Summary:
PsyCop #1
Victor Bayne, the psychic half of a PsyCop team, is a gay medium who’s more concerned with flying under the radar than in making waves.
He hooks up with handsome Jacob Marks, a non-psychic (or “Stiff”) from an adjacent precinct at his ex-partner’s retirement party and it seems like his dubious luck has taken a turn for the better. But then a serial killer surfaces who can change his appearance to match any witness’ idea of the world’s hottest guy.
Solving murders is a snap when you can ask the victims whodunit, but this killer’s not leaving any spirits behind.
First off, I have NO IDEA why it took it me so long to read this! Normally when I start an already established series I tend to devour the whole thing immediately but as its October I have others I have to read first but trust me I will be returning to the world of Victor Bayne, Jacob Marks, and the whole PsyCop series because . . . WOW!
Among the Living may be a short novella introduction to the world of PsyCop where psychic and non-psychic(Stiffs as they are often referred to) police work hand-in-hand to solve crimes but don't let the shortness fool you, it is long on character development and world building. I won't go into details but let me tell you, if you love supernatural, crime-busting, romantic bickering, friendly banter, and plenty of lusftul chemistry then this is definitely a series for you(technically I shouldn't speak for the whole series but considering some of the author's works I have also read I'm going out on a limb and saying "series"😉). Frankly, if you only love one of those elements then Among the Living is still for you.
I can't wait to read the rest of the series to see what kind of trouble Victor and Jacob get into and I have a feeling "trouble" might be the perfect word. When an author can mesh together romance, heat, and humor with paranormal, supernatural, and mayhem then I know I found a winning combo of author and storytelling.
RATING:
Summary:
Cloverleah Pack #1
Kane Matthews, Alpha of his small wolf pack in Cloverleah has been raised to believe that mates are not possible for gay men and has lived his life accordingly. Kicked out of his home pack years before because of his sexual orientation Kane has built a solid and comfortable life for himself in the small town of Cloverleah.
Imagine his surprise when an unscheduled visit to the small town's diner unleashes a flood of emotions in the man he didn't think possible - not least of all, lust. But finding out it is possible for wolf shifters to have gay mates is just one of the things that Kane has to overcome if he is to have the forever future he has been hoping for.
Shawn Bailey never expected to find his mate. He is just too different - an "Other" who has the power to instill fear in any other shifter. After spending ten years on the run from his Alpha father he spends most days just trying to stay alive. When a chance encounter brings him face to face with his mate Shawn has to decide if the man in front of him is worth staying for.
But with hunters, Alpha challenges, Kane's parents and a smitten Alpha from another pack all interfering in Kane and Shawn's budding romance, not to mention some surprising answers about Shawn's own unique talents can these two true mates find the happily ever after they are looking for?
Warning: Some people may find the content of this book objectionable. Includes m/m, graphic sexual situations, a short BDSM scene, strong language and shifter/magic themes.
Summary:
Haunted Souls #1
When a reclusive psychic shows up looking for Jude Byrne in his adopted hometown of Salem, Massachusetts, the private investigator’s walls go up instantly. Psychic or not, this mysterious man knows secrets about Jude’s past that are better left buried in the New Mexico desert. Stranger still is the personality change that comes over the flirty P.I. after he meets the newcomer.
Psychic Copeland Forbes is a man on the edge. The once popular and well-respected medium has lived in seclusion since an attack by a former student has shaken his confidence in his abilities. Sickened by an ailment no doctor can diagnose, he travels from his home in Louisiana to seek out the one man he believes he can help him, if the rumors are true.
Faced with an enemy possessing powers greater than either man has ever faced alone, will Jude and Copeland decide to work together to defeat this dark magick? Or will both men continue on as they are now, ghosts of themselves?
Summary:
Dragon Prophecies #1
Luca Wessex is Dragon Spawn. Son of a human mother and a Red Dragon father, he has been trying his best all his life just to survive and get by. His father is abusive, his mother is dead, and most recently, a vicious and dangerous group of neighborhood Spawn have begun trying to recruit him as a member of their gang.
When a pushy and gorgeous Golden Dragon named Dmitri appears, full of questions about the gang and his role in it, Luca tries to cooperate, but he’s no snitch. Suspicious, the gang attacks Luca one evening while he’s working, and he’s rescued by Dmitri, who then kidnaps him and—for his own safety, he claims—takes him to his home in what some say is the most remote spot on Earth, an area of Russia called the Kamchatka Peninsula.
Dmitri has come home with a treasure because what Luca doesn’t know is that he isn’t a Spawn at all but a species called a dragonet and the very last one of his kind. Because of a mysterious prophecy, Dmitri has discovered the beautiful boy’s life is in danger and he wants desperately to save him. But Dmitri is up against not only another Dragon but also a powerful mage.
Dmitri takes Luca under his wing—literally—and they begin to navigate a minefield of love and a dangerous ancient prophecy. For the first time in Dmitri’s life, something is becoming more important to him than treasure, if only he can hold onto it.
Summary:
Hexworld #4
Detective Bill Quigley fell in love with the familiar Isaac the night they met. But after more than two years, it’s time to admit to himself that Isaac doesn’t return his feelings.
Isaac knows he’s too broken by his experiences for anyone to fall in love with. Especially someone like Bill, who deserves a partner unplagued by Isaac’s nightmares and doubts.
When children go missing from an orphanage, Bill and Isaac must work together to find them. And as years of yearning threaten to ignite into passion, they must decide once and for all whether to take a chance on love.
I'm going to start by saying I knew when we first met Isaac wayback when, I knew his story would pull at our heartstrings and Jordan L Hawk did not disappoint. I just wanted to wrap Isaac up in a huge Mama Bear hug worthy of bubblewrap-used-for-delivery protection. As for Bill, carrying a torch for two years knowing Isaac had to be the one to make the first move had to be excruciating and when he finally makes the decision to extinguish the flames determined to be Isaac's friend, you could hear his heart breaking. We all know the author isn't going to leave the reader hanging there but for how the two turn out you'll have to read for yourself, trust me you won't be disappointed.
As for the mystery of the missing children, nothing is more heartbreaking than crimes against the young and Jordan L Hawk has given the story it's proper timing. Asking yourself "what the heck does that mean?" Well, it means that Hexhunter is a perfect blend of mystery and romance, paranormal and lust, magic and crime, good and evil, and most importantly friendship and heart that helps bond the reader and character. There's no surprise that the crime will make you mad but the "solving" of it will make you smile for obvious reasons but for me, I found myself even more invested in watching Isaac grow and realize being in familiar form didn't have to be the negative experience as it once was. That element was one of my favorite moments of the book, possibly the whole series.
Now, I know some of you are thinking "Oh, she just gave away a big story point" and perhaps that's a bit true but for me, the real story, the adrenaline rush, the can't-put-it-down feeling isn't about the end result, it's about the journey the characters are on getting from point A to point Z. Bill and Isaac quickly became my second favorite couple in the Hexworld series, coming in close behind Dom and Rook who we met in the introduction novella, The 13th Hex. I've loved all the couples but there's just something special about these guys that put them above the rest.
One last note: if you want to know whether Hexworld needs to be read in order or you can start with Bill and Isaac's story, Hexhunter, my advice is to read the series in order. The individual cases don't really overlap or carryover but for me, the friendships, camaraderie, bickering, and humor flow better having known the other pairings' journeys as well. You won't be lost if you start with Hexhunter because any plot points that do carry over are quickly recapped but as I said the connections between the characters just meshed better. However you choose to read this series, I can't recommend doing so enough because the Hexworld universe is attention grabbing and highly addictive, a true reading gem.
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Random Paranormal Tales of 2019
Among the Living by Jordan Castillo Price
Once upon a time if you told doctors you heard voices, they’d diagnose you as schizophrenic, put you on heavy drugs, and lock you away in a cozy state institution to keep you from hurting yourself or others.
Nowadays they test you first to see if you’re psychic.
_____
Maurice was a sixty-two year old black man who had a lot more gray in his hair at his retirement party than he’d had when I first met him. We’d never been close in a way that some partners at the Fifth Precinct are. We didn’t hit sports bars after our shift for a shot and a beer. We didn’t watch the game at each others’ houses. We didn’t invite each other to family functions—not that I have any family to speak of.
Maybe it was the race difference. Or the age difference. But despite the fact that we didn’t connect on any sort of deep, soul-searching level, I was gonna miss working with the guy.
I stood behind the kitchen island and watched through the glass doors that led to the deck as Maurice ambled by. He laughed as he tried to balance a Coors Light, a styrofoam tray of bratwurst and a small stack of CDs. He looked genuinely happy. I supposed he was ready to retire—not like those guys you hear about that are forced out, along with all of their years of honed experience, in favor of some young buck who’ll work for half the salary.
Maurice set the CDs in a sloppy, listing pile next to a tinny boom box and drained his beer in one pull. I wondered if being retired would entice him into a long slide down the neck of a bottle, but then I felt a little guilty for even thinking it. Because Maurice never, ever made comments about my Auracel—whether I had taken any, or was out, or was rebounding after a weekend of “accidentally” doubling or tripling my dosage. Nothing.
Maybe that was the actual reason I was gonna miss him so much.
I turned away from the deck and made my way back down the hall, and tried to remember where the bathroom was. I veered accidentally into the rec room and a bunch of black kids, mostly teenagers, all fell silent. I nodded at them and wondered if I’d managed to look friendly or if I just came off as some creepy, white asshole, then headed toward the basement where I remembered there was a half bath off Maurice’s seldom-used woodshop.
“That’s him, Victor Bayne,” one of the kids whispered, so loud that it was audible to my physical ears. Not that my sixth sense would’ve picked it up, given that I was pretty far into a nice Auracel haze, and besides, I wasn’t particularly clairaudient. “He was my dad’s partner on the Spook Squad.”
I quelled the urge to go back into the rec room and tell Maurice’s kid that his dad would probably shit a brick if he heard that expression in his home. But that’d lead to a long-winded discussion of civil rights, yadda yadda yadda. Plus I’d be absolutely certain to come off as a creepy, white asshole then, in case there was any doubt at all.
I groped around the cellar wall at the top of the stairs for several long moments for a light until I realized the lights downstairs were already on. I made a mental note to rib Maurice about the availability of light bulbs greater than 40 watts come Monday. Except Maurice wasn’t gonna be there on Monday. Damn.
My eyes adjusted and I took the cellar steps two by two. I imagined what Maurice’s kid was probably saying about me to his cousins and friends. It was pretty plain that I was the psychic half of the Maurice/Victor team, since Maurice was about as psychic as a brick wall, and damn proud of it.
A pair of opposites forms a Paranormal Investigation Unit. The Psychs—psychic cops—do the psychic stuff, just like you’d expect. And the Stiffs—look, I didn’t name ’em—are oblivious to any psychic interference a sixth-sensory gifted criminal might throw out there. It was rough at first getting used to riding around with a guy who put out about as many vibes as a day-old ham sandwich. But I got used to it, and eventually I grew to see the practicality of pairing us with each other.
Halfway down the steps I reached into my jeans pocket and found a tab of Auracel among the old gum wrappers and lint. I felt around some more, but only managed to locate the one. I’d brought three with me. Had I taken two earlier? I only remembered taking one in the car. Oh, and there was the one I took when Sergeant Warwick came in. The irony. Popping pills within spitting distance of someone capable of cutting off my precious supply.
I swallowed the Auracel, grabbed hold of the bathroom door and barely caught myself from slamming face first into Detective Jacob Marks, the golden child of the Twelfth Precinct Sex Crimes Unit.
He was a big, dark-eyed, dark-haired hunk of a guy with a neatly clipped goatee and short hair that looked like he had it trimmed every single week. He’d always looked beefy to me from afar, standing in the background, tall and proud, as his sergeant praised his work on high profile cases during press releases while the cameras flashed and the video rolled. But up close it was obvious that he was as wide as two of me put together, and it was all solid muscle.
I think I excused myself and staggered back a step or two. The Auracel I’d taken on the stairs was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I swallowed hard, worried that its innocuous gelatin coating would dissolve and give me a big jolt of something bitter and nasty. The Auracel didn’t budge.
“So,” Marks said, deftly swerving his bulging pecs around my shoulder as he maneuvered past me. I stood there gaping and trying not to choke. “Lost your Stiff.”
A comment about the crassness of calling Maurice a Stiff stuck somewhere around the last Auracel, as I realized that Marks not only knew who I was and what I did, but that he seemed to be flirting with me. Detective Marks—queer? Who knew? And besides, he was a Stiff, too.
Or maybe he was just a jerk and the flirting notion was merely something that my mind constructed from the high it’d gleaned from two Auracels and a few fumes.
I shrugged and raised my eyebrow. Nothing like being noncommittal. Especially when I only had access to five senses, and even those were pretty fuzzy around the edges.
Marks leaned back against Maurice’s workbench and crossed his arms over his chest. That pose made him triple my diameter, and his tight black T-shirt was stretched so taut over his biceps that it probably wanted to surrender. “New partner lined up yet?”
I wondered if “partner” was also supposed to be flirtatious, as in “sexual partner.” But even my Auracel-addled mind figured that’d be a pretty far stretch. I had nowhere to lean, so I stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets and hunched a little, as kids who are taller than their classmates tend to do. Marks was as tall as I was. I like that in a man. “It’s all hush-hush,” I said, belatedly thankful that I didn’t make a tongue twister out of those last couple of words. “I think they had like a hundred applicants.”
Marks cocked his head to one side, considering me. The bitterness of Auracel spread over the back of my tongue and I swallowed convulsively—smooth move. “Probably more like a thousand,” Marks said, “but they screen ninety percent of them out before the interviews start.”
A thousand people wanted to be the Stiff half of a Paranormal Investigation Unit—homicide, no less? I imagined I’d be flattered, if I weren’t choking.
I stifled a cough and dry-swallowed three, four more times. My eyelashes felt damp.
And Jacob Marks had pushed off from the workbench and pressed right up against me. “What’s in your mouth?” he said, and his voice was a sexy, low purr. He pulled my face up against his, pried my mouth open with his and skimmed his tongue across the inside of my upper lip. “Auracel? Isn’t that the strongest anti-psyactive they make?”
How would he know what Auracel tastes like? I probably would’ve asked him myself, except I wasn’t quite fit for speaking. Or even breathing, for that matter. I squeezed my hand up between us and managed to push back from Marks before I hurled all over him. The bathroom sink was only a yard away, and I turned both taps on, scooped up tepid water with both hands, and struggled to dislodge the pill from my soft palate.
Finally, the foul thing tore free and made its way down my throat. It felt like it’d left behind a chemical burn on the roof of my mouth and the back of my tongue. I cupped a few more handfuls of water from the tap, drank them, and then splashed one on my face for good measure.
I stared down at the sink as the water dripped from my hairline. Cripes. Jacob Marks kissed me, sorta, and I was too busy choking on a pill to get into it. I assumed I’d just blown a perfectly good shot at some hot, nearly-anonymous sex when I heard Marks’ voice again coming from the doorway. Apparently I hadn’t succeeded in scaring him off. His reflection met my eye in the medicine cabinet mirror.
“One in every five hundred people is certifiably psychic, and they’re all clamoring for something to shut their talent off. What kind of sense does that make?” he asked. There was a friendly lilt to his tone of voice, but the look in his eye made his words feel like more of a challenge.
Well, didn’t he know his facts and figures? I ran my hand up through my half-wet hair. The mirror reflected it back at me. It stood up in a crazy, black thatch. I needed a haircut.
I flipped open the door to see if maybe there was some Listerine in there to wash away the taste of the Auracel, but found nothing but a bottle of Jergen’s lotion and a few yellowed aspirin left over from the Reagan Era.
“You’re a PsyCop.” I turned to face Marks. “Why don’t you ask your partner?”
“Carolyn’s all natural,” he said. And I wondered if they were fucking each other, though I guessed it was really none of my business.
I think his prying would normally have pissed me off. But I’m not normally three Auracel to the wind, so I played along. “Good for Carolyn,” I said. “Do dead people like to talk with Carolyn? All day, all night? Describe how they died? In excruciating detail?”
“Carolyn can tell if people are lying.”
“A human polygraph,” I said, and I supposed it was clever. You didn’t need someone’s consent to use your psychic ability, not if you had a federal license. But you did need a court order to hook someone up to a lie detector. “No wonder you collar so many perverts.”
Marks broke into a smile that was almost more of a leer, and I realized he was probably a lot more fun than I’d ever imagined he’d be. “It helps,” he said. “But Carolyn’s only a level two, and criminals can be incredibly evasive.” He pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot and locked it behind us. The tiny doorknob twist lock seemed pathetically inadequate, considering that any cop upstairs could kick the door in without even breaking a sweat, but maybe the sanctity of the bathroom would protect us from discovery.
Marks eased up to me and then stopped, that infuriating—yet sexy—grin plastered on his face, framed by his impossibly neat goatee. I wondered what he wanted. More witty repartee? The third Auracel was kicking in and I hardly had two brain cells to rub together, so I closed the distance between us, slipped my arms around his neck and initiated a kiss of my own.
His tongue tasted beery, but pleasantly so, like he’d just had a drink or two at the party. I wished I could drink, but while alcohol loosens me up just like anyone else, it also amps up the voices. I don’t drink.
He got a hand around my waist and slipped the other around the back of my jeans, kneading my ass hard, showing me his strength. I grazed his lower lip with my teeth and he grunted a little into my mouth, ground his fly against mine.
Marks backed me into the towel rack, which settled right beneath my shoulder blades, and started kissing me hard, rubbing up against me while his sweet tongue swept over my bitter one.
I was the one to fumble with buttons and zippers, to expose our stiff cocks to the ambient light of my ex-partner’s bathroom. Marks seemed pleased enough to let our experience take him where it would and to have me call the shots. But then again, Marks could probably pick people up whenever he was horny. I had to jump on any chance that presented itself to me and hope I was on Auracel—or at least able to get my hands on some. I really hate threesomes when one of the participants is dead.
Marks had a thick, fat cock, rock hard and ruddy. Mine had a certain delicacy and grace beside his as he took them both in his hands and pumped them, hard, even strokes, while I cupped his jaw between my palms and languidly tongued his mouth.
He knows, I thought, and though his grip was harder than I might have liked, my body still responded to it, thighs clenching and warmth building at the base of my spine. He knows who I am. And he knows what I do. And he’s willing to jack me off anyway.
I trailed my fingertips over his scalp, through his closely-shorn hair, and he groaned into my mouth, his hands moving faster on us. My breath hissed in and I caressed the tips of his ears and the curve of his jaw with a feathery touch. I sucked on his tongue.
He pulled back to watch himself as he came, his jiz rolling down over his knuckles as he clenched his cock hard, and I suddenly liked his face a whole lot better. Open like that, and vulnerable. Not the handsome, self-assured detective who always got his man, but just a guy jacking off with me. His mouth was so pretty—a little swollen now, from kissing me. I imagined it closing around the head of my cock, taking me into its soft, wet warmth, and then my hips gave a twitch and I was coming. It was a pretty energetic spurt, given the amount of drugs in my system, and the first rope of come managed to paint itself down the front of Marks’ T-shirt and across the leg of his black jeans.
I sniggered a little as I shot again, more weakly though, just over his bare forearm, and again. Marks stared at me, our sticky cocks loose in his grip, and then he broke into a big grin, too. My vision was going all starry around the edges and I was glad of the towel rack behind me, and the big cop in front of me. I still had my arms draped over his shoulders, and couldn’t think of any good reason to let go.
Someone banged on the door. “Bayne? You in there?”
I pressed my forehead into Marks’ shoulder and exhaled carefully. I could’ve ignored it, if it was anyone else but Sergeant Warwick. But that voice, in that tone, would need to be answered. “Yeah, Sarge.”
Marks gave my cock a slow, teasing stroke. It gave up a final bead of semen.
“I need you at the station. Now.”
On a Sunday? When we were all at a party, some of us drunk, some of us pill-buffered, and some of us getting lucky? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. “Okay,” I said. I considered dropping something into the toilet to make it sound like I was taking a big dump, but then I’d either have to fish the object back out or leave it in there to screw up Maurice’s plumbing. Instead, I tugged at the toilet paper roll and tried to make it rattle. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
We both listened to Warwick’s footsteps as he headed back upstairs. Marks’ face had shifted back into cop-mode, his shrewd, dark eyes scanning the empty air in front of him as he analyzed whatever theories he was assembling inside his head. “Something big just went down.” He pulled a yard of toilet paper from the roll and wiped my jiz off his leg.
The Reluctant Wolf by Lisa Oliver
Shawn looked deep into Kane’s eyes and nodded.
“No, I want to hear you. Tell me you want this.”
“Yes. Yes, I want this. I want you.” Shawn’s voice was so quiet Kane could barely hear him, but it was enough, for now. He pushed himself up onto his knees and then leaned over peppering Shawn’s lips, his chin and his neck with kisses and nips. As he felt Shawn groan he ran his tongue up over Shawn’s throat, then nibbled his way back down again. His hands gripped at Shawn’s shirt and he ripped it away. Stopping his nuzzling just long enough to run his eyes over the muscles on his mate’s chest and abs, he muttered, “just perfect,” before he moved his mouth down over Shawn’s pecs to his taut nipples.
He licked his tongue over one small nub and was rewarded with a deep groan. Hmm, his mate likes this. Kane moved until he was settled between Shawn’s thighs and then he went back to the same nipple, licking, nipping and then licking again. He bought his hand up to other one, teasing and drawing it out with his fingers. Shawn moaned and arched his back, his cock thrusting up at Kane’s stomach. Yeah his mate definitely likes this.
Humming softly Kane worked his way down Shawn’s rock hard abs and then ran his tongue down the groove that ran down his hip. First one side and then the other, teasing his mate just under the line of the shorts he still wearing. Shawn was thrashing about on the bed, moaning and gasping, pushing Kane closer to his own release. He felt Shawn’s fingers pushing his head, trying to get him to go lower but he resisted, planting little nips across Shawn’s abdomen. The tip of Shawn’s cock was nudging his chin and he moved across the cloth until his lips were sealed around the head blowing out deeply.
“Kane, pleeeease,” Shawn begged and that Kane almost climaxed at the sound of his voice.
Wedging himself up off of Shawn’s body Kane quickly unbuttoned and unzipped the man’s shorts. As Shawn’s cock sprung free, Kane literally drooled and before he could stop himself he picked up the throbbing mass and bent down taking his mate’s entire length into his mouth. He moaned as the man’s pre-come hit his tongue – delicious. Sucking up to the ridge around the head of Shawn’s cock Kane flicked his tongue over the slit seeking out more before sliding back down again. On and on he kept up the rhythm of sucking, licking and sliding, feeling Shawn come apart under the hands he had firmly wedged on Shawn’s hips.
“Kane, I’m gonna come, Kane.” Shawn keened as he arched up into Kane’s mouth. Kane swallowed him down, rubbing his nose in the hair at the base of the shaft, taking Shawn right to the hilt. He could feel Shawn shudder as he came, thrusting further into Kane’s open throat, warm thick come pulsing over his tongue. Shawn let out an adorable groan as he kept coming, squirting stream after stream while Kane kept swallowing. As he felt Shawn slowly coming down he slowly let the man’s cock slide gently from his mouth and he sat up.
Shawn looked at him under hooded eyes with a half smile on his face. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”
“I intend to.”
Jordan Castillo PriceAuthor and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
Lisa Oliver had been writing non-fiction books for years when visions of half dressed, buff men started invading her dreams. Unable to resist the lure of her stories, Lisa decided to switch to fiction books, and now stories about her men clamor to get out from under her fingertips.
When Lisa is not writing, she is usually reading with a cup of tea always at hand. Her grown children and grandchildren sometimes try and pry her away from the computer and have found that the best way to do it, is to promise her chocolate. Lisa will do anything for chocolate.
Lisa loves to hear from her readers and other writers. You can friend her on Facebook, or email her directly at yoursintuitively@gmail.com. If you want to chat with her on Skype, then email for contact details.
Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.
In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.
Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.
Shannon makes her home in Georgia and North Carolina with her husband and family. She believes that love is love, no matter the gender. Shannon mostly spends her days at the keyboard trying to elude housework, which stalks her relentlessly.
Susan Scott lives with her husband in a small town in north Georgia. They're both owned by their Yorkie, Sophie, who is the undisputed queen of the household. Susan enjoys scrapbooking, traveling and reading and writing romance. Susan writes M/F and M/M erotic romance.
Jordan L Hawk
Jordan L. Hawk is a non-binary queer author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave them a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When they aren’t writing, they brew their own beer and try to keep the cats from destroying the house. Their best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
Jordan Castillo Price
EMAILS: jordan@psycop.com
jcp.heat@gmail.com
Lisa Oliver
FACEBOOK / TWITTER / WEBSITE
KOBO / AUDIBLE / B&N / SMASHWORDS
iTUNES / AMAZON / GOODREADS
KOBO / AUDIBLE / B&N / SMASHWORDS
iTUNES / AMAZON / GOODREADS
EMAIL: yoursintuitively@gmail.com
Pandora Pine
Shannon West
Susan E Scott
EMAIL: susanescott147@att.net
Among the Living by Jordan Castillo Price
The Reluctant Wolf by Lisa Oliver
Ghost of Himself by Pandora Pine
The Last Dragonet by Shannon West & Susan E Scott
Hexhunter by Jordan L Hawk
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