The First Sin (South of Eden) by Lisa Beth Darling

 

The First Sin (South of Eden)

Lisa Beth Darling

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing

Date of Publication: 7/31/2021

ASIN: B096QZF49Q

Number of pages: 340

Word Count: 135,000

Cover Artist: Lisa Beth Darling

Tagline: Lucifer Returns to Eden

Book Description: 

Lucifer is unceremoniously yanked out of Hell by his Father so he can return to his old job in the Garden of Eden. When he arrives, broken, battered, and bleeding, he falls into the arms of Eve who is unsure about seeing her old lover again as are the people now living in a dying paradise.

Tasked with returning the Sacred Trees of Life and Knowledge to flourishing bounty once more, Lucifer struggles to learn his new place in his old home. Yet, he hasn't been placed there solely to tend the Garden. His son, Cain, is on the way with murder and destruction on his mind.

Having lived, cursed by God, for eons, Cain Enoch has made quite a name for himself and amassed a fortune that would make even his Grandfather envious and with it he'll stop at nothing to find Eden and destroy. Why? So he can finally die even though it means taking the Earth, Heaven, and Hell with him.

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Excerpt:

"My Father said there was no money in Art," she huffed and took a long swallow from her glass, "he insisted I get a real job."

"Dads," Cain said in a dreamy tone as he looked at a painting of a garden. Something about it called to him. It was so real he thought he could almost smell the patch of honeysuckle as it radiated its sweetness under that bright summer sun. Something about it seemed familiar but he couldn’t pin it down. "They can be real assholes." He finished his glass and slipped his arm around her waist when he heard her start to choke. "You ok?"

"Fine," she stammered even as she blushed. "You’re so right, real assholes," she agreed getting her reaction under control, "but they’re not here now."

"Thank God for that," he said with more grimace than smile.

"Yeah," she sighed and drank down the last of her glass, "more?"

Cain, who normally had such sharp ears and was such an excellent judge of people, was still so captured by the painting that he missed the whole thing. Instead he pointed at it and asked, "Where is this?"

Jesse didn't miss a beat even as her breath caught in her chest, "Devil's Hop Yard, it's a park in Connecticut." She stopped for a second as she took him in and then casually asked, "Do you like it?"

"Devil's Hop Yard," he repeated still a distant tone as he stared at it. Cain had been all over the world several hundred times and the name seemed familiar but he couldn't say he'd ever been there.

"Earth to Cain," Jesse chuckled as she snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes.

"Hello?"

That brought him back around and he tried to cover the moment with a laugh, "Sorry. Yeah, I love it, it's beautiful, it's like, like, I've been there before."  He reached out to touch it but she grabbed his wrist.

"Nope, no touch, we do not put our greasy finger prints on the paint," she said with a serious grin.

"Oh, yeah, right," he muttered as he felt her leading him away from the artwork that he just couldn't take his eyes from until she fully pointed him towards the second hand couched with their thick blankets and the burning hearth next to them. "More wine?" He asked trying to force himself the rest of the way out of his daze.

"There's a delayed echo in here," she cooed as she plopped down on one of the couches and held up her empty glass. Silently she cursed herself for displaying that painting. She never intended for him to see it and convinced herself he never would. Even if he did, it was just a painting. In the end, her pride won out and she felt it was too good not to put on the wall of her little Art Studio.

"What about those?" Cain asked as he filled their glasses and pointed off to one corner where canvases were standing back to front. "What's over there?"

"Oh, God, no," she moaned. "Those are not for viewing." She laughed. "They're just, well, one day I'll just paint over them."

"Temperamental artist, I see," he grinned and settled in next to her.

About the Author:

Lisa Beth Darling is 54 years-old, the mother of two adult daughters, grandmother to one, and wife to her husband, Roy, for the last 35 years. She lives and writes in her hometown of New London, CT.

Early influences were Stephen King, Mary Higgins Clark, Harold Robins, Jacqueline Susan and VC Andrews.

Her stories are filled with secrets, lust, betrayal, and sometimes rage, they may keep you awake into the wee hours of the morning cheering, weeping, and captured by suspense as our heroes and heroines have their love tested by demons who reside within and without.

In her spare time she enjoys gardening and photography as well as cooking and baking. She also enjoys helping other authors bring their works to the world stage.

Sign Up for Lisa’s Mailing List: https://bitly.com/

WebSite: http://www.lisabethdarling.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lbdarlingauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/darlingwrtr

Instagram: http://instagram.com/darlingwrtr

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lisa-Beth-Darling/e/B002BMDA9I

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1577311.Lisa_Beth_Darling

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The Light Through the Pouring Rain by James Ruvalcaba

 

The Light Through the Pouring Rain

James Ruvalcaba

Genre: Love and Loss, Romance

Date of Publication: 12/21/2020

ISBN:979-8575160397

ASIN: B08PF23TF1

Number of pages:124

Word Count: 28,000

Cover Artist: Dar Albert

Tagline: A true story about a young couple's battle with cancer

Book Description:

An emotional page turner that gives a firsthand look into the lives of a young couple madly in love and eager to start their lives together, only to have it all halted by a cancer diagnosis. 

With no clear road map on how to navigate their new normal, James and Anabel proceed into uncharted territory, hand-in-hand, with the love of their families and their faith in God to guide them.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/CSlRECKmS2Y

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Chapter 1: The first few months

It was April, and a couple months had passed by. At this point, everybody knew. Our friends and family knew and had been brainstorming on our game plan. Her first chemo session was April 2. Unfortunately, her family was not equipped to handle taking care of her. They had no experience with cancer and the pain that was upcoming. Unfortunately, my family and I had experience. Not that we wished we had, but it was an asset for this upcoming challenge. Cancer runs in our family. We’d lost our fair share of members, and the best place Anabel could recover was at our home. I had to talk to my family about the situation, and they agreed. My mom was the best man for the job. I couldn’t be more thankful for her. Mom was ready for the task at hand in a moment’s notice, without hesitation; she was the only one I could truly turn to in these times.

Anabel had gotten situated in our home. She stayed in my room with my brother and me. Which was a challenge in itself, due to him enjoying his senior year of high school, coming in and out of the house, partying it up, and having his friends over. We managed to make the best of it. At times it could be unbearable and make Anabel and me crazy, but the care and love that my brother had for her made it easier for us. He would be a pain in the ass, but had a soft spot for Anabel and would regulate things when Anabel needed some time. This was a challenge for Anabel and me as well. This cancer had rushed a huge step in our relationship: we had finally moved in together. It wasn’t the circumstances that we had imagined or planned for, but we had to make it work.

We had spoken on what location we would like to live in and how Anabel didn’t care much for where and how much, but only if she could decorate for each holiday. That was her only stipulation. “James, I don’t care what you say, I’m gonna go all out every holiday, and you can’t say a damn thing to me.” It was adorable. It would put a smile to my face, because she made a point to say that as if it would be a deal breaker.

We had established our routine. She would wake up early, around eight a.m., have coffee with my grandma and her dog in the backyard, and reminisce about my grandma’s glory days as a caretaker. Then I would wake up around ten a.m. to “Good morning, Meez!” Anabel called me Meez because my little brother would call me Jamies, and if you say the second syllable of Jamies, it sounds like “Meez.” So she ran with it. We would eat breakfast together and follow that up with some episodes of The Office. Then I would go to the gym for a couple of hours then return to her to relax, watch TV or movies with her on her phone, then eat dinner. My Mom would make, and repeat. A very simple routine, but effective due to the fatigue she would be experiencing from chemotherapy.

It may seem like a very bland routine for a normal person, but it was what she wanted. April 2 was fast approaching. After a couple of weeks, it was finally here.

At this time, I was working with special needs kids as an instructional aide. My work schedule was eight thirty a.m. to three p.m., typical school hours. Thanks to my mom, I was able to have some sort of income to take care of Anabel’s needs when she needed something. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Prior to leaving work, I gave her a speech: “Chemo ain’t got shit on you. It chose the wrong person to fuck with.” I felt like I was giving a speech in 300. She was amped, we kissed each other goodbye, and I was off to work. Later on at work, I got a text from my mom sending me a picture of Anabel during chemo, and she was all smiles with a thumbs-up. She looked way happier than anybody in that situation could possibly be, but she felt in her heart that chemo didn’t have shit on her. That was partially my fault for the speech I gave her in the morning, but it was funny to see somebody actually believe the words you say and run with it. I cracked a smile, thinking, This girl.

I arrived home at three thirty. “Bells!”

“Yes, Meez?”

“How did it go?”

“It was a breeze.”

My mom explained the doctor’s orders and the game plan. Eight weeks of chemo, five days a week, which would be re-evaluated as needed until her tumor was small enough to do radiation, then surgery to remove it. We were all excited. The plan has been laid out, and with a plan that has a time frame, you are able to envision the light at the end of the tunnel, because the next day brings you that much closer to back to your normal life. Anabel and I smiled at each other with our eyes tearing up. We must’ve both been imagining our lives going back to normal.

About the Author:

Hello, I'm James Ruvalcaba. I began writing because I wanted to honor my fiancee Anabel's legacy and to be a testimony of God's goodness. On a personal level, I am a family man and hold them near and dear to me. I am a down to earth person that loves interactions and conversations. I believe the more we communicate the more we see the beauty of God's previous workings. Prior to being a writer, I worked with the special needs population for 10 years. I wanted to give back to the community and assist in achieving a higher quality of life as a tribute to my Sister who suffered from disabilities herself.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/james.ruvalcaba.39 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JamesMruvalcaba  

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jamesmruvalcaba/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08PF23TF1 

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There Will Be Blood Trinity Smith Book One by E.C Hinrichs

 

There Will Be Blood

Trinity Smith 

Book One

E.C Hinrichs

Genre: Supernatural thriller, paranormal romance

Publisher: Beyond the Fray publishing 

Date of Publication: June 2021

ISBN 13: 9781954528079

Number of pages: 258

Word Count: 72,602

Cover Artist:  L. Douglas Hogan 

Tagline: A riveting and seductive novel…

Book Description:  

Evil threatens the world, but a secret organization stands united to stop it. 

Trinity Smith, a sentinel agent for H.A.L.O, protects the world from energy vampires. 

She may have met her match in her next target, Frank Tennorman, a self-described reverend with a high body count. Distracted by juggling her work and personal life, Trinity must take Frank down before she becomes caught in his crosshairs. 

The only thing certain in Trinity’s future is there will be blood.

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Excerpt:

I looked down at my Batman vintage watch that was always 3 minutes behind and
noticed that the middle man was late- again. His name was Phipps. No one knew where he came from or why he chose to watch over people or deliver these “S.O.S messages” to people like me. Despite what I had said to Damon, I knew I couldn’t quit. Well, quit that easily. Maybe start slowly- I requested that my next assignment be kept quiet and make everyone think that I had quit. Would that even work? No, maybe not. All I wanted to do was find my journal and write it out but I hadn’t been able to find the darn thing for a few days. I tried to forget about it and turned my attention to the agent I was going to see. He could keep my quitting a secret, right?

And who was the most quiet in all of our underground society? Phipps. No last name that I know of. They said he was a seer. They said that his superpower was to see issues a head of time and to bring the news to the chosen. I always hated being called that, almost as if we are permanently marked away from society. Good bye normal life. I flicked my cigarette as if to spite that cosmos that cursed me with this bloodied affliction.

“Curses… why do you always refer to everything as curses?” Phipps appeared behind me and startled my calm and cool façade. He crossed his long tan arms theatrically as the wind bustled through his silver hair. “It must be the Hungarian blood in you.” I glanced back at him gathering the last reminisces of my calm and cool and gazed into the clear blue of his eyes.

“Of course a German would say that,” I scoffed while I turned fully to face him. “And for God sakes.” I shouted. “Would you make some noise? Or at the very least put a fucking bell around your neck.” He sported a smirk that proved to him that yes- he had indeed gotten under my skin. A thing I knew he had to relish. “So, what’s the story, morning glory?”

“His name is Frank Tennorman. He is 41 years old and he is a sucker.” Phipps started to pace around me; another theatrical trait he indulged himself in. “He moves in younger circles, and singles out the most impressionable. Then he enchants them into believing in him and his “healing” ability. After which he starts to feed off of their energy until they are of no more use to him. Then he discards them when there is nothing left to take. He prefers to feed on the addicted, the mentally unstable and children. Think of it, as his own personal all you can eat buffet.”

“Is he aware that he is doing it?”

“That is questionable, but given his age and the number of offenses it is highly likely.”

“Number of offenses? So, this is defiantly not his first time.”

“Yes,” he said with a thoughtful pause. “He has… a history.”

“So, why didn’t you send one of us before?” His smirk dropped and the icy seriousness of the situation draped his eyes making his face look like the mask of death. Something told me that here was something different about this assignment. Something dangerous- why else send the one with the savior complex?

“We did, and they couldn’t handle it.” I looked up into his face with questioning gaze.

“If they couldn’t handle it why not sic a Reaper on him and end the problem altogether?”

I saw him shift uncomfortably.

“It’s not that simple,” his eyebrows gathered together. “We can’t just sic a Reaper on him. If we do that the Reaper turns into a Sucker and then we have a Reaper-Sucker on our hands.” I hated it when he made sense. He sensed my caving, “And would you want an assassin who can suck life out of people on the loose?”

“No, I guess not.” I chewed on the thoughts that were spinning through my head.Why would you not dispose of someone so dangerous? Why not find some ‘natural’ accident for them to get into? Reapers are the psychic assassins of H.A.L.O. I have only seen them have to kill 7 times and in their rose-scented attack, they were their scariest. I could never figure out why the smell of roses accompanied a Reaper’s attack but it did. Lord knows Reapers aren’t very dependable but the Impressers are. They could make him get into a habit that could kill him. “Okay, why couldn’t you get an Impresser to take care of him?”

“Your assignment isn’t changing.” He said with a forceful glare. “Your assignment
remains the same: infiltrate, watch and end the Sucker’s damage.” He said with a gilded eye roll.

“End it? End it so he can try to torture people in a physical sense? C’mon Phipps.” He shook his head and I could tell he didn’t feel like talking about this anymore.

“Do you still take pictures and write?” He said attempting not to answer.

“Okay, now I’m scared… what are you intending on doing with me?” His eyes sparkled
with a good humored delight.

About the Author:

E.C Hinrichs born in Canada and moved to the United States. She spent most of her college career writing and studying literature. After her college, she spent her time working in different careers before settling into human services. She has spent the last seven years working with children, the elderly, and persons with disabilities.

E.C Hinrichs spends her free time reading Tudor history, paranormal nonfiction and fiction.
 
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