Thursday, December 18, 2014

The Sect by Courtney Lane

Title: The Sect 
Author: Courtney Lane 
Genre:  Dark Erotic Thriller
Release Date: December 12, 2014

Summary:
Keaton Mara ran away from a life that had become a nightmare to live on the streets. While the location she now calls home is a dangerous place, she is protected by an unlikely friendship.
The streets provided her with the education she could’ve never earned from the prestigious university she attended. Regrettably, the term ‘educated fool’ becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Due to meeting a man with whom she shares a captivating chemistry with, her judgment is clouded, resulting in a fateful decision.

The consequence of trusting the prepossessing stranger results in her being stolen away to a place unknown. Her deceptive new surroundings are just as beautiful as the people who reside there. She discovers that it’s a place where the culture of sex without limits or morals is their religion.

Keaton quickly begins to realize that the beautiful scenery serves to hide a very dark truth. The seductive and enigmatic man—who lured her there—desires to save her soul. His intentions are sinister, because saving her soul is synonymous with breaking her.

Because Keaton believes her soul was brutally stolen from her many years ago, she thinks he can’t save (or destroy) something she no longer has.

She…was…wrong.

***Warning: This book contains pretty much every dark theme there is. Not recommended for those with any triggers or sensitivities to violence, dubious  and/or absent consent, and deviant sexual acts***



     “Would you mind taking communion with me?” His question was far from a real one.
I found my footing and knelt down beside him.
     “Aren’t you curious as to how I knew your name?”
     I shook my head, remaining silent. It was obvious that he, like Noah, had caught sight of the dozens of posters I hadn’t yet taken down. I needed to assure myself of that to prevent running and screaming as I’d initially planned. As for why he isolated me and offered me a golden ticket—to a place I assumed was a myth—I wasn’t completely sure if I wanted to know. Nothing offered to me at this point in my life would’ve come without expectations.
     “Do you assume that in extending an invitation to you, I desire something in exchange?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the pulpit.
     I held my silence for too long, calling his direct attention. I gave him a blank stare, almost succeeding in matching the emptiness that seemed permanently held behind his eyes.
    “Your need to keep silent bothers me very little, Keaton. I have demands of you, and in the list of things you will be required to do, nowhere is it necessary for you to speak.”
     My silence remained, searching his eyes for a point or a purpose.
     “Your mother will catch up to you and she will return you to the life you so desperately want to disappear from. I can offer you a way in which she’ll never find you. I can offer you true freedom.” With a nod, he began to recite the holy sacrament.
     The pastor of the church appeared from the choir room adjacent to the inner sanctuary. I had recognized him as the one who often opened the doors to the church and sometimes served food in the kitchen. I was told, by the others, the only time he would speak was the moment he reached the pulpit, and his sermons moved many.
     The pastor handed me a communion cracker from the silver tray he carried, and a small sampling of grape juice in a plastic flask. I took both down before standing, ready to return to Jeff and vow never to visit another soup kitchen again.
     “The street is not the place where you belong, Keaton,” Reven stated, keeping his head bowed and his fingers clasped together. “It’s a very dangerous place that could be likened to hell.”
     Watching him rise to meet me, I shrugged. “I’ve lived through hell. Living on the street is paradise compared to what I’ve been through. Thank you, but no. I can’t leave Jeff. I’ve never heard of him having anyone else to look out for him. I just…want to be there for him. We…need each other.”
     He studied me with a steady glower. “I’m very disappointed in your decision, Keaton.”
     He was disappointed in me and I didn’t even know him. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that so I turned to leave.
     Something was very wrong.
     I felt a little dizzy as I walked down the aisle. Having difficulty finding my footing, I tripped over my feet and nearly fell. Before I slipped down, I was caught and guided by a set of strong hands. Blue eyes shrouded in hazel met mine, staring down at me with impassivity.
     Unable to scream, I was easily swept away in Noah’s strong, thick arms. Carrying me as though I was weightless, he transported me to the back of the church where the pastor held the door leading to the access alley open.


Author Bio:
I’ve been creating my own little world since I was very young. When I was eight years old, I began to bring those worlds to life with pen and paper.

Although I’ve had a few short hiatuses, writing has been of passion of mine for many years. I've always viewed my writing as a hobby or a purgative process; I never thought to share my very personal works with anyone outside of my family. Now, I’m taking the plunge and self-publishing my works. I’m very excited and apprehensive about the opportunity to share my work with people who may enjoy it.

While I write across genres (I find it hard to stick to one genre), I do have an archetype when it comes to the female protagonist — they have to have certain brand of strength and layered personalities. There will often be a lot of darkness and depth to my stories, because I'm intrigued by characters who are thrust into "dark" situations that explore their psyche.

I prefer gritty love stories, where the protagonist isn't necessarily the girl next door, or the girl you encounter in everyday life. In other words, I don't tend to write characters who are easy to fall in love with.

The elements that will be common in my stories are: depth, controversy, thought-provoking and complex plots, and misfit characters.


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EMAIL: AuthorCourtneyLane@gmail.com






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Savaged by Shay Savage

Title: Savaged
Author: Shay Savage
Release Date: November 26, 2014
Genre: Erotica
Summary:
Four tales never before published by USA Today bestselling author Shay Savage.

An executive in need of some temporary release. A Dom looking to cleanse his soul. A twisted college encounter. A PA and a terrorist’s unlikely meeting during an office building takeover. Four alpha males just waiting to fulfill your fantasies in these hot short stories.

Are you ready to be Savaged?

Same Time Tomorrow 
Executive Julian Reddick is tired of his brand of hand lotion but doesn’t have time to date. What’s the solution? Call in a “nooner” from a high-class company of ill-repute. Valerie Woods is exactly the distraction he needs.

Cleansing Bonds
A Dom who had hurt the one he loved and an abused sub looking for release. Both are sure they will never be able to find what they need, but they find healing with each other.

Encounter
On a weekend night near campus, a college girl walks home alone from the local bar. Who is watching her from the shadows, waiting to take advantage of the situation?

Want No More
Olivia’s new job takes an unexpected turn when terrorists take over her office building. Olivia is taken hostage, but Adam, the sexy head henchman, seems to be exactly what Olivia desires.

BONUS STORY 
What I Want (Want No More from Adam’s POV)
Adam Lebourn’s life for the past three years has lead up to this point, but to exact his revenge on the man who ruined his life, he is going to have to rely on a decent amount of luck. He never expected his good luck charm to appear in the form of a beautiful, submissive PA.



Author Bio:
Always looking for a storyline and characters who fall outside the norm, Shay Savage’s tales have a habit of evoking some extreme emotions from fans. She prides herself on plots that are unpredictable and loves to hear it when a story doesn’t take the path assumed by her readers. With a strong interest in psychology, Shay loves to delve into the dark recesses of her character’s brains–and there is definitely some darkness to be found! Though the journey is often bumpy, if you can hang on long enough you won’t regret the ride. You may not always like the characters or the things they do, but you'll certainly understand them.

Shay Savage lives in Ohio with her husband and two children. She’s an avid soccer fan, loves vacationing near the ocean, enjoys science fiction in all forms, and absolutely adores all of the encouragement she has received from those who have enjoyed her work.


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Liberty by Kim Iverson Headlee

Title:  Liberty, second edition 
Author:  Kim Iverson Headlee 
Genre:  Historical Romance 
Release Date: December 16, 2014
Summary:
They hailed her "Liberty," but she was free only to obey—or die.

Betrayed by her father and sold as payment of a Roman tax debt to fight in Londinium's arena, gladiatrix-slave Rhyddes feels like a wild beast in a gilded cage. Celtic warrior blood flows in her veins, but Roman masters own her body. She clings to her vow that no man shall claim her soul, though Marcus Calpurnius Aquila, son of the Roman governor, makes her yearn for a love she believes impossible.

Groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and trapped in a politically advantageous betrothal, Aquila prefers the purity of combat on the amphitheater sands to the sinister intrigues of imperial politics, and the raw power and athletic grace of the flame-haired Libertas to the adoring deference of Rome's noblewomen.

When a plot to overthrow Caesar ensnares them as pawns in the dark design, Aquila must choose between the Celtic slave who has won his heart and the empire to which they both owe allegiance. Trusting no man and knowing the opposite of obedience is death, the only liberty offered to any slave, Rhyddes must embrace her arena name—and the love of a man willing to sacrifice everything to forge a future with her.


FINGERS CRAMPING AND shoulders aching from having wielded the pitchfork all day, Rhyddes ferch Rudd tossed another load of hay onto the wagon. Sweat trickled down her back, making the lash marks sting. Marks inflicted by her father, Rudd, the day before because eighteen summers of anguish had goaded her into speaking her mind.

Physical pain couldn’t compare with the ache wringing her heart.

She slid a glance toward the author of her mood. He stood a few paces away, leaning upon his pitchfork’s handle in the loaded wagon’s shade to escape the July heat as he conversed with her oldest brother, Eoghan. She couldn’t discern their words, but their camaraderie spoke volumes her envy didn’t want to hear.

Her father’s gaze met hers, and he lowered his eyebrows. “Back to work, Rhyddes!” On Rudd’s lips, her name sounded like an insult.

In a sense, it was.

Her name in the Celtic tongue meant “freedom,” but the horse hitched to the hay wagon enjoyed more freedom than she did. Her tribe, the Votadini, had been conquered by the thieving Romans, who demanded provisions for their troops, fodder for their mounts, women for their beds, and coin to fill the purses of every Roman who wasn’t a soldier.

If those conditions weren’t bad enough, for all the kindness her father had demonstrated during her first two decades, Rhyddes may as well have been born a slave.

She scooped up more hay. Resentment-fired anger sent wisps flying everywhere, much of it sailing over the wagon rather than landing upon it.

“Hey, mind what you’re doing!”

Owen, her closest brother in age and in spirit, emerged from the wagon’s far side, hay prickling his hair and tunic like a porcupine. Rhyddes couldn’t suppress her laugh. “’Tis an improvement. Just wait till the village lasses see you.”

“Village lasses, hah!” Sporting a wicked grin, Owen snatched up a golden fistful, flung it at her, and dived for her legs.

They landed in the fragrant hay and began vying for the upper hand, cackling like a pair of witless hens. When Owen thought he’d prevailed, Rhyddes twisted and rolled from underneath him. Her fresh welts stung, but she refused to let that deter her. He lost his balance and fell backward. She pounced, planting a knee on his chest and pinning his wrists to the ground over his head.

Victory’s sweetness lasted but a moment. Fingers dug into her shoulders, and she felt herself hauled to her feet and spun around. Owen’s face contorted to chagrin as he scrambled up.

“Didn’t get enough of the lash yestermorn, eh, girl?” Rudd, his broad hands clamped around her upper arms, gave her a teeth-rattling shake.

When she didn’t respond, he released her and rounded on Owen. “As for you—”

“Da, please, no!” Rhyddes stopped herself. Well she knew the futility of pleading with Rudd. Still, for Owen’s sake, she had to try. Her father’s scowl dared her to continue. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “’Twas not Owen’s fault. I—” Sweat freshened the sting on her back, and she winced. “The fault is naught but mine.”

“Aye, that I can well believe.” Rudd grasped each sibling by an arm and strode across the hayfield toward the family’s lodge. “Owen can watch you take his lashes as well as yours. We’ll see if that won’t mend his ways.” The thin linen of her ankle-length tunic failed to shield her from his fingers, which had to be leaving bruises. Rhyddes gritted her teeth. Rudd seemed disappointed. “I doubt anything in this world or the next will make you mend yours.”

“You don’t want me to change. You’d lose your excuse to beat me.” Sheer impertinence, she knew, but she no longer cared.

“I need no excuses, girl.”

The back of his hand collided with her cheek. Pain splintered into a thousand needles across her face. She reeled and dropped to her hands and knees, her hair obscuring her vision in a copper cascade. Hay pricked her palms. Owen would have helped her rise, but their father restrained him. Owen blistered the ground with his glare, not daring to direct it at Rudd for fear of earning the same punishment.

Not that Rhyddes could blame him.

Rudd yanked her up, cocked a fist… and froze. “Raiders!”

Rhyddes whirled about. Picts were charging from the north to converge upon their settlement, the battle cries growing louder under the merciless afternoon sun. One of the storage buildings had already been set ablaze, its roof thatch marring the sky with thick black smoke.

Rudd shed his shock and sprinted for the living compound, calling his children by name to help him defend their home: Eoghan, Ian, Bloeddwyn, Arden, Dinas, Gwydion, Owen.

Every child except Rhyddes.

She ran to the wagon, unhitched the horse, found her pitchfork, scrambled onto the animal’s back, and kicked him into a jolting canter. The stench of smoke strengthened with each stride. Her mount pinned back his ears and wrestled her for control of the bit, but she bent the frightened horse to her will. She understood how he felt.

As they loped past the cow byre, a Pict leaped at them, knocking Rhyddes from the horse’s back. The ground jarred the pitchfork from her grasp. The horse galloped toward the pastures as Rhyddes fumbled for her dagger. Although her brothers had taught her how to wield it in a fight, until now she’d used it only to ease dying animals from this world.

But the accursed blade wouldn’t come free of the hilt.

Sword aloft, the Pict closed on her.

Time distorted, assaulting Rhyddes with her attacker’s every detail: lime-spiked hair, weird blue symbols smothering the face and arms, long sharp sword, ebony leather boots and leggings, breastplate tooled to fit female curves . . .

Female?

The warrior-woman’s sword began its descent.

From the corner of her eye Rhyddes saw her pitchfork. Grunting, she rolled toward it, praying to avoid her attacker’s blow.

Her left arm stung where the sword grazed it, but she snagged her pitchfork and scrambled to her feet. Unexpected eagerness flooded her veins.

As the Pict freed her weapon from where it had embedded in the ground, Rhyddes aimed the pitchfork and lunged. The tines hooked the warrior-woman’s sword, and Rhyddes twisted with all her strength. The Pict yelped as the sword ripped from her hand to go flying over the sty’s fence.

Squealing in alarm, the sow lumbered for cover, trying to wedge her bulk under the trough.

With a savage scream, the warrior-woman whipped out a dagger and charged. Rhyddes reversed the pitchfork and jammed its butt into the Pict’s gut, under the breastplate’s bottom edge, robbing her of breath. She reversed it again and caught the raider under the chin with the pitchfork’s tines. As the woman staggered backward, flailing her arms and flashing the red punctures that marred her white neck, Rhyddes struck hard and knocked her down.

The warrior-woman looked heavier by at least two stone, but Rhyddes pinned her chest with her knee. She dropped the pitchfork and grasped her dagger, yanking it free. Grabbing a fistful of limed hair, she wrestled the woman’s head to one side to expose her neck.

The Pict bucked and twisted, trying to break Rhyddes’s grip. ’Twas not much different than wrestling a fever-mad calf.

Rhyddes’s deft slice ended the threat.

Blood spurted from the woman’s neck in sickening pulses.

Rhyddes stood, panting, her stomach churning with the magnitude of what she’d done. ’Twas no suffering animal she’d killed—and it could have been her lying there, pumping her lifeblood into the mud.

Bile seared her throat, making her gag. Pain lanced her stomach. Bent double, she retched out the remains of her morning meal, spattering the corpse.

After spitting out the last bitter mouthful and wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she drew a deep breath and straightened. As she turned a slow circle, her senses taking in the sights and sounds and stench of the devastation surrounding her, she wished she had not prevailed.

The news grew worse as she sprinted toward the lodge.

Of her seven brothers, the Picts had left Ian and Gwydion dead, her father and Owen wounded, the lodge and three outbuildings torched. She ran a fingertip over the crusted blood of her scratch, and she couldn’t suppress a surge of guilt.

Mayhap, she thought through the blinding tears as she ran to help what was left of her family, ’twould have been better had she died in the Pict’s stead.

The surviving raiders were galloping toward the tree line with half the cattle. The remaining stock lay stiffening in the fields, already attracting carrion birds.

Three days later, the disaster attracted scavengers of an altogether different sort.



I am Rhyddes ferch Rudd, which in your tongue means Freedom daughter of Red. The blood of ancient Celtic warriors flows in my veins, though I am a farmer's daughter by the circumstance of my birth. My life spans much of the reign of the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, one of a very few men ever to claim that title who did not abuse his power for personal gain—but I care not who rules and who dies in this gods-cursed empire.

More than anything—even more than my freedom—I yearn to be my lover Aquila’s equal. As a foreign slave in an empire where citizenship stands paramount, where an arena fighter such as I can only be considered the equal of other gladiators, actors, undertakers, and whores, this goal seems impossibly remote. Although Aquila is the son of a powerful Roman, he has declared that he would renounce his aristocratic status, wealth, and power for me, but I cannot in good conscience allow him to destroy himself on my account.

And yet the gods have granted the impossible to other mortals. I pray that I am worthy to receive such a boon from them, for surely divine assistance is the only way for Aquila and I to bridge the vast social chasm that separates us from enjoying a future together.

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Author Bio:
Kim Headlee lives on a farm in southwestern Virginia with her family, cats, goats, and assorted wildlife. People & creatures come and go, but the cave and the 250-year-old house ruins—the latter having been occupied as recently as the mid-20th century—seem to be sticking around for a while yet.

Kim is a Seattle native (when she used to live in the Metro DC area, she loved telling people she was from "the other Washington") and a direct descendent of twentieth-century Russian nobility. Her grandmother was a childhood friend of the doomed Grand Duchess Anastasia, and the romantic yet tragic story of how Lydia escaped Communist Russia with the aid of her American husband will most certainly one day fuel one of Kim's novels. Another novel in the queue will involve her husband's ancestor, the seventh-century proto-Viking king of the Swedish colony in Russia.

For the time being, however, Kim has plenty of work to do in creating her projected 8-book Arthurian series, The Dragon's Dove Chronicles, and other novels under her new imprint, Pendragon Cove Press.


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