Fantasy authors Paul Barrett & Steve Murphy interview + giveaway

Hi there. This is Paul Barrett and Steve Murphy here to interview authors Paul Barrett and Steve Murphy. So let’s get to it.

PAUL: So Steve, how did we meet?
STEVE: When we were in our teens, you bribed me with $10 worth of quarters to go play pinball to give you a ride home on my motorcycle. I was cheap in those days.
PAUL: (under breath) Still are.
STEVE: What’s that?
PAUL: Nothing. Please, continue with this fascinating oral history.

STEVE: well, I gave you the ride to the arcade, we played pinball, and I dropped you off at home. And the rest is history. And that was (redacted) years ago. So Paul, what made you want to be a writer?
PAUL: Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. No, wait, that’s why I wanted to play guitar. But learning guitar was way too difficult, so I decided to write. Turns out writing is hard, too, but it doesn’t put calluses on your fingers. What about you?
STEVE: I had an English teacher who encouraged me. She said, “with your grasp of spelling, the only two things you can possibly be are a mathematician or an author with a really good editor.” Quadratic equations made my nose bleed, so author it was.

PAUL: where did you come you with the idea for Scribe of Destiny?
STEVE: you came up with it.
PAUL: oh, that’s right, I did, didn’t I? Well, I started thinking about the idea of the classic reluctant hero. You know the person who always gets The Call, then hangs up on it with a “no thanks, no adventure for me today.” But then the Call happens again and they wimp out and are all, “okay, fine, I’ll give up everything and slay the dragon.” I thought it might be fun to show a character who sticks to his principles and constantly tells The Call to bugger off but ends up on the Grand Adventure anyway. From there, it just became an odyssey of strange characters, bizarre situations, and lots of puns.
STEVE: This was one you sort of wrote before we decided to partner up on all our writing.
PAUL: It is. So I had the whole story, but then you came along and made it better by suggesting some edits, adding your spin on a few things, and helping fix one potentially problematic piece I let slip through. As always happens when we work together, the story got stronger.

STEVE: So who would you say this book is for? Who should read it?
PAUL: Well, everyone should read it. Otherwise, how are we going to become bestsellers? But if I had to narrow it down, I would say anyone who likes Terry Pratchett, Robert Asprin, or Douglas Adams. Not that I’m comparing us to any of those greats, but the book tries to play in the same sandbox.

Say Hello to Fantasy's Most Reluctant Hero

Scribe of Destiny
by Paul Barrett & Steve Murphy
Genre: Fantasy Comedy
Briar, son of Patch, is perfectly happy working as a low-level scribe for the Church of Ubel, spending his off time painting seascapes, walking on the beach, and being alive.

That last one is put in imminent danger when the Church hierarchy determines the god Ubel has gone insane. A delegation is gathered to journey to the Oracle of Hiephi so they can learn what must be done to cure the psychopathic deity. Briar, very much against his will, must accompany the group, ostensibly to chronicle the journey for inclusion in the official Church archives.

During their adventures, horrific visions of an angry, scowling teenager plague Briar, and he soon learns there is a deeper, darker reason behind his inclusion in this insanely dangerous quest.

Facing the likes of bloodthirsty pirates, a bloodthirstier gnome talent agent, and The Slobbering Hound of Chaos, Briar slowly, and oh so unwillingly, learns his place in the world. He might even manage to become a hero. If he survives.

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Excerpt
Crow pushed open the door and walked in before me. Protocol dictated that I, as the guest, should have been allowed first entrance—just another petty slight. I was going to have to invent an outstanding payback. Crow had to know it would come. He didn’t serve the Archbishop at all times, and when he was off-duty, he was fair game.

The chamber was large and well decorated, with straight walls covered in soft sheer curtains and tapestries, most depicting saints martyred in gruesome ways while serving Ubel. A four-poster occupied one corner, wrapped in dark blankets. A stout wooden desk sat in the room’s center, clean except for a single sheet of parchment upon which the Archbishop scribbled with a quill. Light streamed in from an open window, aided by large oil lanterns that gave off the salty scent of whale.

As I looked about the room, a strange sense of unreality walked over me, a collision of what was with what used to be. For the briefest moment, I felt like a piece of taffy tugged on by two ravenous children, each wanting the lion’s share of my mind. This chamber was how the rest of the cathedral should be but wasn’t. Or was the cathedral right and the chamber wrong? It gave me an instant headache.

“Are you okay?” the Archbishop asked in his dull, grating voice. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” I said reflexively.

“Don’t they?” the Archbishop said with an amused smile. He looked at Crow, who stood beside the large desk, and his smile faltered. “Why are you still here?”

“I await your Grace’s pleasure.”

“Well, his Grace’s pleasure would have been to have breakfast ready before he left home this morning, but since you were nowhere to be found, his pleasure now is that you depart since nothing here concerns you.”

Crow’s face fell as if the Archbishop slapped him. Which he had, in a way. Only great effort kept me from cheering. Crow glared at me. I offered a smile and a dismissive wave of my hand. We both knew I had won this round.

“As your Grace wishes.” He bowed and left, closing the door harder than strictly necessary.

The Archbishop eyed me for a moment, as a butcher might study a choice cut of meat. I shifted on my feet and stared at the rug-covered floor, unable to meet the man’s gaze. Today was the most direct contact I’d had with him my whole time in the Church since I usually worked with the priests or the archivist.

He cleared his throat, and I looked up to find him folding the parchment. He grabbed a small taper, dripped wax onto the fold, and pressed a ring into the wax. “Have you had any more strange feelings since I saw you last?”

You mean other than the feeling this room exists in someplace outside the rest of the building, I wanted to say. I still could get no sense of what the Archbishop thought of my earlier peculiar behavior and didn’t want to push things. But I couldn’t outright lie either. “Just a headache,” I said.

The Archbishop held up two pieces of parchment, one large and square, the other small and rectangular. “I want you to deliver these to Elder. This one,” he indicated the smaller one, “he is to read.” He waved the larger one. “This he is to deliver to the Holy Unseen.”

He gave me another grin, the kind you offered to people at funerals. “I understand from the priests that you are a good scribe. It will serve you well. Now take these.”

Puzzled at his strange comments, I walked over and took the parchments. As I touched them, I caught the thought nice working with you and felt the kind of sizzling jolt you might get from a torch smashed across your forehead. I looked at the documents as the Archbishop stepped back. These documents were another piece of the life-shift puzzle that had begun to assemble this morning. I couldn’t make out exactly what would happen, but I felt the answer was close.

Had I known how close, I would have burned the parchments, scattered the ashes, and moved to the swamp for the rest of my life.

About the Authors:
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Steve Murphy has spent much of his life in uniform, starting with four years in the Navy, then a stint in the Army National Guard, followed by 23 years as a police officer, 9 of those as a SWAT sniper.

So naturally, he writes science fiction, fantasy, and space opera. This is his third novel, with several more in the works with Paul. In addition to writing, Steve has also worked as a consultant and set decorator for the film industry. Steve is an outdoor enthusiast who enjoys camping, backpacking, whitewater, sailing and motorcycle riding. The father of two boys, now grown men, Steve lives somewhere in North Carolina with his wife and two dogs.

Paul Barrett has had multiple careers, including rock and roll roadie, theater stage manager, mortgage banker, and support specialist for Microsoft Excel.

This eclectic mix allowed him to go into his true love: motion picture production. He has produced two feature films (Cold Storage and Night Feeders) and two documentaries (The Final Gift, In the Footsteps of Elie Wiesel.) When not producing films, he works as a script supervisor or props assistant. Amidst all this, Paul worked on his writing. This is his fifth novel, with more on the way. Paul is an avid board gamer, miniatures painter, movie enthusiast, and all-around nerd.

Paul lives in North Carolina with his graphic designer husband and four furry overlords, aka cats.

Paul and Steve have been friends since 1980, enduring the rough and tumble of life through thick and thin since 1980.

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Interview: Horror Author Dean H. Wild + giveaway

Do your characters seem to hijack the story or do you feel like you have the reigns of the story?

In my case, it’s the story itself that is the wily beast. Since I am a pantser (someone who writes by the seat of their pants, for those of you unfamiliar with the term. I use no outlines, just basic plot ideas which I feel allows the story to flourish in an impromptu and natural fashion) I pick a certain scene or event I want to include in the book and write toward it. Oftentimes, my plan is derailed by an idea so perfect or profound that it pushes my prow off course and sets me adrift in a new direction. Is this always best? No, but it keeps me reviewing and reflecting on the work at hand. And I have more than once backtracked and began the journey toward a favored scene again because the route became too tangled or the logical path was too far off the mark. My characters, of course, do a little hijacking of their own. Many a time I have set a background character in motion within a scene only to have them start to walk and talk on their own. Next thing you know they’re rearranging the furniture and then buying the place outright. I love those characters. They may not hijack the story, but they certainly ambush my plans by insinuating themselves into the bigger picture. And every once in a while, as I delve deeper into my main characters they will, by way of one of those earlier course corrections, present me with some interesting, sometimes puzzling, options. Ah, the price of being a pantser!

Convince us why you feel The Crymost is a must-read.

I think any time a novel’s context and content expands beyond its core theme and basic storyline the rewards to the reader are heightened. In The Crymost, what begins as a tale of eerie occurrences in a small Wisconsin town swiftly becomes a ticking clock of dread and deathly terror. But The Crymost offers more than linear story. Amid all the frenzy, readers will find my viewpoints of the human condition—fearsome and fragile—and my interpretation of the powerful force that can be summoned from the depths of love, community and friendship. Therefore, the reader who enjoys sheer plot and pace will come away entertained and gratified, but so will the reader who appreciates fiction that offers elements of the real world and the fortitude of the human spirit to glint between its passages. How can anyone resist a novel that is a breathless ride and a soulful exploration?

The Crymost
by Dean H. Wild

January 22, 2019

Genre: Supernatural Horror

The town of Knoll has a dark secret…

A pact made over fifty years ago to protect the town has expired and a slumbering evil is about to awaken in a sorrowful place just outside of town, The Crymost.

When the last surviving resident of the pact is murdered, it’s up to Mick Logan and a small group of friends to decipher the mystery left behind.

Long-kept secrets will need to be unearthed before the entire town succumbs to the will of a powerful stranger who works hand in hand with the hungry entity crossing Knoll’s borders, invading its homes and executing a soul-draining grip on its citizens.

Join Mick Logan and his small band of friends as they battle The Crymost!

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EXCERPT

Luck is a thing that comes in many forms.

The phrase popped into Mick Logan’s head as he climbed the retractable steps into the attic. Hemingway, right here under the shapeless veils of insulation drooping from the underside of his roof and for no good reason other than it might have something to do, vaguely, with the task set before him. Of course, that would make it luck comes in the form of a box. And boxes there were in this narrow third floor area. Stacks of them on the dusty plank floor, each one marked in Judy’s neat handwriting.

He gazed at them, hands on hips. It seemed like such a simple task, to go home, empty the clutter from few cartons and take the empties back to the village hall to use in the clean-up. Looking at them, however, invoked a prediction, a poor man’s premonition of sorts, in which Judy pointed out displaced picture albums and stray fondue pots and asked what in the world he had been thinking. He listened to the unseasonably strong May wind whoop around the eaves outside, and he thought about going back into the morning light empty handed. Maybe come up with another solution to the box problem, one that didn’t involve the controlled and sensibly charged wrath of his dear wife. He still had a few days to get the Village Hall cleaned out before the big vote. And maybe if he checked with Copeland’s gas station again he’d come up with some boxes because he was pretty sure Roger Copeland was holding out.

But things didn’t get done by waiting. It wasn’t how the city-dwelling Mick Logan ran his classroom all those years ago and it wasn’t how the small-town Mick Logan ran his village maintenance job, either. He bit down on his lower lip, harder than usual because it brought a dull flash of pain, and he gave the attic another, more intense once-over. A box caught his eye, a reddish-colored carton with only a corner showing behind the greater bulk, like a shy child shuffled to the back of the crowd. For some reason it seemed like a good place to start.

He dragged it into the open and felt ambushed by recognition as he brushed ten years’ worth of attic dust from the counter-folded flaps at the top.

Written there in his own hand—Classroom.

No revelation, no excitement. Just the last box he’d picked up from the school in those numb and hazy days surrounding the move from Royal Center to Knoll. His hands seemed to slow down as they undid the flaps and folded them back. He considered the jumbled contents with dull reluctance, drawing a mental breath, and then began to pick through the artifacts of his previous working life.

Textbooks and lesson plans were the bulk of it: Intermediate Grammar, Introduction to Great American Literature. A desk plaque reading Mr. Logan was stuck in next to a rolled-up poster of twentieth century authors and poets. He ran his fingers through an assortment of desk pens and paperclips. Touching them was like tapping selected seconds of the past, bits of his time at Lincoln Middle-High trapped inside flint-strikes of memory.

Pushed down next to a faded desktop calendar was a small bag made of sleek gray velvet, and he pulled it out before he could reason his way through whether this was a good idea or a bad one. He let it rest in his palm and considered its drawstring top. He was into it this far, might as well finish it. He opened it and dumped the contents into his waiting palm, his heart thudding with a slow, deliberate cadence.

The items clicked together in his hand, two chess pieces—a horse head knight as gray as the bag it came from and a darker king, each carved from a veined mineral, highly polished. The wind keened across the eaves as he thumbed each piece with slow, thoughtful strokes.

“Robbie Vaughn,” he said at last.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

The house settled around him. Outside, something crashed over in the wind and rattled with a tin bucket sound. His flesh rippled beneath his Village of Knoll uniform shirt. His fist closed over the chess pieces.

The voice awakened in his memory belonged to one of the brightest, funniest kids he’d ever known. “That’s a checkmate, Mr. Logan.”

He made an evaluative, almost congratulatory smile. Despite the remembered voice, his barriers put up long ago against all Robbie Vaughn matters were holding, and he could not let these psychological levees be breeched by this discovery. No images came—not the upstairs school hallway drenched in merciless March sunshine, not the funeral home and its own unsympathetic harshness. All contained, properly cinched and calibrated. Good.

One of the carton’s seams split with a dry popping sound. It made him jump. Books spilled onto the floor. The remainder of the chess pieces, stacked in a loose jumble for the last decade, rolled out and clattered like gumballs. The wind slammed against the house again. If he were the type to believe in omens, he might have found a reason to be uncomfortable under his own roof just then. Instead he dealt the carton a hopeless swat. No longer of use to him. But stacked in the shadows behind it were more boxes. And they were empty. Luck, in one of its many forms.

Before taking the empties downstairs, he repacked the classroom stuff into a new, stronger carton. All but the velvet bag containing the knight and king which he put in his pocket next to his car keys. There was some type of comfort in the act.

About the Author

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Dean H. Wild grew up in east central Wisconsin and has lived in the area, primarily in small towns surrounding the city of Fond du Lac, all his life. He wrote his first short horror story at the tender age of seven and continued to write dark fiction while he pursued careers in retail, the newspaper industry and retail pharmacy. His short stories have seen publication in various magazines and anthologies including Bell, Book & Beyond, A Feast of Frights, Night Terrors II and Horror Library 6. His novel, The Crymost is an exploration of tradition, superstition and encroaching horror in a small Wisconsin town. He and his wife, Julie, currently reside in the village of Brownsville.

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Book Review: Wolf Untamed (SWAT Book 11) by Paige Tyler

Wolf Untamed (SWAT Book 11)

by Paige Tyler
November 24, 2020
Print length: 304 pages

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The guys in the Special Wolf Alpha Team (SWAT) are hotter than ever.

SWAT werewolf Diego Martinez was on a mission to save lives when he walked into the hostage situation—he didn't expect to find a newly turned teenage werewolf and the kid's fiercely protective mother. For Bree Harlow and her son, Brandon, Diego is a godsend, and not just because he saved the day.

Bree has spent the years since her divorce trying to do her best by Brandon. But lately the boy who used to tell her everything has been keeping secrets. In the face of all the bizarre things happening at home, there's something about Diego that Bree can't resist—especially when he's able to explain Brandon's new abilities.

But the hostage incident was just the start in a wave of violence that no one can explain, and when Bree and Brandon are caught in the middle, Diego will do everything in his power to protect the family he wants as his own.

"SWAT is hot hot hot!"—Kerrelyn Sparks, New York Times bestselling author

"Paige Tyler's SWAT series hits all the right marks, blending steamy paranormal fantasy with modern-day realism."—Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author

Eleven books in and Paige Tyler has not lost the magic with the SWAT series! There’s a character for every reader and then some!

SWAT member Diego finally gets his own book! Diego can read hostile situations better than his teammates, and he has a knack for being able to talk down most of the dangerous people he comes across. It is what makes him essential as the team’s negotiator. And it is how he meets Bree and her teenage son.

Diego and Bree made such a good couple. I loved how grounded both characters were and how both were naturally nurturing and caring of each other and of Brandon, who happens to be a werewolf. Diego helped Brandon transition into his new life as a beta, all while he was falling for Bree and helping his SWAT team deal with an increasing number of calls for help kept the book at a brisk, intense, and interesting pace. There’s a buildup to something bigger in the plot, and I’m excited to see where this new threat takes these characters and the series.

Wolf Untamed is the first SWAT book to have the influence of the spin-off STAT series woven throughout it and it made a difference. The influence is subtle, but it’s there, and I like the fact that there could be cross overs and team-ups in either series. Without spoiling anything, I will say that the shocking discoveries made a few books back has opened up the SWAT team’s world to a whole new realm of possibilities and threats. And potential mates. It will be interesting to see if any of the remaining SWAT members get paired up with an unusual mate.

All in all, I would say that Wolf Untamed keeps longtime fans interested while getting new fans excited for what’s to come. Can the book be read as a standalone? Sure. But this series deserves to be read from the beginning and in order for maximum enjoyment.

Reviews of books 1-10

Rating: 4 sheep

Adria @ Adria’s Musings and Reviews
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About the Author:
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Paige graduated from The University of West Florida with a degree in education in 2000, but decided to pursue a full-time career as a writer in 2004. Since then, she’s written over fifty books in several genres, including paranormal, contemporary, western, sci-fi and erotica. She loves writing about strong, sexy, alpha males and the feisty, independent women who fall for them. From verbal foreplay to sexual heat, her stories of romance, adventure, suspense, passion and true love will leave you breathlessly panting for more. 

She and her very own military hero (also known as her husband) live on the beautiful Florida coast with their adorable fur baby (also known as their dog). Paige graduated with a degree in education, but decided to pursue her passion and write books about hunky alpha males and the kickbutt heroines who fall in love with them.

When not working on her latest book, Paige enjoys reading, jogging, P90X, Yoga, Pilates, going to the beach, watching NFL football, watching movies and hanging out with her husband (not necessarily in that order!)

Excerpt: Crazy Rich Aliens by Jay Cannon

Crazy Rich Aliens

by Jay Cannon 

August 24, 2020
308 pages

Penda is heiress to one of the richest families in southeast Asia. Her dream is to create a startup that will commercialize space travel to Mars. To go her own way will ruin her relationship with her family, which is already strained from her being openly gay. Paul, her twin brother, wants to maintain family traditions and is angry with Penda for turning her back on them. Worse, Penda's business partner is Paul's ex-fiancée.

At an elaborate costume ball, Penda and Paul meet Luke, a gorgeous stranger wearing an alien "costume". They join him on an exotic yacht and after a night of partying, wake up on Tauran, a planet of gender-neutral beings. After their initial shock, Paul comes to view the trip as a business opportunity, while Penda prefers to learn about Tauran culture.

Penda soon falls for the amiable Timbor (Luke), heir to the richest fortune in the galaxy. Then the warm welcome to Tauran evaporates. Terrorists abduct Penda. She escapes but is relentlessly hunted. She must now evade government agents, xenophobes, and Timbor's jealous suitor on a strange planet, while foiling a plot to invade Earth, and defending her new friend, an alien.

Praise for Crazy Rich Aliens:

“Crazy Rich Aliens is more than a parody." —New York Times bestselling author Andrew Shaffer

“A rip-roaring tale with Cannon’s trademark engagingly quirky aliens.”  —Hugo Award-winner Morgan Gendel

“JC Canon’s strengths are on full display in Crazy Rich Aliens. The complex characters and detailed world-building will keep you coming back for every last bit of this fun and engrossing tale!” —J.D. Sanderson, author of AROUND THE DARK DIAL

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Excerpt from Crazy Rich Aliens, Chapter 11
“Join our rebellion. The group here, representatives of their species, gathers information, collects supplies, and creates distractions to cover for more aggressive and disruptive acts by our fighters. They are hiding in caves outside of town where the magnetic properties of the hills keep them hidden from Tauran scans. We could use your help.”

“I’ll try to speak with Timbor. What else can we do?”

Chato reached between the workers at the table and picked out what looked like small pellets and showed them to Paul and Su-Yee. “Place one of these into Timbor, Kandra, and Murta’s pockets. Don’t worry if you can’t do all of them. They will aid our friends in the field to track and kidnap them and force the release of our people. We just want to go home.” Chato placed a hand on Paul’s chest, its eyes pleading.

Paul slid the hand away and shook his head. “Won’t they just recapture you from your planet?”

“They took us by surprise in the initial attack. Our defenses will keep it from happening again.”

“It wouldn’t be right to betray people who have shown us nothing but kindness.”

“So, you asked to be brought to Tauran?”

“No, but—"

“You haven’t asked to return?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you are free to walk around anywhere you like?”

“I have concerns over our treatment and their real intentions,” said Su-Yee. “I’m willing to speak to Timbor, but if the Taurans are as vicious and conniving as you say they are, I’m afraid we would put our own lives in peril.”

One of the larger aliens at the table stood and took a swat at Chato, knocking it back and yelling something. Chato responded and the alien abruptly stood and continued the shouting while stealing glances at Paul and Su-Yee.

Paul edged into the doorway, now filled with onlookers, pulling Su-Yee with him.

Chato shoved the alien back to its seat. “They don’t trust you. Run!” An alien across the table fired a weapon at Chato, slamming its body into the wall.

Paul grabbed Su-Yee’s hand and pulled her down the narrow corridor, dodging bodies as they went. They heard yelling behind them, but they didn’t turn to look. It must have been a call to arms, as the aliens in the corridor attacked them. Their weakened states and smaller frames made it easy for Paul to shove past them. He even tossed a couple at their pursuers.

They reached the storage room and closed the door behind them. Paul wedged a shelf against it. “It won’t hold long.”

“What do you suggest?”

Paul responded by lifting the grate from the floor and glancing at Su-Yee for approval.

Su-Yee shook her head. “There’s alien sewage and dead bodies down there.”

Paul nodded, then jumped into the darkness. Su-Yee shrieked, stamped her feet, and pounded her fists against her sides. As the door gave way, she jumped down after him.

About the Author:

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Jay Cannon (JC) grew up in the projects of western Michigan. After high school, he joined the Navy where he worked on the flight deck of aircraft carriers. After leaving the Navy, JC spent twenty years as a computer programmer, mostly at startups, in the United States, England, France and Sweden. After working at Microsoft for sixteen years, he retired and moved to DC where he joined Congress as a technical fellow. At the end of the fellowship, he and his wife moved to Richmond, Virginia and joined the James River Writers where he writes. He has written two technical manuals, five science fiction novels and a poetry book.

#RABTBookTours @RABTBookTours #CrazyRichAliens #JayCannon #sciencefiction 

New Release: Blood World (Hardcover) by Chris Mooney + excerpt

Blood World (Hardcover)
by Chris Mooney
August 18, 2020
Genre: Technothriller, dystopian, hard science fiction
448 pages
Publisher: Berkley
Everything changed when scientists discovered the drug. It looked like the cure for aging, but all progress comes with a price tag. Now, eternal youthfulness will be paid for by the blood of the innocent.

The blood of “carriers” is the most valuable commodity on earth. When treated with a new wonder drug, it cures disease, increases power, and makes the recipient a virtual superman.

It also makes the carriers targets. Young people with the right genes are ripped from their families and stashed in “blood farms.”

Ellie Batista became an LAPD officer specifically to fight this evil as a member of the Blood Squad, but her ambitions are thwarted—until the day she and her partner are ambushed during a routine stop. The resulting events plunge her into an undercover world more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Because a madman has found a way to increase the potency of the blood to levels previously unimagined. As he cuts a bloody swath through the already deadly world of blood cartels, Ellie is the only hope to stop him before the body count explodes.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

When Ellie Batista turned the patrol car onto Montclair, a quiet street in Los Angeles's Brentwood neighborhood, she spotted a big Secret Service-looking dude in slick mirrored sunglasses and a black suit ushering a boy dressed up in prep school clothing to a Chevy Suburban with tinted windows parked at the top of the driveway of a spacious, contemporary ranch house. The guy holding open the SUV's back door was bigger and taller than his partner, but the thing Ellie noticed right away was how both men were looking around like a sniper was lurking somewhere nearby, in this neighborhood where the greatest danger was living next to someone who hadn't paid their parking tickets.

Ellie was close enough now to see the anxiety on the kid's face. She hit the lights but not the siren. Her partner looked up from his smartphone, saw her shooting up the driveway, and rolled his eyes.

"No," Danny said. "No, we are not doing this again."

"Relax, Pops. I'll take care of everything."

Ellie parked at an angle so the SUV couldn't escape-at least down the driveway. She couldn't see the driver-the SUV's windows were tinted, almost black-but if there was someone behind the wheel, he might decide to make a break for it, tear across the lawn.

Danny sighed as he unsnapped the holster of his sidearm. "You're doing all the paperwork-and you're picking up lunch."

"Where?"

"Jimmy J's taco truck."

"The place where you got food poisoning?"

"I think it was a stomach bug."

"Still," she said.

"That's the deal. What's it going to be?"

"Your funeral," she said, opening the door.

At five feet eight, Ellie was tall for a woman. The guy holding open the SUV's back door stood six feet six and weighed probably close to three bills. He looked, Ellie thought, like vanilla pudding poured into a cheap suit. He had a tiny pug nose and small hands for a man so large, but there was no doubt in her mind that he could swat her away like a fly.

The driver had rolled down the windows. He knew the drill, and he rested his hands on top of the steering wheel.

"IDs and permits," Ellie said.

Vanilla Pudding sighed. "We've been stopped three times by you people just this past week alone. You're seriously screwing with our, you know, productivity."

Ellie looked to the driver. "Sir, please cut the engine and step outside." Then, to the group: "Put your hands on top of the car roof so I can see 'em."

As Danny frisked them, taking their licenses, gun permits, and handguns, Ellie studied the boy from behind her sunglasses. He looked to be eleven, maybe even as old as thirteen, and had a sweaty pie-shaped face and stringy blond hair, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He kept swallowing nervously and his eyes skittered across the ground in front of him as if it contained hidden land mines.

Carrier, Ellie thought. Had to be, given all the security. If this kid had the gene, he was worth big money. The rule of thumb in the blood world was the younger the carrier, the more potent their blood, the more he or she was worth. Blood didn't discriminate. Boy or girl, black or white, mentally challenged or potential Mensa candidate, a single child could be worth several million dollars over the course of his or her life-unless the kid was drained and dumped, the blood sold for quick cash. That seemed to be the norm these days, at least here in California, with everyone looking to make a quick buck.

"What's your name?" Ellie asked the boy.

"Christopher."

"Christopher what?"

"Christopher Palmer."

"Nice to meet you. Do you know these men?"

The boy nodded. He wore dark gray pants with loafers and a navy blue suit jacket with a school crest on the lapel, over a white shirt with a red tie. Prep school kid, lots of money.

"I need to hear you say it," she said.

"I know them."

"Are you in danger?"

"From what?"

"From anything. Are you a carrier?"

Vanilla Pudding, standing with his hands splayed on top of the SUV's roof, turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Don't answer that, Christopher." Then, to Ellie: "Look, kid's already late for school, and we've got to get him there before noon. He's got a big test today he can't miss."

"I'm not through with my questions."

"All due respect, Officer, what you're doing, LAPD-it's harassment."

"So, if I'm hearing you correctly, sir, you don't want to cooperate."

"How about you take our licenses and gun permits, our weapons, do the background checks, whatever, while you follow us to his school? We drop him off, and then we can play question and answer for as long as you want. I'll give you the numbers for his parents, too. You can call them along the way, make sure everything's copacetic."

"Give me the numbers."

The parents' names were Cynthia and Francis Palmer. After she wrote down the numbers, she showed them to the boy. "Are these your parents' phone numbers?"

"Yes," he replied. "Can I sit in the car, please? It's really hot out."

Ellie opened the back door for him. Then she looked at Vanilla Pudding and said, "Lead the way."

Danny took over driving duty so she could work the laptop installed in the car. As she checked the licenses and permits, she thought about the steroid-laced goons playing rent-a-cop and wondered if someone, maybe even a group of people, was watching the boy right now, shadowing his movements and working on a plan to abduct him. She doubted anything would happen on the way to school, but something might go down at the school. Last month, a group of masked men armed with assault rifles stormed their way into a fancy private high school in Van Nuys to abduct a pair of teenagers who carried the blood gene. The gunmen were killed, along with two students and six school employees. There was a lot of talk in the state about teachers arming themselves.

The bodyguards checked out. Their gun permits all checked out. Ellie called the numbers Vanilla Pudding, whose name was Trevor Daley, had given her. She got the boy's mother on the phone, but the woman refused to answer any questions until Ellie gave her own personal information.

Ellie didn't blame her. Families of carriers had to worry about people posing as police and federal agents. You couldn't trust anyone these days. Anyone.

When the boy's mother called back fifteen minutes later, she seemed more relaxed. Ellie asked the woman a series of personal questions, comparing her answers with the information listed on the computer screen. Everything seemed to be in order.

St. Devon's Academy looked more like a maximum-security prison facility than a private school. Its sleek modern buildings sat behind tall concrete walls that had barbed wire installed along the tops. Almost all schools these days had fences or walls, but this was the first one she'd seen that had its own guard tower. Seeing a guy armed with a high-powered rifle and a scope looming above a bunch of little kids kicking around a soccer ball or just hanging out, acting like this was all normal, made her heart sink.

When it came to carriers, the police were subject to the same checks as ordinary citizens. Ellie and Danny had to wait several minutes while two men armed with assault rifles checked and rechecked their IDs. Forms were signed, fingerprints scanned, and after the gate was unlocked, Danny pulled up against the curb of what appeared to be the main building. Another pair of armed men guarded the door. Others were stationed at various checkpoints and roamed the perimeter and parking lot.

Vanilla Pudding pulled up behind them. Ellie got out and again asked the boy if he felt safe. He assured her that he did, and off he went to the front door to submit his hand to the portable fingerprint scanner one of the guards was holding.

"You happy with your job?" Vanilla Pudding asked.

"Is anyone?"

Vanilla Pudding smiled. He had tiny, baby teeth. "Reason I'm asking is, my company has a lot of clients who are young girls. They'd feel more comfortable in the presence of a woman." He reached into his coat and came back with a business card. "If you want to make some real money, with real health benefits, call me."

Ellie thanked him, handed him back his documentation and weapons, and headed back to the patrol car.

"Your stop-and-frisk routine back at the house," Danny said as they drove away. "You mind telling me what that was about?"

Ellie shrugged. "We saw something, so we stopped."

"We?"

"The kid looked scared shitless, so I decided to check it out."

Danny's gaze cut to her; he wanted, she knew, to call bullshit. And he'd have been right, of course.

Ellie had been a patrolwoman for a little over a year, but her real goal-her future-lay in the LAPD's newly formed Blood Crimes Unit. Admittance was extremely competitive-only the best and brightest. She considered herself reasonably intelligent, knew she was a hard worker, and, for the most part, had good people skills. What she had going against her was lack of investigative experience-and BCU looked for two years minimum, even for lowly data analyst positions.

The way she figured it, the more information she could collect on the blood world during her stop-and-frisk routines, as Danny called them, the more knowledge she would accumulate, and the more attractive she'd look when she reapplied to the BCU.

There was another, more personal reason she didn't want to get into it with Danny-with anyone.

Ellie was about to change the subject when Danny, thankfully, did it for her. "You ever wonder what it's like?" he asked.

"Being a carrier?"

"Getting an infusion."

Ellie shrugged. "Don't really see the point."

"You can say that 'cause you're young and good-looking. How old are you, again? Twenty-four?"

"Twenty-six, which is a whole two decades younger than you, Gramps."

"Yeah, wait until you hit middle age. Your body starts changing without your permission. Everything begins to wrinkle and sag, and everything hurts. It's depressing as hell." Danny sighed. "You do know this is one massive government conspiracy, right?"

Ellie drew a slow, deep breath through her nose as she shifted in her seat.

"No," he said. "No, don't give me that look. I'm not some conspiracy nut. Carrier blood is a real thing. It's a fact. It's got that circulating protein there, that enzyme called eNAMPT that makes cells produce these unbelievable amounts of energy, which is why carriers look like they don't age, why they seem to be able to fight off disease. I mean, that's a legitimate medical thing, right?"

Ellie sighed. "Yes."

"Okay, and we also know a full-body transfusion of carrier blood alone doesn't erase wrinkles and burn belly fat and increase muscle tone and all that other wonderful stuff-which is why, back in the day, scientists and biohackers started experimenting with carrier blood mixed with other medications. They found one that worked, that chemo pill that's now off the market because it's supposedly carcinogenic, Vira-something."

"Viramab."

Danny snapped his fingers. "That's the one. So, all these megawealthy one-percenter types start flocking to these holistic centers that are springing up like warts all over the East and West coasts, and they're paying mucho dinero to get these carrier transfusions mixed with Viramab, and, voilˆ, the shit actually works."

Everything Danny had said so far was 100 percent true. Now here comes the crazy curveball.

"This goes on for about a year," Danny said, "and then suddenly the government shuts everything down because people getting these transfusions allegedly die from them."

"Allegedly?" Ellie chuckled, saw that he was dead serious. "Danny, people actually died. They were on the front pages of major news sites. Their immune systems eventually broke down-"

"That's what the government wants you to believe."

"You're saying that all those well-known actors and actresses and titans of industry and rich folks from all over the world who died from these blood transfusions were targeted by the CIA or some such bullshit? Please don't tell me you believe that."

"I'm talking about the Illuminati."

"Okay, we're done here."

"You read that article last week in the Times, the one about Senator Baker from Ohio? Guy was showing early signs of dementia, right? People were urging him to retire. Now the dementia's gone-"

"According to an anonymous source," Ellie said. "There's no direct proof-"

"Oh, please. Pull up the side-by-side pictures. There's no doubt he's using carrier blood. And that's my point. Wealthy people, people in power-you know they're getting carrier blood from someone who has perfected the recipe. Could be an underground supplier, could be big pharma. Who knows? Point I'm trying to make here is that the law and rules of society only apply to common folk like you and me. The wealthy and the elite-these are the people who can get their hands on this stuff. These are the people who will continue to live and reproduce, and in time they'll create a new world order."

Danny had a point. Not about the whole new-world-order bullshit, but the fact that the privileged and the elite had access to things that regular people didn't. She wasn't na•ve about the way the life worked, especially when it came to crime-the one person with the best political connections and the best lawyer, sadly, had the chips stacked in their favor. But when it came to carrier blood and whatever chemical cocktail worked-if there actually was one-so much was still unknown because the whole process had all been driven underground, made illegal. Younger carriers had blood that was "fresher" and, it was believed, more powerful and longer lasting-which was why kids were being abducted in record numbers not only in California but across the country, imprisoned and forced to live out their lives like golden geese.

At least that was the operating theory. No one had ever found or seen one of these mythical "blood farms," as they had been dubbed by the media, so no one knew for sure if they existed. The blood world in LA consisted of two main factions: Armenian Power X was a cartel that, on the surface, seemed more organized than the second faction, the Mexicans, who seemed to favor draining and dumping carriers.

"The blood I'd want to try," Danny said, "is Pandora."

You and everyone else, Ellie thought.

"Bye-bye, wrinkles and belly; hello, smoother and tighter skin, thicker hair, more muscle tone, and less body fat. But wait-there's more! Order now, and we'll throw in, free of charge, the most intense orgasms you will ever experience in your entire life."

About the Author:

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Hailed as “one of the best thriller writers working today” by Lee Child and “a wonderful writer” by Michael Connelly, Chris Mooney is the international bestselling author of twelve novels, most recently, The Snow Girls. His fourth book, The Missing, the first in the Darby McCormick series, was a main selection of the International Book of the Month Club and an instant bestseller in over thirteen countries. The Mystery Writer’s Association nominated Chris’s third book, Remembering Sarah, for an Edgar Award for Best Novel. Foreign rights to his novels have been sold to twenty-eight territories. He has sold nearly two million copies of his books.

Chris teaches writing courses at Harvard and the Harvard Extension School, and lives in the Boston area with his wife and son. His new novel Blood World will be published in August of 2020.

Praise for Chris Mooney:
“Scary voice, scary talent. Mooney is one of the best thriller writers working today.”
– Lee Child

Book Review: Wolf Rebel (SWAT Book 10) by Paige Tyler

Wolf Rebel (SWAT Book 10)

by Paige Tyler

November 26, 2019

352 pages

Sourcebooks Casablanca

She let him get away

SWAT werewolf Rachel Bennett is hounded by nightmares after a vicious attack left her with PTSD. Not knowing who or what she can trust anymore, she's relieved to be assigned to a high-profile protective detail. Diving into work might be the distraction she needs, until she notices the mysterious hunk who seems to follow her wherever she goes—and recognizes him.

Now he needs her help...

After he's badly injured, former Navy SEAL Knox Lawson seeks out Rachel when he realizes he's turning into a werewolf. He'd once been part of the group hunting her kind, but he knew he had to quit when he found Rachel in his crosshairs. Now he desperately needs her help.

Rachel isn't sure she trusts Knox, but having him around keeps the nightmares—and the monster creating them—away. Knox might not know much about being a werewolf, but there's no doubt he'll do everything in his power to win her trust and keep her safe.

SWAT Series:

Hungry Like the Wolf (Book 1)

Wolf Trouble (Book 2)

In the Company of Wolves (Book 3)

To Love a Wolf (Book 4)

Wolf Unleashed (Book 5)

Wolf Hunt (Book 6)

Wolf Hunger (Book 7)

Wolf Rising (Book 8)

Wolf Instinct (Book 9)

Wolf Rebel (Book 10)

Wolf Rebel is an edge of your seat, nail biting dose of paranormal romantic suspense with a touch of nerve wracking horror to top off what is in my opinion one of Paige Tyler’s best books in the entire SWAT series! I just could not put this book down! I’m a huge fan of this series, and I have enjoyed all the books, but Rachell and Knox’s story is in a category all its own and in the best way.

Werewolf and SWAT member Rachel Bennett has been having nightmares about the horrific attack that turned her into a werewolf and they’re getting worse and worse. She hopes that being assigned to a high profile protective detail will help keep her mind distracted, except that she’ll be working with none other than the werewolf hunter she let get away months ago when her pack was attacked. Irony of ironies, the hunter is now a werewolf and he desperately wants Rachel to help him understand what that means. In his defense, Knox thought he was on the “good” side until he saw what the hunters were capable of and when they set their sights on destroying Rachel. While Rachel doesn’t trust Knox, she agrees to help him and the added bonus is that Knox’s presence keeps the nightmares away, at least for a while.

What stands out to me with the SWAT series is that while the majority of the team is comprised of hunky alpha males (all the members are alphas), there are a handful of alpha females, REAL alpha females who lead and stand BESIDE the males who have the utmost confidence in their abilities. Rachel is one of these alpha females and I just love her. She’s such a confident, kind, capable wolf so to see her brought so low by her nightmares was jarring and definitely made me take the antagonist seriously. Also, that antagonist? Plucked straight from my own nightmares and in frighteningly elaborate detail. Tyler really outdid herself this time, she’s a freaking Rockstar. I didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified of how well this villain was written.

Wolf Rebel reminds readers that the series is also about the bonds that are shared between the SWAT pack. This group is tight knit and willing to do anything for each other and that definitely shows when they find out Rachel needs help. They don’t treat her like a damsel in distress, she’s one of their own and she needed backup. It was great. I really couldn’t get enough of this book and I highly recommend the whole series to anyone looking for great characters, fast-paced action, and an author with a great sense of humor.

Reviews of books 1-9

Sheep Rating: 5

Adria Reyes

Horror Author Laurel Hightower: On Genre Blurring + giveaway

If you are looking for the ultimate book to read on Halloween night, look no further! Welcome to the blog tour for Laurel Hightower's Whispers in the Dark. This tale will give your goosebumps goosebumps! 
Follow along for exclusive content and a chance to win a signed copy (US only) or a digital copy in your preferred format (International)! 

On Genre Blurring

Laurel Hightower

It’s been a long-held tenet in my reading life that most stories would benefit from the addition of a ghost. Romance? Spooky factor brings your characters closer together. Historical fiction? Ghosts are ready-made in most circumstances. This may have something to do with me being a horror junkie from a young age – trips to the library always resulted in me staggering under a stack of every book I could find with the little ghost sticker on its spine.

Then for a few years, it seemed I’d run out of horror to read. It’s obvious in retrospect that I wasn’t making proper use of the internet, but my library and local bookstores consistently failed to have any authors beyond the four or five most famous we’re all familiar with. I turned to mysteries, my mother having stacks of talented authors to recommend to me – Ian Rankin, P.D. James, Reginald Hill, Jonathan Kellerman. Later I discovered Louise Penny and T. Jefferson Parker, and happily read my way through well-constructed, character driven plots. I loved the police and detective protagonists, the way they stood in a separate plane of humanity. There with us, but as protectors and punishers, always separate. Truth be told, I took the police entrance exam in my late twenties. I passed the written test with flying colors but missed one of the events on the physical by two seconds. I’d injured my hip during training, but honestly, I’ve never been a fast runner. It was crushing at the time, but one of those bless the broken road moments. I love my job as a paralegal; it’s interesting work with enough flexibility to never miss time with my son, which wouldn’t be possible if I were a police officer.

I never lost my fascination with the profession, and when I started writing Whispers in the Dark, there was no question that my protagonist would be a female officer. There was also no question that her particular struggle would involve ghosts. They say to write what you want to read, and if every novel I read had ghosts in them, you’d hear no complaints from me. So I suppose there was never any conscious decision to blur genres – I dreamed up characters that I wanted people to care about, added as many ghosts as I could get away with, and constructed a plot along the lines of my favorite reads. I wasn’t thinking much of genre, in fact, I wasn’t thinking about publishing and being asked to assign my book to one. My agent finally came up with “paranormal police procedural,” which, while accurate, is also a mouthful, and as it turns out, kind of awkward to repeat to a bunch of partners in a law firm. Go figure.

Looking back, as well as forward to my own projects, I think genre is most important after the work is written. Your agent or publisher has to classify it somehow, usually with an eye towards what packaging will sell the best. There’s nothing wrong with writing to market, or to what you believe will reach a wider audience, but it wasn’t something that occupied me during the long process of writing and revisions. Once my agent took me on and was ready to shop the manuscript, I’d already written three other first drafts, all with supernatural elements. When horror proved to be a hard sell to the larger publishers, I did have some moments of doubt – had it been a waste of time to write all these ghost stories? Were none of them ever to see the light of day? Was horror truly dead?

Since immersing myself in the horror community, I know the answers to those questions. Horror’s not dead, not even close – it’s just underground, for the most part. I’ve readjusted my expectations and game plans for the next works, and it’s a community and genre I’m happy to be a part of. If the thriller and police procedural elements of Whispers give the book a wider reach, that’s a wonderful side effect, even more so if those readers aren’t turned off by the gorier horror elements.

As far as the future goes, my agent mentioned several times he’d like to see a psychological thriller from me. I started out thinking that wasn’t something I had the chops to do, but over time an idea took hold, and after listening to interviews and podcasts with some of the greats, I took the advice of Josh Malerman and John F.D. Taff to stretch my craft intentionally. Who knows how it’ll turn out, or whether it will appeal to the same readers who’ve enjoyed Whispers. My advice to anyone looking to cross genres is the same that I took – write what you want to read. The rest will come, even if it’s not in the form you expected. And if you get the hankering to throw in some ghosts, you’ve got my seal of approval. 

Whispers in the Dark 

by Laurel Hightower 

December 7th, 2018 

Genre: Paranormal Thriller/ Horror 

Publisher: JournalStone 

Rose McFarland is a trained killer–a Memphis S.W.A.T. sniper with a secret. Her team knows about the burn scars that lurk under her clothes, a legacy of the house fire that killed her father and brother sixteen years before. Her supervisors know that she spent two years in a rehabilitative facility, healing and learning to cope with the emotional trauma of the fire. But no one knows about the visions that drove her there, angry spirits that consumed her childhood, alienated her from her family and made her doubt her own sanity–the Whispers. When Charlie Akers, a half-brother she never knew, ends up on the wrong side of Rose’s rifle, she unwittingly sets off a chain of events that puts her family in the middle of increasingly dangerous paranormal visitations. Charlie won’t stay dead, and soon ghosts from Rose’s past are creeping back into her life. People she’s killed in the line of duty, family she thought long buried, every one of them under the influence of Rose’s greatest fear, the Whispers themselves. As the walls between our world and the world of the dead grow thin, Rose will have to face her old nightmares to stop the Whispers from breaking free. If she can’t, it won’t just be Memphis that falls to the dead–there will be no safe place left on earth for the living. 

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Excerpt

His heart thudding again, Zack tried to hold his breath, peering into the gloom. He didn’t have to wait long. Another shuffle, something dragging against the grit. A shadow, darker than the rest of the night. It moved, swayed. Waited. “Matt?” No answer, but Zack thought he could hear breathing now. Labored, wheezing. The way Matt had sounded toward the end. He took a step closer, stopped. “Matt?” “Zack.” A whisper. Tired, but an uptick of hope at the end. Zack swallowed. Matt had been waiting a long time. For the first time, Zack wondered if his brother would be angry. More dry dragging as Matt moved again. He was close now, almost close enough to touch. Zack coughed, his asthma tickled by something in the dry air down here. What was that? What did it smell like now? “Zack?” A hand reaching out, slow, tentative. Zack smiled tremulously, reached out too. Clasped the hand he’d waited thirty-seven years to feel again. Felt it pull him closer, into a shaft of moonlight coming through a broken window high on the wall. He looked up, into his brother’s face. Faltered. “Matt?” No, Zack realized with regret as the bony clutch tightened and pulled him close. Not Matt at all.

  

About the Author:

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Laurel Hightower grew up in Kentucky, attending college in California and Tennessee before returning home to horse country, where she lives with her husband, son and two rescue animals, Yattering the cat (named for the Clive Barker short story) and Ladybug the adorable mutt. She definitely wants to see a picture of your dog, and often bonds with complete strangers over animal stories. A lifetime reader, she would raid her parents’ bookshelves from an early age, resulting in a number of awkward conversations about things like, “what does getting laid mean?” She loves discovering new favorite authors, and supporting the writing and reading community. Laurel works as a paralegal in a mid-size firm, wrangling litigators by day and writing at night. A bourbon and beer girl, she's a fan of horror movies and true life ghost stories. Whispers in the Dark is her first novel, though there are always more in the pipeline, and she loves researching anything horror related. She can usually be found working on the next project into the wee hours, sometimes as late as ten at night, as long as her toddler allows. Follow her on social media, even though she’s really bad at it, and she’ll follow you back. Plus you’ll be rewarded by pictures of cute dogs and kids.

Blog Tour Schedule

October 21st

Reads & Reels (Review) http://readsandreels.com

Viviana MacKade (Guest Post) https://viviana-mackade.blog/

I Smell Sheep (Spotlight) http://www.ismellsheep.com/

Jessica Belmont (Review) https://jessicabelmont.wordpress.com/

The Reading Chemist (Review) https://thereadingchemist.com/

I Love Books and Stuff (Spotlight) https://ilovebooksandstuffblog.wordpress.com

October 22nd

Breakeven Books (Spotlight) https://breakevenbooks.com

Didi Oviatt (Review) https://didioviatt.wordpress.com

Banshee Irish Horror Blog (Review) www.bansheeirishhorrorblog.com

Dark Reads (Review) http://darkreads826573417.wordpress.com

October 23rd

The Magic of Wor(l)ds (Interview) http://themagicofworlds.wordpress.com

Reviews and Promos by Nyx (Review) https://nyxblogs.wordpress.com/

The Faerie Review (Review) http://www.thefaeriereview.com

October 24th

Musings of a Final Girl (Review) https://musingsofafinalgirl.wordpress.com/

Shalini’s Books and Reviews (Review) https://bookreviewsbyshalini.com/

Crossroad Reviews (Spotlight) http://www.crossroadreviews.com

October 25th

Eclectic Reviews (Review) https://eclecticreview.com/

Ity Reads Books (Review) http://www.ityreadsbooks.home.blog

J Bronder Book Reviews (Review) https://jbronderbookreviews.com/

Giveaway Details: 

Signed copy (US only) or a digital copy in your preferred format (International) 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour Organized By:

R&R Book Tours