Thursday, March 26, 2015

Kindle Freebie March 26-30 Paranormal Pleasures:Ten Tales of Supernatural Seduction

Paranormal Pleasures 
Ten Tales of Supernatural Seduction

ISBN: 978-0615470382

Ten tantalizing, erotic tales of vampires, witches and demons grace the pages of this short story collection by Roxanne Rhoads.

Step into the darkness and let these tales tempt and tease to satisfy your paranormal cravings.

Eight of Roxanne Rhoads' previous eBook publications appear in print for the first time, along with two brand new, never before published tales of supernatural love and lust.

A Last Goodbye

New witch Marissa is learning the ropes of being one of The Others. One of her mentors is vampire Deirdre, a tall beauty who really irritates Marissa. Marissa is extremely pissed when she shows up to Dante's Ball and finds Deirdre there with Marissa's recent ex-boyfriend, Jeff. The one she was encouraged to break up with because of his humanity. Deirdre explains her reasons for bringing Jeff and offers to help Marissa say goodbye to him in a way none of them will ever forget


Vanessa is tired of her boyfriend Simon’s promiscuous vampire ways and stakes him, repeatedly- not close enough to the heart to kill him but close enough to make it hurt. But now she’s had a change of heart and considers embracing the sexual world of the vampire instead of being jealous of it.

Witch in the Middle

Ariadne is a witch torn between two men, a vampire and a human. Her heart doesn’t want to choose but the men force her to make a decision that could break her heart, unless with the help of the Goddess all three of them can come to a mutually acceptable…and enjoyable agreement.

When It Storms

Devon’s witchy girlfriend becomes insatiable every time a storm rolls around and he’s more than happy to give her exactly what she needs.

Monster Inside

Shannon’s never seen her vampire boyfriend, Logan, vamp out before. Then one night he has to kill to save her life. Can she ever look at him the same way again?

The Questioning Concubine

Elita, a pure blood witch, has come home to find who or what killed her parents and to take her rightful place as the head of the coven. After five years of investigating and exhausting all conventional methods at her disposal, she decides to do the one thing a good witch should never do—summon a demon. The demon is not what she expected. Elita is soon swept up in his power… and her own.


The residents of the sleepy little town of Flushing, Michigan had no idea a vampire lived among them, seducing and drinking from all the men in town. Renata walked among them, blending in, taking only what she needed. One night, while she was on the prowl for fresh blood at a carnival, a handsome carnie caught her eye. She had no way of knowing he was a vampire hunter and was there for her.

Sea of Blood

Liana made Nerissa a vampire centuries ago in the islands of Greece but she’s never tired of her companion or the way she hunts her prey.

A Halloween to Remember

What says Halloween better than a wild party at an old Victorian mansion complete with its own cemetery? Perhaps meeting the man of your dreams thanks to the magic of Halloween.

Adena can’t believe her eyes when she spots Dimitri in the library- he looks like something straight off the cover of a historical romance novel-the type of guy she’s always dreamed of. Too bad he disappears before she has the chance to introduce herself. When she finally spots him again later that night she decides she’s not letting him get away again. Adena thinks she’s finally found the one. Until she wakes up alone the next morning- in the cemetery.

Halloween magic brought them together but will it be strong enough to keep them together?

Witching You A Merry Christmas

Witch Vicki has been leery of vampires ever since she was attacked five years ago. Daniel's a vampire and he's been secretly in love in with Vicki for two years ever since becoming Vicki's partner in The Guardians a supernatural group of paranormal crime fighters. Daniel loves Christmas and hopes the spirit of the holidays will soften Vicki's hatred of vampires and help her see him in a new light. Will he get his Christmas wish?

The Creator’s Eye: Mover of Fate, Part I by R.N. Feldman

What inspired you to become an author?

I didn’t set out to write The Creator’s Eye with any intention of being an author.  I just had a story to tell, and it is one that I have been thinking about ever since I was six years old.  But the more I write, the more stories I have to tell.  The Creator’s Eye is a trilogy starting with Mover of Fate, but I already have other projects I would like to develop afterward.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

The subtitle, Mover of Fate, stems from the personal struggles of the protagonist, Michael.  In the series, people called Movers have the ability to manipulate matter with their mind.  Michael finds himself at the crux of a cosmic battle for power and he must make tough choices that pit his reason and intuition against each other.  Pinned down by a looming prophecy and the insidious manipulations of friend and family, he often struggles for a sense of control over his destiny.

Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?

Although I had a working title ever since I was six years old, I new I would eventually have to ditch it.  I didn’t figure out what to call it until I was filling out the copyright information for the first draft!

I’m a painter, too, and it likewise takes me a long time after completing a work before I can figure out the right title.  I have even gone back to a painting, crossed out the old title on the back, and scribbled on a new one in darker marker.  It is hard to contain so many thoughts and themes in just a few words!

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

There is a lot going on thematically in the Creator’s Eye, but at its heart, it depicts a mythical battle between light and dark, or more precisely, the thin, confusing, permeable grey line between them.  The characters are pitted against hard choices, sometimes without any clear answers.  I went through a lot of personal struggles during the writing of this book.  There were moments in which reason or long held beliefs could not guide me, and the only light in the dark was my intuition.  I see that reflected in a lot of my characters’ struggles.

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

The scene in the first chapter where Michael and his friends climbed Roak Rock and casually banter about college life could easily have been my friends and I taking a midnight hike to Eagle Rock in Topanga Canyon, but no one I know is specifically one character.  I needed my characters to think and act a certain way in order to progress their story, so I borrowed liberally when needed and invented the rest. 

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi was a big help in writing The Creator’s Eye. Before I read it, all I had managed to accomplish on my book were several false starts.  The Windup Girl helped me realize that my story had to be told through multiple viewpoints and the plots and themes needed to be incorporated into the action and not divulged in long expository histories.

What book are you reading now?

I’ve been on a Christopher Moore kick lately, having just finished Fool and Sacre Bleu.  Both fun, witty re-imagining of historical figures and tales.  I particularly enjoyed Fool for its main character Pocket, who bares a slight resemblance to my irreverent character Grant.  I will definitely pick up the sequel, The Serpent of Venice.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

I am feverishly editing the next installment of Mover of Fate, due to come out this Fall.  The universe gets much bigger in this novel as Michael flees his homeland.  He and his enemies are confronted by an ancient power that pushes them to extremes, and Michael discovers a disturbing secret about his family that shocks him to his core.

Do you have to travel much to do research for your books?

I travel extensively, not specifically for research, but everything I do has the potential to become story fodder.  I most of all love nature and visiting ancient ruins.  Most recently I backpacked the stunning Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu which crosses over a snowcapped Andean pass, descends through cloud forest and jungle, then follows the Amazon headwaters up towards the Incan city.  I do make reference to some sites in my books, but most of all I want to capture the feeling of a place or the challenges my characters face as they endure their adventures.

Who designed the cover of your latest book?

I painted and designed the first edition, along with all the illustrations, but I am lucky to have a talented artist, animator, and Buzzfeed fellow named Caroline Miller as my girlfriend.  She digitally redesigned the cover to give it a more realistic and luminous pop.  She also worked on the cover for Book II which I plan to reveal very soon.

The Creator’s Eye: Mover of Fate, Part I
The Creator’s Eye
Book I
R.N. Feldman

Genre: Science Fiction/ Fantasy

Date of Publication: November 26, 2014

ISBN: 978-1501083617
ASIN: B00O705KD6

Number of pages: 270
Word Count: 58,401

Cover Artist: R.N. Feldman and Caroline Miller

Book Description:

On a hidden archipelago, people known as Movers manipulate matter with their minds while strange Folds in space transform the landscape into wondrous and often deadly anomalies. 

When a young Mover named Michael Edwards discovers that he is descended from a long line of beings who can not only Move matter, but actually Create it, he finds himself at the center of a cosmic struggle for power. 

Manipulated by friends, family, and an ominous prophecy, he allies himself with a host of strange creatures and characters as he fights to become Mover of his own destiny.

Add it to your Goodreads Shelf

Available at Amazon


Michael took a deep breath as he watched another seizure wrack his mother’s body. It was a small one, but he dutifully laid her on the floor just in case it became violent. He stood nearby as she twisted and shivered. He had to remind himself not to interfere— to let the attack run its course. The seizures always caught him by surprise, but the procedure to deal with them had become almost banal— lay her on the floor, make sure she didn’t hit her head, then wait until it was  over.
After a few moments, she lay still and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Michael helped her sit up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to a chair at the dining table. Her wiry brown hair tickled his ear. It was the same color and curliness as his, but no amount of combing seemed to keep it in place anymore. He could barely recognize his own face in her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. He looked more like his father anyway, with his golden skin, green eyes, and broad shoulders. His mother, meanwhile, had grown thin and frail, but when he lifted her up, her limp body felt as heavy as a sack of wet dough.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked as he arranged her in her chair. Her dull, dark eyes stared ahead blankly.
“Mom, do you want to eat?” he asked, although he didn’t actually expect a reply. It had been years since she had articulated a full sentence, but he didn’t like treating her like a vegetable. Once in a while she was lucid enough to grunt a response, but this time, she did not even move.
“I’m going to make dinner now,” Michael told her, tentatively leaving her, hoping she would not fall or have another seizure the moment he turned  away.
He went to the kitchen sink where he had only just finished washing   the vegetables when he had been interrupted by her collapse. He sliced the sweet, white ghost carrots— a summertime favorite of his town— into big chunks and put them in a pot with the other vegetables. He covered them with stock and turned up the heat on the stove. The pilot clicked a few times, but there was no whoosh of flames springing to life. Michael grumbled at the malfunctioning burner as he set the pot aside and lifted the  enameled stove lid. The firebox was out. The small carton of rocks that usually glowed red with potential heat were instead an ashen grey.
Michael had boiled some water for tea that morning, so he knew that they should be working. Usually when they died, they went out slowly, becoming weaker over the course of a few days, but these had just inexplicably lost their oomph. He wondered if he had accidentally spilled something on them. Regardless, he would have to light them, but he didn’t hunt for matches. Instead, he took it as a chance to practice his  Moving.
He set the kitchen timer for five minutes, rolled up his sleeves and pointed his finger at the small cluster of stones. He stared at them, or actually focused his eyes on an imaginary point beyond them. He would make them catch fire. According to the books his uncle Sefu gave him, he should not hope, need, want, or pray for the fire to manifest. He had to imagine it was already there. Anything less merely affirmed his lack of will. It was a small nuance, but made all the difference.

Michael focused his thoughts like a beam of sunlight, pushing all foggy doubt out of his mind that what he was doing was impossible. His mind wandered occasionally, but he kept bringing it back to its goal, to the reality that he required— that there was already fire in the firebox. His concentration reached a frenzied tension and his vision  blurred.
Unable to hold his thoughts anymore, Michael relaxed his stare. His vision re-focused and to his satisfied surprise, a small spray of sparks issued from his fingertip. It surrounded and warmed the firestones. Without stopping his Moving, he checked the kitchen timer. Two minutes had elapsed. It was not a personal record, but Michael acknowledged that there was at least merit in consistency.
The dull stones crackled, catching fire on their own. Michael ceased his Moving, lowered the stove top, and replaced the soup on the revived flame. While waiting for it to boil, he chopped garlic and parsley. Even though his mother was about as responsive as the firebox was a moment ago, he did his best to make her meals taste good. He hoped that a well-cared for meal was somehow healing or imperceptibly uplifting to her  spirit.
Michael added some herbs and salt, and when the vegetables had softened, he turned off the flame and crushed the whole concoction with a sturdy slotted spoon. It was kind of a shame to mash it up, but lengthy chewing was beyond his mother’s  ability.
“Here you go,” he said, serving her a bowl. “Eat it while it’s  hot.”
At first it seemed she hadn’t heard, but a ghost of awareness flitted across   her face. She dipped a spoon into the beige puree and after a slow moment, dragged it to her lips. Michael watched her mechanically eat for a while. He listened to the clumsy clink of the metal spoon against her teeth and the sloppy glug of her throat. Once he was sure that she was underway, he got up to wash the dishes and perhaps find a moment to pour himself a bowl. But before he took a step, he heard the rustling of packs at the front door. His father was home.
Michael hurriedly opened the door for him. His father was still rifling through his pocket for his keys. “Ah, thanks!” his dad, Simon, smiled through crow’s feet and a thick salt and pepper beard.
Michael took his father’s bags.
His dad stepped into their living room, shutting the door behind him. “So?” he asked as he peeled off his coat and slung it over the sofa. “Is your mom  okay?”
Michael described her recent seizure and added with measured assurance, “I think she’s fine now.”
“Was that the only one?” his dad asked, but did not sound particularly concerned. “No, she had a series of them a couple hours after you left. She’s been  mostly
absent since then. I had to stay around the house the past couple of days keeping an eye on her.”
His dad nodded aloofly and patted his belly, which along with a slope to his shoulders, had grown more pronounced since his wife took ill. He strode over to the stove and ladled himself a bowl of soup. “Is this all there is?” he asked  disappointedly.
“Um,” Michael began, a little frustrated by his father’s dissatisfaction, “I think there’s some phoenix in the ice box from last night,” he  suggested.
Phoenixes were a fiery-colored, long-plumed fowl commonly raised in the region, but lacked any of the powers of resurrection borne by their mythological  namesake.
Michael’s father wrinkled his nose at the prospect of cold bird and glumly muttered, “I’ll stick with the soup.”

Michael tried not to make a face and instead asked how his trip  was. “Interesting,” Simon began as he took a seat at the far side of the table away  from
his wife. “This was an exciting one.”
Michael’s father worked as an assessor for the government’s environmental insurance agency. Arimbol, the island chain on which they lived, was full of unexplained natural phenomena colloquially called folds. They were places where nature and physics would bend. Most folds were so subtle that unless you were paying close attention you could pass through them without notice, but others were beautiful, miraculous  places.
Michael had heard of some where water flowed uphill, optics went awry, or wind burst from the ground with the force of a hurricane. There were also folds that were quite dangerous, that could make you sick, crazy, or even kill you. Most folds were relatively small though, only affecting an area the size of his living room, while the largest engulfed the entire Arimbolean archipelago.
Michael had never had the chance to travel, so loved to hear stories whenever his dad returned from one of his many trips. He had seen more of Arimbol than anyone else in their village, so knew a great deal about its flora and fauna, most of which existed nowhere else on Earth. Some were widespread across the islands and were even farmed. Besides the phoenix and summer ghost carrots, their town of New Canaan was particularly famous for the blue wine squeezed from coastal cobalt grapes grown on the surrounding hillsides. East of Canaan, towards Alexandria, was miles of black  wheat.
While the hills around Canaan were called the Blue Mountains, that area was sometimes referred to as the Burnt Plains.
Some plants and animals were less widespread. They were so specifically adapted that they might inhabit a single pool of water. His father had told him about the white thorn fish that clung to the slippery rocks of a single stream north of Urgench, or the roaks, the giant birds that nested on the tallest peaks of the Morningstar Buttes. Michael’s father told him that they were so large that they could easily carry off hesats—  the shaggy, one-horned buffalos that grazed on the southern  grasslands.
Michael was anxious for his father’s story. He sat down with him, keeping an eye on his mother to make sure she was still eating. “So what did you see?” he  urged.
“Well, a few days ago, a farmer in Skarra claimed that a long chasm had  opened in the ground and green fire just shot out of it, destroying a huge swath of his crops. But when I arrived, the fields were burned, but there was no sign of a fold. For all I knew the farmer had lit the fields on fire himself while burning leaves. But upon closer inspection, there was a series of cracks running down the center of his land. It looked like the ground had unzipped like a pair of trousers.” He gave a sharp snort then slurped back a spoonful of the thick stew. “Hmm, needs salt,” he said, reaching for the shaker across the table before going on. “I told the farmer, ‘Look, I can fill a report out, but there’s nothing indicating that a fold did this. For all I know, you just got drunk and did something foolish.’”
“The guy looked offended and exclaimed, ‘It’s happened more than once! Just stick around tonight and you’ll see!’” Michael’s father sighed. “I didn’t particularly want to stay there any longer than I had to, but he seemed sure of his tale. Plus, in my job, I’ve seen stranger things than fire shooting out of the ground, so I agreed to spend the evening there. He and his wife were hospitable and offered me dinner, but I couldn’t take it, of course. Regulations, you know. I fortunately had the sandwich you packed for  me.”

Michael nodded, glad his cooking had been of some use.
“I waited there until midnight, but nothing happened, so I got up to leave. The farmer begged me to stay just a little bit longer, but I was tired from the trip and   wanted  to go back to the inn. Just as we stepped out onto his front porch, I noticed a green glow coming from the field. We stood there watching as the ground began to hiss and jets of green fire streamed from the earth. It followed the jagged slit I had seen earlier, but it cracked wider. The crops around it caught fire, and the line jutted quickly across the field. It ran straight for their house.”
“What did you do?” Michael asked, leaning in.
“We were dumbfounded at first. I mean, we just sat there with our jaws hanging open like a thirsty hesat. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but the fire moved quickly. I got my wits about me and yelled at the farmer and his wife to get inside and go out the back.”
Folds rarely appeared in places people had inhabited for a long time. Usually his father was called in to examine some place that people had wandered into while traveling. It was his job to categorize and map them, and to file claims for people if they were injured or lost property, but this was unusual that he had to rescue people  himself.
“I ran out into the field and the damn farmer followed me. There was an irrigation ditch running nearby. I quickly Moved the ground with blasts of energy until I carved a trench running to the fissure. The water flowed through it and made the flames die  down a little, but the ground was still cracking and burning and running for the house. So, the farmer and I built up a huge mound of dirt to bury the rift.”
“For a moment, it seemed like we stopped it, but then it just shot straight through the mound. A few seconds later, the farmer’s entire house was gone— just burned to ashes. The fold finally stopped just short of the tree line at the end of their  property.”
“Was his family okay?”
“No one got hurt, but it’s a hell of a mess for the agency. We don't know if  the land will be safe to live on, or even their neighbor's land for that matter. I’m going to have to go back with a crew and run a bunch of tests on it. For now, the farmer and his neighbors are staying with friends, but we're going to have to find somewhere permanent for them. It’s going to cost the crown a lot of money.”
“What a mess!” Michael added.
“But we'll solve it,” His dad said confidently as he got up to drop his bowl into the sink. “I’ll probably have to go back there next week. Are you okay with watching your mom again so soon?”
“Sure,” said Michael, his willingness buoyed by his father’s heroism. “But I was wondering if you could do me a favor tonight? My friends have been back from college for the past few days and I haven't had a chance to see them, plus tonight are the Discovery Day fireworks.”
Michael’s father sighed and rubbed his temples. Michael could feel the refusal coming on.
“It’s been a long couple of days, son. I could really use a night to  relax…”
“But I haven’t seen them in almost a year!” Michael implored. It had been a while since he had used such an insistent tone with his father, but his friends were back for summer from the Moving Academy in Alexandria and he was dying to catch up with them.

His dad grimaced, “Alright, just come back in time to help me get your mom upstairs.”
Michael was elated. He thanked his father and set about finishing his chores so he could hurry to see them.

About the Author:

Mover of Fate is the first novel in The Creator’s Eye series by author and artist R.N. Feldman.  Feldman lives and works in Los Angeles, CA where he teaches at Otis College of Art and Design and spends as much time hiking through the local mountains as he can.  Art, metaphysics, useless scientific trivia, and extensive backpacking treks throughout the world have all been major influences in his work. 

Follow him on Facebook at

You can also see his latest paintings on   

Twitter: @RNFeldman

Retaliation by Imogen Rose

Bonfire Chronicles
Imogen Rose

Genre: YA/Paranormal/Horror

Publisher: Wild Thorn Publishing

Date of Publication: 03/15/2015

Number of pages: 400
Word Count: 84000

Cover Artist: Consuelo Parra

Book Description:

Ever since Bloody Fall, humans have lived in fear. 

Even though the apparently senseless human massacres have ended, President Elizabeth Ryan's administration has been under a cloud of disapproval for failing to bring the terrorists to justice.

She braces herself as a new spate of carnage is unleashed.

Cordelia and Faustine are recruited back into action as the supernatural agencies go on high alert. Has their nemesis re-emerged?

Kindle     Kobo     iBooks    Nook     Paperback

Bonfire Chronicles Reading Order

1. Faustine

2. Initiation (Prequel 1)

3. Integration (Prequel 2)

4. Uprising

5. Retaliation
About the Author:

Globetrotter Imogen Rose was born in Sweden, educated in London (where she received a PhD in immunology), and is now an all-American Jersey girl.  She is the author of two bestselling YA series— the Portal Chronicles and the Bonfire Chronicles, both of which have been translated into German, French, Spanish, and Japanese.

In addition to writing, Imogen loves to travel, explore Madison Avenue (she is a self-confessed Herm├Ęs addict), watch movies, listen to music, and hang out with her family, friends, and Chihuahua. When she is not writing, she can usually be found sipping a chai latte at an ice rink while watching her daughter slam pucks.

Twitter: ImogenRoseTweet

Instagram: ImogenRoseGram

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Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Spotlight and Giveaway Desert Moon by Anna Lowe

Desert Moon
The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch
Book One
Anna Lowe

Genre: PNR

Publisher: Twin Moon Press
Date of Publication: March 4, 2015


Number of pages: 133
Word Count: 38,800 (roughly 40k)

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

Book Description:

Lana Dixon knows well enough to steer clear of alpha males, but Ty Hawthorne is as impossible to avoid as the sizzling Arizona sun. Her inner wolf just won’t give up on the alpha who’s tall, dark, and more than a little dangerous. One midnight romp under the full moon is enough for Lana to know she’ll risk her life for him — but what about her pride?

Ty puts duty above everything — even the overwhelming instinct that says Lana’s the one. She’s the Juliet to his Romeo: forbidden. And with a pack of poaching rogues closing in, it’s hardly the time to yield to his desires. Or is love just what this lonely alpha needs to set his spirit free?

There’s more than meets the eye on Twin Moon Ranch, home to a pack of shapeshifting wolves willing to battle for life and love.

Available at Amazon


“Hi,” he said. Well, he tried to. His lips moved but the sound didn’t quite make it out. He struggled to remember where he was and why.
            Right, he'd come for dessert. He reached for a piece of pie exactly when Lana did. Their hands froze halfway to the platter, both wavering over the key lime pie. The last slice.
            “Cody!” He cursed under his breath.
            Lana pulled back. “You take it.”
            “No, you.”
            Her eyes narrowed at him. Crap. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as an order, but she was already gritting her teeth.
            “No, you,” she ground out.
            “I’m good.” He tried taking the edge off his voice, but he was badly out of practice.
            Lana studied him so closely he would swear she could see into his childhood memories. Her nostrils flared, and he saw her catch a breath and hold it. Then she slowly exhaled and turned to the platter, scooping the last piece onto the last plate. She forked it roughly in half and held it between them with icy determination.
            “We’ll share,” she growled.
            The alpha in him both bristled and admired her pluck. The wolf licked his lips — and not for the pie.
            Her eyes flickered, focusing on something in his. He noticed an outer edge of green in her eyes that he’d missed before, like the foam that slid off the crests of waves.
            “Trouble today?” she asked, keeping her voice down.
            Trouble? So she’d noticed the meeting. “No trouble,” he insisted.
            She snorted. “I do that, too.”
            “Do what?”
            Ty blinked. “I don’t pretend.”
            “Then what’s the trouble?” She took a bite of pie and licked a smudge of cream off her lips.
            A breath caught in his throat, and a word slipped past his lips before he could catch it. “Rogues.”
            Her face hardened as some dark memory rocketed through her eyes. “Confirmed report?”
            “Not yet, but…”
            She nodded, letting him trail off. In an absent movement, her right arm rubbed briefly over her left, where a wicked scar trailed out of her sleeve.
            “Trouble?” he murmured, eyes on the scar. For a shifter to scar, it must have been bad.
            She yanked the sleeve down. “No trouble.”
            I do that, too, he wanted to say. Pretend. His gut warmed with something strangely close to pride. This East Coast wolf wasn’t just sassy; she was tough.
            Lana shrugged and brought her fork up to her mouth. “You should see the rogue who gave me that scar. Except he’s dead, along with his pals.” She took a vengeful bite.

About the Author:

Anna Lowe loves putting the "hero" back into heroine and letting location ignite a passionate romance. She likes a heroine who is independent, intelligent, and imperfect — a woman who's doing just fine on her own. But give the heroine a good man (not to mention a chance to overcome her own inhibitions) and she'll never turn down the chance for adventure, nor shy away from danger.

Anna is a middle school teacher who divides her time between coastal Maine and a village in view of the Austrian Alps. She loves dogs, sports, and travel — and letting those inspire her fiction. Once upon a time, she was a long-distance triathlete and soccer player. Nowadays, she finds her balance with yoga, writing, and family time with her husband and young children. On any given weekend, you might find her hiking in the mountains or hunched over her laptop, working on her latest story. Either way, the day will end with a chunk of dark chocolate and a good read.

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