Tagline: Once you’ve done the most unforgivable thing, what will you do next?
Book Description:
In the first full-length
collection of her edgy, award-winning short stories, Loren Rhoads punctures the
boundaries between horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction in a maelstrom of
sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll.
Ghosts, succubi, naiads,
vampires, the Wild Hunt, and the worst predator in the woods stalk these pages,
alongside human monsters who follow their cravings past sanity or sense.
I can’t help it . . . from the
extensive decorating (too many orange tubs to count!) to the ghoulish
appetizers (including skull Jell-O molds!) . . . I love it all!! But for sake
of space, I’ll condense my bump in the night and howl at the moon passions into
a list of favorite things.
Tagline: Max and Charlotte return for the explosive conclusion of the “By Moonlight” series . . . and the stakes have never been higher!
Book Description:
He’s the Promised One
A Mobster’s attack dog turned legitimate business powerhouse, Max Savoie is the reluctant leader of New Orleans’ shapeshifter clan. They’ve kept to anonymous shadows, working and living unnoticed by the human world until their new Shifter King’s past draws dangerous outsiders who threaten all.
She’s the Protector
A fiercely determined NOPD detective, Charlotte Caissie has sworn to defend her beloved city and her unborn child from both criminals and otherworldly factions at war. While standing boldly at the side of her mate/husband, secrets from the past return to shake the foundation of her beliefs.
They Have a Problem
Walking a marital tight rope between opposite worlds, Max and Cee Cee’s paths place truth and trust at odds when outside threats force enemies to become allies. The time to take a stand for their family and their future is at hand. Time to rise together for the survival of all they love!
Max hadn’t
visited that dark portion of his past for a very long time. Why now? Because of
the life his mate carried? Or were the dangerous shadows of unfinished business
reaching out from a swampy grave, a reminder of things he’d rather forget?
A rocking
chair’s familiar creak. He tensed and twisted anxiously in the throes of his
dream. Icy fingers of caution and loss clutched his chest as eyes darted behind
closed lids. Unable to deny his desire to look again upon the worn elegance of
his mother’s features, he faced his dread the way he’d addressed his life, with
a cautious, reluctant need to know the truth . . . of who and what he was.
Shadows, like
those long-ago secrets, hung thick, revealing little of the dark head bent over
the child Marie Savoie held in arms both protective and comforting. Max wished
she’d look up to feed time-starved memories, craving the gentle curve of her
smile and loving warmth in her gaze. He settled for the steadying croon of a
voice from the past.
“What is it,
Max? Another bad dream? They can’t harm you.”
As much as he
loved her, then and now, he’d never quite believed that assurance. Bad things
existed beyond the rusty gate imprisoning his youthful curiosity within their
overgrown yard for the first five years of his life. He knew because he was one
of them, a child of the unnatural world. All he’d wanted was to find his place
within it. But his mother had hidden that knowledge from him, just as she’d
kept the outside away for as long as she could
“Mama, what’s
wrong with me?” that small voice sobbed.
The rocker
continued to complain as she stroked the child’s black hair. Her tender gesture
failed to calm either boy or the man he’d become.
“Nothing’s wrong
with you, Max. You’re perfect. They just don’t understand, so they fear you.
That’s why you must be careful to never let them see the truth.”
“What truth?” he’d
pleaded. “Mama, tell me!”
Low and soft,
Max repeated from where he watched, decades away, “Mama, tell me.”
She brushed a
kiss across the top of the child’s flushed brow then slowly straightened,
turning toward Max Savoie, a surreal voyeur from the future she’d never see.
Her gaze swam with tears like liquid silver before flaring bright, then hot.
Then red.
“Max,” she
crooned, “you’re just like me.”
About the Author:
Nancy Gideon is the award-winning bestseller of over 70 romances ranging from historical, Regency, and series contemporary suspense to dark paranormal and horror, with a couple of produced screenplays and non-fiction writing books tossed into the mix. Newly retired from 20 years as a legal assistant, she feeds a Netflix addiction along with all things fur, fin, and fowl, and dotes on her grandguy. She’s also written under the pseudonyms Dana Ransom, Rosalyn West, and Lauren Giddings.
Paranormal movies are on my
family’s binge-list for Halloween month.
Here are our top picks for you this year. Enjoy!
1. Alien (1979) - That first glimpse of the alien… Aaaah!
Sigourney Weaver rocks.
2. The Lost Boys (1987) - Naughty
vampires. A must-see, dark-comedy horror cult classic.
3. The Shining (1980) - Seriously
spooky hotel. Psychological horror both riveting and haunting.
4. Poltergeist (1982) - A majorly
haunted house. That bathroom mirror scene…shudder!
5. A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984)
- Freddy Kreuger and those claws...don’t fall asleep! Ah!
6. The Ring (2002) / Ringu (1998)
- A cursed videotape…creepy crawling girl!
7. Candyman (1992) - Urban
legends can be super scary! Don’t say his name…
8. Cloverfield (2008) – A monster
in NYC! A struggle to survive, seen via handheld camera.
9. Shaun of the Dead (2004) -
Zombies! Super funny, a little scary and 100% worth a watch.
10. The Cabin In The Woods (2012)
- Horror comedy at its finest from the fab Joss Whedon. For example: “Yeah, uh, I had to dismember that guy with a
trowel. What have you been up to?” and, “Hey, shh, no. I totally get it. I’m
sorry I let you get attacked by a werewolf and then ended the world.”
Listen to my reading of an Excerpt of Jealousy's a Witch
What is Paranormal Women’s Fiction,
Anyway?
A Conversation with Louisa West
Buffy. Sookie Stackhouse. Elena
Gilbert. Bella Swan. If you know one or all of these characters, then there’s a
pretty good chance that you like to read paranormal romance. These women range
between being kick-ass, plucky, and just plain special—but there’s another
thing they all have in common: really hot supernatural love interests. I’m the
first to admit that there’s nothing I love better than a Buffy re-watch, or
curling up with a Charlaine Harris novel to whittle my time away in a land
where Eric Northman exists. But as I get older (sigh), I find myself wanting
more out of my paranormal romance.
I want to relate.
I want to feel as though my real-life
struggles of bills, and raising a child, and the body-image issues I have are
real for the characters I’m reading as well. I want to be able to laugh because
I’m not the only one who has problems with her neighbors, or can never fold a
fitted sheet (that’s another kind of witchcraft, friends!), or because sex
after twenty can sometimes be a little awkward and hilarious at the same time.
Life after 35 just gets even more real. At best, you start thinking about
long-term plans for your retirement. At worst, you need to be careful about how
many cups of coffee you have before you drive to the grocery store fifteen
minutes down the road.
Paranormal Women’s Fiction is a
rising genre thanks to the collective efforts of a group of women known colloquially
online as ‘The Fab13’. The
genre touches on what it’s like for ‘mature’ heroines to get by in a modern
world, with all the hurdles that life throws in their paths. These women are
dealing with issues like divorce, potential homelessness, toxic relationships,
and other really gritty, grown-up stuff. But the sparkling platter that these
themes are served on comes in the form of literal magical circumstances, witty
one-liners, love interests that are hotter than Hades and women who are
empowered to not only move forward but to do so while coming fully into their
own power.
Typically, the heroines of these
books are over forty. It’s kind of that golden age where you’ve lived enough of
life to know what’s what, but also you’ve seen enough to know that you just
don’t have the time or energy to put up with any more crap from anyone. It also
means that you’re probably not as perky or unwrinkled as you once were (if you
are, leave your skin-care and exercise routines in the comments below!). For
me, reading these books and getting to know these women who not only face who
they are but fly that Older and Fabulous flag proudly has been an absolute joy.
So it made sense that my next
series would be written in the same vein.
The main character in my Midlife
in Mosswood series is Rosemary Bell, a thirty-nine year old mom who finds the
courage to finally leave a toxic relationship. While she’s petrified of
starting over again, Rosie and her young daughter Maggie soon settle into the
slow rhythm of life in a small town. Rosie is resilient hard-working, and
desperate to raise her daughter right. She’s also emotionally damaged,
untrusting, and determined to hold everyone except Maggie at arm’s length.
Throughout the series Rosie must face not only her past with her ex, but also
her family history. She learns how to be a better mom, and how to navigate the
challenges of living in a small town when you’re obviously different and more
than a little out of your depth. And she also finds a way forward for herself,
finding out that she’s actually a witch and that there’s possibly and handsome
Irish witch King in her future.
The Paranormal Women’s Fiction
genre has set up new expectations for books about older women written by older
women. I’m thrilled to be part of it!
Jealousy’s a Witch
Midlife in Mosswood
Book Two
Louisa West
Genre: Paranormal Women’s Fiction
Publisher: Louisa West
Date of Publication: September 30, 2020
ASIN: B087KYLF3N
Number of pages: 170 (eBook)
Word Count: 50,000
Cover Artist: Louisa West
Book Description:
She thought the thriller part of her life was behind her. But when the man she’s falling for has a sinister secret, she’s no longer sure whether he’s a trick or a treat.
Rosemary Bell is a witch for Halloween… and every other day of the year. And that’s not even the weirdest thing about her life. Her ex-husband is a turtle, her daughter Maggie's new best friend is an imaginary kangaroo, and the guy sleeping on her couch is a King—as well as her fated lover.
Just as she’s starting to fall for Declan, Rosie gets spooked by a revelation that leaves her wondering whether she is really meant to be his Queen. And as a new houseguest quickly proves, promises don’t always mean forever. When a sexy choir girl arrives in town with her eyes set on Rosie’s King and crown, she will have to decide for herself what her destiny is, and soon.
Struggling between caring for Declan and caring for herself, Rosie has better luck advising her friends what to do about their love lives than tending to her own. But when Maggie goes missing on All Hallow’s Eve, Rosie is forced to admit that jealousy’s a witch - literally!
The Good Witch meets Hocus Pocus in this short novel about stepping into new shoes, choosing who you’re going to be, and never letting fear decide your fate, even on Halloween.
Jealousy’s a Witch is the second book in the heartwarming new Midlife in Mosswood series by Louisa West. Available exclusive to Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited.
The sounds of
the hot summer afternoon seemed dulled by the arrival of Tammy. She looked
sheepishly between Declan and Rosie, her knuckles tight around the laundry bag
of clothes she held like Santa Claus’ sack over one pudgy shoulder.
“I hope I’m not
imposin’,” she said softly, even though it was clear that she knew she was.
“Only that...well!” Unshed tears suddenly welled in her eyes, and she tried a
combination of blinking and fanning her wedding-ring devoid hand in front of
her face to stop them from falling.
Declan looked
from Rosie to Tammy and then back again, as though trying to weigh up how
useful he might be in a situation like this versus how much damage he might
cause by way of a poorly timed and probably inappropriate joke. “I think I
better check on the painting crew,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck
as he took off for less emotional turf.
Rosie crossed
over to the table, set down the potato salad she had been carrying. “Why don’t
you have a seat and I’ll pour us some lemonade,” she suggested. Tammy nodded
mutely, swiping at the tears now streaking down her face. Two sips of lemonade
seemed to give her the confidence she needed to carry through with the story.
“I’m so sorry to
barge in on y’all like this,” she sniffled, “but I didn’t know where else to
go.”
Rosie thought
back to the day Tammy had rolled up to the cottage as part of Prissy’s
entourage. She had seemed like the only genuine woman out of the three. Rosie
had felt terrible when Tammy had seen her husband Terry making a pass at her the
day he’d come out to the cottage to ‘offer his services’ as a handyman. She
hadn’t seen her since that day, but it didn’t look like things had improved for
her any.
“You don’t need
to apologize,” Rosie told her, “so let’s get that out of the way right-quick.
We’re havin’ a cook-out, and you’re officially invited.”
Tammy offered a
weak smile in return, sipping her lemonade. “Thank you.”
Rosie smiled
back. “You’re welcome. Now,” she added, glancing up at the cottage. “I feel
duty-bound to tell you that at any minute we’re likely to be infiltrated by a
rush of starving teenage boys, an Irishman with a huge appetite, a girl who can
put away three hotdogs in one sitting, and a turtle that—”
“—a turtle?”
“Long story,”
Rosie grinned.
About the Author:
Author by day, Netflix connoisseur by night.
Louisa likes Pina Coladas and gettin’ caught in the rain. Determined to empty her brain of stories, she writes across several genres including fantasy, speculative fiction, contemporary and historical fiction, and romance.
She lives in Mandurah, Western Australia, and drinks more coffee than is good for her. When she’s not writing or researching projects, Louisa enjoys spending time with her family, and Harriet The Great (Dane). Hobbies include playing video games, watching copious amounts of tv, and various craft-related initiatives.
She strongly believes that the truth is still out there.
Tagline:How hard can it be to send an escaped demon back to hell?
Book Description:
Not only is her suicide attempt thwarted by a stranger, but when she comes back from the dead, Sable is tasked by Lucifer to find and return to hell a demon she let loose. If she doesn't, she'll be sent to the darkest level of the afterlife when she dies.
The woman Jack pulled from a running car is obviously disturbed and her story about Lucifer and demons is bullshit. But she has the name of a dead man written on her arm and Jack wants to know why.
Since it's Jack's fault she's in this mess and his skills from a background in the security business are useful, Sable recruits him for her find-the-demon mission, which turns out to be all kinds of difficult. Not only can demons inhabit human bodies, they have other nasty tricks up their sleeves, like incinerating objects and people who get in their way.
It also turns out the inhabitants of hell lie and that things on Earth are not what they appear. Nor are things in her own world, Sable discovers, as she battles to complete her mission before time runs out and it's impossible to send the demon back.
One minute I was
surrounded by white light and the scent of lavender. The next minute I was on
my back in the dirt with a guy straddling me and pounding my chest.
“You awake? You
alive? Shit.”
Hard to see much
in the dark, but the full moon shining through the oak trees showed me his
brown eyes, open wide and filled with fear.
“You’re alive.
Jeez, woman.” He took his hands away and leaned back on his heels.
He smelled like
garlic and motor oil, and he needed to get the hell off of me because a violent
churning in my stomach meant ...
“Move.” I shoved
him and rolled to my side.
He did, fast
enough to get out of the way while I hurled the contents of my stomach onto the
ground. I made my way to my hands and knees and retched a little more.
“Here.” The guy
tapped my shoulder. “Water.”
I took the
bottle he offered, rinsed and spit, then drank. A chunk of something went down
my throat and I almost puked again. Rinse, spit, rinse, spit. Hope he didn’t want
the bottle back.
A loud pop like
a gunshot and a flash of light to my left made me swivel my head and instantly
regret the move as my gut reacted by gurgling another warning.
The man looked
in that direction too. “What was that? Are you alone out here?” he asked.
“As far as I
know. Did you see something?”
“I don’t know.”
He assumed a fighting stance, legs slightly spread, hands curled in fists at
his side, then turned in a slow circle, studying the woods around us.
We both stayed
silent for a moment as he continued to scan the area. I pulled in deep breaths,
trying to convince my gut to settle down.
“An animal,” the
man said and turned back to me. “Are you all right?”
No. Duh. He’d
just pulled me out of a running car filled with carbon monoxide.
“Why the hell
did you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Stick your nose
in my business.” I stood, wobbled a little, but I could stay upright and
possibly walk.
“You about died.
I saved you,” he said.
“I about died
because I wanted to.” I moved toward my car. “Pretty damn obvious, dude. What
are you doing out here in these woods anyway?”
I’d chosen this
parking area that accessed a hiking trail on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North
Carolina because no one came here at night. No one was supposed to, anyway.
It would have
been easier to fill up a garage with carbon monoxide, but I lived in an
apartment and didn’t have one. I thought about using a friend’s place or
renting a storage unit, but that meant someone would be in for a super-crappy
day when they found my dead body in the morning. I didn’t want to be the cause
of someone having a super-crappy day.
“I come here
between calls,” he said. “You need to get medical attention.”
I walked back to
my car, and he didn’t follow, which was good because I was likely to punch him.
It’d taken every ounce of courage I could muster to set this up, and he’d
ruined it. Now my car had holes in the exhaust system and floor, my stomach was
about to turn inside out and my head hurt like a son of a bitch.
And I was still
alive.
“Get the hell
out of here and leave me alone.” I reached my car and leaned on it. He’d turned
off the ignition and left the door open, but it still stank like poison.
“I’ll take you
to the hospital. Come on.” He gestured with his hand.
I reached into
the glove box, pulled out the Glock 19 I’d stolen/borrowed from my dad in case
I needed a plan B (Dad had a buttload of firearms; he’d never miss this one),
and pointed it at the guy. My arm shook, but I held it steady enough. “I said
get out of here. Now.”
He raised his
hands. “Okay. Take it easy. I’m going. You can keep the water.”
His hands
remained in the air as he backed up slowly. Good. He wasn’t an idiot hero type.
Just a knight in a stained T-shirt instead of shining armor, trying to rescue
the girl. Except this girl didn’t need rescuing.
I didn’t lower
the gun until the red glow of his truck taillights disappeared. When I did let
my arm fall, it shook. I sat back down in the car. Okay, no biggie. Shut the
doors, crank it up, finish the job. I could do it. That was the only way. Who
was I kidding? There was no plan B. I totally couldn’t put a gun in my mouth.
The knight wouldn’t come back again and stop me. Would he?
An owl hooted,
and the wind blew a scent of wet leaves my way, the smell of strolls with
Jasper, the world’s weirdest cat, who liked to go for walks on a leash in the
woods.
“Step out of the
car, would you please?”
Holy crap! I
about broke my neck swiveling toward a voice that came from the entrance to the
parking area. A man stood far enough away I couldn’t see him clearly, just an
outline. I slid all the way inside, shut my car door and locked it. He stepped
closer.
Not the same
dude that screwed up my plan. This guy was tall, blond, wearing tight black
jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt. I didn’t see another vehicle. Where the
hell did he come from?
“Get away. I’m
calling the police,” I yelled through the closed window. I reached for my
phone. Oh yeah. I didn’t have a phone. Since I’d planned to die that night, I’d
canceled my contract and told my carrier to stick their overpriced rates up
their butts.
One of the best
moments I’d had while preparing for my death.
About the Author:
Naomi Bellina lives in sunny Florida with the love of her life and the world's chattiest cat. Her interests include dancing, motorcycle riding, drumming and eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations for plot ideas. She used to worry about the battles between her cheery disposition and her dark imagination, but now they’re best friends and drink coffee and write books together. Her motto: Never pass up the opportunity to have an adventure!