Saturday, October 1, 2016

#Book #Blitz. . . Mother of Creation...#BookBoost #Weekend #Amreading


Mother of Creation
By Amanda J. McGee
Genre: Fantasy

Book Description

Not all that is right comes from the gods. Sometimes, they demand much that is wrong. 

Liana and her twin are an anomaly at the heart of a kingdom bound by unyielding tradition. The crown princess is the first female marked as Herkun’s heir, and her existence has unfortunate consequences. When her uncle leads a coup with the intent to kill her, Liana and her twin brother are spirited away to a place where not even the stars are the same. Lost and alone, with only her father’s pact with a foreign goddess to guide her, Liana must decide whom she can trust. Time is running short, and the will of the gods is all. 

Mother of Creation is an epic fantasy that tells the story of the coming of age of a royal heir, a brother’s quest to save his sister, the machinations of the son of a god, a blind oracle’s dreams, and the struggles of an ordinary soldier. 



Author Bio & Links







Amanda J. McGee has been an avid reader since she memorized the oral rendition of her first picture book. Her hobbies include baking, holding down a day job, and reading lots of books. She has also been known to throw lavish potluck parties with her friends, who are all brilliant cooks. She lives in southwest Virginia with her partner, a plethora of plants.






facebook.com/amanda.mcgee13 

twitter.com/skylit1 






Brought to You By: 







Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Book Reviewer

Blog Mistress:
Mello & June, It’s a Book Thang!

Friday, September 30, 2016

#Book #Blitz...Exchange of Power. . .#BookBoost #Ebooks #Promo #Giveaway

Hunter 
Skylar Heart
Publication date: September 22, 2016
Genres: New Adult, Romance

LIZZY

I should have known he was trouble when I watched him drive his motorbike onto campus, leaving a trail of people whispering as he made his way into the Art Building.

Word around here is, he doesn’t date. So why do his eyes keep roving over me? Why does he want to talk to me?

Rumor has it, Hunter’s good at two things: making art, and getting into fights. I love art, but I can’t stand violence. I’ve been on the receiving end of it too many times.

My life is simple, it needs to be if I want to graduate and keep my eating disorder at bay… I sleep, I eat, I go to class and I definitely Do. Not. Date.

So why do I want him to hold me in his strong arms and cradle me to his broad chest?

HUNTER

She’s like a spooked little mouse. Not my type at all. Until she looked up at me and I was caught in her azure eyes.

But I won’t let her get close. In the last four years, I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. I will never trust anyone ever again. The second I do, I’ll find myself alone again. So, what’s the use?

So I create big metal installations, I go to class when I feel like it, I drink and get into fights at the bar.

I have to stay away from Lizzy, because my darkness will only make hers worse. I know I have to, but that isn’t what my heart wants. When I see the pain in her eyes, I can’t resist her. I want to help her, touch her…

Own her.





Just a couple of feet away there is a man on a horse, like a prince out of a fairytale, only the horse is a dull brown and the man doesn’t look very prince-like. He looks like he might be in pain as he moves slowly. His broad back bulges under a tight T-shirt and his legs look like steel in the leather pants.

He hasn’t realized I’m here yet, and I don’t really feel like talking to people today, so I retreat back into the clearing.

A stick snaps under my heel and both horse and rider turn to me abruptly. It takes me not even a second before I recognize the rider. Hunter. He may not be Prince Charming, but he definitely is a Prince of Darkness. There are bruises on his face and I now also see them on his arms. He looks… broken. I freeze in my spot, not daring to move, too scared to set him off. If he looks like that, I don’t want to end up on the other side of his fists.

Hunter slowly gets off his horse, letting out a hiss as he lowers himself to the ground. Only when he is standing right in front of me does he say something. “Lizzy.” His voice is rough, quiet, then he reaches up, almost touching me.

That finally breaks me out of my trance and I step back, shaking my head.

A smile tugs at his lips, but then he looks me over and I see the clouds gather in his stormy eyes. Fuck. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

What? Out of everything, that is what he wants to know? “It’s the weekend, there is a lovely sun out. What else am I supposed to be doing?”

The question seems to surprise him. He shrugs and lets out a sigh. “No clue.”

We both fall quiet. I can’t help but stare at the bruises. They look so dark, and so painful.

Hunter reaches out, takes my hand, and puts it on his jaw. I want to pull back, but he holds it there. “I’m not scary, or dangerous.” His low voice is pitched even lower and something stirs inside me.

He is though—he is scary, and apparently quite dangerous to someone, if the bruises are anything to go by. But I know that isn’t what he means. He means that he is no danger to me. And I don’t know how I feel about that… “And yet you are.” I quickly close my mouth and look away. He finally lets go of my hand as he lets out a laugh.

“I just make stupid choices sometimes, usually when I’ve had a bit to drink.” He steps back and reaches out to the horse, who pushes against him slightly.



Author Bio:

Skylar Heart loves sexy romances and has a particular soft spot for broken boys and their damaged girls. When she’s not reading or writing steamy stories, she loves to nap with her two cats, preferably under a fluffy blanket, and play videogames. She has studied literature and creative writing but often finds that the couple of classes she took on coding is much more of a help in this new adventure as an author.

To stay up to date about Skylar’s books you can sign up for her newsletter: http://bit.ly/SkylarHNewsletter




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Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Book Reviewer
Blog Mistress:
Mello & June, It’s a Book Thang!

#Book #Blitz. . .Pretty Wicked. . .#BookBoost #Promo

Pretty Wicked 
Kelly Charron
Publication date: September 30th 2016
Genres: Thriller, Young Adult

The daughter of a local police detective, fifteen-year-old Ryann has spent most of her life studying how to pull off the most gruesome murders her small Colorado town has ever seen.

But killing is only part of it. Ryann enjoys being the reason the cops are frenzied. The one who makes the neighbors lock their doors and windows on a hot summer’s day. The one everyone fears but no one suspects.

Carving out her own murderous legacy proves harder than she predicted. Mistakes start adding up. And with the police getting closer, and her own father becoming suspicious, Ryann has to prove once and for all that she’s smarter than anyone else—or she’ll pay the ultimate price.  Written in a mature YA voice. Some graphic content.



READ CHAPTER 1:

Some people are called to certain things in their life. That’s what hunting is for me. An urge. A desire. The closest thing I have to a calling.

My name is Ryann Wilkanson. I’m fifteen years old.

And I’m a killer.

It was hard to pick my first. Call me sentimental, but it had to be just right.

I knew what I wanted. What I needed. Someone worth the risk, the challenge. Somebody who deserved it. Now, I’m not talking about the horrible, abusive assholes you see on TV. I wanted someone who I thought deserved it…

And to be honest, that could’ve been just about anybody.

Some people might think it’s odd to contemplate killing someone, but it was the most natural thing in the world to me. I didn’t dare talk about it—I somehow knew that much—but my thoughts raced with vivid, red-tinted images.

While my fantasies were fun, I had to wait. I still lacked the skill and organization to actually go through with it.

And, as I matured, I realized part of me was still hesitant. A piece of the puzzle was missing. It was as though I was waiting for permission. Something to give me the final push into action.

Funnily enough, I got that that clarity six years ago, when I was nine. My dad thought he was simply giving me a ride to school, but he initiated the defining moment of my life.

I remember it like it was yesterday. He’d just come off nights and wasn’t in the best of moods when my mom asked him to drive me and Bri. I’d raced to the car first, winning shotgun, leaving Brianna to storm behind me. She was a sore loser, and it only made my grin bigger.

We were just a few blocks from the house when Dad started with one of his commentaries on all that was wrong with society.

“Jesus. People like that make me sick.”

We had stopped at a red light, and I spotted a guy standing on the corner with a sign that read Please Help.

At first I felt kind of bad for him, and I didn’t understand why Dad was upset. “At least he’s not dealing drugs,” I suggested.

“Brilliant observation. Maybe we could put that on a T-shirt for him,” Bri said. My father laughed and my stomach dropped. She never wasted an opportunity to make me look stupid.

Dad grunted. “Don’t be na├»ve, Ry. He’s probably scraping enough together to get his fix. People like that are after one thing—and it’s not a job.” He rolled his eyes, disgusted. Not a minute later, while we were still waiting at the light, a kid in a fancy sports car passed us. “See, look at that. Punk probably had it handed to him from Mommy and Daddy. He’s what—seventeen? Probably hasn’t worked a day in his whole goddamn life. Entitled brat. This is the problem with the world. You got two lazy bums on opposite ends of the spectrum, and neither are worth their salt.”

My father didn’t have a whole lot of empathy for anybody, and he certainly didn’t entertain excuses. I had to be the best if I wanted him to love me. “People need to either lead, follow—”

“Or get out of the way,” I finished. He patted me on the head. I knew this rant well and kind of understood my father’s reasoning. The homeless guy couldn’t even be bothered to walk up and down the rows of stopped cars to beg. He just stood there with an empty cup. He really was a waste.

I fought the urge to point out to my dad that I was nothing like those people—and never would be—but I knew he wouldn’t care. He loved me, but nothing I did seemed to impress him, especially since my older sister Brianna, the golden child, had perfected every- thing before I even had a chance to try.

I had to do something really big to make an impression.

I had to be a leader.

In the car, all those years ago, I realized that my desires could turn into something much more. Those entitled, useless people my dad despised were taking our hard-earned money, space, and air. And I was someone with deadly urges who wasn’t afraid to do something about it. Not everyone could say that.

But unfortunately, I would have to wait. I was much too young to execute my plans in the way I wanted.

My thoughts, however, were uninhibited, and I became enamored with the power and control that selecting the right kill could bring. The foreplay was intoxicating. I daydreamed about the countless ways I could do it. About all the places I could sneak up and strike. About the legacy I would leave behind.

For years I researched and studied serial killers— or as I liked to call them, The Greats. Most of The Greats hadn’t started until well into their adulthood. Call me an overachiever, but I wanted more kills in less time. I had all the qualities required: above-average intelligence, inside information (Dad was a cop), and a sweet cherub face.

But I also had something more. Tenacity. I knew what I wanted, and come hell or high water, I was going to get it. By fifteen, the thirst inside me could finally be quenched.

Cue my first planned victim—a snotty little brat who lived only a few streets away from me. Olivia McMann. Ugh. She was exhausting. Spoiled. Whiny. Brianna used to babysit her. I’d be dragged along because my parents usually worked overtime at their respective jobs. I was twelve and old enough to stay home alone, but they insisted. Like I had nothing better to do.

Brianna would be online with her friends or texting her boyfriend, and she’d stick Livy with me. Olivia wouldn’t leave me alone. One night she pestered me for hours on end until I lost it on her. Then she got the quivering lip and teary eyes and went crying to Bri.

Bri’s voice ripped across the room. “Ryann, what did you do now?”

“Nothing! Why do you always assume it was me? Maybe Livy is being a little crybaby over absolutely nothing,” I said, arms crossed tightly across my chest.

The brat came running up behind me. “You’re mean, Ryann. I hate you!”

I swept my hair into a ponytail and turned my back to her.

Death glare in full force, Brianna dug into me. “Why are you being such a pest? Leave Olivia alone already. Go find something to do, and don’t think for one second I’m giving you any of the money.”

She proceeded to get Olivia some licorice. A reward for her evilness. Maybe they were in on it together and shared private laughs while discussing different ways to torture me.

Brianna was seventeen at the time, and she hated me. No matter how hard I tried, she always dismissed me like I was an annoying pain in her ass.

“Not everything is my fault, you know,” I said, determined to stand my ground.

“Well, she’s not the one in my face right now. Go play with her for an hour until her bedtime, and maybe I won’t tell Mom.” Smiling smugly, Bri tilted her head. I wanted to punch her. As soon as we were out of her sight, Olivia stuck her tongue out at me and danced around, joyous in her victory.

“See, I told you I’d get you in trouble. I always get my way. You have to do what I say.” She laughed.

I promised myself I’d never forget.

Back then, I’d imagined choking her or holding one of her mom’s embroidered pillows over her face until her squirming stopped. I knew her parents were well-off. Only the best for their princess. Olivia was the type of kid who tantrumed, tattled, and fake-cried to get what she wanted, no matter the cost to anyone who got in her way.

Olivia was going to turn into the same kind of spoiled, manipulative bitch I’d seen time and again at school.

I knew how to deal with someone like her. After all, I had killed. Once.

Author Bio & Links




Kelly Charron is the author of YA and adult horror, psychological thrillers and urban fantasy novels. All with gritty, murderous inclinations and some moderate amounts of humor. She spends far too much time consuming true crime television (and chocolate) while trying to decide if yes, it was the husband, with the wrench, in the library. She lives with her husband and cat, Moo Moo, in Vancouver, British Columbia. 





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Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Book Reviewer
Blog Mistress:
Mello & June, It’s a Book Thang!

#Book #Spotlight...Lizzie Borden Zombie Hunter...#Promo #Giveaway #BookBoost

COMIN' AT'CHA
Proudly Presents. . .A Book 'Spotlight'
Featuring Author, C.A. Verstraete




Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter
C.A. Verstraete 

Genre: Horror/Dark Fantasy
Paranormal/Zombie

Publisher: Imajin Books
Date of Publication: Sept. 13, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-77223-273-8
ASIN: B01KISRS80

Number of pages: 232
Word Count: 74,000 +

Cover Artist: Ryan Doan




Book Description: 

Every family has its secrets… 

One hot August morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden picked up an axe and murdered her father and stepmother. Newspapers claim she did it for the oldest of reasons: family conflicts, jealousy and greed. But what if her parents were already dead? What if Lizzie slaughtered them because they’d become zombies? 

Thrust into a horrific world where the walking dead are part of a shocking conspiracy to infect not only Fall River, Massachusetts, but also the world beyond, Lizzie battles to protect her sister, Emma, and her hometown from nightmarish ghouls and the evil forces controlling them. 

Chapter One

Q. You saw his face covered with blood?

A. Yes sir.

Q. Did you see his eyeball hanging out?

A. No sir.

Q. Did you see the gashes where his face was laid open?

A. No sir.

—Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892, Fall River Courtroom

August 4, 1892

Lizzie Borden drained the rest of her tea, set down her cup, and listened to the sound of furniture moving upstairs. My, my, for only ten o’clock in the morning my stepmother is certainly energetic. Housecleaning, already?

THUMP.

For a moment, Lizzie forgot her plans to go shopping downtown. THUMP. There it went again. It sounded like her stepmother was rearranging the whole room. She paused at the bottom stair, her concern growing, when she heard another thump and then, the oddest of sounds—a moan. Uh-oh. What was that? Did she hurt herself?

“Mrs. Borden?” Lizzie called. “Are you all right?”

No answer.

She wondered if her stepmother had taken ill, yet the shuffling, moving, and other unusual noises continued. Lizzie hurried up the stairs and paused outside the partially opened door. The strange moans coming from the room sent a shiver up her back.

Lizzie pushed the door open wider and stared. Mrs. Abby Durfee Borden stood in front of the bureau mirror, clawing at her reflected image. And what a horrid image it was. The sixty-seven-year-old woman’s hair looked like it had never been combed and stuck out like porcupine quills. Her usually spotless housedress appeared wrinkled and torn. Yet, that wasn’t the worst. Dark red spots—Blood, Lizzie’s mind whispered—dotted the floor and streaked the sides of the older woman’s dress and sleeves.

Lizzie gazed about the room in alarm. The tips of Father’s slippers peeking out from beneath the bed also glistened with the same viscous red liquid. All that blood! What happened here? What happened?

She gasped, which got the attention of Mrs. Borden, who jerked her head and growled. Lizzie choked back a cry of alarm. Abby’s square, plain face now appeared twisted and ashen gray. Her eyes, once bright with interest, stared from under a milky covering as if she had cataracts. She resembled a female version of The Portrait of Dorian Gray. Another growl and a moan, and the older woman lunged, arms rigid, her stubby hands held out like claws.

“Mrs. Borden, Abby!” Lizzie yelled and stumbled backward as fast as she could. “Abby, do you hear me?”

Her stepmother shuffled forward, her steps slow but steady. She showed no emotion or sense of recognition. The only utterances she made were those strange low moans.

Lizzie moved back even further, trying to keep some distance between her and Mrs. Borden’s grasping fingers. Then her foot hit something. Lizzie quickly glanced down at the silver hairbrush that had fallen to the floor. Too late, she realized her error.

“No!” Lizzie cried out at the strange feeling of her stepmother’s clammy, cold hand around her wrist. “Abby, what happened? What’s wrong with you?”

Mrs. Borden said nothing and moved in closer. Her mouth opened and closed, revealing bloodstained teeth.

“No! Stay away!” Lizzie yelled. “Stop!”

She didn’t. Instead, Mrs. Borden scratched and clawed at her. Lizzie leaned back, barely escaping the snap of the madwoman’s teeth at her neck.

“Mrs. Bor—Abby! No, no! Stop!”

Lizzie’s slight advantage of a few inches in height offered no protection against her shorter stepmother’s almost demonic and inhuman strength. The older woman bit and snapped like a rabid dog. Lizzie struggled to fight her off, and shoved her away, yet Mrs. Borden attacked again and again, her hands grabbing, her teeth seeking the tender flesh covered by Lizzie’s long, full sleeves.

The two of them grappled and wrestled, bumping into the bedposts and banging into furniture. Lizzie yelped each time her soft flesh hit something hard. She felt her strength wane as the crazed woman’s gnarled hands clawed at her. Lizzie wondered how much more she could endure.

Lizzie’s cries for help came out hoarse and weak. “Em-Emma!” She tried again. “Help! Help me!” She knew Emma had come in late last night from her trip out of town. But if Emma already woke and went downstairs, will she even hear me?

Lizzie reeled back, her panic growing as her spine pressed against the fireplace. She pushed and fought in an attempt to keep this monster away, yet Mrs. Borden’s ugly face and snapping teeth edged closer and closer.

Then Lizzie spotted it: the worn hatchet Father had left behind after he’d last brought in the newly chopped wood. No, no! Her mind filled with horror, but when her stepmother came at her again, Lizzie whispered a prayer for forgiveness and grabbed the handle. She lifted the hatchet high overhead and swung as hard as she could. It hit her stepmother’s skull with a sickening thud.

As impossible as it seemed, Mrs. Borden snarled and continued her attack.

Lizzie hit her again, and again, and again. The blows raked her stepmother’s face and scraped deep furrows into tender flesh. The metal hatchet head pounded her stepmother’s shoulders and arms, the bones giving way with sickening crunches. Mrs. Borden’s broken arms dangled, hanging limp and ugly at her sides… and yet, dear God, yet she continued her attack.

With the last bit of her strength, Lizzie raised the hatchet again and brought it down on Mrs. Borden’s head. Only then did her stepmother crumple and fall into a pile at Lizzie’s feet.

It took a few minutes for Lizzie to comprehend the horrible scene. It didn’t seem real, but it was. With a cry, she threw the bloodied hatchet aside. She gagged as the weapon caught in the braided artificial hairpiece hanging from the back of Mrs. Borden’s gore-encrusted scalp.

Retching, Lizzie ran to the other side of the bed, bent over, and vomited into the chamber pot. She crossed the room and leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with each heart-rending sob.

Her hands trembled so hard she could barely hold them still, but she managed to cover her eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the carnage. It didn’t stop the horrific images that flashed in her mind, or the many questions. And it certainly did nothing for the soul-crushing guilt that filled her.

Why? she cried. Why? Dear God, what have I done? What have I done?

Author Bio & Links

Christine (C.A.) Verstraete enjoys putting a bit of a “scare” in her writing. He stories have appeared in various anthologies and publications including Mystery Weekly, Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crime, Siren’s Call Magazine, and more. She also is the author of books on dollhouses and a YA novel, GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie. 

Her latest novel is Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter. 

Learn more at her website, http://cverstraete.com and her blog, http://girlzombieauthors.blogspot.com 


Twitter: @caverstraete https://twitter.com/caverstraete

Goodreads: 



Tour Giveaway 

5 Kindle copies Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter by C.A. Verstraete


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Kimberly Ranee Hicks, Author/Poet/Book Reviewer
Blog Mistress:  Mello & June, It's a book Thang!

#Book #Spotlight...Morgaine LeFay...#BookBoost #Promo #Giveaway

COMIN' AT'CHA
Proudly Presents. . .A Book 'Spotlight'
Featuring Author, Kimbra Kasch



Morgaine Le Fay and the Viking
The Viking Series 
Book One
Kimbra Kasch

Genre: Young Adult Romance

Publisher: Crimson Frost

Date of Publication: August 26, 2016

Number of pages: 274
Word Count: 65,000

Cover Artist: Gin Kiser
Book Description: 

Travel across oceans, continents and countries to discover the story of legendary Viking hero, Holger Danske, and his magical romance with King Arthur’s half-sister in Morgaine Le Fay and the Viking.

This is the story of two warriors who never thought they’d find love, especially on the battlefield, yet standing poised against each other Morgaine and Holger face an attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin.

THREE reasons to read a Viking Romance:

1) Ragnar;

2) Lagertha; and,

3) Rollo

But seriously, during the dark ages, the Vikings were more than merely heathen marauders. In truth, they were brave explorers. Men and women who took the original Captain’s Oath, vowing to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man (or woman) had gone before.

They were not the pillagers that the British portrayed them to be but people searching for new lands and new civilizations and along the way, they faced gripping family sagas that questioned more than their strength, agility and patience. These journeys brought into question alliances and loyal friendships, while testing their faith. And, there was nothing more important than family relationships. If a Viking couldn’t count on his family to help him survive, he perished.

But it wasn’t only the men, these warriors were women as well as men, who stood side by side on the battlefield. Perhaps that is the reason and the truth behind the tales of the Valkyrie and Valhalla, which still haunt the stories of the Vikings.

MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING is one such tale of the extraordinary lives and epic adventures of two people: Holger Danske and Morgaine LeFey.

And Holger Danske was not the first Danish Prince to appear on the printed page or to share a well-known castle as his home. Hamlet’s story is set in the same structure that stands on the sound between Denmark and Sweden. Holger’s home is in Kronborg Castle, known to most English speaking people as Hamlet’s Castle.

It was there, inside this Castle that I first was introduced to Holger Danske and the legends surrounding his iconic life. He was a warrior, a Prince destined to become King of all the Norse lands during the time of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table. 

I found it odd that everyone had heard of King Arthur and his magical sword, Excalibur, which he received from the Lade of the Lake (a Norse Goddess) who had also given such a sword to Holger Danske. Holger’s sword was named “Cortana”, and was made from the same metal and magic as Excalibur. Yet no one I talked to outside of Denmark had ever heard of Holger or his sword. 

And, even more interesting was the fact that Holger and the Vikings invaded England, yet somehow, even as enemies, Holger and King Arthur’s half-sister, Morgaine LeFey, were able to share a forbidden love.

Theirs was a romance that threatened two kingdoms.

MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING is the secret Denmark never shares...until now. Morgaine and Holger faced an attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin. 


I love creating new characters whether I do it with a new hairstyle, a mask or a pen 

IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR LOVE . . .this is the story for you. MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING tells the tale of the legendary love affair that spanned three countries, crossed an ocean, traveled over continents and conquered time. . . 

IF YOU LOVE CHARACTERS LIKE;

1) JON SNOW,

2) RHETT BUTLER

3) TARZAN 

You’ll fall in LOVE with the legendary Viking Prince and Warrior known as Holger Danske

IF YOU LOVE THESE TYPES OF MEN:

1) KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE;

2) PIRATES

3) VIKINGS

You’ll LOVE the heir to the throne of Denmark: Holger Danske

IF YOU LOVE:

1) CASTLES;

2) PIRATE SHIPS

3) LEGENDARY LOVE STORIES

You’ll LOVE the Legendary Love Affair between Holger Danske and King Arthur’s Half-Sister, Morgaine Le Fay

IF YOU HAVEN’T FOUND A REASON TO READ MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING yet, YOU’LL STILL LOVE HOLGER DANSKE AND THE WOMAN WHO STOLE HIS HEART AWAY

MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING is a tale of the extraordinary lives and epic adventures of two unforgettable people: Holger Danske and Morgaine Le Fay.

Theirs was a romance that threatened two kingdoms.

An attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin: 

MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING.

Everyone has heard of King Arthur and his magical sword, Excalibur, but there’s another legendary hero who received a magical sword from the Norse Goddess known as The Lady of the Lake. Meet Holger Danske and his sword “Cortana”.

The Vikings, led by Holger Danske, invaded England. Yet somehow, even as enemies, Holger and King Arthur’s half-sister, Morgaine Le Fay, shared a forbidden love.

BLURB

Travel across oceans, continents and countries to discover the story of legendary Viking hero, Holger Danske, and his magical romance with King Arthur’s half-sister in Morgaine Le Fay and the Viking

This is the story of two warriors who never thought they’d find love, especially on the battlefield, yet standing poised against each other Morgaine and Holger face an attraction more powerful than any sword, stronger than any warrior and more magical than all the powers of Merlin.

EXCERPT OF MORGAINE LE FAY AND THE VIKING

Arthur looked up, turning away from the battle before him, as if he’d suddenly awoken from a bad dream. Frantically searching the field, he knew something horrible had happened before he saw it. Somehow, he could feel it. 

His eyes locked on one warrior. Even from this distance he could see the man was a giant among men. Broad-shouldered and thick-thighed, his legs squeezed the sides of his horse, as he galloped forward. 

Staring as the brutal beast made his way across the field, Arthur was an unwilling witness to the attack. The Nordic warrior was flexed and drawn. Taking aim, he flew like an arrow straight toward his target. 

“Nooo!” Arthur’s voice bellowed out of his chest, rising high into the air, as he could do nothing more than watch… 

Riding fast as the wind, the horned devil swept up beside Arthur’s sister. Whisking her off her saddle, he stole her away before anyone had an opportunity to raise a sword or throw a lance against him. 

Smoke billowed up from the ground. Burning arrows lit the dry grasses afire, transforming the meadow into a smoldering field of wooden shafts stabbed into the earth, as the cries of men rang up into the air. Maimed knights and injured warriors littered the field. 

But there was only one sight Arthur’s eyes locked upon… 

Her white steed was left standing bareback in the open field—a ghostly image amongst the fighting men. A haunting reminder of what had been taken. 

*** 

Arthur did not hesitate, not for a moment. Digging his heels into the side of his mount, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Morgaine…!” 

But it was too late. The savage had his prize. He was riding away with his spoils of war. 

Arthur motioned Lancelot to his side, “Take command,” he told him, “you’ll have to take control, lead the knights and continue the battle.” Arthur raced away, followed the thieving devil with the curved horns standing out on the sides of his head. 

Riding his royal steed, Llamrei, he galloped faster than any horse in the entire kingdom, yet it was useless. He couldn’t keep up. With each stride, he fell further and further behind. His armor and weaponry weighed Llamrei down, while the beast who had his sister rode half naked. Completely bare-chested, only a small scrap of fabric covered his most private parts. 

After what seemed like hours but must have been mere minutes, the horse whinnied and neighed beneath him. Resisting the reins, Llamrie reared up beneath him. But Arthur did not care. He dug his heels into the steed’s side, insisting the horse continue. Arthur was unwilling to give in; ignoring the protests of his mount, he would not admit defeat. Gripping the leathers in his right hand, he slapped the strap back and forth from one side to the other, demanding the horse to offer more speed. But the pace and weight were too much. 

Finally, the stallion rose up onto his hind legs, bucking and shaking violently in a futile attempt to dispel the rider tormenting him. Foam began to froth from the stallion’s lips and Arthur had no choice. The horse could not continue; Arthur had pushed him to the brink and could demand no more. 

His head sank between his shoulders as he cried out in agony, blaming himself for his sister’s sure torture. 

He thought not of her nor her safety when he’d commanded her to come to court. She was offered as a beacon of light to his men, leading them into battle. Now it had cost her freedom and most likely her life. 

Arthur was not immune to the history of the Vikings. He had heard tales of their brutality and inhumanity. The Norse people were feared above all others, not only for the tales of their viciousness and cruelty, but for the legends in his lands. Tales of horned-devils riding off with women were not unusual and now his sister would surely be tormented by one such beast—her life would be forfeit, and all for what? 

He threw back his head, letting a cry spring out of him as he implored the heavens, “My God spare her.” When he opened his eyes again, it was to the blazing sun above him. The white-hot orb in the sky beating down on him, blinding him like a sparkling jewel in the sky… 

Perhaps, he told himself, I can bargain with the Danish prince. Morgaine was a valuable gem; surely he could offer a bribe, something worthy of the trade. There must be a price the callous devil could not refuse. 

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About the Author

Kimbra Kasch is a romance writer who grew up in a family with 9 kids and only 1 t.v. So instead of fighting with her brothers and sisters about which shows to watch, she’d spend her days reading and, later, writing, which explains why she love books so much.

Kimbra’s favorite romance novels are The Hunger Games, the Divergent Series and, yes, even the Twilight books. She loves something with a hint of danger and/or paranormal.

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