Top Secret. For Your Eyes only. Sara Walter Cover Reveal

Coming in May in both Ebook and Print from

Sara Walter Ellwood

Blurb for A Hunter’s Demon

(prequel novella of A Hunter’s Angel):

See where it all began….

With people disappearing from Philadelphia’s night streets, the Vampire Council fears they have a rogue on their hands. Special Agent Ian McHenry isn’t all that he seems. Not only is he the FBI’s expert on serial killers, he’s also the Council’s go-to vampire hunter. Detective Grace Wallace is tired of the FBI not believing her theory they have a serial killer on the loose—until Ian shows up on the case. Nothing prepared her for the instant attraction to the darkly handsome Irishman. As they close in on the killer, Ian’s desire for Grace grows stronger. But if he can’t control his inner demon, this true nature will destroy his only chance at love.

Blurb for A Hunter’s Angel

(book 1 of The Hutner’s Dagger Series):

The serial killer stalking Clayton, Pennsylvania, isn’t all that has Chief of Police Grace Wallace worried. For a year, she’s tried to forget Special Agent Ian McHenry and now he’s the expert the FBI sent to catch the killer. She can’t stay away from him, but something primal is telling her to run to save much more than her heart.

Despite the laws of the immortal council Ian vowed to follow as a vampire hunter, he fears Grace is his life mate which puts her humanity in peril. If he gives into the desire again to make her his forever, Ian will become one of the vampires his master destroys. But if he leaves Grace unprotected from the evil he’s hunted for over a century, she is in danger of losing her life…

***A Hunter’s Angel had previously been published by The Wild Rose Press under the pen name Cera duBois***

Bio:

Although Sara Walter Ellwood has long ago left the farm for the glamour of the big town, she draws on her experiences growing up on a small hobby farm in West Central Pennsylvania to write her contemporary westerns. Her country upbringing even influences her paranormal suspense romances. She’s been married to her college sweetheart for over 20 years, and they have two teenagers and one very spoiled rescue cat named Penny. She longs to visit the places she writes about and jokes she’s a cowgirl at heart stuck in Pennsylvania suburbia. Sara Walter Ellwood is a multi-published and international Amazon bestselling author of the anthology set Cowboy Up.

Author Links:

Website: http://www.sarawalterellwood.com

Blog: http://www.sarawalterellwood.com/blog/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarawalterellwood.ceradubois/

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/sara_w_ellwood

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6869635.Sara_Walter_Ellwood

Website Links:

Website: http://www.ceradubois.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarawalterellwood.ceradubois/

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/sara_w_ellwood

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Did you see it? It wasn’t on long. #history #castle #scarborough #knights #vampire #excerpt

Last night on UK TV there was a brief chat about Scarborough Castle.

Apparently George Fox was imprisoned there between April 1665 and September 1666. Despite their terrible treatment of him, he converted the guards to his way of thinking.

There's loads of stuff they didn’t mention. 

Piers Gaveston, supposed lover of King Edward ll, was once the castle’s governor. Goodness knows what went on behind those castle walls. 

King John – the bad guy in the Robin Hood myths used it as his Yorkshire stronghold despite his brother, King Richard the Lionheart, neglecting the place.

Edward 1 – aka Longshanks because of his 6 feet 2 inch height or the Hammer of the Scots which is self-explanatory -  housed hostages from his campaign to subrogate Wales there in 1295.

The thing that fascinates me most about Scarborough Castle is St Mary’s Chapel.

Legend has it that it’s built in the remains of a Roman signal station. Because it’s tucked away in a quiet corner of the grounds, I’ve seen suggestions that it was once a Mithraeum – a Roman chapel to the mysterious God Mithras.

The tiny chapel inspired my story Knights Vampire. 

In fact the story stars inside it. It’s also the place where the Knight vampire stole my hero’s soul. Scarborough Castle belongs to English heritage, but I wanted to make it an independent property. I invented a town on the Yorkshire coast and called it Whitborough – a mix between the wonderfully gothic Whitby and Scarborough. Yorkshire folk might even recognize my hero as he strolls round the harbor.

Blurb

Betrayed by the Knight Defenders and murdered by his cousin, crusader knight Blaxton de Ferrers rose as a vampire. For nine centuries, he’s preyed on the people he once swore to protect. Gradually, as his emotions leach out of him, he forgets how to feel. Then he meets Harriet.

Harriet Mortlake’s a strong sassy woman who battles her weight and her temper. Her job is to seek out the ancient secrets of the castle that was Blaxton’s childhood home. Instead, she finds the love of her life.

When danger threatens Harriet, Blaxton steps in. Harriet and Blaxton, are a match made in heaven. Except… he’s a vampire and to fully claim her, he’ll have to kill her

If you’d like to drop by and visit, you can find my book here.

Buy links

Loose Id                    http://bit.ly/1MZYeKK

Amazon.com              http://amzn.to/1UOozhF

Amazon.co.uk             http://amzn.to/1VanMYT

Amazon.au                 http://bit.ly/25Q2G59

All Romance books      http://bit.ly/1qBoe5K

Kobo                         http://bit.ly/1RWcykt

Excerpt

“How dare you embarrass me like that?” Harriet Mortlake planted her hands on her hips and glowered at the man she’d cornered outside the cafe. Spitting mad, she wanted to slap the condescending smile off his face. Normally, she was iceberg cool, but as hard as she tried to keep her expression neutral, she could feel lightning bolts flashing from her eyes. 

“It’s a temple, not a chapel,” he insisted. 

Stubborn. Damn. Male. She’d been showing the big guns from the Castles’ Management Trust round the building, but they clearly thought her too young for her role as Whitborough Castle’s archivist. She’d almost been too angry to think when this know-it-all first sounded off. Now he infuriated her all over again. 

Harriet snorted. “As if! No way would medieval Christians build a pagan temple on their grounds. Superstitious locals would probably have accused them of devil worship and burned them at the stake. Any fool knows that.” 

Her degree in library science made her suitable for the post. The castle manager had told her afterward that she’d been the only applicant. She’d almost stuck her tongue out at the head office guys and yelled Beggars can’t be choosers. 

Despite Mr. Condescending’s interference, she’d managed to impress the big bosses—she thought. He flashed her a smile so electrifying it would have lit up the dingy, underground chapel where he’d embarrassed her earlier. The way he sat there dripping sex appeal, her anger might have evaporated. If only he hadn’t needed to have the last word. 

He took another sip of coffee. “You really should get your facts right.” 

Stupid, arrogant male. She couldn’t decide whether to show him her diplomas and degrees or kick his shins. Professional to the core, she’d reined in her temper while the higher-ups carried out their inspection, but now that they’d left, she felt free to vent her rage. 

Hands still on her hips, she tapped her foot at him. “Lost for words without an audience? Or maybe you can’t back up your cock-and-bull story? Put up or shut up, Mister. Tell me why you think it’s a temple.” 

Mr. Condescending sat outside the tearoom as if he hadn’t a care in the world and enjoyed the early afternoon sunshine. He didn’t know it, but his interference when she’d shown the bigwigs into the chapel could have cost her a job she loved. Whitborough Castle’s extensive records needed cataloging, and she considered herself fortunate to work here. Only sometimes, she got a someone’s watching me feeling that unsettled her. 

The last two archivists had vanished, and the police were “looking into it”—whatever that meant. Now people viewed the post as a poisoned chalice. Harriet knew an opportunity when she saw it, and she’d grabbed it with both hands. Everything should have been perfect, but it wasn’t. From day one—just four weeks ago—she’d felt as if the castle’s ghosts studied her as eagerly as she studied the records. Paranoid or what? 

After an early start, she met the bigwigs from Castles’ Management Trust for the first time. Things had been going well. Okay, they’d been surprised by her youth, and clearly considered her too inexperienced for the post of archivist. By the time they reached the chapel, she’d almost won them over. Then Mr. Condescending here stuck his oar in, and if she hadn’t handled him right, she’d probably have lost her job. 

Teeth gritted, Harriet had thanked him for his interest and told him politely that he was mistaken. Intimidating and so tall she had to look up to see his face, he made her think of the Norman conquerors who’d built the castle. He was all muscle, sex, and sin—but his stubborn assertion that the chapel had been a temple sparked her temper. 

Her mouth had watered when she’d first seen him, but his cavalier attitude infuriated her. If her employers hadn’t been watching, she’d have told him exactly what she thought. She’d have regretted it later—maybe—but her temper had helped her survive ever since as a young girl she’d dragged her mother to the women’s shelter. 

There he went with that dazzling smile again. He had to be the most handsome man she’d seen in… Well, forever. His masculine essence—sandalwood and exotic spices—wrapped warm tendrils around her heart. Her breasts perked up beneath her blouse, and they ached for his touch. 

Her favorite bra suddenly felt so tight it abraded her nipples like sandpaper, and an unfamiliar tingling started in her cunt. Why did her anger evaporate, just because he smiled? What sort of fool woman caved just because a man had the most kissable lips ever? Lips she wanted to taste…repeatedly. Not that having such a tempting mouth made him less condescending. She paused, seeking the right riposte to tear him to shreds. 

He stood up and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Blaxton de Ferrers.” 

His voice—a deep, masculine rumble that made her want to beg him to say her name—thrilled her more than his smile. This man just kept getting better, but she’d come here to confront him, not drag him over the table and kiss him until they ran out of breath. 

Something wild, almost primal, stirred inside her, but she wasn’t the sort of predatory female who encouraged strange men into her bed. Apart from one disastrous night with Martin, she was practically a virgin. Afterward, he’d told his friends she was frigid, and they’d christened her “the ice queen.” She’d squared her shoulders and stood tall—half an inch short of six feet—and ignored them. But her dating confidence had sunk to zero. After that she’d channeled her anger into her studies rather than sex. 

Today her body went into sensual overdrive and demanded— Hell, she wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it was all bound up in Blaxton de Ferrers, aka Mr. Condescending. 

He told her quietly, “It’s polite to shake someone’s hand when they offer it.” 

She kept her hands firmly on her hips. Where did this jerk get off, reprimanding her about her manners? He took condescending to a whole new level, but he’d picked on the wrong girl when he’d heckled her. “Not when they damn near cost me my job. I needed to make a good impression, and you took over like you knew everything there is to know about this place. And heads-up, Mister. It’s rude to stare at my breasts.” 

He grinned again. His smile melted her heart and warmed her soul. “Actually, I was staring at your name tag. Harriet’s a pretty name. It suits you.” 

Talk about open mouth and insert foot. Harriet blushed and wished she’d said nothing. And hang on… De Ferrers? The family who once owned this castle? Someone once told Harriet she was part cat—always curious, always asking questions—and she supposed they’d been right. 

She silently ran through the property’s history. Henry II had gifted the lands to Peter de Ferrers, and he’d turned the wooden stronghold into a magnificent castle. Maybe Mr. Condescending was a distant descendant of the original family.

Blaxton flashed that smile again, the one that made her heart beat double-time. He had to be the tallest man she’d ever seen. Not a beanpole, just a wide-shouldered, broad-chested piece of perfection. 

He rested on hand on her arm. “Harriet, I’m sorry if I was out of line this morning. Let me make amends with coffee and cake; then I’ll explain why it’s a temple.” 

His touch made her blood sizzle through her veins. She didn’t care that he invaded her personal space. Sitting here at one of the tearoom’s outdoor picnic benches and staring out to sea or watching him smile sounded amazing. Drinking coffee while his bass voice washed over her would make her lunch break perfect. Or maybe she’d enjoy it more if he kept his mouth shut. He made great eye candy, but she still raged about the arrogant way he’d interrupted her presentation. Even now, he wouldn’t see sense about the chapel. 

She wanted to storm back to her office, find the original documents, and prove him wrong, but she hated when her temper got the better of her. She deliberately rolled her shoulders and relaxed. “I should apologize too. I try not to be so quick-tempered, but what can I say? Today was an epic fail, and I’m sorry.” 

A wayward, feminine part of her still obsessed over his lips. Her common sense shouted for her to get out of there, but sometimes being sensible sucked. “Maybe just a coffee, but no cake. A lifetime on the hips and all that.” 

He smiled, clearly taking her words as an invitation to study her curves. His scrutiny made her cheeks burn, and she knew she blushed again. Maybe I should give the low-fat diet another go. 

Then, as if he’d read her mind, he told her, “I think your hips are perfect.” 

Okay, he was silver-tongued and gorgeous, but it didn’t change facts. She’d gotten through university on a diet of pasta, rice, and chips—anything inexpensive so she didn’t get too deep in debt—but all those carbohydrates had settled on her hips and breasts. Men like Blaxton de Ferrers wanted slender fashion plates on their arms—and in their beds. Still, if he was interested, she’d starve herself for someone as downright sexy as him. The South Sea diet’s supposed to be good. Yeah, like I’ve ever managed more than a few days on a diet. 

She sat opposite him. “Just a black coffee, please.” 

His predatory walk made her mouth water, and she wondered what he’d be like in bed. He’d look amazing naked and… Her own thoughts made her blush. She knew nothing would ever happen between them, but a girl could dream. 

Once he’d proved his point, he’d be on his way. It was probably for the best. Harriet wasn’t letting anyone into her bed easily, no matter how much they made her drool. Not after that disastrous one-and-only night when Martin had stopped over and things ended…badly. His insults had gotten under her skin, and she’d flung his clothes out the window. When he objected, she shoved his naked ass out the door and slammed it behind him. 

She’d have been fine if he hadn’t compared her to an iceberg—stationary and freezing. One look at Blaxton de Ferrers and her panties grew damp with desire. How embarrassing was that? Especially after he interrupted her debut presentation to her bosses. 

Moments later he returned, a mug steaming in each hand. “Your coffee, milady.” 

He’d gone from condescending to charming in the space of a few heartbeats, but she still needed answers. She blinked hard, stunned by the pull this man had on her. Normally reserved, she hated how her nipples pebbled in his presence. 

In his crisp jeans and button-down shirt, he looked expensive and…edible. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. His arms were rock-hard, muscular, and suntanned. When she looked closer, she thought his watch was the same brand all the Hollywood stars wore—a solid gold one at that. His sun-bleached hair fell in casual disarray over his collar. She knew an expensive haircut when she saw it. 

Harriet studied him as though he were a bug beneath a microscope. “De Ferrers? Are you a descendant of the original family that ruled here in medieval times? Do you really know things about this castle that no one else does? What makes you think the chapel was really a temple? And if it was, who worshiped there? And if it was a pagan stronghold, then why do the oldest documents mark it with a cross?” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Slow down. You’re firing questions the way a machine gun fires bullets. Yes, my ancestors once ruled here, but it was a long time ago. How about you tell me why you believe that black hole’s a chapel? It looks more like a dungeon to me.” 

She threw back her head and laughed. “Clever, turning my own question back on me. Okay, I’ll play. I’m the new archivist here, but back in Victorian times, they unearthed an original map of the castle. Your dungeon, temple, or whatever you want to call it was marked with a cross. See? Temples are pagan strongholds, not places for Christian worship.” 

He grinned that devastating smile that melted her bones, and tossed her a tidbit of information. “The cross on the plans. Were all the arms the same length? Was it bright blue on a silver-gray background, and did the arms have cut off triangle bases inverted and stuck on their ends?” 

Harriet’s breath came faster, and as she stared down at her hand, it shook so hard she almost spilled her coffee. “You mean like a Knights Templar cross but in different colors? Azure and argent? Sorry, you’d call them sky blue and silver. Those were the Knights Defender’s colors, weren’t they? Do you really think it was one of their temples where they carried out their most secret and sacred rituals? Really? It’d make my career if you’re right, but we don’t have any Knights Defender connections here.” 

Hot coffee scalded Harriet’s throat, but the quicker she drank it the sooner she could return to her office and check out the original map. Proving a Knights Defender connection could make her reputation and impress the higher-ups who’d doubted her. “I’ll dig out those original plans and check, but I can’t believe anyone could make such a foolish mistake. Can I have your phone number or something, and if you’re right, I’d love to talk.” 

Mortified, she realized she’d just asked this stranger for his phone number. He wound her up like a clockwork toy, and when she chased after him, he talked with such authority she almost believed him. Besides, even if he’d made his wild story up, she really wanted to see him again. Who was she kidding? She needed to know if he tasted as great as he smelled—all sandalwood and exotic spices. If he did, she’d surely find him addictive. 

Blaxton grinned, pulled out a business card, and scribbled a cell phone number underneath his business contacts. “Here. That’s my personal number.” 

She studied the card and laughed. “It says here you’re a property developer. I can’t see you being able to do much with a twelfth-century castle, even if it wasn’t grade one listed.” 

He stared out to sea, and for a moment he looked lost. His smile returned so quickly Harriet wondered if she’d imagined his brief withdrawal. 

He finished his coffee and stood up. “Maybe I could demolish the damned temple and replace it with a real chapel. I’m not staying in Yorkshire long, but would you have dinner with me tonight? We can discuss the Knights Defender if you like. How about we meet up in the Italian restaurant by the harbor? I’ll book a table for eight o’clock tonight if you’re free.” 

Harriet blushed, but she smiled back. Tonight she’d be dining with the best-looking guy in the town—if he turned up. She’d been stood up so many times by her ex before she’d stupidly let him share her body and her bed. After the way he’d treated her, dating came hard. 

Blaxton de Ferrers seemed genuine. Part of her wanted to run out and get her nails done right along with her hair. What the hell am I going to wear? She wasn’t some sophisticated London beauty, but she cleaned up okay despite her extra ten pounds. Besides, no way would she miss a chance to pump him for information. And if he wants to kiss me goodnight… Well, I might just let him. 

Copyright © Kryssie Fortune

I’m in IT Hell.

Facebook picked up the wrong picture so I deleted the share and posted manually.

Worse

Twitter hates me.

I always thank people for the follow and read some of the stream. I try to retweet two or three posts.

Twitter’s decided that’s spam and locked my account. It says it will send a code to unlock, but it doesn’t no matter how many times I request it.

Does anyone know how I can charm my way into Twitter’s good graces and reconnect with my 7000 twitter followers?

Let's evesdrop on Marin of Finder's keepers interview. #Eggcerpt Exchange

Ssh. Listen. They're just starting


Interviewer: You’ve had quick the introduction to the Fae world, Marin… Can I call you Marin..

Marin (reddened cheeks): Uhh… sure… I mean, that’s what most people call me… Kyland has
been call me, Minzet, but I’m pretty sure that’s something just between us since it means Sweet One… but…yeah… Marin would be best.

Interviewer (light chuckle): Great. Well, I nice to finally get to sit down with us… and as the new Princess to the Fae people, with such an odd upbringing… the Fae would love to know a little bit about you… Tell us a little bit about day to day life in the royal world…

Marin: Pfft… Most of the time I think they have the wrong girl… I mean… I was home schooled,
and have worked at Finder’s Keepers since I turned 17… for the past four years I have been slipping into Finder’s Trances in order to locate everything from pets to abduction victims… from car keys to family heirlooms… it sounds like important work but really, I mostly had to pull a bunch of information together so that other Finder’s could go out on Mission to locate whatever the client had misplaced…

Interviewer: That sounds like important work to me… also, something that would take a toll on your emotions… do you have someone to cuddle up to at night to help you get through the day???

Marin (Cheeks now flaming red): Kyland… he came out of nowhere and changed my life… and he
doesn’t even mind when I accidentally shock him with this new power that has a tendency to get out of control when I’m upset…

Interview: …. (shuffles through questions) … (scoots chair back and grits her teeth)… What goals and hardships do you face… what do you want for the Fae?? I mean… what are your plans to keep the Fae community safe?? (scoots back a little further…)

Marin (head cocked to the side): I’m still learning about the Fae world.. but I would say my goal
is to keep as many people safe as I can… (fists clench) … if the evil Fae, those Danshue ********… sorry for my language, but if they would just stop getting in the way, I could learn a little faster… someone needs to stop the Danshue before this community I’m just getting to know dies out…

Sparks light up on Marin’s hands, but Interviewer merely gets a white Knuckled grip on her set and continues…

Interviewer: One final questions and we will let you get back to your new duties as Princess… Can you tell us what fears you are facing in this new chapter of your life???

Marin: … (Deep Breath…) Lindal… that the woman that pretended to be my only family, that
kidnapped me as a child (sparks on her fingertips) … that she will find a way to finish what she started… (more sparks) … that she will find a way to hurt the people I am coming to care about… that she will hurt

KYLAND … (small explosion blowing out all the lights)

Interviewer warily pulls herself up out of the floor, where she dove to avoid flying glass…

Interviewer(voice shaky) : Alright… I think that’s all we have time for… thanks for stopping by Princess…


Thanks Tracey Clark for letting us listen in on your book friends. .

Blurb:

An act of rebellion, Marin doesn't think that running into the new store in town will hurt anything. Her aunt will never know... right? One car wreck later, her aunt is hospitalized, Marin is forced to spend her twenty-first birthday fighting for her life, and magic - the very thing her aunt has always sworn to be for fools - is real. And so is the irresistible Fae dedicated to Marin's protection.

Kyland has searched Earth-side and all the other realms, looking for a missing Fae child. A child his Queen prophesied would be able to one day save the Fae people from the Danshue, as the evil Fae threat tries to overwhelm the entire Supernatural Community. A child that would know nothing of her blocked gifts, or her Fae heritage waiting to be claimed. A child that has grown into a curvy, delicious morsel he would love to taste.

Together Marin and Kyland will fight Fae assassins, overcome betrayals, and if they're lucky ... they will find the Danshue responsible for their plight. That's if Marin doesn't shock him to death with her erratic new gift, and her out of control emotions.

Buy your copy today!!

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Shocking-Finds-Finders-Keepers-Novel-

ebook/dp/B014UA6XV0/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1441420146&sr=8-2&keywords=shocking+finds

Barns & Noble:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shocking-finds-tracey-clark/1122614922?ean=2940152332964

Kobo:

 https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/shocking-finds-a-finder-s-keepers-novel

Indigo:

 https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/shocking-finds-a-finders-keepers/9781310309090-

item.html?ikwid=shocking+finds&ikwsec=Home&ikwidx=0

Smashwords:

 http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/574301

Excerpt: (from chapter two Shocking Finds)

Marin needed answers. Like why had they been targeted? The parking lot hadn’t exactly been lacking for vehicular violence victim contenders. There had been a group of at least four women, standing by their cars, chatting. If there was a target more deserving of vehicular rage, it had definitely been that group of women. They had finished shopping, and courtesy demanded that their parking spots were to be relinquished as soon as possible. Why not them?

The man—and Marin was only guessing that the driver was a man—had bypassed those without parking lot etiquette and zeroed in on Lindal. If she had continued her slow progress through the parking lot, would Marin be in this horrible room with its beeping monitors and bleached air instead of Lindal.

Staring down at her aunt’s unmoving form, Marin tried to find a place to rest her
hand. She needed to touch her. She needed to know that the only person willing to take
her in, after the death of her mother, was really here and still alive.

“They will find him, Lindal. He won't get away with this,”

Marin made her vow as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Lindal's recovery. Glancing up to keep tears from falling from her eyes, Marin noticed something swinging off of Lindal's oxygen line. “What the...” It looked like a Barbie doll with wings, perhaps six inches tall. The odd little creature wore a loin cloth and sported some overly obvious male attributes. Was it wrong to be checking out the abs of someone no larger than a child’s toy?

His arms tugged and his muscles bunched as he attempted to make a knot in Lindal's oxygen line. His silver skin tone went beautifully with his tri-colored wings— a mix of light purple, maroon, and gold. The little man didn't seem to realize that Marin was staring at him.

“Stop,” Marin shouted. Dammit, this was a hospital. She needed to lower her

voice. She also needed to go upstairs to the psych ward. Head trauma, shock, or hallucinations something wasn’t right. If she told Lindal about this, her aunt would call her every kind of fool.

Hallucination or not, she grabbed the little man by the wings, pulled him from Lindal’s oxygen line, and tried to speak more calmly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She finally had her figment’s attention. A striking, though small, pair of lavender eyes glared at her through overly long sandy brown bangs. On closer inspection, she could see that his hair was actually multicolored. It seemed to go from crystal white sand to bronzed gold.

“Well, answer me. What do you think you're doing?”

“Waiting for you, of course.”

“What are you?” She was losing it. The buzzing in her temples was increasing. And she was now speaking to a figment of her imagination. Yep, she needed to be medicated.

The creature put its tiny fists on narrow hips. “A Sprite, of course. Don't you know anything? I have my work cut out for me.” Now she was being insulted by her

imagination. Great.

“Nope. Too Much,” Marin said and tossed the little man with wings out of the

hospital window. She needed coffee. Either that or a large dose of Thorazine. Maybe both.



All About Tracey Clark!!
I am a country-twang gal from the bluegrass state. Kentucky is a hot bed of horses, cave systems, and whiskey. And I love all three. With my pugs and bossy kitty cat, I spend my days writing and working social media. I write with the help of the voices pushing me to create worlds for them to live in. Fantasy Romance, Contemporary Romance, and eventually some cowboys (because cowboys live in a group all their own, yummmm)… These are the genres that I love best. Oil paints, crafts, dealing with Multiple Sclerosis, and writing into the dead of night… this I my life!!!



To Find out more about Tracey here are some links…

Author Page (Main):

http://traceylclark.com/

Goodreads Author Page:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/103301.Author_Tracey_Clark

MS Page:

https://multiplesclerosisnewsblog.wordpress.com/

Facebook Author Page:

https://www.facebook.com/traceyclark.finderskeepers/?ref=hl

Anddddd…. Twitter Page:

https://twitter.com/traceylclark11

Seven facts about Werewolves

1     Another name for Werewolves is Lycanthropes. It comes from the Greek - lykoi for wolf and anthopos for man.

2     Ovid wrote how King Lycaeon of Arcadia murdered Nictumus, one of his fifty sons and fed his flesh to the God Zeus. Disgusted, Zeus turned Lycaeon into a werewolf with a taste for human flesh and brought the murdered boy back to life. Great for the boy, but not so good for the rest of us as Zeus unleashed werewolves into the world.

3     In Argentina, the people call werewolves Luison or el lobison. Belief has it that the seventh son of an all-male family will turn into a Luison. Parents were so scared they murdered or abandoned their own children. Eventually, President Juan Domingo Peron (1895-1974) announced he would give all seventh sons a gold medal when they were baptized and that they would receive a scholarship to pay for their studies until they reached 21.

4     The loupe garou is an American or Canadian werewolf and a bit of a French immigrant. This is an unfortunate soul who has been cursed with lycanthropey. He can turn into a wolf at will. When he changes, he retains his sense of identity and purpose. He might be the best sort to meet on a dark night, as long as you haven’t wronged him.

5     The second type of American werewolf is the Native American Wendigo but he’s pure malice and evil. He relishes the taste of human flesh, so he’d definitely one to avoid.

6     In Russia, to turn werewolf, all you have to do is wander into the forest, stick a knife in a tree, and dance around it while saying incantations that let the wolf into your soul. Anyone watching would probably think they’d downed too much vodka.

7     Silver bullets can kill a werewolf. Ancient scholars linked seven metals are linked with seven planets. Gold for the Sun, Mercury for Mercury, Copper for Venus, Iron for Mars, Tin for Jupiter, Lead for Saturn, and Silver for the Moon. Since the werewolf is a creature linked to the moon it makes sense that an element linked to the moon would kill it. Oh, but the loupe garou… He can change at will so don’t waste your silver on him.  

Werewolves fascinate me so much that my Scattered Siblings series of erotic stand-alone romances mostly has werewolf heroes  Check out my Amazon author page to find out more. http://amzn.to/1ZIVGCX 

Put a Little Sugar On It. Well... Vinegar Really #romance #herbs #vinegar #werewolf

Viola, the heroine in my book To Seduce an Omega grows herbs and sells them to survive.

Sometimes she made herbal vinegars.

Why would she? And what would her customers do with them?

Firstly, she made them because they are cheap and easy. She'd take common herbs and turn them into something amazing.

A few drops can freshen up a sickroom. In the seventeenth century, people soaked sponges in them and sniffed them if they felt ill. They'd run their sponge on an invalid’s brow or freshen up clammy hands. A sick person’s bed linens could be sprinkled with herbal vinegar to keep them fresh too. Of course, today, we use them as salad dressings.

My personal favorite? Elegant men about town had compartments built into the heads of their walking sticks. They’d fill them with a herbal vinegar soaked sponge that they’d sniff as they walked foul-smelling streets. I can just imagine a regency dandy, all starched linen neckcloth  and formal breeches, strolling down Mayfair while sniffing at his walking stick. Maybe, Jane Austin’s Mr. Darcy used something like that.

One thing I know for sure. The werewolves in my book didn’t use them on anything but salads. Maybe, if a she-wolf had a hot date, she’d add a few drops of a special vinegar to her bathwater.

Fancy making your own bath vinegar? Here’s an easy recipe to follow.

Ingredients

1 cup cider vinegar

1 cup water

1 tablespoon dried basil

1 tablespoon dried peppermint.

Mix the vinegar and water and heat until almost boiling. Remove from heat and add herbs. (If you don’t like basil or peppermint, choose your own.) Let it steep overnight.

Strain and bottle. Allow one cup for a bath.  

I haven’t tried it, but I might give it a go.

Want to know more about Viola? Then check out this standalone romance in my Scattered Sibling’s series.  

Blurb

The Rock Prowler alpha condemns Viola for her inability to shift. Forced into poverty and isolation, she ekes out a meager existence as a healer. As the pack omega with a crippled knee, she’s forbidden to mate. Her first heat beckons, but no wolf will dare to bed her.

Titus, a wolf rejected by his true mate, overflows with violence and anger. The Lykae King sends him to take over the Rock Prowler pack. He condemns Viola for wanting payment before she treats her patients and threatens to bring in a new pack healer. With her crippled knee and no other income, she’d starve.

She-wolves from families who disagree with the alpha have vanished. When Titus investigates, the alpha’s allies imprison both him and Viola. To escape, he must seduce Viola—the she-wolf he insulted and reviled. If that’s not bad enough, she despises him for his seeming allegiance to the alpha. As he gets to know her, she steals his heart, but after all that’s happened, how can she accept him when even his fated mate refused him? 

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Excerpt

The Tundra Toughs, his adopted pack, had watched over his recovery; then King Caleb sent Titus on this mission. If he married, not mated, the alpha’s daughter, he could remake his life as the Rock Prowler alpha.

His primal wolf—the seven and a half feet of violence and rage that lived inside him—hated the idea. His natural wolf—the part of him that would pass for a wolf on the mundane world’s Russian steppes—howled with outrage. Even his human side wasn’t sure it was sensible to bind himself to a stranger, but since losing Jilly, he hadn’t been rational at all.

His stupid natural wolf prowled through his psyche, demanding to run its tongue over the scratches in the healer’s arm. Afterward, his wolf would have licked at the soft flesh of her breast before it moved on to taste her pussy. Then, when she moaned and thrashed with need, he’d turn human and screw her until she screamed his name.

His inner wolves must be so desperate for sex that they’d settle for any woman they could get. It couldn’t be more than animal lust that drew him to Viola. Not after everything he’d endured to save Jilly.

Viola’s sweet floral essence reminded him of the open hillsides where he’d run as a pup. She made him think of family, home, and pack—all the things he’d given up to keep Jilly safe. Titus wondered how the healer would look naked and smiling, her nipples peaked and her body wet with desire—for him. Then he snarled, and he cursed himself for a fool.

One woman—his true-mate—had almost broken him with her lack of compassion. He refused to let another she-wolf bring him down again, least of all a healer who preferred cold, hard cash to caring for those in pain.

Every pack needed a healer, but given this she-wolf’s greed, he understood why the Rock Prowlers didn’t offer her the support she deserved. Other packs revered their healers and treated them as second only to the alpha female.

When he thought of how Viola had demanded coins before she so much as looked at the injured woman he’d found huddled in a murder thorn, a growl rumbled in his throat. Bedding any female but Jilly—especially the Rock Prowlers’ healer—wasn’t in his game plan, no matter what his inner wolves thought.

Wise men fled from his angry glare, but the Viola  had lifted her chin and held his gaze. Her courage could prove addictive, and the sooner he put some miles between them the better. Time for him to leave.