UPDATE: The winners are…ALL 13 commenters!
*~*~*

Gingerbear Christmas

Contest

Halloween is almost here!

This year the holiday will be celebrated slightly different, given the state of the world, but there is still lots to enjoy about this holiday.

My Top 5 Things I love about Halloween!

1. Pumpkins! I love carving Halloween pumpkins. The designs are limitless and there are plenty you can find online. I don’t even mind having to clean out the guts first. And it’s something the entire family can enjoy.

2. Movies. I’m not a fan of slasher/horror films, but I love films like The Crow, Underworld, Dracula Untold, Sleepy Hollow, and Lost Boys. Again, there is something for everyone, from fun kid’s movies all the way to the classic horror films.

3. Candy. They may be as sweet as sin, but I love candy corn. And mini bars. For some reason I don’t feel as bad if I eat mini bars. Everyone has their favorite.

4. Decorations. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to put up decorations for Halloween. They’ve come a long way since the cardboard cut-outs we’d tape to the living room window. Now there are lights and elaborate outdoor displays to enjoy. I keep it simple, as I live in an apartment, but I do have candles and lights and some pumpkins.

5. Trick or Treat. That’s going to be different this year with many families opting to keep it among close family and friends. The kids will still have fun dressing up and eating candy.

However you chose to celebrate, I hope you have a Spooktacular holiday! And if you’re looking for a sexy vampire book to read, you might want to check out Burning Ash, the latest release in my Forgotten Brotherhood series.

Happy Halloween!

Burning Ash
Forgotten Brotherhood, Book 3

No one is more surprised than Asher, one of the oldest vampires on Earth, that he’s attracted to vamp hunter Jo Radcliffe. She’s smart, a talented slayer, and she’s gorgeous. Something about her pulls at him, like no one ever has before. For a man, whose name strikes fear in everyone––this is something new and intriguing. And quite possibly deadly, if she discovers his secret.

Jo has two things in common with the handsome Asher––they are both slayers and someone is messing with them in a very-much-trying-to-kill-them way. She’s not so happy about joining forces with a dude she doesn’t know. But he’s sexy as hell and really good at his job as one of the Forgotten Brotherhood, whose business it is to execute misbehaving paranormals.

She knows she’s bait in a larger plot to harm Asher and the Brotherhood. And there is nothing he won’t do, no line he won’t cross, to keep her safe––which may be the weakness that destroys them both.

TEASER from Burning Ash

“Stop right there. That’s not happening. I work alone. I’ll take you as far as the nearest town and then we’re done.”

“Until the next email.”

“What are you saying? That the sender wants us together? That doesn’t make sense. We don’t even know each other.”

“We do now,” he reminded her. “If I leave, I’ll bet you everything in my bank account that we’ll both end up at the same place in the near future. For whatever reason, someone is manipulating us. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t. I’m no one’s puppet.”

“Yet, we were both there.”

Shit, he was right. “What are you suggesting?” She wasn’t sure she could handle Asher for an extended period of time. She’d either jump his bones or kill him.

It could go either way.

Buy Burning Ash:

Entangled Publishing: https://entangledpublishing.com/burning-ash.html
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FGV7C9Q/
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/burning-ash-n-j-walters/1137455950
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/burning-ash
iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/burning-ash/id1527096039

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: http://www.njwalters.com
Blog: http://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

Happy Fall, Y’all!

I love the autumn season. The colors are brilliant. The harvest is coming in full of bounty and goodness, and hallelujah, pumpkin spice is everywhere you turn! I love pulling out my warm sweaters only to change them out by noon for a tank top (I live in the South!). I love picking apples and making apple butter, apple cake, apple bread, apple pie, apple crisp… you get the idea. I love fall festivals and the restfulness that settles over the land. It’s the absolute perfect season, in my opinion!

As a kid, fall only registered on my radar because it heralded the coming of one of the best days of the year—Halloween. I loved dressing up and trick or treating. I loved the parties and silly haunted houses. And like all kids, I especially loved the candy! My rural midwestern town always gave generously to all the little ghosts, witches, princesses, cowboys, and other creatures that knocked on their doors on Halloween. The only thing I didn’t like about Halloween was the ghost stories.

Thanks to my overactive imagination—which serves me well as an author, but not so much as a kid who struggled with remembering the difference between fiction and reality—I always shied away from scary stories. However, it was hard to avoid them altogether. Every year in school, we would listen to a record (yes… a record—I’m that old!) of Edgar Allen Poe’s poems and stories. The Raven and the Tell-Tale Heart particularly stuck with me. They would lodge in my brain for weeks after listening to them. I would think about them over and over, hearing the thump of a heart beneath the floor or tapping at the window. I saw the Raven and the sad man sitting in his dreary home pining for his lost love. I felt the terror of the old man waking with his killer in his room and, at the same time, felt the tinge of insanity of the killer. Did I mention my overactive imagination?

I was probably around ten when it really got the best of me. After being primed by scary stories, I was ready to see ghosts and goblins around every corner. It turned out I didn’t have to look further than my bedroom in our old farmhouse. I shared it with my younger sister, and there was a large closet in the room with an old wooden door. The closet door had a several-inch gap at the bottom that let light spill into the room when the door was shut, a feature which my parents used as a nightlight for my little sister. The bed was tucked into a corner, facing the closet, and I shared it with my sister. After we got tucked in for the night, my mom closed the door, and my imagination started to churn.

I heard every sigh and moan of the old farmhouse. Every creak was a footfall of a monster coming to get us. I told myself over and over that there was nothing to be afraid of. Mom was downstairs, and certainly, no monster could get past her. I had almost gotten my fears under control when I saw them—a pair of witch’s shoes clearly outlined in the gap of light at the base of the closet door. They had heels and my imagination quickly filled in pointed toes and a pair of legs with striped stockings. The green face of the Wicked Witch of the East came to mind, and I knew it had to be the worst sort of witch behind that door. I swallowed hard and struggled to stay in bed. It was a rule in my house that once you got put to bed, you didn’t get up unless you had to use the bathroom or the house was on fire. My sister had slipped blissfully into dreamland, completely unaware of the terror on the other side of the closet door.

Then, the tapping began. From the window on the far side of the room came a scratch-tap, scratch-tap. Well, this could be nothing other than more witches trying to join their sister in my closet. I looked back at the shoes in the closet. They had disappeared. The witch had gone to let in more witches. I pulled the covers over my head and told myself that I was imagining things. There were no such things as witches, but when I poked my head out, the shoes had reappeared. I imagined the closet was stuffed with witches, all ready to do who-knew-what to me. My heart hammered, and I listened to the noises of the house and the continued scratch-tap at the window. What other creatures had come to torment us?

I sat up, resolved that I would stay awake all night. Somewhere in my sleepy, terrified mind, I convinced myself that if I just stayed awake, the witches wouldn’t be able to come out of the closet. Of course, I couldn’t stay awake all night and finally fell asleep. When my mom woke us the next morning, I catapulted out of bed. Startled, Mom asked why I had slept sitting up, and if the storm had woken me. She gave me a very strange look when I flung open the closet door. No witches or shoes or broomsticks greeted me—just my sister’s stuffed animal that had fallen on the floor. I looked at the leafless tree outside the window, its twiggy fingers almost touching the glass. In the light of day, it all made perfect sense, but that didn’t stop me from insisting that the closet door stay open at night from then on.

I can vividly still recall that night and the feeling of unease that hung over me for days. I started writing about that time, trying to let the things my imagination conjured play out on the page. Here I am, decades later, with a slightly better hold on reality, still putting words on the page and hoping that they inspire and entertain. It’s funny now that I look back on it. I would still say that I hate scary stories, but the experience they gave me taught me a lot about the power of a story.

What do you think of scary stories? Have you ever encountered a story—scary or otherwise—that lingered in your mind?

As always, thank you, Delilah, for letting me share my thoughts! It’s always an honor and pleasure to drop in here 😊

Set to be released on Halloween from Carpathia Publishing, check out a fabulous collection of Samhain inspired tales. Beware—they cover the spectrum of spookiness! Samhain Secrets 2 is due out on Amazon this weekend, including my story—“The Knife’s Edge”!

Samhain Secrets 2, including “The Knife’s Edge”

It’s been a century since the Queen of the Damned has walked the earth. As she rises on All Hallow’s Eve, Jason, the ancient Vampire King, is ready to meet her and send her back to Hell where she belongs. He only needs to know one thing—where is she rising?

Adelaide Buckley is supposed to have the answer. The black sheep of the family, she comes from a long line of witches and seers, but her third eye has always remained resolutely closed. With the future balancing on a knife’s edge, can she overcome her magical blindness and see beyond the veil to reveal the location of the bloodthirsty queen before she unleashes Hell on Earth?

The link is coming!

About the Author

A.C. Dawn is an active and enthusiastic author and reader of short stories, novellas, and novels. She enjoys bringing her characters to life and strives to stir the imagination of her readers. She believes the best writing touches the reader in ways they hadn’t expected and will never forget!

So, that’s the official bio…

Really, I’m a lover of chocolate, a strong jawline with a 5 o’clock shadow, and romances that make your heart pound and your middle get all squishy. I love quiet country living on my north Georgia farm with my family and fur babies of all shapes and sizes. I think the scariest thing in life is how fast my daughter is growing and an empty coffee pot. I can’t stand slow drivers in the fast lane and wimpy handshakes.

I have endless stories rumbling around among the rocks in my head. I can’t wait to share them with you!

https://www.facebook.com/A-C-Dawn-2317750851796803
amazon.com/author/acdawn 

I’ve noticed something. Something freakish. Everywhere I go I see dragonflies. Not just cute pictures or shirts, but actual flying bugs.

Multiple symbolisms and legends surround the history of the dragonfly. The dragonfly is seen as a symbol of change since it transforms, much like a butterfly. 2020 has been a year of change.

My prince suggested I notice the insects because I’d been working on my newly released novella Dragonfly Wishes. Since it was in the forefront of my mind, I saw dragonflies everywhere, like when you get a new car, and suddenly, there seem to be a million on the road like yours.

One large dragonfly flew up to me in the parking lot at a home improvement store. I was out of town in the mountains, nowhere near water or warmer temperatures. However, I learned one nickname for the dragonfly was the “Globe-skimmer.” It can fly long distances and each of its four wings can move independently. The dragonfly is a beautiful creature with a colorful body and iridescent wings.

Fall 2019, I was asked to join a fairytale anthology. “I can do this,” I told myself and accepted the offer. As time wore on, my confidence eroded. Writing Dragonfly Wishes was a big change from my romcom comfort zone. “I don’t write fantasy” and “how can I be funny?” were my two biggest arguments. Was it too much change? But in the spring Kyan began talking to me. Yes, my characters do speak to me. Ideas started scrolling through my head, and I fell in love with the story concept.

In my Grimm fairy tale retelling, Kyan is a dragon shifter who enters our world through a magic portal. When he visits he transforms into a dragonfly. Talk about change: from the largest beast to an itty bitty bug. He has to learn to cope with his other-worldly, gargantuan surroundings. Kyan also wants to help Arianna resist her overlording uncle, but he finds it hard to do as a small insect.

Change can be a good thing, sometimes scary, too. Like Kyan, I had to overcome my self-restricting ideas and strive to rise above them.

Be on the lookout for dragonflies on the winds of change. I’m watching for them and more good things on the horizon.

Dragonfly Wishes (and 8 other fairy tale retellings) in Who’s the Fairest? A Sisters Grimm Anthology: https://books2read.com/whostheFairest/

Dragonfly Wishes paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1947561111

Once upon a time, there was a fisherman and his wife… scratch that…

Once upon a time, there was a fashion designer and a dragon shifter from another world…

Arianna Travers creates clothing that brings joy to others. Haunted by her mother’s disappearance and tormented by her overlording step-uncle, Arianna desires to escape reality even if it’s only through the tip of her charcoal pencil.

A royal of Ellehcor, Kyan the dragon shifter spies the forlorn beauty through a magical window to another world. To meet her face to face, he leaves the sanctuary of his home realm and enters the portal, transforming into a dragonfly.

Things don’t go as planned when Kyan becomes entangled in spider silk. Arianna discovers the little blue dragonfly and rescues him. As a reward, Kyan offers to grant her wishes, but before Arianna can make a wish, the Overlord steals it from her.

As Kyan and Arianna’s relationship blossoms, so does the breadth of the Overlord’s wishes. Kyan strives to save Arianna from her uncle and his devious plans, but what can a dragonfly do?

About the Author

I’m from Cincinnati, Ohio but now live in Dayton. I live with a big black kitty and an orange tiger kitty, a plated lizard, my daughter, son and my prince.

I write fairytale retellings and romantic comedies because the world needs more laughter and love.

Make sure to check me out!

website: https://rochellebradley.com
Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/32CmDlX
Facebook: https://bit.ly/3eJy5yQ
Facebook Fan Page: https://bit.ly/2ONqzYV
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Bookbub: https://bit.ly/3jnMCnj

Halloween is almost here, so this time, dear Delilah fans, I’m going to share a personal story before I tell you about my featured short story. Snuggle in with a cup of hot tea and tuck that blanket around your legs. And enjoy the hair standing up on your neck.

A friend had come to stay with me while she searched for a place to live. She had lived in Europe for several years, and on her journey back to the States had stayed for a time in London with an old friend. He was ailing and subsequently died. She told me about her mysterious experience with his ghost visiting her after his death.

After returning to the States, she lived at my house maybe two or three months before finding a rental she liked. After she moved out, a month or so later, I was sitting in the living room watching television like I did every night when I suddenly became aware of another presence in the house. The hair went up on my neck.

At first, I tried to convince myself it was my imagination, because that’s what we all do at moments like that, right? Then I reasoned that if someone had come in at the back end of the house through that seldom-used door, I would have heard it. It didn’t open without a creak. I heard no creak.

But after several minutes of very eerie energy wafting through the house, I forced myself to get up from the couch and go back there. I slowly crept the thirty feet down the hallway to that back door, gooseflesh on my arms. I even stopped to pick up a large bamboo rod to use on an intruder. I flipped on the hall lights, calling out ‘Who’s there?’

When I got to the room with the door, it was empty. So was the rest of that part of the house, including closets and under the beds. Yes, I checked. And the door was locked. But Something was there, an energy that was so strong and so haunting that I could feel it all around me.

Almost immediately, I realized it was the ghost of my friend’s friend. It must have followed her since she was the person who had seen him through his last days and communed with the ghost after her friend’s death. I remembered her remarks that she had visited with the ghost more than once.

Well, thanks a lot! I didn’t need that ghost, and I didn’t appreciate her leaving it here with me.

It was hostile, maybe because she had left it behind. I didn’t trust it. Didn’t want it. I tried to reason with myself. Maybe it was likely just lost.

So I addressed it. I stood there in the rooms she had stayed in and told it this wasn’t where it needed to be. I tried to change my energy from fear and resistance to a more loving and sympathetic frame of mind. It wasn’t easy because I was spooked, but I said it would rest better if it joined the other spirits in the places they lived. I told it to go to the light.

I thought it had listened because the presence seemed to leave. Later, though, when I went back to that part of the house after a few days, my eye caught on a work of art one of my kids had done in grade school. Taking pride of place near the end of the hallway, it was well-done rendering of a clown with a teardrop on its cheek that had always made it a sad image.

Well, now the image was not sad. It was demonic.

The ghost had taken up residence.

I admit I’m not a big fan of clowns in general, so there might have been some prejudice in my observation. But a couple of visiting neighbors got the same chill from looking at the painting. Disturbed by what was either a supernatural presence existing within my house or, alternatively, the fact that I was losing my mind, I ended up asking my daughter to take the art to her dad. Where it remains. I have not been bothered by that ghost again.

The ghost had no direct influence on the story of Emily’s Halloween. But living in the deep woods offers plenty of opportunities to let the spirit world walk tall in the imagination. The Halloween magic that created “Emily’s Very Special Halloween” started one afternoon with a sketchy idea for a writing project. It was an early fall day with the woods taking on their colors of orange, gold, and scarlet. A wind blew that morning, sending a kaleidoscope of color whirling through the air. I thought, okay, something with dark mystery would be nice. I’d figure it out the next morning.

During the night, this idea came to me about an ancient book and masculine magic. The next morning, I could think of nothing else. I sat down at my desk and, by noon, the story was finished.

I’ve never had that happen before. In the story, a book falls, quite literally, into Emily’s hands while she’s dusting shelves in the bookshop where she works. Bound in blackened ancient leather, the slim volume includes a title visible more from the indentation on the leather than by surviving lettering. Spells and Incantations, it says. She leafs through the brittle pages, muttering some of the strange words written there. From there, a story unfolds of sex magic and a mysterious dark stranger.

Excerpt from Emily’s Very Special Halloween

He wore a long black cape which only emphasized his masculine stature. His other garments also were black except for an elaborate vest with bizarre geometric markings that seemed to glow in the dark and move of their own accord in the reflected light of the bonfire. Faintly, she wondered if he found the vest in the same vintage shop.

His mouth reminded her of the man today in the bookstore. Her startled gaze returned to his face where a teasing smile lingered along his sensual lips. If the black mask covering his upper face were gone, would he…

She gasped. “Were you…”

“At the bookstore today?” He bowed slightly. “I’m flattered you remember. Yes, I like old books. I look around in every town I visit.”

“You’re visiting?” she stammered. God, she was horrible at this. Her face heated. “Well, I mean…”

One of his eyebrows lifted and his mouth pursed as if he choked back a laugh. “I’m teaching a short philosophy course on campus,” he said. “You would be welcome to sit in, if you like.”

“Oh, I’m taking seventeen hours plus I work, so… But thank you for inviting me.”

“Yes, of course,” he said smoothly. “So if this is the only time we might have to get acquainted, may I escort you around the grounds?”

Emily felt her jaw sag. Her glance at Sarah discovered an equally stunned expression. This man was older than her twenty-two years, certainly leagues beyond any of her classmates in terms of worldly wisdom. A visiting professor, no less. What was he doing at this party? Why her?

“Uh, sure,” she said, unable to think of any other response.

“I saw Harris over there,” Sarah said smoothly, pointing to a group of people several yards away. “I need to talk to him.”

Well, at least one of them had a clue about what to do next, Emily thought frantically. What now? There weren’t any ‘grounds’ here. He talked as if they were at some palatial estate with sculptured gardens and paved walkways. The ground here was rough with clumps of recently-mowed pasture grass and unexpected dips, most of it in shadow with only the bonfire to cast uneven light.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. How had she found herself so far beyond her comfort zone—the dress, the party, and now this man? Too late. She almost regretted not staying at home. This whole idea from dressing up to attending the party was Sarah’s thing, not hers. Sarah loved going out. Emily, not so much. Actually not at all. She had the Friday evening schedule of television programs memorized, her go-to method of chilling out after a hard week of class and work.

A more reasonable concession to Halloween might have been a couple bags of candy for the neighborhood kids, assuming any of them ventured up the rickety outside staircase to her apartment door. Instead, here she was at somebody’s farm with a man touching her elbow sending shockwaves through her body. She glanced up.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Emily,” he said. “I think we should be formally introduced. I’m Ned Lucian, but everyone calls me Jack. Among other things,” he added with a grin.

“I’m, well, how did you know my name?” she said.

“Your name tag at work.”

“Oh, yeah, gee whiz.” She grinned sheepishly. “Emily Sanders. Nice to meet you, Jack.” She stuck out her hand.

The firm clasp of his hand seemed to burn her entire arm. She couldn’t seem to let go or even think of backing away. His presence surrounded her as if she had slipped inside his cloak. That incense scent she’d noticed in the changing room filled the still air, probably because her body had become hot and pulled the scent from the dress. Her breath came in short gasps. She felt dizzy.

Buy Links:
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/750440
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075ZC1CP6

UPDATE: The winner is…flchen1!
*~*~*

Discipline? Uh oh. Where is this erotic romance writer taking us now? As usual to a place you never expected to go.

When I was an associate pastor at the First Presbyterian Church in Jamaica NY I became friends and colleagues with Reverend Nancy Schaffer. Rev. Nancy was FPCJ’s pastoral care associate. She headed the pastoral care ministries of visitation and social service outreach. To keep these activities from being something on a to-do-list, she guided the congregation and us on staff in the care of self and one another through spiritual awareness and practice. She taught this A-personality, right-brain clergyperson to appreciate the mystical side of Christianity in ways I never had before. She slowed my rapid NYC pace via the stillness of labyrinth walks accompanied by the music of mystics like Julian of Norwich. From her, I experienced the power of Lectio Divina prayer and guided meditation.

One year, she used Richard Foster’s book Celebration of Discipline as our Lenten study. In it, Foster describes twelve disciplines, i.e. spiritual practices, that help us experience transformation in our encounters with God. Foster outlines twelve disciplines in three categories: Inward (meditation, prayer, fasting, study), Outward (simplicity, solitude, submission, service) and Corporate (confession, worship, guidance, celebration). We also had a workbook that helped us individually and in small groups go deeper into the book as well as share what we were learning.

Searching for something else, I recently came across the book in my garage. Intrigued by the table of contents I’ve dedicated a week to each of the disciplines. I’m relearning how powerfully each discipline can anchor me in the reality of the spiritual, a reality Mitchell Emerson, the hero in A Little In Love With Death, finds he knows very little.

The week I focused on meditation I experienced once again the slowing down of Rev. Nancy’s labyrinth walks. By meditating on nature, I appreciated anew colors in flowers that had always been around me. I hadn’t realized how many blues the sky contained. I heard music in the different bird calls and trills that I’d never really listened to before. Through a technique called “palms up, palms down”, I experienced relief as I verbally released negative things weighing on me with my palms down and received positive things freeing me to relax and enjoy life with my palms up. Another technique had me sit quietly with a word or a phrase for a set period of time and just be. If something came to me during the time, fine. If nothing came to me, that was fine too.

This week I’ve delved into study and already had my preconceived notions of what study is blown to smithereens. I look forward to what the next few weeks have in store.

I’d love to hear what is helping you connect with something deeper or stay grounded during this anxiety-ridden time. Please share in the comments what’s helping you for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card.

A Little In Love With Death by Anna M. Taylor

Ten years ago no one — not even the man who said he loved her — believed Sankofa Lawford’s claim she had been brutally attacked by a ghost. Ten years later, an assault on a new victim brings her back to Harlem to a mother going mad, a brother at his wits’ end and a former love who wants a second chance. Sankofa longs for her family to be whole again, for love to be hers again, but not if she must relive the emotional pain created by memories of that night.

Mitchell Emerson is convinced science and reason can account for the ghostly happenings at Umoja House. He resolves to find an explanation that will not only satisfy him but earn back Sankofa’s trust and love. Instead, his own beliefs are shaken when he sees the ghost for himself.

Now reluctant allies, Mitchell and Sankofa learn her family was more than a little in love with death. Their search for the ghost draws them together but discovering sixty years of lies and secrets pulls them apart. As their hopes for happily ever after and dispersing the evil stalking Umoja House slip beyond their grasp, Mitchell and Sankofa find an unexpected source of help: the ghost itself.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from A Little in Love with Death…

“‘Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against powers and principalities, against spiritual wickedness in high places.'”

            Mitchell leaned forward in the chair across from Professor John Mortimer. The neat and tidy mid-Century chrome, light wood and primary color surfaces defied the stereotyped clutter attributed to eccentric college professors.

            “That’s your realm more than mine, John. You’re the philosophy and religion professor.”

            Mortimer leaned back, his fingertips steepled. “But it’s why you sought me out, why you’re talking to me about this.”

            “Granted, but as I’m not in the camp of Biblical literalists, I don’t know how to interpret that verse.”

            Mortimer smiled. “Perhaps you’re more comfortable with Shakespeare? ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies, Horatio.'”

            Mitchell shook his head. “Nope. That’s equally unhelpful.”

            Professor Mortimer laughed. “Too metaphysical for your scientific tastes, Mr. Soon-to-be Commissioned Lay Pastor?”

            Mitchell shrugged. “Too metaphysical for someone who recently just put religion back in their portfolio.”

            Mortimer leaned a forearm across his desk’s glass surface. “So why don’t we start with the answer you want and work our way back to the truth?”

Mitchell dry scrubbed his face. Could he accept his answer wasn’t the truth? He studied his friend. A scientist and an evangelical believer, John Mortimer was Mitch’s bumblebee: the thing defied all the reasons for why it shouldn’t exist by its very existence.

Buy links: Amazon – Get your copy here!

*~*~*

Website: https://annamtaylor.webs.com
FB Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/annamtaylorAuthor
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Anna-M.-Taylor/e/B0894LFCTV?author-follow=B0894LFCTV&
Newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/7d60e5679ab4/anna-m-taylor-writes

The Forgotten Brotherhood is my latest series. This is a truly diverse group of characters. It’s been challenging, maddening, and downright fun at times to watch their stories unfold. Now BURNING ASH, book three of the series, is finally here!

Who are the Forgotten Brotherhood? They’re a group of paranormal assassins, the misfits that other paranormal creatures fear. They aren’t the monsters lurking under the bed. They’re the ones that kill them. They live by a strict code: Kill only those that truly deserve it and let their gods sort them out. Kill them before they kill you. Never, ever betray a fellow assassin.

Burning Ash
Forgotten Brotherhood, Book 3

No one is more surprised than Asher, one of the oldest vampires on Earth, that he’s attracted to vamp hunter Jo Radcliffe. She’s smart, a talented slayer, and she’s gorgeous. Something about her pulls at him, like no one ever has before. For a man, whose name strikes fear in everyone––this is something new and intriguing. And quite possibly deadly, if she discovers his secret.

Jo has two things in common with the handsome Asher––they are both slayers and someone is messing with them in a very-much-trying-to-kill-them way. She’s not so happy about joining forces with a dude she doesn’t know. But he’s sexy as hell and really good at his job as one of the Forgotten Brotherhood, whose business it is to execute misbehaving paranormals.

She knows she’s bait in a larger plot to harm Asher and the Brotherhood. And there is nothing he won’t do, no line he won’t cross, to keep her safe––which may be the weakness that destroys them both.

Excerpt from Burning Ash…

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded of the tall, lean man who was still mostly in the shadows. Whoever he was, he was dangerous, maybe even more so than the creature she’d just beheaded. He’d come out of nowhere and snatched the crossbow bolt out of the air like it hadn’t even been moving.

A shiver raced down her spine.

Dressed all in black, he blended with the dark. She hadn’t known he was there until he’d deliberately come forward. And she always had total situational awareness. It was a matter of survival.

Her profession had a very high mortality rate.

A nudge of his foot sent the vampire’s head rolling back toward the body. The undead would need to be burned if he didn’t start disintegrating soon, but she was keeping her distance from the man in black.

“Asher.” He gave her a half bow. “And you are?”

A quick shake of her head. “You don’t need to know.”

“That hardly seems fair considering I saved your life.”

“It didn’t need saving,” she asserted. “I’d already moved.”

“True,” Asher conceded. “You’re fast, but I didn’t know that. I should get points for the attempt.” He sauntered out of the dark and fully into the candlelight. The flames flickered over his face, exposing a strong jaw, straight nose, and high forehead. His blond hair was pulled back in a short tail at his nape. His skin was olive-toned or tanned, hard to say. Piercing brown eyes stared at her.

Good looking was much to tame. Handsome didn’t fit either. There was something dangerous and predatory lurking beneath the surface. Primal. Compelling. Yeah, that was it.

It was time for her to leave.

“While I appreciate the assist, I’ve got this.” She jerked her head toward the door, hoping he’d take the hint.

A ghost of a smile flickered on his full lips before it disappeared. “I’ve got nowhere I need to be.”

“Great,” she muttered.

His laugh slid down her spine, a whisper of heat. Her nipples puckered and rubbed against her bra. Uh. No. The last thing she needed was some kind of fatal attraction. Because he was one of two things—a fellow hunter or another vampire. Neither of which were good for her.

“Come now, I’ll help you clean up this mess. Then we can get a cup of coffee somewhere, maybe talk.”

“It’s almost one in the morning. Nothing around here is open.” God, she was tired. She just wanted to fry this vampire and leave. Usually they disintegrated fairly quickly. This one was taking his sweet time. He either wasn’t truly dead yet or he was very young. The older they were, the quicker they turned to ash.

Ash.

“Your name is Asher?”

He inclined his head. “At your service.”

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About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

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