Author Interview – Zarug Thane @ZarugThane

You feel that Abdul al Hazred, author of the Necronomicon, will reappear?

Bringing him back is one of my chief tasks.  It’s essential, if the End Times are to arrive on schedule.

Why do you think we’re heading for the End Times?

Nearly all the Gods have been rejected, the Old Ways forgotten.  Slavery is almost universally outlawed, burning at the stake and many other forms of execution are deemed too violent, wars of aggression are frowned upon.  In a word, the Gods are getting bored and something needs to be done (like at the Tower of Babel) to keep humanity from living together in peace, which would be too tedious to even contemplate.

How do you plan to bring al Hazred back?

Cloning.  The advent of this technology:  this too is a sign the End is near.  I know where the Great One’s body is entombed.  Once I extract DNA from his mummy, I will have his body reconstituted, so that his spirit can then possess it.  This is a hell of a lot easier than the normal rituals, believe me.

What part of modern society do you like the best?

Running water.  Incandescent lights come in a close second.  If you’ve ever tried to read by candlelight or torch light, you know that I’m talking about.  The gods only know how many people went blind from doing that.  But if I had to choose, I’d take the running water.  Living in a world of chamber pots is dehumanizing.  I don’t even like thinking about it.

What environment do you prefer to write in?

I work by artificial light, usually with some wordless music playing in the background, more as white noise, though I prefer music you could actually listen to, so that when I pull up out of a zone, the music isn’t just mindless, repetitive crap.  My neighbors all think I’m a vampire, because I’ve got all the windows blacked out.  I make it a point to collect the mail while the sun is still up, just to avoid trouble.

I don’t like any external noise or distractions.  People who can write in a Starbucks are just sick.

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Genre - Erotic Fantasy

Rating – NC17

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Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

Tempted: The Dark Hart Chronicles (Book 1) by Alexandra Anthony

***

Three hours later I was pulling out of Thompson BMW in a brand new silver 550i, courtesy of Nick Hart.  I was heading home when my cell phone rang and I gave a quick glance at the caller id.

Carlton Wood.

Sighing heavily, I pressed the speakerphone button and answered.  "Hey Dad."

"I just spoke with Elliott.  He informed me you're working for Nick Hart and you need to sign a NDA.  You need to bring it by so I can look over it."

That's my father for you.  Never one to mince words, he didn't bother with pleasantries.  He was all business, straight to the point.  I had five minutes, tops.

"I'm doing great, Dad.  Thanks for asking," I snapped.  "Would it kill you to act like you care?"

"Savannah, I am concerned, hence my phone call now.  Stop by the house this evening so I can at least look over it."

It was a little too late for him to look over a contract.  I didn't have the heart to tell him I was already driving my signing bonus.

"I really don't have time tonight.  I'm having drinks with Siobhan later," I said apologetically.  It wasn't a lie.  I was seeing Siobhan later.  It was a convenient excuse since I had no desire to see my step-monster Bree.  She was four years older than me and I was positive the term ‘bitch on wheels’ was coined after an encounter with her.  She was mere arm candy for my father, a perfect Stepford wife with more silicone than brains.  My father didn't like his women with an opinion.  He preferred them to just stand around and look pretty.

Did I mention I wasn't fond of her? There was no love lost between us, believe me.

"Please tell me Elliott at least looked it over," he replied distractedly.  My five minutes was nearly up.

Fighting to keep my voice level, I spoke softly.  "Dad, do you think Elliott would screw me over?"

A brief silence greeted me before he answered.  "Of course not, Savannah.  Give Siobhan my best."

"I will.  Thanks for calling, Dad.  I mean it.

"Goodbye, dear."

I hung up and dialed Siobhan next.

"Hey, Blondie."

"Von, you know I hate that nickname," I groaned.  "Guess who I just met?"

"Hmmm..." Siobhan hummed.  I could hear her fingernails tapping on her desk.  "I give.  Who?"

Smiling smugly, I checked my rear view mirror.  "Nick Hart."

"Nick Hart? The Nick Hart? The same one that was eye fucking you across the room last night?"

"Yep.  Your Dad called me last night and had me come into interview for a PA job.  I didn't know who the client was until today." I made a sharp right turn into my driveway.  I let the car idle while I finished my phone call.

"Girl, what time are we meeting tonight? I have to hear the entire story."

It was nearly 4 pm now.  I'd like to unwind before running out to start gossiping with Siobhan.  "How about 8?"

"Works for me," Siobhan agreed.  "Savannah, promise me one thing right now."

I knew where this was going before she asked but indulged her anyway.  "How long have we known each other? You know I don't promise anything."

"Whatever, Blondie.  Promise me if you get the chance you'll bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.  And I want all the torrid details!"

I quickly cut her off.  "Goodbye, Von!"

I'd tucked my phone away when I started laughing hysterically.  I'd never tell Siobhan that I'd already imagined doing that very thing.  It was unfortunate that he was my employer and it would never happen.  I'd have to stay focused or I'd never get any work done with Nick's charm and unabashed sex appeal.

Leave it to me to go from one extreme to the other.  I go from working for a disgusting drug addict to an irresistible, sexy beast.

It figures.  I've always had impeccably horrible timing.

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Genre – Erotica

Rating – R

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Dance For A Dead Princess by Deborah Hawkins @DeborahHawk3

PROLOGUE

Mid-April 2010, Paris

In the gray spring rain, he stood in the Place d'Alma staring down at the tunnel where she had vanished from his life on the last night of August 1997. He came here whenever he was in Paris. He counted the pillars until he reached number thirteen, the one that had taken her life. Tears formed behind his eyes, as they always did in this place. But he refused to let them overflow. Instead, he took a long breath of fresh rain mixed with the exhaust of cars speeding through the tunnel.

When the big black Mercedes entered its skid that horrible night, his last living link to Deborah had been taken from him. Diana and Deborah, West Heath girls, friends forever. Deborah had been dead since 1994, but he had lost her long before she became his wife, three years after he met her at Diana's wedding to the Prince of Wales in 1981. How many nights had he spent talking to Diana about his marriage, about her marriage, about his guilt over Deborah, and about the impossibility of being in love? Too many to count. He ached to tell her now how empty his life had become without either of them.

He stared down the long, gray tunnel, wondering as always what she had felt as she had slipped away from everyone who loved her. Had she struggled against it, as Deborah had? Or had her torn and broken heart quietly accepted its fate? No, he doubted that. She'd have fought to stay with her boys. Diana hadn't gone into death quietly. That January, she'd had a warning of what was coming. She'd recorded a video tape naming her assassins and had given it to someone in America for safekeeping. But she would never tell him who it was. Too dangerous, she always insisted. If you had it, they'd come after you, too. Leave it alone, Nicholas. The tape is safer out of England.

His phone abruptly interrupted with a text message from his assistant. He was late for a meeting of the Burnham Trust at the Trust's Paris headquarters, and everyone was waiting. Well, they could wait. All day and all night if he wanted. He was the Eighteenth Duke of Burnham and the second richest man in England after the Duke of Westminster, and he'd be late if he decided to be. He hadn't wanted to be a duke but having been forced into the job, he was going to enjoy every possible perk.

As soon as the news of Diana's death reached him, he'd vowed to find her tape and make it public. No luck for the last thirteen years, but his latest operative had just come up with a stellar lead at last. It was so stellar that not only was he pretty sure he was going to find the tape, he was also going to have the opportunity to unload the decaying family seat in Kent and exact his well-deserved revenge upon his father, the Seventeenth Duke.

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Genre – Contemporary Romance,Mystery

Rating – G

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Razer 8 series by P.T.Macias @pt_macias

Chapter One

Marsha Diane Bryant looks over at the shiny red sport car. Oh yes, I’m going to get that cute car for my birthday. I’m so lucky that my Daddy spoils me, she thinks. She smiles at her Daddy and at her Mama. She watches him sign the paperwork.

“Marci, dear, you know that this is also a gift for your hard work in school. You’re going to graduate next year. I know that you’ve worked hard to maintain your GPA. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to see that you’re going to be able to qualify to be an intern at the Capitol,” states Rex Bryant.

Chief Commissioner Rex Bryant has always dreamed of seeing one of his girls enter the realm of politics.

Marsha chews her lower lip. Oh, yeah, I did forget about that. I don’t want to enter the world of politics. I don’t want to disappoint Daddy. I know that he’s counting on me since Margaret decided to get married. I don’t know when I’m going to tell Daddy that I want to go into law. It’s almost the same. I can be a judge, she thinks.

“Marci, I’m real proud of you,” says Daddy Rex.

“Thank you, Daddy,” replies Marsha.

“Sir, here are the keys to the car,” says the salesman. He looks over at Marsha with longing. “Ms. Bryant, you’re going to enjoy driving down the coast in your new car.”

“Yes sir, I’m sure I will. Daddy, can I drive Cherry Bomb home?” asks Marsha.

Her lovely blue eyes sparkle with pleasure. Her face is softly flushed with a soft glow of excitement.

Chief Bryant turns to gaze at his lovely daughter. He smiles with pleasure upon seeing her excitement. He raises an eyebrow with amusement. 

“Yes, Marci. You can drive your new car home. Cherry Bomb?” replies Daddy Rex.

He chuckles with amusement. He turns to the sales man and takes the keys from him. “Marci, dear, you drive carefully.”

Marsha jumps up from the chair and excitedly hugs her Daddy. She gives him a huge kiss on his cheek. She then takes the keys from his hands.

“Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Mama. I love you both! I’ll see you at home. I want to stop for a few minutes at Sarah’s to show her my new car!” Marsha turns to give her Mama a quick hug.

“Marsha Diane, you best drive carefully. We’ll see you at home shortly,” says Mama Irene.

“Absolutely, Mama,” replies Marsha, nodding. She walks out of the sales office and out into the dealership showroom.

The salesman is opening the huge glass doors. Marsha walks up to the red sports car. She opens the door and slides in. She smiles and turns on the car.

Marsha turns to look over at her parents with an enormous smile. She waves at them and pulls out of the showroom.

Hell yeah, I’m going to love driving this cute car. I’m such a lucky girl, she thinks. Nodding she turns on the stereo and starts to sing along to her favorite song.

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Genre – Romantic Suspense

Rating – PG 13

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The Angel & The Brown-Eyed Boy – Sandy Nathan @sandyonathan

1

When the girl appeared on the sidewalk, the edges of her body and clothing were fuzzy, as though all of her hadn’t arrived. She looked up and down the street, the way a person would if she’d forgotten an address or lost her way.

Her hair was frizzed and matted, sticking out akimbo. She was thin, had a dirty face, and wore a scratchy coat that was far too big. Its sleeves were rounded little capes; her arms stuck out of them like chopsticks protruding from a napkin. The coat slipped off her shoulders, first to one side, then the other. She hitched it up and kept walking. When she walked, the coat opened to reveal her feet and lower legs.

Her thin socks, trimmed with grayed lace, were pulled up to make a ruffle below her knees. Pink satin laces held up the socks, their Xs snaking up her shins from her shoes. She looked pretty much like everyone she saw, except for her shoes. Long pink ballet slippers stuck out from beneath her coat, as improbable as roses sprouting from the cement.

Eliana made her way along the sidewalk, knowing that she was dirty, feeling the grit in her hair and on her skin. When she had reached the planet’s atmosphere, clothes and all sorts of things had rushed at her with great force, tossing her over and over. Dirt had come, too. She’d found the clothes she needed and put them on the way her teachers had shown her. Then her people had put her where she was.

Humans passed, but no one stopped or said anything to her. A paper blew against her leg. More dirty papers blew and piled up everywhere. Streaked and grimy buildings rose near her. Writing in different colors covered their walls. She looked carefully, but couldn’t make out the words. She’d learned to read and write English, but those words mystified her.

“Hey, you!” a person said loudly.

“Yes?” She spoke to a human for the first time, politely bowing. The human was dirty like Eliana, with torn clothes and matted hair. She couldn’t tell if it was a he or a she.

“Get out of here!” the ragged person shouted. “You don’t belong here.” Eliana cowered, but the stranger rushed past her, clawing at something Eliana couldn’t see. “Stay away,” the human said, and then stood with feet braced, shouting, “Get out of here, all of you. Stay away!” The creature hadn’t seen Eliana at all.

The girl realized that her people were right; they had put her where no one would notice her. Now she needed to tell them that she had arrived. She raised one foot, turning it gracefully and resting it easily on the other knee. She flicked the shoe with her finger, listening. A trill of clear notes deep within her brought the hint of a smile. She held the coat closed and stood still. She was where she was supposed to be. It had begun.

She fingered the piece of paper in her pocket. Her map. Beneath it, in the pocket’s depths, was the notebook. What was written on it would get her where she needed to go. She had all she needed.

She walked a long way along the hard path. More humans passed her. To her left, gray, inert structures rose high in the sky, blocking the sun. She touched the see-through parts of their lower levels, looking at the humans inside. They looked at each other with darting eyes, speaking rapidly. Everyone outside rushed frantically, noticing nothing. They didn’t see her, just as her people had said.

Eliana choked when a very large carrier passed, spewing a foul odor. The carrier floated above the hard surface where the vehicles moved. Her teachers had told her about the floating. Though she couldn’t see it, a force lived under the machines that made them go. It would kill her if it touched her. She didn’t know what kill meant; kill did not exist in her world. Her mother had explained that she would be like a dead pet. She had seen dead pets before they whisked them away. Motionless husks. She moved away quickly. Better get on with her purpose. She didn’t have much time.

A man with a round stomach and a gray hat walked out of an opening in the ground with many others. He walked like he had a mission. His coat was the same scratchy stuff as hers, but it was buttoned up and looked new. He looked new; his face was ruddy and clean. His shoes reflected the pale sunlight. The trill of notes resounded in her mind once again.

He was the one! She stood in front of him to make him stop. She hoped he could comprehend her speech.

“Will you help me?” she said, working to form the strange words.

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Genre – Metaphysical Science Fiction

Rating – R

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#AmReading - The Lake by AnnaLisa Grant @annalisagrant

The Lake by AnnaLisa Grant

Amazon

At 17, Layla Weston is already starting over. Having lost both her parents and grandparents, and with nowhere else to go, Layla is moving from Florida to a small town in North Carolina to live with the only family she has left: her estranged uncle and aunt.
The last five years of Layla’s life were spent appeasing her lessthan-loving grandmother, followed by being her grandfather’s caretaker. Growing old before her time, Layla lost her identity. Now she must learn how to allow herself to be the one cared for and loved.
Life takes an unexpected turn when Layla meets Will Meyer. His breathtaking good looks are enough to catch her eye, but his sincerity and passion are everything she needs to find the strength and confidence she lost — and lead her into love.
When tragedy once again strikes Layla’s life, her hope is all but completely crushed. Through it all, Layla learns what it means to truly love and be loved.

Once Humans by Massimo Marino @Massim0Marin0

Memories

From Dan Amenta’s Journal

We had the perfect life in the French-Swiss countryside until that mysterious windstorm in February. No one realized anything unusual has happened, but the next morning, while driving Annah, my daughter, to school, I discovered that vehicles littered the highway, with their dead occupants still inside.

Returning home, no one answered the phone at any of the emergency departments nor could I or my wife, Mary, reach our relatives and friends. Checking on the neighbors, I found them dead.

We soon realized we might be the only survivors of a global catastrophe. We stock up on emergency supplies, turn the house into a stronghold, and collected food and medicines. The Internet still worked so I launched a large, online campaign to find other survivors with the hope of learning more about what we were facing. While waiting for any response at all, I managed to befriend some neighborhood dogs and we armed ourselves with survival gear.

At first, it felt weird and disturbing to go into stores and take things without paying but, of course, there was no one to pay. The whole world had become a ghost town.

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Genre – Science Fiction

Rating – PG-13

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