Midweek Tease: From Hello Again FREE Today only August 29, 2018

Good morning! Welcome to the last post of official summer. Since today is the last day of my five-day giveaway for Hello Again,  my paranormal romance suspense based on a Native American myth, I thought I would share a scene from it.  Thanks again to Angelica Dawson and all the other fine authors who make this weekly post a reality.

The Blurb:

For Charley Winters love means loss and pain. She’s spent the last five years struggling with her grief. Existing, not living. Drawn to Saskatchewan, she travels west take the job she’s always wanted. But life gets complicated when she’s rescued from a vicious tornado by her dead husband’s double, a man who makes her feel things she hasn’t in years. Add to that a native myth, a shaman, a green-eyed wolf, and her husband’s ghost … Can she lift a millennia old curse and find joy and love again?

Your Tease:

Crossing the floor of the tiny one bedroom apartment that had been her home for the last forty-six months—but who was counting?—Charley stood in front of the dormer window, staring out at the dark, ominous evening sky, the hot, humid August weather presaging another storm. There’d been one every night for the past two weeks, and her nerves were shot. She hated thunderstorms, especially those accompanied by blinding lightning and rain that pounded down so hard on the roof, it was a wonder it didn’t come straight through.

In the distance, wolves howled as they did every night, their plaintive wails reminding her of the day Mike died. Had the animals always done that? She didn’t remember hearing them when Mike had been with her, but then, she’d had other things on her mind. She envied the animals their freedom. They could run and roam and yet here she was stuck in time and place, waiting to cash in her chips and join those she’d lost.

Being cooped up for hours on end inside the small space that was her home got to her, and if the power went out, plunging her into the dark, Lord help her. Mike had teased her about her fear of storms, but nothing he’d invented about spirits bowling or angels playing jacks had been able to assuage her terror. During the night, when he’d been home, he’d held her tightly, but there’d been more stormy nights without him than with him, and she’d yet to learn to cope with the anxiety they produced.

She’d spent more than one night in the garage checking the school’s various vehicles, as well as those of the staff who’d stayed at the academy during the break, but there wasn’t anything more to do there. Matilda’s engine had been washed and cleaned and looked like new. She’d even managed to do a little bodywork and repainting. Dad would be proud of how well she maintained that car.

Moving to the table, she turned up the portable fan, hoping it would cool her, knowing if she had another one of those dreams, she’d combust, fan or no fan. This past month, when she’d finally dragged herself to bed, so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, she dreamed of Mike, but those experiences were as different as night and day from the usual ones she’d had for almost four years now. In those, she tried to apologize for her part in his death, while he begged her to be happy, listen to his last wishes, and move on. Occasionally, she’d relive memories of happier times, but inevitably those ended with her in tears and filled with loneliness, so profound it sucked all the joy out of her.

She was depressed—had been ever since losing everything that mattered to her. She’d tried to set it aside, rise above the pain, but it was a futile effort. She’d gone to grief counselling, had taken the antidepressants that left her in a fog, incapable of thinking coherently, of functioning properly, and in the end, had given up on all of it. Life like this was her penance.

Miri claimed it was more than that. She was convinced Charley was being haunted, and she probably was—by her own guilt—but recently she had to admit there was something else going on.

These new night visions were wildly erotic dreams, so realistic that she’d swear they were actually happening. Since when was she so consumed with sex that she imagined having intercourse with what had to be her husband’s ghost? It was as if she’d morphed into some kind of succubus, an insatiable creature who couldn’t get enough of the man who infiltrated her deepest dreams. While the love making was similar to the special moments she’d shared with Mike, there was something different about the taste, the texture, and the scents she remembered. It was wilder, resulting in an earth-shattering climax each time, followed by hours of dreamless sleep.

The slightly furred chest she’d fondled, less hairy than she recalled, was smooth except for rough skin near the heart, but otherwise, the phantom who drove her wild was the man she loved. She prayed she didn’t cry out in her release, but no one had looked at her oddly or commented. Of course, with Miri and Lory, the other teacher on duty during the vacation period, at the far end of the hall, there was no one to hear her anyway.

While in the past she’d shared everything with Miri, these dreams or whatever they were, she kept to herself. The last thing she wanted was Miri dragging her to see yet another psychologist.

At first, the dreams had frightened her, but now, they brought comfort. What was happening to her? Had that damn biological clock of hers gone off, reminding her she’d be thirty in a few months? The last time her hormones had played havoc with her was when she’d been pregnant, and she was pretty damn sure her night visitor wasn’t the Holy Ghost.

It didn’t really matter who or what was behind the dreams. She’d never fall in love again. There was no room in her heart for anyone other than Mike and the twins, and casual sex was definitely not in the cards.

Hello Again in e-book format is free to download today. It’s also available through KU!

Don’t forget to check out the other MidweekTeasers.

#MidWeekTease August 29, 2018



Tuesday Tales: From the Word FUNNY

New TT imageWelcome back to Tuesday Tales, the blog spot where books are born. This week our writing prompt used to add to our work in progress is FUNNY. I’m continuing with my historical romance, The Price of Courage. Lucien and company seem to have met some unsavory men–just how unsavory is yet to be seen!

Okwaho nodded and disappeared into the brush. Even though Lucien knew he was mere feet away, the brave was invisible.

Hefting his pack onto his shoulders, Lucien attached his arquebus to its side, and using the sinews woven into a rope, tethered the sled at his waist.  Yves geared up beside him.

Instead of turning south toward the village, the men followed Bouchard’s trail. The toboggan skimmed over the snow with ease requiring little effort to tow, unlike the traîneau the others dragged, its wooden runners sinking into the soft snow.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said, as they trudged along. “Those men aren’t who they say they are. They’re running from someone or something, and I don’t think it has anything to do with people dying of fevers.”

Yves nodded and crossed himself, his musket at the ready.

“Marion looked scared to death, as if he’d seen or done something too horrible to forget. Catiche would say it was a Wendigo, but they aren’t real. I’ve tried to tell her that, but you know how superstitious she can be. My brother was telling stories around the campfire last summer and told one about the loup garou.” He laughed. “From that day on, you should’ve seen how funny our home looked with wild garlic strung in every window and at the top of each doorway to protect against them. She even added some to the camphor packets she sewed onto the children’s nightclothes.”

Lucien frowned. “I doubt cannibalistic spirits or werewolves had anything to do with whatever scared him. Let’s step up the pace. The sooner we discover the truth the better.”

With Yves by his side, he ran-walked along the flat surface following the trail. When they reached the base of a small hill, they stopped.

Maudit bâtard lied,” Yves growled. “They came from the north, not the south. Look at this.” The snow was heavily disturbed. He reached for a couple of small muskrat pelts the men had overlooked. “They must’ve fallen and rolled down the hill. These skins may not be the most valuable, but they would bring a fair price. Why leave them behind?”

“Good question. With the sun at their backs, they must’ve seen us first and brushed off as much of the snow as they could.”

The acid in Lucien’s gut boiled. Who the hell were these men?

That’s it.  Don’t forget to check out all the other posts on  Tuesday Tales

Release Day: Shades of Fury by Heather Renee

Welcome to a special Friday’s Featured Author. As you know, I like to help new authors whenever I can and today is no exception, so without further ado, let’s have a drum roll for this new adult paranormal:

Sale Graphic


Taya’s just been named alpha-in-training. First order of business: avenging her twin brother’s death.

When Cord connected a rival pack to the disappearances of humans, he paid the ultimate price. Now it’s up to Taya to pick up where he left off and find justice for those who have been harmed.

As she closes in on her brother’s murderer, the threats only escalate. He wasn’t the only target, and now everyone she loves is in danger, further fueling Taya’s need for revenge.

With the help of an irresistible shifter named Liam, they set out in search of the only witch coven strong enough to set things right. Only Taya isn’t sure who to trust and if she doesn’t decide soon, she could lose not only her heart, but the people she loves most.

Fans of Ilona Andrews and Jennifer Ashley will devour this New Adult Paranormal Romance full of shifters, sass, romance, and unforeseen twists.


Rapid Release Schedule for Raven Point Pack:

Shades of Fury – August 23rd, 2018
Shades of Magic – September 13th, 2018
Shades of Deceit – September 27th, 2018

Buy Link:

Available exclusively on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited
Download your copy at http://smarturl.it/ShadesOfFury


Teaser - SOFAuthor Bio:

Heather Renee is a USA Today Bestselling author who lives in Oregon. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance novels with a mixture of adventure, humor, and sass. Her love of reading eventually led to her passion of writing and giving the gift of escapism.

When Heather’s not writing, she is spending time with her loving husband and beautiful daughter, going on their own adventures. She loves to hear from her fans, so visit her website and the Contact Me link for ways to connect. http://www.HeatherReneeAuthor.com

Author Links:

Mailing listWebsiteAmazon

InstagramFacebook Author PageFacebook Fan GroupTwitter



Tuesday Tales: From A Picture

New TT imageWelcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog stop where books are born. Each week, a small group of writers post a scene from their work in progress based on a word or picture prompt. This week is picture prompt week and the scene is limited to 300 words.

I’m continuing with The Price of Courage, my new Historical romance, Book Two in the Canadiana Series.

Jean Joachim, the leader of our merry band, supplies the prompts we use each week. Here’s the image I chose. brown bunnyWho doesn’t like a cute little bunny? Did you know that cottontail rabbits don’t change the color of their coats in winter?

Here’s this week’s tease.

Lanoie shifted his stance. The man fidgeted as if he expected trouble, reminding Lucien of a cottontail, brown against the snow, with nowhere to hide, no place to go. Innocent men didn’t behave that way.

“We should get going, Méderic. We have a long way to go before we make camp again.”

Bouchard nodded. “You’re right. Are there seigneuries the way you came?”

“A few,” Lucien answered, his gut churning. That was an odd question. If they lived and worked nearby, they would know that for themselves. “Most recently, we camped under a large spruce a couple of hours from here. Sadly, the snow will have obliterated our earlier trail.”

No need to tell them they’d arrived by canoe, that vessel well-hidden along the shore.

Bouchard removed his mitten, his hand grime-covered, the copper-tang of blood mixed with God alone knew what filling Lucien’s nostrils. Had the man never heard of soap? Swallowing his disgust, he shook the filthy paw.

With a nod of his head, Bouchard indicated they should leave. Lucien and Yves stood there, watching until they were out of sight.

“Okwaho,” he said as the brave moved out of the brush to stand beside them once more, the loaded toboggan at his side. “I’ll take the sled. You hang back to make sure no one returns. Something’s wrong. There’s no estate by that name in the records we were given, but a prisoner ship that bore that title docked in Quebec three years ago. If you’re both agreeable, we’ll take a slight detour and follow their trail. I want to see this supposed La Jeunesse Oublige seigneurie for myself.”

“Okwaho will follow when he can. Those men smelled of death,” the Mohawk said, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“The question is whose,” Yves added.

That’s it. What do you think our men will find? Don’t forget to check out all the other posts on  Tuesday Tales


Midweek Tease: More From Same Time Next Year

MWTease15Welcome to the Midweek Tease, made possible by Angelica Dawson.  I’ve had a busy couple of weeks, but I’m back with another tease from my new novel, Same Time Next Year. Normally, I tease in order, but today, I’ve decided to jump ahead a few  weeks in the story.


Same Time Next Year“Where’s Lana?” Mary asked, carrying a tray into the room.

Twyla swiped at her tears and smiled, trying to hide her sorrow.

“You know her. She’s always on the go. She brought me a present. Pictures recovered from my old camera and copies of all my old forty-fives that I can play on my computer.”

Mary picked up the photographs. As she flipped through them, her face changed and filled with sadness.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The one in the animal print swimsuit. He’s Billie’s father and that’s got to be his sister. Lana looks like her.”

Twyla choked on the mouthful of coffee she’d taken.

“Where would you ever get an idea like that?” she asked. Could she lie and claim they were relatives?

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest. The doctor claimed the sensation was normal. Apparently rubatosis, the idea that instead of a steady thump, your heart was playing a rock song to remind you that you’d survived, wasn’t uncommon in people who’d gone through what she had.

“Other than the fact she looks like him?” Mary shook her head. “I’ve worked here for fifty years. Mr. William was a good man, treated you and Billie well, but his heart was in that box from the Department of Defense he spent hours with. Twyla, it’s time you set the past aside and did something for yourself. William would want to see you happy. If that’s the man you love as much as whoever it was he mourned, you have to at least try to find him. You’ve been alone too long.” She picked up the tray and left.

Was Mary right? She’d made promises to William, too, but was it time to find the answers she needed?

“July,” Twyla muttered, now committed to the idea. “If I’m going to go back, it has to be then. I promised I would. Maybe it’s time I kept my promise.”

The Blurb:

A novel within a novel.
For three short weeks, Twyla Lancaster was the fairy tale princess who’d found her prince, but just like that, reality ripped them apart. Now, fifty years later, she needs to know why the only man she ever loved broke his promises. As she writes her memoir and learns more about that summer, she realizes things were not what they seemed.
Hormones raced, promises were made, but Twyla left Michael Morrison high and dry, and within weeks, married someone else. Grieving the loss of his parents and her betrayal, he turned his back on love, focusing on his military career. Now, goaded by his sister, he agrees to attend a wedding and reunion, knowing Twyla will be there. It’s time to find out why she lied to him all those years ago.
The moment the star-crossed lovers see one another, love blooms between them, but when Michael discovers Twyla’s secret, he’s devastated. Is love enough to erase fifty years of pain and betrayal?

Same Time Next Year is available through Amazon, and free to read on KU!

Please visit the rest of this week’s teasers.

#MidWeekTease August 15, 2018


Tuesday Tales: From the Word SOUR

New TT imageWelcome back to Tuesday Tales. This week, our word prompt is SOUR. Check out all of the posts to see how our talented writers used the word in their stories.

I’m continuing with The Price of Courage, my historical romance. As is my custom, this post follows last week’s.

“You’ve chosen an odd time to do so,” Lucien commented, his eyes narrowing. “Most of coureurs be bois trap during the winter and sell their goods, including those prime white pelts, come spring.”

“That may be,” Bouchard argued, his chin raised defensively. From our point of view, we’re cornering the market since new furs are rare at this time of year.”

The man introduced as Marion spat on the ground. “To hell with the pelts. They’ll bring what they bring. I’ll not spend another minute in this godforsaken land waiting to die,” he said, his eyes wild and bulging.

Bouchard glared at his companion. He shook his head.

“Forgive Urgel’s ravings. It’s been a rough year. Many of our compatriots have died, and we’ve decided it’s smarter to pack up and leave.”

Yves’s eyebrows drew together into one fierce line. “What did they die from?” he asked.

“We were twelve—eleven to work the land and one manager,” Bouchard answered, his jaw set. “Incessant rains and unseasonal temperatures doomed many of the crops. Men succumbed to fevers. Some, like these two,” he indicated the brothers, “recovered, but most weren’t so lucky. When the estate manager died, we decided to leave and make our way back to Quebec.”

“So you aren’t trappers but field hands. You worked a seigneurie?” Lucien asked, the knots in his sour stomach growing tighter by the second. What Bouchard was saying made little sense. Men working the land wouldn’t have accumulated so many prime furs.

“Yes. La Jeunesse Oublige. It’s three days to the northeast of here—more rock and scrub than arable land. Too far north to farm properly and with bad weather…” He spat in the snow in disgust. “The owner’s in France, but insisted we trap as well as clear the land.”

Yves was about to speak when Lucien cut him off. There was no estate by that name according to the documents they’d been given.

“I see, but the trapping was good?”

“Not really,” the man answered and looked away. This is all we have for a season’s work, and there were twelve of us.”

“In that case, I agree. By the way, where did you wait out the storm?” he asked. These men were lying. He needed to tread carefully.

“We made camp on the other side of the village. If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from there.”

Do you agree with Lucien? Don’t forget to check out all the other posts on  Tuesday Tales

Tuesday Tales: From the Word RESTLESS

New TT imageWelcome back to Tuesday Tales, the weekly blog hop that lets you see work in progress from its members. Each scene posted is limited in size and based on a specific word or picture prompt. This week, our word is RESTLESS. I’m continuing with my historical fiction, The Price of  Courage. Enjoy.

Stopping, Lucien removed his pack, dropping it at his feet. He pulled out his arquebus as well as his deer bladder filled with water, pretending to drink. Yves followed suit. Okwaho grabbed the sled of supplies and hunkered down behind it against the large bushes on the left side of the trail.

As the shadows grew larger, Lucien’s gut tightened. From here, he couldn’t tell if those approaching were friend or foe. Had they unwittingly trespassed onto someone’s territory? While most trappers were satisfied with an apology, others could be ruthless. The men who’d kidnapped Marianne and her children, killing her brother in the process, were proof of that.

“I don’t like this,” Yves said. “From here, they’re dressed like coureurs de bois, but they move awkwardly, as if it’s their first time on snowshoes.”

Lucien nodded. “Okwaho, move farther into the brush. If anything happens, you’ll have a better chance to protect us if they don’t see you.”

“And, mon ami,” Yves added. “Don’t miss. I promised Catiche that I would come back from this trip with enough money to buy a farm. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Michaud has no reason to fear. Okwaho never misses.”

Restless, his eyes focused on the men approaching, Lucien chuckled. If any other man made such a claim, he would be lying, but the Mohawk sharpshooter was right.

As the men neared, Lucien counted five of them and noted the sleigh full of cured pelts they dragged behind them. He raised his hand in salute, his primed weapon—he always kept it ready—leaning against his leg within easy reach.

The man leading the party raised his hand in response. If they were ready to fight, Lucien saw no sign of it, but didn’t relax.

“Bonjour,” Lucien said, his guard firmly in place. “If we’ve wondered into your trapping territory, we meant no harm. We’re on our way to spend the winter with Atika and his tribe. I’m Lucien Rioux and this is Yves Michaud. We’re on business for the governor-general, a simple survey.”

The man shook his head, his crude wooden sunshades covering a significant portion of his face. “Méderic Bouchard, Antoine Lanoie, Urgel Marion, Seraphim Ayotte, and Laurian, his brother. We’re on our way to Quebec to sell these furs and wait out the winter.”

Lucien’s forehead creased. The names slipped off the man’s tongue smoothly, too smoothly.

So who are those guys? You’ll have to wait for next week to find out! Don’t forget to check out all the other posts on  Tuesday Tales