they’re pallid and gray too. Once she was curvy and a little plump. Now she’s gaunt and never smiles. Can’t blame her for never smiling, living in this dull, gray crap hole.
When I first came to her, Aunt Emily would startle when I laughed. She’d scream and look at me like I was nuts, shocked I could find anything to laugh at in this gray place. Uncomfortable and bored out of my skull, I’d laugh trying to entertain myself, trying not to let the depression get the best of me, but after being here for four years, I get it now—what is there to laugh about when all that’s here is gray?
Uncle Henry never laughs either. Morning to night, all he does is work hard. If he knows what joy is, he doesn’t let on. From his gray beard to his rough boots, Henry is also gray, stern, and solemn. With a permanent stone face, he almost never speaks. It’s like he’s made of hard, gray stone. If he didn’t work so much trying to make this gray land yield something, I’d think he was stone—a gray statue of a man.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s me that’s gray, or the lens I see the world through. Before my parents died, my life was a bright white, like a pristine sheet of paper wishing for a colorful story to grace its surface. Then the black smear of tragedy struck, and it’s as though the thousands of tears I shed diffused the black that blemished my bright whiteness, spreading it over the unsullied parts like watercolor, leaving my world gray. But I don’t think I’m gray. Not yet. I don’t think it has spread to me yet.
—“Dorothy in the Land of Monsters” Oz ReVamped #1
Chapter 1 – The Cyclone, pgs. 1-2

Author Bio:
Garten Gevedon lives in New York City with her family. She's a sci-fi, fantasy, and paranormal author who loves taking fairy tales and turning them inside out. You can visit her online at


Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Cover Reveal & Giveaway: Everything's Better With Lisa by Lucy Eden (Contemporary Romance)

Title: Everything's Better With Lisa
Author: Lucy Eden
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: November 25, 2019
Cover Design: Maria of Steamy Designs
When I first noticed Lisa Betancourt, she threatened me with a baseball bat.

To be fair, I deserved it. 
But none of that mattered when I found out I had a baby brother—a brother who is now left to my care. Too bad I don’t know the first thing about parenting. If I have any hope of not ruining this poor kid’s life, I need Lisa’s help. She quickly becomes my salvation, my heart. And even though our timing is all wrong, I can’t help but wonder how I can convince her to stay with me—with us—forever. 

Cole Simmons is just my insensitive jerk of a neighbor.
Or, that’s all he used to be. 
Now he’s in completely over his head, taking care of an adorable child that I’m getting way too attached to way too fast. And the scary part? I’m starting to get attached to Cole, too. After my nasty divorce, I was sure I’d never risk falling in love again—but Cole has me questioning my resolve at every turn. Frankly, I’m starting to wonder if Cole isn’t the only one who is in completely over his head.
Neither of them was looking for love or a ready-made family. But what will they do when they realize they’ve stumbled head-long into both?
“Lisa,” he whispered.
“Yes, Cole?” I blinked up at him and took a step closer, his hand still resting on mine.
“I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?” he asked.
I giggled causing him to pull away.
I’d never been asked for a kiss before. It was adorable, silly but also somehow incredibly sexy.
“What?” he asked. I could see the look of apprehension on his face.
“Are you as good at seducing as you are at apologizing?” I reached up and stroked his cheek. I was suddenly wide awake. I swore I meant to say kissing but the word seducing came out instead. I would have been happy with a kiss but seduction sounded so much better. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d been seduced.
“I’m very good at seducing.” He scooped me under my thighs and lifted me onto the kitchen island like I was a doll, making his lips more accessible. “I’m a little out of practice.” He swept my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck, and gently pressing his lips to the soft skin below my ear. I moaned, though I wasn’t sure I meant to and Cole’s body, at least one part of his body, responded. 
“Good,” I sighed. “I’m a little out practice, too.” I wrapped my legs around his waist and pressed my body into his. He was rock hard and I found myself was grinding my hips into his erection. The fact that we were both wearing thin pajamas made me feel every contour of his dick and I was flashing back to my thoughts upon seeing him earlier today pushing the stroller. Why were men with babies so fucking sexy?
He kissed his way down my neck and gently lowered me onto the countertop until I was fully reclining with my hair hanging over the other side. He lifted the hem of my shirt and pressed his lips into my soft belly and swirled his tongue into and her around my navel. 
His head traveled below my belly button and I gasped.
“Cole, what are you doing?” I asked as his lips traveled to places no one’s lips had been before.
“I told you I wanted to kiss you.” He shot me a mischievous smile and slowly stroked the skin under the elastic of my pajama pants, soothing the indentation marks of the waistband. “I didn’t say where I wanted to kiss you.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “I thought you meant…” I trailed off and tucked my bottom lip between my teeth. He smiled, leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. Then he planted a kiss on my nose, then my cheek before tenderly sucking my earlobe between his teeth and nibbling. I moaned again. 
“Well, now that you know what I meant, do you want me to stop?” he whispered in my ear. My body was pulsating heat in a current that traveled up and down my arms before settled in place where Cole was eager to visit.
“No,” I half sighed, half moaned while shaking my head, causing his lips to brush the shell of my ear. “Don’t stop.”
“Good.” He let out a soft chuckle and began to make his way down my body, again hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pajamas and my panties, slowly pulling them over my thighs, ghosting a kiss or a lick on every inch of newly revealed flesh. “Because I’m just getting started.”
Lucy Eden is the nom de plume of a romance-obsessed author who writes the kind of romance she loves to read. She’s a sucker for alphas with a soft gooey center, over the top romantic gestures, strong & smart MCs, humor, love at first sight (or pretty damn close), happily ever afters & of course, dirty & steamy love scenes. 
When Lucy isn’t writing, she’s busy reading—or listening to—every book she can get her hands on— romance or otherwise.
She lives & loves in New York with her husband, two children, a turtle & a Yorkshire Terrier.


Book Tour & Giveaway: Heist by Kezzy Sparks (Adult Paranormal Thriller)

Kezzy Sparks
Publication date: October 31st 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Thriller
A thrilling introduction to the dark mystical world of Melanie ‘Breaker’ Perkiss, Buffalo NY’s most capable witch hunter and spell lifter.
In this debut instalment, a dark mage acting on behalf of a vengeful ex has magically removed the genitals of a man and vanished, leaving him wiped clean down there. And unfortunately for the victim, he is set to wed…now imagine saying ‘I do’ while in that deprived state.
No wonder when a shell-shocked and heartbroken Casey walks into Melanie’s office to report the incident, the witch hunter immediately goes on a chase, risking her own life as she encounters dark creatures and malevolent spirits in the city’s darkest corners.
The pressure is indeed on Mel: the wedding is fast approaching and leads remain few. Will she be able to corner the mage, recover the taken goods and save a doomed marriage, while bringing the conspirators to justice?


I guide my ex-trooper Crown Victoria into its allotted space, then walk toward the office. There is something in the air today, and my right hand has been twitching ominously. To many, such twitches don’t signify anything—just a bunch of nerves fluttering, they say—but myself, I interpret it as a call to action. And usually I am right.
            The door to my unit is made of a lower grade of maple, stained in amber and then varnished. Near the top is a sign with my name on it. MELANIE PERKISS, it reads in bold caps, then below that is an image of a claw hammer, with the words The Breaker scribbled beside.
It’s a cryptic enough thing, and many newly hired people working in this building often ask me what is it that I break, a word they utter while making quotation marks with their hands.
“Curses,” I reply, not shy to promote my type of business.
“That, really?” they further say, “is it a line of work?”
“Yes.” I often oblige them with a smile and then add, “I lift spells, too.”
That statement often elicits mystified grins, because to many, a spell and a curse are almost the same thing, but in my world they are different.
The conversation often doesn’t end there; it continues with them asking how it is that I know there is a curse here or a spell there to be dealt with. To which I reply by giving them the real jaw dropper: that I am a witch hunter—and that’s how I tell. 
“For real, a witch hunter?” they exclaim, wiping the pavement dirt off their fallen jaws. “In this day and age?” 
“Yeah,” I say, “right in this freakin’ new millennium.” 
At this point you should see how they shake their heads and roll their eyes like they have seen some phantom from a bygone century. Yet I, Melanie Perkiss, know what my calling is, and I have an actual office to work in.
At the door, I produce a key. I could have used my magic door-opener that pretty much can unlock any door, but I prefer to save it. I always save it; that makes good sense.
My fingers twitch again as I go in. Even though today is a Tuesday, it’s the first day of my working week, so I wonder what’s calling me to arms so early on. Really, in our business, big things usually happen on Fridays or Saturdays but not so much on Sunday or Monday, so what then could have occurred, or is occurring? I must wait and see.
The office is quiet, except for the soft fall of feet in a corridor to the back. I work alone, with no boss or assistant, and there is no one to say good morning to, or ask how the weekend was. Witch hunting can be such a lonely job, but also a potentially rewarding one, I must add.
My eyes land on one of the most important fixtures in here: a fish tank on a stand to the north wall.  
In there is Mr. Gillz, a companion fish of mine that I adore very much. His type is the flowerhorn cichlid, and that species can be colorful and attractive, but to me that is not the most important part. The real deal is that Mr Gillz here is magical and spiritual, just like all cichlids can be if handled the right way by the right hands. He warns me of impending supernatural disasters, and sometimes he hints at the potential outcome of a particular magic case I may be working on.  
“Hi there,” I wave at him, gazing into his fluid chambers.
He slowly rises to the surface, brings his mouth out of the water, and blows a weak bubble, then sinks back in. Something isn’t right. His sluggishness points in a bad direction.
Even so, I raise my hand to blow a kiss back, but just at that moment, my desk phone rings. Immediately I abandon the fish. It’s my practice to answer every call that comes no matter what.
 “Hello, Mel,” a strange male voice speaks. “I need your help. I can’t see my… um… things.”
“Things, what things?”            
At first I imagine someone has swiped the man’s wallet or IDs by means of magic, so he needs help finding them. Magic, of course, is the key word, because if it’s regular crime, I don’t deal with that. It's for the regular police.
“My… you know, downstairs,” the voice says mournfully.
I get a hint, and wonder then turns into shock. What other things can exist downstairs on a man, except—to put it in black and white—a dick and balls?
“You can’t see your…um.” I still find it hard to speak the exact words.
“Yes, my…dick and...” he says.
“Nuts.” The word just escapes, and guilt bites into me.
He grunts. It’s true then.
Yikes, what could this thing be?
The easier thing to imagine is that someone has cast a spell on him that prevents him seeing that part of his anatomy. Some bad curses can be like that; you just fail to see certain things but it doesn’t mean they have been lost. If it’s like that then, we could work a fix.
“Something wrong with your eyes, buddy?” I ask with hope, even if I’m still afraid it could be worse.
“No, my eyes are perfect. My things just aren’t there.”
God, don’t tell me... “Hold on,” I say.
Panic grips me. His genitals could be gone, for sure…

Author Bio:
Kezzy Sparks is a Toronto based author and writer. HEIST is his debut fiction in the long form. He enjoys reading as well, and lists works by Jim Butcher, Stephen King, Benedict Jacka, Dan Brown and Kevin Hearne as some of his personal favorites.