Disclaimer: There are some great guides out there as to how to write paranormal romances. This is by no means meant to replace the advice or experience of authors in the genre. This is just how I write a paranormal romance.

*coughs*

1: First, decide on your shifters. Honestly, that’s the best part of the process as far as I’m concerned. I’m a biologist, so I love putting my knowledge of different animals to use when selecting shifters for my characters. To a certain extent, the choice I make becomes incorporated into the character’s personality and physique as well. A bear shifter might be a big burly guy, or a cheetah shifter may also be a runner in human form.

Because opposites attract is so much fun, I enjoy making my pairings different shifter species as well. A panther and a dragon, or a hawk and a raccoon. The dichotomy between the animal shifters and the human personalities is meat and drink to me.

2: Decide if your shifters are comfortable with their inner beast. There’s SO much scope for storytelling if one of your characters is on the outs with his or her shifter. I love stories about self-acceptance and empowerment, so this is a big one for me.

3: Pick your setting. Location can be almost as much as a character as anyone else, particularly when it comes to shifters. Are your characters able to shift whenever they want or are they constrained by society to stay in hiding and only shift when they are alone in the woods? In the Redclaw Universe, shifters keep their identities secret because of public hostility and fear toward shifters, which means many long for a private, safe place they can truly be themselves. There’s a lot of built-in tension and potential plot material right there!

4: Figure out what the heck you’re going to do about clothing. Because while having to strip down before shifting can lead to some fun, sexy times, it can also be a big pain in the storytelling patootie. Where did they leave their clothes? Can they get back to them? Are they just going to walk around naked now? *sigh* That’s why I invented the very rare, much-prized shifter clothing—made by special tailors out of cloth only dragons can produce, it has the ability to shift with the shifter. Ergo, no more inconveniently naked people when you’ve had your Redclaw agent shift into a tiger to chase down a bad guy. *buffs nails against shirt in fake humility*

5: Liberally add tropes to the mix. Fated mates? That’s always a good one. Snowed-in at a remote location? Love it! Duking it out for a joint inheritance? Sign me up! Pretend relationship while undercover? Yes, please! You don’t have to stick with just one, either. Mix and match!

6: Turn those tropes on their heads. Say what? You heard me. Have one character scoff at the idea of fated mates. Make the heroine the more powerful shifter. Have a real boyfriend/husband waiting in the background. Make one of your characters ignorant of their shifter background. Offer the formula but change it up just enough that your reader is breathless trying to race to the end to find out what happens.

7: Give them a common/enemy to face together. Someone trying to kill them is always good. Someone trying to stop a witness from testifying, or an heiress from coming forward. Create a dangerous situation and throw them in the middle of it. I like putting my characters in hot water to see how strong they are. Like tea bags, only sexier.

8: Speaking of which—sexy times! That fated mate thing can come in handy here. So can surviving something terrible together. MAKE THEM KISS. And whatever else they feel like doing.

9: Make them fall in love. Passionately, fiercely. Willing-to-die-for-each-other love. This is above and beyond the sexy times. This is TRUE LOVE. It can come before the sexy times, during the sexy times, or after—it can come after much trials, tribulations, and misunderstandings but it must come!

10: Figure out how you can turn the whole thing into a series and start all over again with the next installment. Because by this point, you’re invested in this universe, and you want to see more of it yourself.

Bishop Takes Knight

Destitute after her father gambles away the family fortune and commits suicide, former socialite Henrietta (“Rhett”) Bishop takes a job at Redclaw Security in NYC in the spring of 1955. It’s not long before she realizes there is something very odd about the place: Redclaw is an agency that investigates matters concerning an emerging world of shifters and some strange alien artifacts that have appeared since the advent of global nuclear technology.

Peter Knight is a nuclear scientist shattered by the murder of his wife. Blacklisted by the government and scientific organizations, he drowns his sorrows while searching for the people behind his wife’s death.

When Rhett is assigned to recruit Knight to work for Redclaw, their meeting is more than they bargained for. Someone out there doesn’t want Knight to work for anyone—and a missing cache of alien technology has all parties scrambling to be the first to secure it. Investigating a hunch throws Rhett back into her former life, with Knight as a pretend boyfriend. But when someone from the past turns up to start a bidding war on the artifacts, Bishop and Knight wind up in a fight for their lives.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

I couldn’t decide if he’d insulted or flattered me, so I said nothing, but took two bowls down from the cabinet. Regardless of my earlier snack, the soup smelled good as he ladled it into the bowls.

He just shook his head when I added crumbled saltine crackers to my portion as we sat at the table. “Why don’t you just open the shaker and pour salt directly into your mouth?”

“I like crackers with my soup.”

He stabbed at my bowl with his spoon. “That’s more like you enjoy a little soup with your crackers. It looks revolting. Like chicken-flavored porridge.”

Put that way, it did sound disgusting. As I eyed the sodden mess, I changed the subject. “You never said how it is you’re able to leave Redclaw with no one being the wiser.”

Especially in view of the added security.

He must not have been all that hungry, for he pushed the bowl of soup aside and fished something out of one of his pockets. After placing it on the table in front of him, he gave it a gentle push in my direction.

I didn’t reach for it. Much like the previous devices I’d seen, this one had that same dull metallic casing, with odd markings carved on the sides. Unlike anything else I’d seen before, however, it had a raised ring in the center that cast a warm yellow glow. “What’s that?”

An infectious grin lit up his face. “I call it an image-projector. I think about what I want to look like in great detail, and it projects that image over me. I’m still wearing the same clothes and everything, but if I can imagine it, I can look like it.” He swept the device back toward him when I would have picked it up. “Few people question the boss when he’s leaving the building.”

“What if you run into the boss? That could be awkward.”

He didn’t seem concerned. “The odds are low. Besides, I can just as easily be an anonymous lab tech. Have you been downstairs? There’s a lot going on, and as I said the other day, they’re more worried about unauthorized people getting in than paying attention to who’s getting out.”

“But to what purpose?” His attitude made little sense. “You’re safer inside Redclaw. Why leave?”

“Boredom.” He shrugged when I raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Okay, then. The desire for decent food.”

My eyebrow went even higher as I stared pointedly at the cooling soup in front of him.

“Fine. I don’t like being caged. Is that answer enough for you?”

I could see his point. And since I had him here, I asked about something that had been on my mind since the day of the mechanical spider. “What do you think is the purpose behind these artifacts?”

He leaned back in his chair to the point he risked toppling it over backward. The front legs lifted until he settled the chair back in place with a thump. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” His raised eyebrow implied both curiosity and concern. The combination was frankly compelling. “Where do they come from? Who or what is behind the technology? It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve worked on some top-secret projects. My guess? It’s not from this planet.”

My mouth dropped open. “You mean… alien?” I sputtered.

He nodded in all seriousness.

“You seriously believe Martians or Moon Men or something like that is seeding our plant with their gizmos?” The shock of his statement having worn off, scorn now laced my voice.

His shrug was eloquent. “Maybe. I think it more likely an advanced race implanted these devices millennia ago, knowing at some point we’d develop nuclear technology, hence the activation of said devices now.”

“But why?”

He shook his head. “A test? A trap? Who knows? Maybe the awakening tech triggered some kind of signal to the developers and even now, they’re on their way to greet us.”

I wondered if we would disappoint them. It was a distinctly disturbing thought. “Is this a working theory or are you just blowing smoke?”

His devilish smile made an appearance. The way it peeped out of hiding, combined with the fall of that rebellious lock of hair over his intense eyes when he leaned forward, would have charmed the pants off most women I know.

I don’t charm that easily.

“My dear, I just tinker with the gizmos.” He leaned back in his seat once more, his clever fingers toying with his spoon as he spoke. “I’ll leave winkling out the motives of the artifact-builders to the scary people, like you and Ryker.”

I straightened. “Me? Scary? What on earth have I done to give you that impression?” Ryker, I could understand. We knew so little about the shifters, how they lived, and what they could do. The way Ryker had tossed Billy around that day in the office was a fair indication he was stronger than most men, and of course, there was the rapid healing thing as well. More than that, I didn’t know.

“Scarily competent.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Am I supposed to thank you? That makes me sound like every other woman in the workplace. Standing behind the boss and making him look good.”

His laugh caught me off guard. “No, you have it all wrong. The smart man stands behind the girl with the ray gun.”

Okay. Perhaps I could be charmed a little.

About the Author

McKenna Dean has been an actress, a vet tech, a singer, a teacher, a biologist, and a dog trainer. She’s worked in a genetics lab, at the stockyard, behind the scenes as a props manager, and at a pizza parlor slinging dough. Finally she realized all these jobs were just a preparation for what she really wanted to be: a writer.

She lives on a small farm in North Carolina with her family, as well as the assorted dogs, cats, and various livestock.
She likes putting her characters in hot water to see how strong they are. Like tea bags, only sexier.

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Email: mckennadeanromance@gmail.com

Fall is here and with October close, that means Halloween will soon be here. And with Halloween, comes the thought of ghosts. Though with paranormal reality shows, phantoms are thought about the rest of the year, too. They haunt right alongside us, around us, and in places you never think would be haunted. They can be where the least you expect them. And spirits are not “trick ponies,” they will not perform on cue every night or day, so invisible, they might still be there, leaving you a feeling of being watched or even dread. Though the dread may be unintentional, as the phantom may not be evil (though there are times a bad one may be there), but your own psychic attention will hit you like that.

What are spirits? Where did the words come from?

In traditional belief, a ghost is the soul of a deceased person or animal that can appear, in visible form or other manifestations, to the living. Descriptions of the apparition of ghosts vary widely: The mode of manifestation in photos or seen by the living’s eyes can range from an invisible presence, shadow people, translucent or wispy shapes, and orbs, to realistic, life-like visions—solids. The deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of a deceased person is known as a séance. Paranormal investigators use equipment to find proof of paranormal activity and to contact phantoms. In other words, find proof of life after death.

The belief in manifestations of the spirits of the dead is widespread, dating back to animism or ancestor worship in pre-literate cultures. Certain religious practices—funeral rites, exorcisms, and some practices of spiritualism and ritual magic—are specifically designed to appease the spirits of the dead. Ghosts are generally described as solitary essences that haunt locations, objects, or people they were associated with in life, though stories of phantom armies, ghost trains, phantom ships, and even ghost animals have also been recounted.

The English word ghost continues Old English gást, from a hypothetical Common Germanic *gaistaz. It is common to West Germanic, but lacking in North and East Germanic.The pre-Germanic form was *ghoisdo-s, apparently from a root denoting “fury, anger” reflected in Old Norse geisa “to rage.” The Germanic word is recorded as masculine only, but likely continues a neuter s-stem. The original meaning of the Germanic word would have been an animating principle of the mind, capable of excitation and fury. In Germanic paganism, “Germanic Mercury,” and the later Odin, was at the same time the conductor of the dead and the “lord of fury” leading the Wild Hunt.

The synonym “spook” is a Dutch loanword, akin to Low German spôk. It entered the English language via the United States in the 19th century. Alternative modern words included “spectre” (from Latin spectrum), the Scottish “wraith” (of obscure origin), “phantom” (via French ultimately from Greek phantasma, compare fantasy) and “apparition”. The term “shade” in classical mythology translates Greek σκιά, or Latin umbra—in reference to the notion of spirits in the Greek underworld. And “haint” is a synonym for ghost used in regional English of the southern United States, and the “haint tale” is a common feature of southern oral and literary tradition. As for “poltergeist”, that is the term for a German word, literally a “noisy ghost,” for a spirit said to manifest itself by invisibly moving and influencing objects.

Another widespread belief concerning ghosts is that they are composed of a misty, airy, or subtle material. Early beliefs were that ghosts were the person within the person (the person’s spirit), most noticeable in ancient cultures as a person’s breath, which upon exhaling in colder climates appears visibly as a white mist. This belief may have also fostered the metaphorical meaning of “breath” in certain languages, such as the Latin spiritus and the Greek pneuma, which by analogy became extended to mean the soul. In the Bible, God is depicted as animating Adam with a breath.

In many tales, ghosts were often thought to be deceased people looking for vengeance or imprisoned on earth for bad things they did during life. The appearance of a ghost has often been regarded as an omen or portent of death. Seeing one’s own ghostly double or “fetch” is a related omen of death.

“White ladies” were reported to appear in many rural areas and supposed to have died tragically or suffered trauma in life. White Lady legends are found around the world. Common to many of them is the theme of losing or being betrayed by a husband or fiancé. They are often associated with an individual family line, as a harbinger of death. When one of these ghosts is seen it indicates that someone in the family is going to die, like a banshee.

The stories of ghost ships have existed since the 18th century. The most notable of these is the Flying Dutchman.

Ghosts can also be angels and demons. In some paranormal circles, it is believed that demons are non-human, while other spirits who did terrible things (like murder) but human and passed on without benefit of being forgiven, are not.

With a new ghost book released last month in August, Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle 2nd Edition: Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations, in which the first edition sold 5,000 books, enabling this to not only go into a second printing, but letting me add new stories and ten new photos of ghostly images to the original stories (plus a new cover), it is clear ghosts are a hot item nowadays. Plus, Williamsburg has become synonymous with not just history (particularly, Colonial, Revolutionary, and Civil War), but haunting. There is even a hashtag, #hauntedwilliamsburg on Instagram and Twitter for it, connecting to many, many posts and photos! If that isn’t enough, there are many ghost tours, from those by Colonial Williamsburg itself, t those by various companies. Two mentioned in my book, is the Colonial Williamsburg Shields ghost tour (I am not sure this one still exists) and one of my new stories has the oldest ghost tour in Williamsburg, The Original Ghost Tour of Williamsburg, which also now has a tour in Historic Yorktown, along with an extreme murder pubs tour and the Haunted River Cruise of Jamestown Island.

The most haunted house in Colonial Williamsburg is the Peyton Randolph House. This is one of the few original buildings still standing when Colonial Williamsburg took over the area.

Several accounts of phenomena at the Peyton Randolph House includes the shattering of a mirror and the sound of heavy footsteps. The first haunting is that of a young soldier who stayed in the structure when the Peachy family owned it. At the time of his stay, he attended college to advance in his studies.

Unfortunately, he fell ill. When this occurred, he was cared for the best that he could be, but he eventually died because of the devastating illness. Today, several accounts attest to the fact that the spirit of the young man still lingers in the structure. Many have stated that they have seen the apparition of a male, while others have said they have heard footsteps that seem to be quite heavy. Another ghost seen is an older woman who is dressed in a white, flowing gown. Then, there is a little girl who was thrown down the stairs and killed after her ghostly best friend, Elizabeth, grew angry with her. Doctors claimed that superhuman force would have been required to cause such a death. Another ghost supposedly hangs around in the upstairs bedroom.

Another story is told of a ghost of a woman who seemed very agitated and wanted to warn guests of impending danger. A woman named Helen Hall Mason stayed for a friend’s wedding at the house in 1962. She stayed as a guest of its owner at the time in the oak-paneled room, which was on the second floor toward the back of the house. Sometime during the night, Mrs. Mason woke up and saw a woman standing at the foot of the bed, appearing very nervous and wringing her hands. At first, Mrs. Mason thought that it was the hostess of the house . . . until she noticed that the woman’s dress wasn’t modern. A scarier thing—moonbeams went right through the woman. Mrs. Mason mentioned what happened the next morning. She didn’t feel threatened by this woman but felt that the woman was trying to give a message of warning to her. The hosts said that Mrs. Mason’s story matched that of other stories over the years. Not much is known about this ghost, except that she might have been a servant.

Other tales of hauntings permeate this place. One of them concerned a two-year-old girl who was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom. She woke up screaming for her mother. The child mumbled about a man in white standing in a corner, but the mother saw no one there. Some years later, a man sleeping in the same bedchamber saw a transparent male form standing in a corner.

Another story tells of Williamsburg employees who saw a man in blue Colonial attire. Thinking he was one of them, they went to talk to him. He vanished when they approached.

An interpreter was alone in the house when she felt something trying to push her down the stairs. It terrified her, as she felt it was evil. There was also the tale about what happened to security guard Pedro Jones. He was getting ready to leave when he heard groans emanating from the basement. He went down to investigate. The door slammed shut on him, locking him in. He couldn’t get out and suffered being down there until his boss knocked on the door. That’s when the door mysteriously unlocked and Jones was able to get out.

Have you a true ghost story to tell? What kinds of fictional or nonfiction ghost stories do you like to read this time of year?

Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle

In this 2nd edition, go deeper into ghostly history as you tour Williamsburg, Yorktown, and Jamestown in the Historic Triangle. Visit haunted Jamestown Island, where Captain John Smith and the first English colonists settled. Stroll around Williamsburg and follow the same footsteps of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington as they walked along Duke of Gloucester Street. Tour ghostly historic Yorktown from the colonial era through the Civil War. Take side trips to the towns and counties nearby that put the finishing touches to the history of the whole area. You’ll hear odd noises and see apparitions, but above all, be prepared to get to know the ghosts of the Historic Triangle and its surrounding areas. They’re dying for you to hear their stories.

Buy Links:
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books a Million, Schiffer Publishing, Indiebound , Target, WalMart.

An excerpt from the “National Ghost Hunting Day 2017” from the Peyton Randolph House chapter in the book:

While the tour guide told some of the ghostly stories to the group, things began to go crazy. The filming and the tour stopping allowing us to investigate each spot had turned what is usually a two-hour tour into a much longer one. As one of the tour guides told stories about the house, I wandered over to the front lawn. I began getting the feeling someone wanted me to draw closer to the home; however, we weren’t allowed to do so on the tour. The medium told me she felt frightened, that someone didn’t want her there. That’s when I saw the dark clouds on top of the left side of the roof, below the chimney. Not in the air, but on the roof itself! The thing grew thicker and more abundant.

I said, “Does anyone see that dark smoke on the roof?”

Carol peered from behind me and said, “I don’t see anything.”

But the medium turned to me. “You’re not going crazy, Pam. I see it, too.”

Not long after that, it vanished. I did shoot several pictures, hoping that it might appear in one of them. It never did. I got orbs in some of the images and what I called the weird purple paranormal lines in one. These only appeared in a few photos I’d taken with this camera over the years. This night, I got three, and even something in a lower window of the house lit up.

The guides led us around to the left side of the house, where one of them told a few stories to the group. I stayed on the street and took a few more pictures. Another guide remained with me. In one photo, I caught something in the second-floor window by the tree to the right. I asked the man if there was anything in the hallway near the window. He looked at me and said, “No, you got something.” Later, at home and on my laptop, I enlarged it until I saw with excitement that a woman with a long nose and her hair up stood at the right side of the window. It was obvious that she wore a colonial gown only rich white women wore during the 1700s. There was another figure on the left side, wearing what I think might be another dress, but it had no head! The woman on the right did not look happy and looked down on the group. I wondered if she was Elizabeth “Betty” Harrison Randolph, as she’d been in the photos of others who had taken pictures of the house. Later, Carol had made a closer photo of the image for me and sent me a link to a portrait of Betty Randolph twenty years before she died. My ghost appears to look just like the woman.

About the Author

Author Pamela K. Kinney gave up long ago trying not to listen to the voices in her head and has written award-winning, bestselling horror, fantasy. science fiction, poetry, along with five nonfiction ghost books ever since. Three of her nonfiction ghost books garnered Library of Virginia nominations. Her newest ghost book release is Virginia’s Haunted Historic Triangle 2nd Edition: Williamsburg, Yorkton, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations, with extra new stories and ten new ghostly images added then was in the first edition. She is working on a seventh ghost book set in the Surry to Suffolk area of Virginia for Anubis Press. Her horror short story, “Bottled Spirits,” was runner-up for the 2013 WSFA Small Press Award and is considered one of the seven best genre short fiction for that year. Her latest novel was her first self-published venture, an urban fantasy, How the Vortex Changed My Life, and in the future she will have a science fiction novella released from Dreampunk Press, Maverick Heart, plus a true ghost story of her, “Cavalier Hotel,” in the true ghost anthology, Handbook for the Dead, published by Anubis Press. Pamela and her husband live with one crazy black cat (who thinks she should take precedence over her mistress’s writing most days). Along with writing, Pamela has acted on stage and film and investigates the paranormal for episodes of Paranormal World Seekers for AVA Productions. She is a member of both Horror Writers Association and Virginia Writers Club.

Connect with Pamela K. Kinney on her Website, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads.

My main character in my short story, “An Awareness of Evil”, is Amanda McMasters, a psychic, living in the small town of Milford, Idaho. One day she senses a girl who is horribly frightened of something. As the days go by, the sensations increase and expand until full-blown visions assail her. Suddenly, there is no question in her mind that she knows the girl and finally, she knows where to find her.

I’ve always been drawn to psychics. When I was growing up in Virginia Beach, I made frequent visits to the Edgar Cayce’s Association for Research and Enlightenment. What a fascinating place! Through them I found a local psychic. She didn’t really tell me much that I found to be personal. But the experience of going was half the fun. When my dad was transferred to Florida my senior year of high school, I visited Cassadaga, a small town known for its psychic community. This visit was much more satisfying. The psychic there told me things about myself and about my boyfriend (and future husband), things no one could have known. I was hooked. And though I haven’t been back to other psychics, I have read about them, a lot. When I think of paranormal, a psychic is what comes to mind first.

An Awareness of Evil
inside Mystic Desire

Amanda McMasters is a psychic living in small town, Idaho. Far from the usual episodes where she can sense a person needing help, Amanda is suddenly thrown into full-blown visions of a little girl who feels threatened. She feels the girl’s terror, sees the poor state of her home, and smells strange and awful things—like the blood pooled around her mother and the faint whiff of a body beginning to decompose. With the help of her visions and Detective Brendan Gilchrist, Amanda races to save the little girl before she meets her mother’s fate.

Excerpt:

“There’s not much more frightening to a child than hearing a parent cry.” Amanda McMasters clutched her purse in her lap and tried to keep from twisting her hands. She stared at the nameplate on the front of the desk. Det. Donny Connor. He looked older than the other detective and probably had more experience but she wished she were speaking with the younger guy, doodling as he listened to her and his partner. He sat sideways to his desk with the chair pushed back onto two legs, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. But something told her that he heard every word.

“I can imagine,” Detective Connor said in a low voice. He seemed as though he were trying to sound soothing but a note of frustration hit between his words. “And so, you heard someone crying.”

“Not exactly.”

Detective Connor blew out a breath, laid his pen on the desk and then picked it up again. “Ms. McMasters, you’ve been trying to tell us what’s up for the past fifteen minutes. Why don’t you just say it and let us decide what’s important or not?” The detective looked to his partner sitting at the next desk. Detective Gilchrist gave him a bare nod. So far, that was the most interaction she’d seen from him.

Amanda took a deep breath and braced herself to tell the men what she’d been trying to avoid. “I don’t actually hear crying.”

“You don’t actually hear—”

“More like I sense it.”

The detective slowly placed the pen on his desk again. “You sense it.”

“Right.”

Detective Connor stretched his arms and folded his fingers behind his head. “So you don’t see the person crying. You don’t hear anyone crying. You don’t actually see a child.”

“That’s right.” She knew what was coming but knowing didn’t diminish the frustration. Or the pain in once again not being believed. “I’m something of a psychic.” She hadn’t meant to sound small, but that’s how it came out anyway.

Detective Connor dropped his hands to the desk and jerked the pen off the notepad. “You’re psychic.”

“Yes.”

“I see. And you’re sensing that this child you can’t see or hear is frightened.”

“I know it.”

“Okay, where is this child? We’ll be sure to check it out, won’t we Brendan?”

“Absolutely.”

Now Amanda didn’t bother trying to keep her hands still. She squeezed her fingers and released. Squeezed and released. “I don’t know.”

“Ms. McMasters, what exactly do you expect us to do? You don’t have any idea of who the kid is or how we can find it.”

“Her. I’m sure it’s a little girl crying.” She shook her head and narrowed her brows in worry. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d had a report of a domestic disturbance or something I might be able to draw on. I’ve been sensing her for two days now. It’s getting worse. She’s scared and I don’t know how to help her.” Her voice had risen to the point that people at desks around them had stopped to look. Amanda took another deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. If I had more information, I’d tell you. But I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

“Can’t keep what to yourself, miss? You haven’t told us anything.”

“Amanda McMasters,” murmured the other detective. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Have you been involved in another police case?

“Yes, last year in Spokane.” She had lived there until moving the eighty or so miles to Milford, Idaho. Once she had helped the Spokane police solve the murder case, she’d lost all privacy. People called morning, noon, and night asking for help in finding everything from lost dogs to lost keys. Or worse, more lost children. The stories had broken her heart and the constant requests had destroyed her peace. When her landlord told her she’d have to move or control the numbers of people banging on her door, she had little choice but to leave the Washington town. She’d chosen a smaller place in the more rural neighboring state. The last thing she needed now was to have the same problem start up again.

“I remember now. The boy lost in the state park. You located him just as he was on death’s door.”

“I am blessed with a gift, or maybe it’s a curse. But I’m not making anything up,” she said defensively.

“I believe you,” the younger detective said, meeting her gaze.

*~*~*

Buy links for Mystic Desire:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/322Ziq3
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2

Mystic Desire, a supernatural anthology from Black Velvet Seductions is available for pre-order until October 1.

Authors included:
Dee S. Knight: An Awareness of Evil
Zia Westfield: Bewitching the Wolf
Lora Logan: Calling All Angels
Callie Carmen: Dream Catcher
Anne Krist: Life Saving
Patricia Elliott: Love from the Mist and also Love Knows No Apocalypse
Carol Schoenig: Love that Binds
R.M. Olivia: Love’s Ghost
Richard Savage: The Anniversary
Suzanne Smith: The Mortal Vampire
Alice Renaud: The Sweetest Magic of All
Jan Selbourne: Through the Veil
Breanna Hayes: Unconditional Lust

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors. Contact Dee at dsknight@deesknight.com.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
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Ever wonder what motivates an author? What are her/his deepest drives and passions when writing a romance novel? For me…

As a writer, I just can’t resist creating erotic romances that dance on the fringes of paranormal subgenres. Or, I’ll explain it this way by using the famous “Star Trek” opening phrase—”To boldly go where no man has gone before”.

To update that phrase: Where no heroine or hero has gone before.

I blame this ‘fringes’ proclivity on my ‘vivid’ imagination, and my longtime fascination with ‘outside the box’ topics such as UFOs, mysticism, various psychic subjects, the face on Mars, the secret space program, and of course, the antediluvian civilizations like Atlantis.

Although, at this point in time, these topics are going mainstream, even if it is still a slow ‘drip-drip-drip’ revealing to the public. However, the ‘fringes’ are always. expanding.

I also love experimenting, the challenge of stepping beyond where I’ve been before as an author. For example, I wrote a ‘first person’ scifi erotic romance, in both the heroine and hero’s voice. Once I rework this short story into a longer and richer version, I intend to Indie publish—that is, if the cosmic Trickster quits pummeling me with a whole series of bigtime problems.

Yeah, this summer has been absolutely unbelievable. In fact, the worst summer of my life, even with the overall enjoyable mild temps.

The reason I explain my authorly nature is to explain one of my unique heroines. Keina is a winged filly shapeshifter from another dimension. Her hero is an ex-super soldier. Drev has survived the brutal rigors of the black-ops world, finally finding a home in Wolf Peak Territory.

Yes, Keina and Drev’s erotic love story is set in my ‘on the fringe’ fictional world of Wolf Peak Territory, Montana. Mostly through writing flash scenes, since 2011, I have been worldbuilding—growing and evolving—this ‘hidden from the outside world’ shapeshifter-supernatural community.

Or as they like to say, the Peak is home to shapeshifters of all types and stripes, to supernaturals of every imaginable and unimaginable kind. Humans are included, of course. Smiles.

The policy in the Peak: if you’re on the GOOD side, you’re welcome. If not, you could potentially be torn to shreds with claw and fang, beak and talon. At all times, the territorial boundaries are patrolled by the numerous Guardian teams. There is also dragon-shifter aerial surveillance, and since Keina has wings, she joins in.

Indeed, Wolf Peak Territory is very multicultural and also an advanced, highly complex society that works for All. Dante, the alpha wolf shifter leader, will accept nothing less.

In closing, another aspect I bring to my erotic romance novels is a visionary blueprint for a more loving, powerful, and creative society. As a teenager, given some challenging experiences, I made a decision to ‘help’ bring about a better world, one where dreams come true for everyone.

Over the years, I’ve done my best to fulfill that promise to myself. I won’t comment on the current state of our world. However, in my romance novels I get to ‘make dreams come true’ for my heroines and heroes in their fictional worlds.

So, if you like dancing on the paranormal fringes as a reader. If you want to take a leap into the romance unknown—and if you enjoy lots of action scenes…well, I hope you’ll consider Keina and Drev’s love story.

Oh, and since Thanksgiving Day is around the corner, well, WAITING FOR A FILLY GIRL takes place during the Turkey Day celebration in the Peak—yes, pumpkin pie and whipped cream erotically included.

~~~~~~

Waiting For a Filly Girl

A ShapeShifter Seduction Erotic Romance Novel

Ex super-soldier boy meets winged filly girl.
Will they live happily ever after?
In Wolf Peak territory anything is possible.

A passion that cannot be denied…
A woman banished from her realm…
A man who will fight for love no matter the cost…

Drev Zander, ex super-soldier, built a new life in Wolf Peak Territory. His traumatic past is fading. On the Guardian Team, he battles sinister enemies threatening the shapeshifter community. After a mysterious Pegasus ruins his T-day plans, Drev finds the woman he’s been waiting for.

Will she rule his heart?

Keina Svonj, winged horse shifter, is banished from her realm—the dastardly Prince has convinced the King. Flying above the Montana forest, Keina interferes with a hunter. She mind-melds with him, and realizing her mistake, makes amends. Passion explodes between them. Love follows.

Will Drev save her from a forced marriage?

~~~~~~

EXCERPT:

How was she going make this right? How?

Still shaking, she hovered and slowly reached for him with her wing. Gathering her courage, Keina caressed his square jaw with the tips of her feathers.

When she knew he felt the stroke of her wingtip, Keina spoke to his mind. Even if the hunter didn’t hear her message, his heart would know the apology coming from her heart.

So she hoped.

Somehow, some way, she’d find a way to make his Thanksgiving celebration a good one. For him, and his family.

With resolve now ruling her, Keina gradually backed away. Since she needed to know, she searched his mind for the precise location of his home.

Bingo-bango, in seconds she had it memorized and mapped. The solitary cabin sat on a long slope of ground, amid Lodgepole Pines, Spruce, and elder Aspen trees.

Keina ascended fast. That is, after a last look at the man’s handsome face. Mmm, yes yum, his hunk-sexy stubble did quivery things to her.

There just had to be a suitable turkey available somewhere. She’d check every shop. And since she had the Pegasus wings—Keina smiled to herself—it wouldn’t take long to reach her temporary home on Earth, and start the search.

Strongly flapping, Keina streaked through the sky toward Billings, Montana, where she’d rented a small apartment, and pretended to be human.

Excerpts & Buy Links: http://shapeshifterseduction.blogspot.com/p/chapter-three-blue-sky-blues-ive-got.html

~~~~~~

About the Author

Savanna Kougar lives on the tame prairie in the Midwest, and enjoys a quiet lifestyle with her pets, and the wild critters. She pens love stories because that’s her deepest heart. She writes in the futuristic/fantasy/paranormal *and shapeshifter* subgenres because that’s her fiercest passion. And, she writes erotic romance because she ferociously enjoys ripping the damn doors off.

Currently, Savanna Kougar has fourteen published ebooks, with six in print. She is a bestselling author at Siren-Bookstrand. She is currently writing a ShapeShifter Seduction novel set in her fictional world, Wolf Peak Territory. And has lots of WIPs waiting their turn to be finished.

You can find her at:
Savanna Kougar ~savannakougar.com~
ShapeShifter Seduction ~shapeshifterseduction.blogspot.com~
Title Magic ~titlemagic.blogspot.com~

UPDATE: The winner is…Tamara Kasyan!
*~*~*

Growing up, my parents would often tout hardship and struggle as “building character” opportunities. At the time, their philosophy seemed self-serving and entirely unfair because 1) I was a teen and already knew everything so didn’t need character, 2) it was surely just an excuse to get me to do housework, and 3) they never said at what point I had accrued enough character… My life was just a series of opportunities.

Flash forward a few *cough*cough* years and, as a romance author, I’m still building character… but this time, it’s on the page, and without all the unfounded teen angst and attitude. However, the concept remains consistent in both writing and real life: greater suffering equals more character. I’m not talking the kind of character I built while cleaning the cat box the night I won a local scholarship pageant, even though the image of being up to my white satin elbow gloves in litter-crusted poop still sticks with me and is good for a chuckle. Nor am I talking about the character I automatically build by simply having tweenagers, even though that character is most often called gray hair.

I’m talking the kind of suffering we put our characters through before they get their happily ever after. Authors talk about making characters earn their HEA. When in doubt, make them suffer more. When the going gets tough, make it worse. If it’s clear sailing until the end, throw another road block at them. Kill off your [non-main-character] darlings. Not unlike those movie chase scenes where the pursued knocks over shelves and lamps and grandfather clocks… whatever they can get their hands on to stall or slow their pursuer. We authors try to slow the progression of our characters toward their happy ending. Because if their journey is too easy, they won’t appreciate the destination.

I’m sure my parents spouted something about better appreciating what was earned versus what was given, just as I’m sure I’ve said the same to my own tweenagers.

As an author, it’s crucial that my characters earn the end-prize, which in romance is… well… the romance. The emotionally satisfying and hopeful ending where the two (or more) characters are assured that for at least their immediate future they are safe and in the company of someone who loves them unconditionally. This is what we want: for our characters to have overcome the most overwhelming, insurmountable obstacles, so that when they finally fall into the arms of their loved one(s), they fully appreciate it because they’ve experienced first-hand how sh*tty their life could otherwise be.

Really, it’s also what we want for ourselves, but without all the overwhelming, insurmountable obstacles. Yet while it’s far more satisfying to read about fictional characters being wrung through the wringer for their HEA, doesn’t life imitate art? Don’t we as individuals better appreciate what or who we have when we personally experience how much our life would suck otherwise? Don’t we suffer and come out on the other side with more character?

So, in spite of my teenage eye-rolling at the concept, building character is a good thing, in both fiction and real life. Now, if only I could convince my tweenagers 😉

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Blood King: Revamping the Monarchy

Below is an excerpt from my third book, Blood King: Revamping the Monarchy. My hero, Rune, is an alien vampire king who begins the story dead. My heroine is a hair stylist on a getaway vacation. And it all goes downhill from there. 😉

In a blink, she was on her back, prone on the couch with Rune’s powerful body above hers, his hips wedged between her legs, pressing against her instantly throbbing core. She clutched his taut biceps, breathless from the swift change in position and the overwhelming heat of summer lightning which started where his erection pulsed against her clit and zapped along her nerves. He lowered his head to her neck, his hot breath like some snarling predator about to slake its hunger on its prey.

He was going to bite her. The moist warmth of his tongue trailed along the column of her neck. The slight scrape of fangs against the tender skin tickled and alarmed. Her skin prickled and her nipples tightened. She held her breath, her heart racing with an explosive combination of fear and arousal.

“You are so demanding, Kazandra.” His soft murmur vibrated straight to her core and he rocked his hips along the sensitive nub. A needy whimper escaped her lips.

“Should I drink from here?” He nibbled the space below her earlobe.

Kaz held her breath.

“Maybe I shall drink from here.” His fangs gently raked the chord where her neck met her shoulder.

She hissed in a breath, her heart galloping as if it could run away.

“No, from here would be best.” His mouth widened around the jugular, his fangs pressed against the thin bit of skin and muscle protecting the artery.
His body tensed for the attack.

Her body flinched.

Bloody hell, this was it.

Rune straightened to a stand in one fluid motion. His expression transformed from simply Rune to Vahsiil Lahdunae, powerful monarch of an entire species. A frown tugged at his lips and the earlier warmth in his eyes frosted over. His voice was similarly icy. “Please understand if I do not abide by your command, Kazandra. You are not ready to be a benefactor and I will not drink from you.”

Available in both ebook and print versions:
AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HDVRCKC
NOOK: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/ava+cuvay?
KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/blood-king-1

About Me

Ava Cuvay writes out of this world romance featuring sassy heroines, often-alien-but-always-sexy heroes, and an alcoholic beverage or two… Set in a galaxy far, far away. She resides in central Indiana with her own scruffy-looking nerfherder, kiddos who are growing up without her permission, and two kitties that make her laugh. She believes life is too short to bother with negative people, everything is better with Champagne, and Han Solo shot first. When not writing, Ava is thinking about writing. Or wine. And she’s always thinking about bacon.

website: http://www.avacuvay.com/
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Ava-Cuvay/e/B01E5OIZ0I/
Goodreads page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15051407.Ava_Cuvay
Facebook: https://facebook.com/AvaCuvayAuthor/
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/ava-cuvay

After having such an awesome July, where I finally got my writing mojo back, I might have built up my expectations for August a little high. I couldn’t write as much as I’d hoped when school started and my dd and I were back to pinch-hitting for each other, what with four kids, all with differing schedules and needs. So, one of the things I’d hoped to finish in August is still on my To Do list for September, but that’s okay. I’m in good writing form. Ideas are coming at me from everywhere. The well is not dry! But let’s look at August!

A Satisfying August

I edited three projects, two of which were longish and one which was…challenging. 🙂 But I didn’t dilly-dally getting them done. I followed my plan, pretty much, and powered through.

I wrote a new novelette, finishing it in the nick of time to make my release deadline! If you read Big Sky Wedding, you’ll get treated to my philosophy concerning weddings. Not a big fan, which is why I’ve written so few stories with weddings in them (I’d rather blow money on the honeymoon!). But my hero Sky managed to get everything just right for Jamie, who’d been dragging her feet about making wedding plans. Hope you enjoy(ed) it! Rember it’s FREE for Kindle Unlimited readers, for now!

Get your copy here!

Then there’s this little, naughty, creepy novelette I originally published as part of a series with another author. So I had to revise the heck out of Mambo’s Door to get it ready for re-release. It’s f/f, so not for everyone, I’m sure, but it is a very cool story! And it’s FREE for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Get your copy here!

What’s coming in September!

Just a couple hints…

If you’re a recent convert to my books, you might not know I write genres other than romantic suspense. One of my favorites to write is paranormal.

Today, I have a re-release of a book I wrote for Ellora’s Cave back in the day. I’ve done some revising, naturally. It’s a f/f romance, so it might not be your cup of tea. However, it is magickal, creepy, sexy—and set in New Orleans and in a voodoo purgatory. If you’re still not convinced you want to give it a try, it’s FREE for KU subscribers!

Plus, I have a new pre-order up! It’s the next story in the Beaux Rêve Coven series, which features my five witches living on a Louisiana bayou with so many demon beaus they’re tripping over them! Check it out below!

Enjoy the long weekend! ~DD

Mambo’s Door

A f/f paranormal novelette…

Ingrid Kassel is a fledgling witch, uncertain and not in complete control of her powers, especially after drinking a double-shot of vampire blood. Charged with retrieving an object buried with a daughter of the Voodoo Queen–she angers the spirit guarding the tomb and finds herself entering a shadowy limbo, where she meets beautiful Marie, living in fear of a demon who also desires the black magic candle infused with the powerful mambo’s blood.

In desperation, Marie tricks Ingrid, capturing her and seducing her to charge the candle for her own bid for freedom.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Mambo’s Door…

A drunk on the sidewalk bumped past Ingrid Kassel.

Instinctively, she turned her head and issued a hiss, baring teeth. Not that she had fangs to back up the warning, but her temper simmered at a slow, angry boil, and her reactions weren’t entirely her own. A single taste of blood had ignited a hunger for more, it seemed, and the loss of control pissed her off.

If this was what it felt like to be a vampire, it was a damn good thing she was a witch.

Ever since Magda, the coven’s priestess, had given her Elena Csintalan’s blood to drink to lend her strength for her quest, Ingrid had fought to retain a sense of self.

The moment the viscous fluid had slid down her throat the ground had swayed, shifting under her feet. Magda had urged her to drink more, her vivid eyes glinting with excitement.

With a dizzy shake of her head, Ingrid’s sight had changed—shadowy corners resolving into stark relief. Her sense of smell had refined so that, now, she could still detect the sour odor of cheap whiskey emanating from the skin of the drunk even though he’d shuffled around the corner. A feeling of invulnerability, of superhero strength, burned through her blood, hardening her muscles. She felt ready to test her newfound but temporary powers on the first person who looked at her crosswise.

And that just wasn’t her. Or if it was, she’d been really good at being a quiet, dutiful girl for so long that she’d convinced herself she wasn’t a grumpy badass.
Ingrid checked her watch and cursed. She was late. She’d stopped by her one-room apartment to dress in a long-sleeved black tee, dark jeans, and running shoes. She’d clipped her golden-brown hair into a messy bun and stuck a black ball cap on her head to cover it.

All so she could blend into the darkness. As if she were dressing up for a second-story job. Like Tom Cruise ready to zip down a wire.

Then she’d decided to pick up some supplies. The trip to the convenience store had taken longer than it should have because every drunk in the city had been in line to buy hooch for the night.

A nervous energy pushed her faster. She had to retrieve the relic, charge it, and then return to her coven before the magickal energy from the relic dissipated, because, then, the spell wouldn’t work. Why she in particular had been chosen for this task was a mystery, but there was a lot she didn’t understand about the murky underworld she’d entered a year ago.

Most of the time, she simply banked her irritation with things she didn’t comprehend and saved her questions, reminding herself that she was still a fledgling witch and the others expected her to learn the craft in measured layers.

However, even without the vampire booster shot she’d drunk, she wasn’t a patient person. Even though Magda and the other women who mentored her constantly hovered when she played with magick, she’d practiced in secret, honing her skills. They didn’t have a clue what she could do.

Which made the fact Magda had assigned her this mission even more mystifying.

“Bring me the mambo’s candle,” Magda had said, hands cupping Ingrid’s face so that their gazes locked for a long, terrifying moment.

Staring into Magda’s dark eyes, Ingrid had relived the moment when the Blood Countess had swept into The Absinthe House and whisked away four women—three vampires and Cassia, her coven sister.

Then more pictures clicked through her mind like an old-fashioned movie reel, of more of her sisters chained inside a dark, dungeon-like room with their eyes glowing, faces lax, while the Hell Bitch, Elizabeth Bathory, painted her skin with the blood of another victim. Of Bourbon Street in chaos while Bathory’s army of vampires tore through the district on a bloody rampage.

Why Magda had decided to show her those visions was another mystery she might never fathom. However, it had impressed upon her the importance of her task. The fate of the city rested on her shoulders.

Ingrid shook off the chill that crept down her spine. St. Louis Cemetery Number One loomed just ahead. Time to get serious.

She slung the plastic grocery bag over one shoulder and ran along the whitewashed, brick wall to the iron gate, which she scurried up hand-over-hand before swinging over the top of the iron rail at the entrance to the graveyard.

Power still surging through her veins, she nearly laughed when she landed. She crouched and gave a quick glance behind her to see if anyone had noticed, but those walking along Basin Street this late at night hadn’t seen the blur of her figure running beside the wall, much less her creepy, spider-like feat.

Her heart thrummed strong inside her chest. Her body felt powerful, her breaths came steadily, even though she’d had to rush. For the first time, she envied vampires.

Until she smacked her lips and once again tasted the metallic flavor of the blood she’d choked down.

Dumping out the contents of the bag, she raked through it until she found the box of colored chalk. She opened the package, discarding all but the purple piece, then knelt on the sidewalk and drew a crude purple heart with curlicues extending from the bottom point, a triangle beneath it, and bars across the top, middle and bottom that ended in crosses. Then she tossed away the chalk, closed her eyes, envisioning her goal, and prayed to the loa of the cemetery.

“Ma’man Brigit, goddess of this cemetery, please guide me to Marie Laveau’s crypt.”

She opened her eyes, stuffed the things she still needed into the bag, and lunged to her feet, running straight ahead, not waiting for an answer because she was well acquainted with this particular divinity. Ma’man Brigit admired confidence in a woman. Even more, her pride would be stroked that she’d been asked, rather than her husband, Baron Samedi, loa of the dead. And Ma’man didn’t like humans fumbling around her realm. Something Ingrid had learned in her secret studies of Voodoo, or Vodou, as practitioners called it.

Moonlight filtered down, striking the long rows of pale, above-ground crypts, illuminating their whitewashed and marble exteriors, some more than others.

“Thank you, Goddess,” Ingrid whispered as she dashed toward the brightest row. She turned, and one mottled, stucco crypt sat awash in moonlight, tall candles huddled against its base, coins sparkling on the ground, glittery Mardi Gras beads draped on sharp edges—all left by worshipers seeking advice or a special wish.

X marks marred the three-panel marble front of the crypt, a groundskeeper’s bane for sure, but she was about to add more. She knelt and dumped her sack atop the Glapion family marker—the supposed resting place of Marie Laveau and her daughters—picked up a candle scented with dragon’s blood, lit it and placed it in front of the door. Then she selected a red marker and drew three X’s on the crypt.

“Beautiful Madame Laveau, please open your door. I seek a talisman, one you entrusted to your daughter, Marie. Please grant my wish.”

She waited. Nothing happened. Sighing, she tried to think of something more “witchy”—and didn’t everything sound more magickal in Latin?

“Lanua aperta!”

Again, she paused. Then, irritated because nothing was happening, she leaned over the jumbled mess of coins, beads and candles and shoved at one of the stone panels. “Dammit, I asked nicely.”

A throaty chuckle sounded behind her. Ingrid scrambled around, still on her knees, to behold the full-bodied figure of a woman dressed in long robes, her shape nearly transparent but glowing, shimmering at the edges like the aurora borealis.

“Your curse ensures the mambo’s privacy, gal.”

Ingrid felt the voice rather than heard it, as though it emanated from inside her head instead of from the wispy lips of the apparition.

“Ma’man Brigit?” Ingrid asked. Although the loa had answered prayers before, this was the first time she’d seen her.

The woman nodded then drew closer, bending so her face was inches from Ingrid’s. “Hmmm… The night creature’s blood is mo’ hindrance here than help, I think, li’l witch. It makes you proud.”

Ingrid swallowed an instinctive bitchy vampire retort, then offered, “I need your help, Ma’man.”

“So direct. So rude.” The loa tsked. “This be my realm you entered, my help you be seekin’. What you bring fo’ me?”

New on Pre-order!

Harvest Moon
Beaux Rêve Coven, Book 4
Coming October 22nd!

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives.

Five witches… Too many demons to count…

Radha’s sister witches become concerned when her health begins to fail. Her sleep is never restful, but they are unable to pinpoint what is wrong. Khan, a jinn who’s been tasked to serve as her guardian, has watched her restless sleep and believes he knows the answer. Her dreams are haunted by a Mare set on draining life from the witch who imbues the fabrics she weaves with magick.

As much as ancient jinn Khan loathes the idea, he seeks an old enemy, a Vanir, whose magic allows him to enter Radha’s nightmares to slay the Mare, an enemy bent on taking advantage Radha’s vulnerability to make her his own.

Pre-order your copy here!