Book Promo Feature – Hunted by Angels and Finding Angels by R.A. Boyd

Romance Promo Central is happy to welcome R.A. Boyd to the blog. She’s the author of  Hunted by Angels and Finding Angels. She’s here to share about her books. If either of these books sounds like something that you would be interested in reading, please find buy links below and pick up a copy or two.

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hunted2Book #1 of the Perry Series

“If I don’t have a holy union (holy my arse!) with him, all hell will break loose and blah, blah, blah. We’re destined to be together. I despise him. He likes it. He can’t help it. He’s a demon. Figuratively and literally.”

-Perrian Ettis Haines

Perry is a succubus but has been living as a human. She’s had no choice. Once she marries Haines, the hottest and most annoying incubus around, her powers begin to surface. Then an enemy comes to call, but she has to invite him in. finding angels pic

She’s being hunted.

What a way to start out a honeymoon.

On Amazon:

Hunted by Angels  |   Finding Angels


Barnes and Noble

Hunted by Angels


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R.A. Boyd is a writer, and reader, of paranormal romance, horror and urban fantasy. She lives in Maryland with her husband, daughter and her massive collection of books. Seriously. Her books have their own room.

You can find her work in Tales of Blood and Roses and on She is currently releasing her novel, Hunted by Angels. The Line of Lilith books are soon to follow.

R.A. Boyd can be found:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter

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“I do,” I say sulkily as the minister asks if I take this man standing next to me to be my lawfully wedded husband.

“You could at least muster some kind of joy over this,” Haines says quietly as he squeezes my hand.

“Shut-up,” I snap at him.

For our friends and family attending our nuptials I have nothing but sweet smiles and kind words.  But for this d-bag, I have snark for days.

This is not the happily ever after either one of us was hoping for.  And Haines is certainly not the man I wanted to end up with.  But if I don’t have a holy union (holy my arse!) with him, all hell will break loose and blah, blah, blah.  We’re destined to be together.  I despise him.  He likes it.  He can’t help it.  He’s a demon.  Figuratively and literally.

Haines is a full blooded incubus, a male demon that feeds off the sexual energy of women.  I am the female counterpart: a succubus.  I also happen to be a cambion, a half-blood.  My mother is a succubus and my dad is human.  If I don’t marry an incubus who can tame my demon side, the part of me that craves sexual pleasure will take over and I could be a hazard to men I come in contact with.  The urge to stalk men and bed them while they slept would consume me, and I wouldn’t be able to help myself. What makes matters worse is that I can kill the men I have sex with.

“Oh my God,” echoes the blubbering voice of my Aunt Rita amid the silence as the minister says his final lines of the ceremony.  “She’s.  So.  Beautiful!” She sure loves to be heard.

Succubi, like me, tend to go after the same man over and over again to gain control over and then suck the life out of them. Then we move on to the next victim.  In fact, if I don’t marry a full incubus I won’t be able to stop myself from draining the life force of any man I have sex with.  And this is with protection!

The minister smiles as he presents us to the crowd sitting in the church pews.   “I now pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now kiss the bride.”

I turn to Haines and frown at him as he leans in and gives me a hard kiss on the lips.  “Could you be more of a dick,” I say quietly while everyone stands and claps for us.  “That hurt.”

“Could you be happy about something for five minutes?” Haines says through gritted teeth, grabbing my hand as a show of affection.

I look at him and scoff.  “Are you insane?”

Haines is one of the yummiest men I’ve ever laid eyes on: he’s just under six feet tall with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and dark hazel eyes that compliment his honey brown complexion perfectly.  His dark brown wavy hair is cut fairly close, but grown out just enough so that I can pull it when I get angry with him.  Trust me.  I’ve done it several times before.  He pisses me off daily.

When my mother found out that I had inherited her demonic genes, she contacted a soothsayer who did some witchy crap and found out that Haines was the man for the job.  Again, we are fated to be together.  There was a choice though.  Either marry Haines, apparently the only living, unattached incubus that has the power to help me control myself, or allow my need for sex and energy to take over.  I loathe Haines, but I don’t want to kill anyone.

Well, may be Haines.

Before we walk down the aisle, my mother stands up and addresses the crowd. “Please, everyone, listen for a moment.  Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil Haines…”

I roll my eyes. “God, you have a stupid name…”

“…will be joining us at the reception hall after they take formal pictures.  Please, head over to the hall and they will be there shortly.”  She turns to face us.  “Downstairs.  Now.”

Haines tries to take my arm and lead me down the aisle, but I pick up the front of my poufy white dress and walk off.  “I gotta pee,” I tell him over my shoulder.


“Come on, Perry,” my mother says through the bathroom door.  I’ve locked myself in.  A girl has gotta have privacy.

“Coming, mother,” I say sweetly, but I’m sure she catches the sarcasm.

I look in the mirror and see a not so blushing bride giving me the stink-eye.  My dress is your typical A-line fit with silver embroidery leading to the bottom in long flowery lines.  Since it’s late November, I opted to have a lace sheath that falls just below my shoulders added to the top.  My hair is pinned up with real diamond pins and real silver ribbon laced through it.  Haines may not be the man of my dreams, but my father is wealthy and this son of a bitch I just married is loaded.  I insisted we do this in style.  Why not?  I’m not paying for it!

The make-up on my face is sparse and flawless and my platinum tear drop earrings make my neck look longer.  I’m only five foot four and I’m not what you’d call petite.  I have wide hips, child bearing hips my mother calls them, not-so-small breasts and a complexion just a little darker than Haines’.  I’m a size 12.  Plus-sized model by today’s standards.  I’m beautiful.  Every succubus is.  Most men don’t want a demon that actually looks like a demon.

I eye myself in the mirror once more, unlock the bathroom door and snatch it open.  “Let’s do this!” I say loudly, as I walk toward Haines.

“You really do look lovely,” he says, looking at my breasts.

“Suck it.” I roll up my left lace sleeve.

“I fully intend to later.”  He knows that shit pisses me off.

“You’re disgusting.  Oww!”  My mother grabs my arm and makes a minute but deep cut just below my elbow.

“Knock it off, Perry,” she says, as she puts a small bowl under my arm to catch the falling blood.

“You could have gotten blood on my dress. I’m selling this bad boy on e-bay when we’re done.”

Haines takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeve.  “Do you know how much I paid for that dress?”  My mother cuts his arm.

“I most certainly do.”  My arm is starting to heal.  Our union is already quickening.   “Aren’t we sullying the church by doing this here?  Why haven’t you burst into flames yet?  I mean, you are a demon,” I say, looking at Haines.

“The same reason you haven’t burst into flames yet.  You’re half demon.” Even though he’s being a dick, his deep voice is like velvet.

I lean into him and inhale deeply.  His scent is clean and warm.  “Dammit!  It’s already starting.  You did that on purpose.”  I feel drawn to him.  I can’t help it.  An incubus’ power lies in his sexual attraction.

He looks offended.  “Mrs. Haines…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever do you mean?  I didn’t do anything.”

We’ve been married in the sight of God and now the blood-binding is kicking in.  As an incubus, he calls to me.  My body yearns, needs to be touched by him.  Until we consummate our union, I will want him more than anything and despise him just as much.  “Let’s just do it here,” I tell him.

“Absolutely not.  I’m going to take my time with you, little girl.”

“Eww,” my mother says.  “Join hands.”

Haines grabs my hand before I can protest.  My mother has soaked a thrice blessed sacred white ribbon in our blood.  She ties it around our hands and puts the bowl on the counter behind her.  “By the powers given to me, I bind thee.  Perrian Ettis Haines, I bind you to O’Neil Haines.  May you serve and tame one another.  Blessed be.”  She unties the ribbon and puts it in the blood stained bowl.

“That’s it?” I say snatching my hand out of his.  “I thought there’d be more to do instead of getting my arm cut.”

“It’s healing,” he says interrupting me.

“Shut.  Up.”  I check to make sure the cut is fully healed and then roll down the lace sleeve.  “Come on, husband. I’m hungry.”

At the same time, Haines and I both inhale sharply.  I look down at my hand that was tied with Haines’ to see the blood that was covering it, our blood, is now seeping into my skin.  He’s looking at me strangely.

Haines touches my hand and a flood of passion spreads through my body.  I shake my head.  “Knock it off.”  My voice is a little too breathy.

He comes to stand in front of me.  “You will stop telling me to shut up.  Do you understand, Perrian?”

“You two were made for one another,” my mother says over her shoulder, as she ascends the steps leading from the basement of the church.

“Curse your lips,” I scream.

“Do you understand?” he repeats.  He looks pretty pissed off.  “I am five-hundred and twenty-six years old.  To me, you—“

“Just shut up,” I tell him as I walk away leaving him standing next to the water cooler.  And for good measure, I turn around just enough to give him the finger.

Interview with Lorraine Pestell, author of the serial A Life Singular

Romance Promo Central is happy to welcome Lorraine Pestell to the blog! She’s here answer some of our questions and to share about two books of her serial novel, A Life Singular. If these books sound like something that you would be interested in reading, please find buy links below.

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RPC – Tell us about your new release?


Lorraine – My latest release is the second in the six-part novel serial “A Life Singular – Part Two”.  It follows Jeff Diamond, a successful celebrity whose wife was murdered by a rogue gunman in Part One, as he pieces together his autobiography.  Its themes are love’s triumph over mental illness, making the right choices and the relentless passage of time.


RPC – Where would you live if you could live anywhere in the world?


Lorraine – I have been very fortunate to have enjoyed a career which has taken me all over the world:  the UK, the US, various European capitals, Singapore and now Australia.  My two favourite cities are Glasgow, Scotland, and Melbourne, Australia, both of which are bursting with diversity and a healthy character that doesn’t hesitate to stick two fingers up at the rest of the world!


Melbourne has been my home for the longest period of my adult life, which indicates to me that it has become “home” to a certain extent.  However, I do not hold too much store in “home” being necessarily a stationary place, but more a state of mind.  I am still searching for my spiritual home.

RPC – Did you always had in mind to be a writer or it just happened?


Lorraine – I have always written, but my decision to become a bona fide author was only made about five years ago.  I have produced countless, lengthy business cases and systems specifications during my long Information Technology career, and before that, as a child growing up in London, I loved to dream up backstories to events I saw on the television news or about my favourite celebrities.  What drove people to do or say a certain thing?  What was going on behind the scenes in that person’s life?


As a sufferer of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, chronic depression is a constant and I struggle with suicidal tendencies on a daily basis.  Writing, along with my old dog, has become a vital escape through which I can inhabit a world that’s more accepting of who I am.


The story for the “A Life Singular” serial has been with me for almost 40 years, and it has changed a great deal as I matured and experienced the good, bad and ugly of life.  However, I woke up with a side-plot idea one morning, and since then I have not been able to stop!

RPC - Do you read reviews written about your book?


Lorraine – Yes, I am always fascinated to read people’s impressions about my books, whether favourable or not.  I’m lucky that I do not become disillusioned by negative comments, mainly because my writing has been under scrutiny for my entire career.  I do my best to understand the reviewer’s motivation for particular comments, and if I believe an improvement can be made, I will certainly adapt my style, characters or plot accordingly.


My goals for this serial are twofold:  firstly to inspire fellow sufferers of mental illnesses to rise above their symptoms and make a success of their lives; and secondly to encourage understanding, tolerance and support from non-sufferers for our efforts to live as ‘normal’ a life as we can.  Therefore, I always look for indications in my reviews as to whether I am succeeding in getting these messages across.


World Health Organisation statistics state that there are approximately 350 million people suffering from a mental illness in the developed world at any one time.  I have experienced discrimination and exclusion in all aspects of my life.  Therefore, in a sense, I’m looking to “preach to the unconverted” by using the universal appeal of a love story and society’s fascination with celebrity to reach a wider spectrum of readers who wouldn’t necessarily be interested in finding out about mental illness and how they could help.

RPC - Do you see yourself in any of your characters?


Lorraine – Absolutely!  Since my protagonist is also a sufferer of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, he obviously shares many traits and symptoms with me.  I am not a billionnaire rock star turned philanthropist (yet!), although I am a huge fan of volunteering and am donating sales proceeds from my books to two Australian not-for-profit organisations assisting children in need.


My intention while developing Jeff Diamond’s very complex character was to articulate in detail how different and unpredictable life can be for someone with a mental illness.  However, my overriding ambition for my hero is that he learns how to capitalise on the love of his life to conquer his debilitating symptoms.


I hope there is also something of me in Lynn, Jeff’s wife, in so far as I bring understanding and compassion to others as a matter of personal obligation.  In today’s world we are all encouraged to be independent, which is in direct conflict to how life really works.  We will all be far more successful, healthy and happy in an environment of interdependence, which requires understanding, tolerance and love for our fellow beings.


RPC – Are you a plotter or a pantzer?


Lorraine – I’m 80% plotter and 20% pantzer!  When I began writing the “A Life Singular” serial, I had no idea it would end up as six separate books.  All six parts exist already in varying levels of completion.  Parts One and Two are complete and published, Part Three will be available by June 2014 and the remaining parts will appear in six-monthly intervals.  This timing is deliberate, so that the story which spans fifty years will conclude in contemporary times.


I have written the final scene of Part Six, with the apocryphal words “THE END” after it.  I now have to fill in the gaps, the ideas for which are already partly plotted into each draft or safely lodged in a separate document called “Extras” J  This somewhat OCD-like plotting is partly the fault of my IT background, where everything needs to be logical and in the correct sequence.  Yet I give myself a 20% score in the pantzer column because I’m frequently surprised by where my characters take me once I start writing a scene!

RPC –  Did you do any research before start or during of the writing of the books?


Lorraine – Yes, I am always researching and fact-checking as I write, particularly around how characters interact and the locations and settings of each chapter.  Of course, for the mental illness theme, I am my own “lab rat”!  I also read very widely on the topic, to make sure I am not seen to be promoting any disreputable treatment or putting readers in harm’s way.


The most fascinating aspect of a fifty-year timespan is the change in how technology influenced our lives.  For example, the story’s earliest scenes are in 1972, before the age of mobile telephones, e-mail and the WorldWide Web; when air travel was beyond the reach of most people and flights took days instead of hours; and where answering machines and video cassette recorders were “high tech” household items.


Then in contrast, I am attempting to project forward to 2016 for the final chapters, where inventions such as Internet-enabled newspapers will be commonplace, all of which need to be taken into account when depicting interactions between characters.


RPC – Are there any particular books and/or authors that inspired you and continue to do so?


Lorraine – My favourite reading material comes from French literature between the 18th and 20th centuries.  Each part in my serial is linked to a particular classic novel, since the themes and issues brought to life in these books remain undeniably relevant for today.  For example, “A Life Singular – Part One” is based on La Rabouilleuse (The Black Sheep) by Honoré de Balzac and “A Life Singular – Part Two” takes inspiration from Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand.


I try to make sure I read a balance of fiction and non-fiction, but I am especially drawn to novels which deal with personal struggles and triumphs.  Love has been an elusive commodity in my real world, which leaves me to covet it in my fantasy world!


RPC – How important do you find the communication between you and your readers? Do you reply to their messages or read their reviews?


Lorraine – With the explosion of social media, there has never been a better time for authors and readers to develop close relationships.  It is undoubtedly time-consuming to keep the various channels flowing, particularly on top of a full-time job, but the benefits are clear and stimulating.


I love to hear from readers, whether face-to-face or via social media.  I always make sure I reply to any comments or questions, and like to leave comments on other blogs and Facebook pages.  I have participated in a “blog tour” and a “blog hop” recently, which has been very rewarding.


Finding out how readers perceive my characters is always interesting.  One former workmate hated my protagonist with a passion until three-quarters of the way through Part One, when she began to understand a little about what makes him tick!  Now she’s really looking forward to finding out more of his backstory in Part Two.

RPC - What are your thoughts on ebooks? (i.e. love them, hate them, wave of the future)

Lorraine – As a thirty-year veteran of the IT industry, I am an e-chick through and through, so much so that I become quite annoyed when I find out a new book is only being distributed in print.  The convenience of being able to “carry” an enormous number of books on a single device has enabled me to read much more, almost anywhere and far more cheaply.


That said, I was totally unprepared for the thrill and sense of achievement I felt when holding the first paperback copy with my name on the spine, my cover design and my words inside.  With an e-book, there is no sense of how “long” a book is, apart from the progress of the ball along the thin, blue line at the bottom of the screen.  Seeing my book in physical form, with dimensions and weight, gave me a rush of pride for the effort that had gone into creating it!

RPC –   Are you working on any other projects except writing, right now?


Lorraine – I recently returned to Melbourne after five years in Perth, Western Australia, which is the world’s most isolated city.  I will be starting another full-time IT management job in a few days’ time, signalling the end of my luxurious but not lucrative writing sabbatical!


As mentioned earlier, one of the other ways I motivate myself beyond the effects of PTSD is to volunteer my time to those less fortunate.  I am looking forward to starting this year’s mentoring with The Smith Family, which involves on-line and face-to-face chats with a student from a disadvantaged background.  The goals of this program is to encourage young people who lack progressive role models to consider staying in school and planning for university and / or a career, rather than facing the hopelessness of unemployment, early parenthood and even crime.


Because my protagonist’s life would have been turned around much earlier by organisations like The Smith Family and the School Volunteer Program, I am donating sales proceeds to these two charities.





<Scene setting:  Back home after the trial of his wife’s killer, Jeff’s daughter has gone to bed, and he’s left alone to contemplate the future…>


That night, safely back in their Melbourne apartment, the widower lay on his bed in the dark and resumed his own life sentence.  Running through his mind were all those years during which Lynn had helped him break out of the obsessive “now or never” anxieties which had gripped him in his teens, as a result of the betrayal and abandonment he had suffered as a child.  How long had it taken before he started to believe in the new mantra of “There’s always tomorrow” which had been bestowed upon him by his beautiful best friend?

Yet there wasn’t always tomorrow, was there?  García had seen to that.  Jeff had enjoyed a nice, comfortable twenty-year sabbatical from his old fears, but now the boy with the death-wish was back.  For the sake of his children, he knew he must rise above the despair somehow, or at least make a damned good show of doing so.  Ryan and Kierney deserved to think positive thoughts about the future, even if he had no interest in it.

Unable to sleep, the loving father quietly walked into the office to switch on his computer and then into the kitchen to make some coffee.  One of the e-mails Jeff had missed while away in Sydney was a summary of the various tribute records that were steadily being released by other prominent artists, all keen to acknowledge the influence Lynn had had on their careers.  Like her memorial service, the list contained virtually every chart-topping musician, including some from Africa and even a couple from China.

Once again, the grieving husband felt humbled by the love the world had for him and his departed dream girl.  He scoffed bitterly at his assistant’s request for approval for these projects to go ahead, and he typed a suitably restrained response to indicate that he could hardly put a stop to people expressing their grief, even though it might be seen to prolong it for everyone else.  Meaning me, he insinuated.

The list of senders’ names in his e-mail inbox also resembled a “Who’s Who?” of contemporary public life, and the boy from Sydney’s western suburbs still found himself affected deeply when being counted in their number.  All these Very Important Persons had taken the time to write to him about the death of his wife, to express support for the trial and to find out how he and the kids were faring.  He couldn’t decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.  He was grateful for their concern, but mostly wished he could simply disappear for the next six months, until the plight of his family had been relegated to the inner pages of the world’s newspapers and magazines.

The forty-three-year-old leaned back in his black leather executive chair and stared at the ceiling.  An eerie shadow of himself moving among the furniture, elongated by the angle of the illuminated desk lamp, conjured up chilling memories of the nights he would sleep, as a boy, behind the piles of contraband stacked up in his family’s living room on the Stones Road, unable to face the short journey down the corridor and past his mother’s bedroom door.

OK.  That was enough.  What had happened to Juan Antonio García’s mother then?  Why hadn’t she arrived off the boat in Sydney with her husband and sons?  Why did he even care?  Jeff shook himself out of this obsessive train of thought.  This runt of a man had killed his wife, and this evening he had received a life sentence to prove it.  The widower knew he must learn to accept the guilty verdict as justice.  Somehow.

So with what did society expect justice to furnish the partner of a murder victim?  The Queen had succeeded in removing one more killer from the streets.  Big deal!  There were plenty of far more dangerous criminals still roaming free, and with a much greater likelihood of striking again.  The Sydney Mafia remained alive and well, for example, Jeff had no doubt.

What would justice have meant to him, if he had been able to choose its form?  This was a tough one.  Definitely not financial compensation; a concept that never ceased to intrigue the intellectual when reading about other cases.  Was a couple of million dollars really going to ease the suffering after losing a loved one?  No amount of money could bring his children’s mother back, and the Diamonds had more than enough money as it was.  Their financial whizz-kid, Gerry Blake, had seen to that.

‘What do I want, angel?’ the widower posed to Lynn’s spirit.  ‘Are you there?’

He inhaled sharply.  Before he had even finished his second question, the tingling sensation in his chest made him jump.

‘Hey,’ he said.  ‘So you are there.  Christ, it’s good to feel you.  I’ve missed you.  He’s going down.  Did you see?  I guess you know that already.’

Again Jeff’s left pectoral muscle twitched, making him cry.  It was the end of one of the longest weeks of his life, and certainly one of the most difficult.  Kierney mustn’t hear him crying, he thought.  Not again.  She needed her sleep.

‘Come with me onto the balcony, Lynn, please,’ the bereft husband asked.  ‘I want to talk to you.  Our little girl’s sleeping.  She’s so beautiful, angel.  So, so beautiful.  Just like you.’

Grabbing his cigarettes and lighter off the coffee table, where he had left them with his keys, Jeff slid the glass door open and took a seat at the table overlooking the lights of the northern suburbs.  The traffic was still noisy, sixteen floors below, and there was virtually no breeze.  Smoking his first cigarette for a few hours, he concentrated back on the subject of justice.

However, within a second or two, inspiration was upon him.  Jeff was on his feet again, running through the apartment and back into the office.  He rummaged around in a few desk drawers until he found a small voice recorder, checking its batteries and testing it with a few choice swearwords to relieve some tension.  There were memoires to be captured for posterity.  How had Rose Milne described him and his beautiful best friend in her sentencing statement?  National treasures?

‘National treasures, my arse,’ he mocked the judge’s words, as he reinstalled himself on the balcony.  ‘Did you hear that too, baby?’

Jeff picked up what remained of his cigarette and rubbed his tattoo through his shirt.  How did one document a national treasure?  How would he do justice to Lynn’s story?  To their story?

‘D’you know what I want, angel?’ he asked into the chilly air.  ‘I want a long, lingering kiss that makes my insides burst into flames.  I want the soft skin of your naked body wrapped around me, intent on speeding things up while you’re urging me to slow down.’

The stinging was gone from his chest now, but it had been replaced by a dull but pleasant ache.  This peculiar physical reaction was most likely only generated by his own mind, but it was helping nonetheless.  The little, red light on the Dictaphone flashed regularly to remind him it was waiting for more.

‘I want our kids to have a mother and I want a friend to share my crazy ideas with,’ he continued, in tears once more.  ‘Is that too much to ask?  I don’t want a man to go to prison for the rest of his life.  How does that help the kids?  What sort of justice is that?  I want our daughter to continue on the journey you were taking her on, towards the lady she oh-so-nearly is, and I want our son to be able to swap tales of Olympic glory with someone who really cares.’

‘I want this endless torrent of words to pour into your detoxicating smile.  I want a reason to look at my watch ten times every hour when I’m away from home, to see how soon I can get away.  Jesus Christ!  I want to stop describing my self-pity and get on with doing all those constructive things we were right in the middle of, angel.  I want my level-headed wife to help me resist the temptation to ring our dark-haired gipsy girl every night, when she starts her law degree at Sydney Uni, to make sure she’s safe and happy, and that she still misses her papá.’

With his head in his hands, Jeff wept away the stresses of the last few days.  He was convinced he was being heard on some ethereal plain, although the beating of his heart was overpowering any other sensation just at this moment.  He carried on, sniffing back the tears and lighting another cigarette.

‘I want my patient and compassionate wife to remind me I’m being unreasonable and hypocritical, when I criticise our son for not coming home for Christmas, just because he wants to chase girls.  I long to perform again on stage with our family, and see you smiling with the joy I know it gave you.  The same joy it gave me.  And Jesus, Lynn…  I long to have more of those long discussions over dinner with Jet and Kierney about life lessons in humility.  That’s fucking justice, don’t you think?  We had those things, angel.  That’s what he took from us.  That’s what a guilty verdict should buy us.’

And those were the things the Diamonds would never receive from the Australian justice system.  This type of compensation wasn’t listed in the bound volumes of laws and legal practices he had seen in Judge Milne’s chambers.  Angrily, he switched off the voice recorder and let it drop roughly onto the glass table top.

Mañana, angel,’ he cast into the night air.  ‘Tomorrow I’ll start afresh.  I’ll write our life story, baby, and therein you’ll find justice.  En nuestra vida singular.  In our life singular.’


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Part One front coverA Life Singular – Part One


What do you do when you lose the one who gave your life meaning?  You write about it.  You tell the world how amazing it is to love and be loved by someone so special, what love helps you achieve and how it makes you stronger.

Jeff Diamond had built a life of influence, adulation and wealth by making the right choices for the right reasons.  He lived by the law of reciprocity, a lesson learned on the streets as a teenager with nothing but an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.  Plagued by the scars of a violent childhood, he created his vision and fought for it.  And once he no longer needed to fight for himself, he fought for others.

Yet when Jeff’s dream girl was taken from him and their children by the ignorant act of a jealous misfit from his own home town, the millionnaire realised just how far he had come.  Why had he succeeded when so many like him fail?  It wasn’t complicated.  The secret lay in the endless pursuit of love and wisdom; life’s two magic ingredients. 

Now Lynn was gone, he resolved to use his remaining days to account for their life in a way that would inspire young people to make his type of choice rather than García’s.

Then after their story was written, he would be free to go after her, to begin the whole incredible journey over again.  Everyone has a life singular.

One.  Unique.  Extraordinary.

US –

UK –

Canada –

Australia & New Zealand –


Part Two front coverA Life Singular – Part Two

Blurb: Writing an autobiography on behalf of someone else presented Jeff with an interesting dilemma.  Did he make assumptions about what Lynn would have included, or should he restrict her contribution to direct quotes from her letters and diaries?  He had their kids to protect, and her parents…


As he worked through the huge amount of material available in the press about their life as it had taken shape, interlacing it with highly personal stories, the widower crafted chapter after chapter of memories, both happy and heartbreaking.  If this was to be a true account of their partnership, he owed it to the memory of his beautiful best friend to cover so much more than what was already on public record.


When it came to adding his own reminiscences of those early months, about meeting someone he already knew intimately, Jeff had no difficulty in recalling every single, vivid moment.  Entire conversations came back to him, sometimes word for word, rushing through his fingers and into the computer.


Photographs prompted him too, as did the treasured possessions that surrounded him, like the old leather jacket he had received on his twentieth birthday.  Lynn had left him shortly after that, just like she had left him now.  The pull of being together again was unrelenting, but Jeff hung on to the dream that their life singular would one day resume.  Once their story had been told.

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Book Promo Feature – Embrace the Mystery by Caris Roane

Romance Promo Central is happy to welcome Caris Roane to the blog! She’s here to share about her books. If these books sound like something that you would be interested in reading, please find buy links below.

PictureMastyr Quinlan pursues the artist, Batya, with only one thing in mind but soon discovers that his desire for her is just the beginning of an earth-shattering affair…

 He doesn’t want a woman in his life…

Quinlan must keep Grochaire Realm safe from the enemy at all costs.  As ruler of his realm, a woman has no permanent place in his day-to-day existence. But when his lust takes him to Batya’s bedroom, he soon discovers he’s deep into a powerful experience that threatens to blow his life apart.  He wants Batya with a feverish desire that makes no sense in his logical, warrior world.  But when an ancient fae attacks Batya’s gallery, he launches into protector mode and soon finds himself embroiled — body, soul, and fangs — with a woman he’d only meant to bed a couple of times.

She has no desire to get involved with a mastyr vampire…

 Batya’s intense desire for Mastyr Quinlan stuns and baffles her.  She doesn’t want to be involved with the vampire on any level.  His sole focus of ruling Grochaire Realm has kept him from staying with one woman longer than the proud length of his fangs.  Besides, she’s built a life for herself in Lebanon, Tennessee as an artist and healer to the realm ex-patriot community. But when the ancient fae attacks Quinlan at her gallery, then attempts to kidnap her assistant, Batya finds herself catapulted into an astonishing adventure.  Even so, she works steadily to get back to her free-clinic and her painting, but how can she leave Quinlan behind when he’s commanded her like no other man ever has?


This book is number 3 in the series:

Blurb for series: Enter a world of blood-starved mastyr vampires and the rare women who can satisfy their deepest needs…

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*   *   *   *   *   *

Caris Roane, aka Valerie King, has published thirteen paranormal romance novels.  As Valerie King, she’s written over fifty Regency romance novels and in 2005, Caris Roane - Author Photo 2Romantic Times gave her a Career Achievement award in Regency Romance.

As Caris Roane, she also writes contemporary romance and has recently released her first contemporary, A SEDUCTIVE PROPOSITION.

Caris lives in Phoenix, Arizona, loves to write, really doesn’t like scorpions, and has two cats, Sebastien and Gizzy.

For more information about Caris Roane:

For more information about Valerie King:




From Chapter Two: Mastyr Quinlan, having survived an enemy attack because Batya healed him, has to brush out his long warrior hair. Batya helps him out…


Quinlan showered, washing out the mass of his hair twice then applying Batya’s crème rinse until he’d have a half-way decent shot at getting the snarls out with a brush.

Using her blow dryer, he scowled as he watched his damn hair fly around. Why couldn’t a vampire, especially a Guardsman, have some kind of preternatural power to remove snarls and dry his hair without electricity?

“Want some coffee with your ‘shits’ and ‘damn-all-the-elf-lords-to-hell-and-back’?” He met Batya’s reflection in the mirror, and saw a mug extended in his direction.

He shut the dryer off, turned around, and took the cup. “That bad, huh?”

Batya chuckled. She had dimples, two of them. Not deep, but they were definitely there, beside her mouth. He’d never noticed before, but then most of his seduction work had taken place at a distance.

“Turn around. I’ll work the back section.”

He didn’t hesitate, something that resonated deep in his brain as a serious warning of some kind, but he wasn’t sure in what way.

She picked up the brush he’d been using and started at the tips. He couldn’t even feel the tugs so he drank his coffee and released a sigh.

His thoughts turned to Grochaire, the realm he ruled. “I need to get word to my Guard, to warn them about what they’re up against. But my telepathy isn’t working through your shield and my phone got blasted by one of those wraith-pairs.”

“You can try my phone, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get through, not with the shield I have in place. Sorry, but staying alive has a priority here.”

He smiled because he couldn’t have agreed with her more.

She brushed through a long length, hit a snag and started working it. He could see her in the mirror, brow furrowed. He’d seen that look already, more than once just conversing with her. She had a seriousness about her that he approved of, maybe because it matched his own.

He sipped some more and watched her. She was a beautiful woman and tall, maybe just under six feet. He wouldn’t have to lean too far down to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She wore her hair loose with clips holding it away from her face.  She had strong cheekbones and a straight nose. Her chin was definitely fae, more pointed than a human’s would be, but exquisite.

He knew her ancestry, half-fae, half-troll, her genetics having fallen on the fae side. Realm-DNA did that when the species mixed. The offspring landed one way or another, the same if more than two lines made up the code. Genetics always picked a lane. He realized that he liked her looks, really liked them. “Have you ever done a self-portrait?”

She picked up another long hunk of his hair and once more started at the tips, working swiftly. “I don’t really do faces. I’ve always been into landscapes and the occasional still-life if the objects intrigue me enough.”

“Do you go out, snap photos of woodlands, that kind of thing?”

“Sometimes.” She stopped brushing and scratched her cheek with her thumb. “But more often than not I’ll get these rich images in my head and that’s what I’ll paint.”

“Sounds fae.”

She started brushing again, making quick work as he sipped his coffee. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t think about it. I just paint and let the spirit move me.”

He smiled. “The spirit, huh?”

“It’s a good earth-saying, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is. So you like being here on human earth?”

“I do. In fact, I love it. I didn’t know what happiness or freedom was until I moved here.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “And I don’t plan on ever returning to the Nine Realms. The day that we made our treaties with the US, turned out to be the best day of my life…”





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