Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: 7th House Publishing,
Imprint of Andromeda LLC
Date of Publication: June 16, 2015
Number of pages: 300
Word Count: 90,000
Cover Artist: Victoria Danann
Brigid Roan is a graduate student at the University of Texas. She had no trouble getting her thesis approved, but finding a Hill Country motorcycle club willing to give her access to their lifestyle had started to seem impossible. Then she got a lead. A friend of a friend had a cousin with ties to The Sons of Sanctuary.
What she wanted was information to prove a proposition. What she didn’t want was to fall for one of the members of the club. Especially since she had set out to prove that motorcycle clubs are organized according to the same structure as primitive tribal society.
Brash Fornight was standing in line at the H.E.B. Market when his world tipped on its axis. While waiting his turn to check out, his gaze had wandered to the magazine display and settled on the new issue of “NOW”. The image on the cover, although GQ’d up in an insanely urbane way, was… him.
After reading the article, Brash threw some stuff in a duffle and left his club, The Sons of Sanctuary, with a vague explanation about needing a couple of days away. He left his Jeep at the Austin airport and caught a plane for New York, on a mission to find the guy who was walking around with his face.
Two brothers, one a player, one a playboy, are on a collision course with destiny and a woman who thought she won a prize when she was allowed a look inside the Sons of Sanctuary MC.
“Sir?” Brash Fornight gradually became aware that someone behind him in the grocery checkout line was trying to get his attention. “Sir?” He refocused and glanced behind him. The woman leaning on a cart overflowing with chip bags and cookie boxes nodded toward the cashier indicating that it was his turn to move forward. Brash looked her in the eye and had to give her props. Most people wouldn’t have the balls to try to herd a guy wearing Sons of Sanctuary MC leather.
The club employed a woman who cooked and did grocery shopping several times a week as part of her job description, but Brash didn’t like to explain his relentless craving for peanuts and he liked being teased about it even less. He didn’t know whether it was the Vitamin B or the fat or just because he liked the taste, but he couldn’t imagine going a day without them.
That’s how he came to be standing statue still In the grocery checkout line, being prompted by some woman with more nerve than sense. While he was waiting, his eyes drifted over the magazine display and settled on the cover of “NOW”, on the Most Eligible Bachelor edition no less. The debonair figure staring back was wearing Brash’s own face and body. He looked different with short hair and a four thousand dollar suit with the shirt fashionably open at the neckline, but the similarity was inescapable.
On impulse he grabbed the magazine and tossed it onto the conveyor belt with his week’s stash of peanuts.
He stuffed the bags into the saddlebags of his bike and roared toward home, nervously tapping his fingers on handlebars at red lights, riding on shoulders to keep from slowing down. He was anxious to get to the privacy of his own room and read about Branach St. Germaine.
Two beers, one jar of peanuts, and one “NOW” article later, Brash was sitting on the edge of his bed looking at the wall, seeing nothing but his own heavy thoughts. He pulled out his phone, looked up a website, and waited on hold for ten minutes to hear the time of the next flight from Austin to New York.
There was a flight to Newark in a little over three hours. He looked at his watch and calculated the time it would take to drive from Dripping Springs at that time of day. As he booked the flight, he stood up, walked to the small closet, grabbed a duffel bag, and began shoving stuff into it. Ten minutes later, he closed his door and locked it, threw the duffel over his shoulder, and headed straight for the office downstairs. He dropped the duffel on the hallway floor beside the closed door and knocked.
“Yeah?” Brash looked inside, glad that his dad was by himself, and stepped in. “What’s up?”
“I’m takin’ personal time, Pop. Gonna be gone for a couple of days.”
“What the hell is ‘personal time’?”
The gruffness made Brash smile. “It means I’m not gonna be here if you call and I’m not tellin’ you why.”
The Sons of Sanctuary President looked up at Brash, over the top of his readers, and narrowed his eyes. “You got a secret?”
“Everybody’s got secrets.”
Brandon Fornight studied his son for a minute. “True enough. Is it the kind of secret that could affect this club?”
Brash shook his head. “Don’t see how.”
“Well, then. See you… When did you say you’d be back?”
“Bein’ purposefully vague, are you?”
Brash grinned. “That’s why they call it personal time. But I expect to be back Friday.”
“You gonna have your phone with you?” When Brash nodded, Bran looked back down at his ledger in a deliberately dismissive gesture. “Well, get outta here then.”
Brash parked his bike in the airplane hangar. The structure had already been on the property when the club had bought it and turned it into a compound twenty years earlier. They used part of it for vehicle maintenance and repair and part for parking.
Some of the guys who were working looked over and shot curious glances his way when Brash threw his duffel into his pickup and started it up, but it wasn’t their way to ask questions. The Sons figured that if somebody wanted you to know something, they’d tell you.
Brash took a cab to a midtown hotel, wondering all the way why human beings would choose to live in such a place. As he slid his credit card across the hotel counter to the agent on duty, he glanced at the name, Brandon Fornight. It seemed unlikely that it was a coincidence that that the mysterious look-alike’s first name began with the same four letters. He ordered room service and pulled out his laptop.
Getting intel on the guy didn’t take advanced ops. Within an hour Brash knew where Brannach St. Germaine worked, what kind of car he drove, what kind of women he dated, who his tailor was, and where he liked to dine. There was no shortage of photos online, but the one that grabbed his attention wasn’t one of the many with starlets or debutantes on his arm. It was the one taken with his arm around his mother as they were arriving together for some red carpet fundraiser. Brash had an almost irresistible compulsion to reach up and touch her face on the screen in front of him.
The knock on the door signaled that room service had arrived. It cost a fortune, but looked and tasted like shit. So he closed the computer and went out for a walk to clear his head and find something edible.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling Author, Victoria Danann, is making her debut into Contemporary Romance with releases in May and June 2015, after taking the world of PNR by storm.
Her Knights of Black Swan series won Best Paranormal Romance Two years in a Row (2013, 2014). ~Reviewers Choice Awards, The Paranormal Romance Guild.
Victoria’s paranormal romances come with uniquely fresh perspectives on “imaginary” creatures, characters, and themes. She adds a dash of scifi, a flourish of fantasy, enough humor to make you laugh out loud, and enough steam to make you squirm in your chair. Her heroines are independent femmes with flaws and minds of their own whether they are aliens, witches, demonologists, psychics, past life therapists, or financial analysts from Dallas. Her heroes are hot and hunky, but they also have brains, character, and good manners – usually – whether they be elves, demons, berserkers, werewolves, or vampires.
The first book of the Knights of Black Swan Paranormal Romance Series, My Familiar Stranger, was nominated for Best Paranormal Romance of 2012 by both Reviewers’ Choice and Readers’ Choice Awards. All of her books have opened on the Amazon Best Sellers list and earned Night Owl Reviews Top Pick awards.
Many have appeared on Listopia Book of the Month as #1 across all genres.
For books published in 2013, Black Swan won three awards.
1. Best Paranormal Romance Series
2. Best Paranormal Romance Novel – A SUMMONER’S TALE
3. Best Vampire~Shifter Novel – MOONLIGHT.
In 2014, Solomon’s Sieve won Best Vampire Novel.
Photo- If you’re interested in me personally, I am also a classically trained musician who defected to Classic Rock and that’s my first love. Yeah. Even more than writing.
This is Roadhouse, the very best in Classic Rock, taken near The Last Concert Cafe, Houston Texas, 2011. I was the utility player which means I played rhythm guitar, keyboards, sang backups and a few leads.
Three e-copies of Sexoirs of a Gigolo – Ash Armand
NOTE: This is the celebrity featured on the cover of TWO PRINCES.
Release Date: March 23, 2015
Publisher: Little Bird Publishing
ON SALE for $0.99 for a limited time!
white smile of his and lets out a soft snicker. “I’m fixing a floor for a friend,
what are you doing here?”
doing here, seeing as I’m carrying two huge trays of sugar cookies in my arms.
do you have friends already?” I say it a bit harsher than I probably should but
honestly, how does he have friends already? James and I were here a good
six months before people started really talking to me. It was a year
before I could call any of them friends. The edges of Carter’s mouth turn down
and his head dips to one side as his shoulders hunch then settle.
to make me want to slap it. Or kiss it.
kiss it. Why am I staring at his lips?
that is. Are you okay?”
I’m still not quite sure what to say to him, so I extend my arms. “I brought
cookies.” As soon as I say the words, I hear them. I sound ridiculous and
Carter’s bright eyes crinkle with amusement.
the baked goods in. Then hums. The sound of his voice sends a vibration through
me and I shiver. I am eternally grateful that he doesn’t see it happen.
reach mine, I’m glued to his stare like a deer in the headlights.
and my mouth falls open so I snap it shut. I’m a buffoon with no ability to
and I balance the platter with one hand, then slap his fingers with the other
while I find words. A word that is.
a child getting reprimanded, only when we make eye contact again, he doesn’t
seem child like to me.
I wouldn’t say he’s angry. He doesn’t exactly laugh, either. And his eyes gleam
as he stares at me. I hate his eyes almost as much as I hate his teeth. Maybe
more. Dammit, I’m staring, again.
him. “Fundraiser, I mean bake sale.” I fumble my words. He’s so frustrating.
Bound by a dark enchantment, only an elemental flame can light the way.
Forged in rage and sorrow, a dark witch’s spell travels down her ancestral line to Violet Levina. Enchanted with the power of the entire Electromagnetic spectrum—microwaves, gamma rays, radio waves, Violet is cursed with limitless energy and the obligation to destroy an insidious creature composed of dark matter.
For over five hundred years, Flint has served as Fire, aiding Earth’s environment and its people as one of four Elementals. Yet only once in his long existence has he been burned. A flaming redhead ignites the embers of his heart, but he finds her resistant to the heat building between them.
Knowing she must fulfill her destiny, Violet travels to her ancestral home in Ireland, accompanied by the fiery Elemental. Not fooled by his charms and brazen demeanor, Violet wishes only to shield him from the coming battle, but can’t deny the flames of desire flickering when she is at his side.
While standing together against unrelenting adversaries, false friends, family betrayals, and an underlying seed of darkness, they must burn bright or the ruthless power behind the ancient spell will turn everything to ash.
With Flint as her beacon in a field of darkness, Violet will discover that love holds the most powerful magic of all.
Fire’s Field Prologue Excerpt:
They were coming for her.
On the eve of her mother’s 25th birthday, a young witch fought back chills as the sounds of braying bloodhounds echoed through the forest. A single red stroke, mixed with the faintest purple, lit the darkening sky, as night, along with death, crept closer.
At the banks of River Nore, Sorcha rocked back and forth, tears of innocence-lost escaping down her cheeks. Heart splintering, she searched her memory for a spell to ease her mother’s torment. With her hands locked in the fabric of her mother’s woolen dress, she chanted pleas to the Goddess Isis to hear her cries and heal her mother.
To no avail.
The only answer came in the form of the demon’s sickness dripping from her mother’s mouth in a sludge of grimy gray mud.
Fear unlike anything she’d ever felt iced her heart, as once more she begged, swore her very life in exchange for the continued beat of her mother’s heart.
A piercing pain shot through her overburdened mind as the beast fought to break through her mental shields. Weakened by her angst and un-tested youth, she left a crack exposed, and the beast slipped in. Squinting her eyes closed, her entire body shaking with the will to deny the sick beast entrance, she couldn’t prevent his foul words from seeping through.
“Your mother paid for her defiance, for her inability to accept this gift only I could give her. Look at you simpering and shaking, if you weren’t so weak I’d use you, but no matter, I’ll be back.”
Drained from holding back the tempest, Sorcha let loose true sobs for the loss of the deepest love of her life, her solid fortress during every storm, the lyrical voice singing away her nightmares. Ignoring her drenched skirts, she released all her torment against her mother’s breast, barely catching the beat of her mother’s weakening heart between each aching moan torn from the depths of her soul.
No one came to her aid. No one soothed her broken spirit.
The sounds of the hounds drew closer, their howls a mad cacophony in her surreal world. The yellow-glow from fire-tipped sticks, created a mystical glow in the woods before her. Snaps and cracks of branches reverberated across the forest as the frenzied townspeople advanced to accuse and convict one of their own—a witch.
About the Author:
In the spring of 2013, Jillian Jacobs changed her career path and became a romance writer. After reading for years, she figured writing a romance would be quick and easy. Nope! With the guidance of the Indiana Romance Writers of America chapter, she’s learned there are many “rules” to writing a proper romance. Being re-schooled has been an interesting journey, and she hopes the best trails are yet to be traveled.
Water’s Threshold, the first in Jillian’s Elementals series, was a finalist in Chicago-North’s 2014 Fire and Ice contest in the Women’s Fiction category.
Jillian is a: Tea Guzzler, Polish Pottery Hoarder, and lover of all things Moose.
The genres she writes under are: Paranormal and Contemporary with suspenseful elements.
Let’s face it. No one really expects to be published. We’ve all heard the rumors that traditional publishers are shying away from new authors, and smaller ones are being swamped with submissions. So really, what are the chances?My vision of being published was somewhere in the distant future. After I’d done my time and paid my dues by submitting–and being rejected–for years before being offered a publishing deal or contract. So I kept putting off submitting anything. But, in late 2012, I heard that a major publisher was taking un-agented submissions for a short amount of time. So I got my story together, edited to the best of my then ability, took a deep breath and went for it. Then it was weird. Because it was like once I hit that submit button, there was nothing holding me back from doing it again. And again. So I sent my book baby to four publishers in the tail end of 2012. I wasn’t expecting much. In truth, I wasn’t even expecting any kind of response. But I was offered a contract in February of 2014 by Lyrical Press, who had always been my dream publisher. I mean, I write dragons and had submitted a dragon romance to them, and their logo was a freaking dragon.
Fast forward one year later and not only was The Dragon’s Heart released, but I’d contracted my second story Ever Mine with Lyrical, as well. Plus, we learned that Kensington Books–THE KENSINGTON–had bought out Lyrical and were keeping all the authors willing to sign new contracts. Uh…yeah!
Now it’s been one year. While Kensington still owns the rights to Dragon’s Heart and Ever Mine, I’m self-publishing the second book in my Dragon Lore series myself in May. Kensington wasn’t interested in going further with the series, and I couldn’t imagine never writing in that world again. Plus, I had tons of emails and reviews threatening everything from kidnapping my feline to hunting me down if I didn’t write more dragons and answer a major cliffhanger. All of which meant HOLY CRAP, THEY LIKE MY BOOK. That still dumbfounds me on a daily basis.
But it hasn’t been easy, even with a major publisher behind me. So here is some of what I’ve learned this last year.
You will be disappointed. Seriously. I was warned to keep my expectations low. Like expect to sell nothing low. And yet, I thought I did everything right. I booked a blog tour, sent out review copies, had a decent social media presence…
My first royalty check was for $9.
Writing is the easy part. Promotion is HARD. There are hundreds of thousands of books released every year. Which means there are hundreds of thousands of people trying to get you to see their book. Read their book. How the heck are you supposed to be seen that way? Even with awesome reviews, there seemed to be nothing I could do to attract more attention.
Other writers will become your best friends. It’s true. I thought it was going to be a cut-throat world. A zero sum game. But it isn’t. Just because someone buys one of my books doesn’t mean they won’t buy one of yours. In fact, I’ve realized it’s the opposite. Authors? We love to help pimp our friends’ books. You like Dragon’s Heart? Awesome. I have a friend who wrote a romance about the son of Thor. Go check her out, you’ll love it.
Protect your writing time the way you protect your children. Again, seriously. It’s so easy to get caught up in promoting that you forget the reason you’re on this roller coaster is because you like telling stories. I’m also a firm believer that the only way to make money writing is to keep writing. That’s it. So protect and fight for that writing time. Claw and bite your way to every five minutes alone with your computer you can get.
It’s also really easy to get so caught up in promoting that you start to hate the entire process. Which bleeds over into never wanting to do it again. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. Write, darn you. Write.
Read. It doesn’t matter what you read, just do it. Stephen King said it best: If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write.
I like reading romances that make me want to be a better writer. The ones that make my heart swoon and make me think about how I can translate that emotion over into my stories. My bestie swears by reading bad writing.
There are no right or wrong answers. There’s not. But there’s nothing wrong with watching what best selling writers do to promote and follow their lead. Or don’t promote at all and dedicate your time to writing.
Don’t let your social media presence become one big ad to buy your books. People will tune that shit out. Their eyes will scan over it, or worse, they’ll end up hiding you. People–readers, fans–follow you because they want an insight into your life. They want to be able to interact with you. And the best way to insure they want to read your next book is to prove to them you’re a real person who appreciates every one of them. So say thanks. A lot.
Basically, that’s it, and it all boils down to one thing, in my opinion. Keep writing. Keep writing. KEEP. WRITING.