Thursday, April 18, 2013

The Legend of Mickey Tussler/ Sophmore Campaign by Frank Nappi

Frank Nappi



In the late 1940s, the minor league Milwaukee Brewers are foundering yet again and manager Arthur Murphy is desperate. When he sees seventeen-year old Mickey Tussler throwing apples into a barrel, he knows he has found the next pitching phenom. But not everyone is so hopeful. Mickey’s autism—a disorder still not truly understood even today—has alienated the boy from the world, and he is berated by other players and fans. Mickey faces immense trials in the harsh and competitive world of baseball while coping with the challenges inherent to his disorder. An honest and knowledgeable book about overcoming adversity, and the basis for the television movie A Mile in His Shoes, Mickey’s powerful story shows that with support and determination anyone can be triumphant, even when the odds are stacked against him.


It’s 1949 and eighteen-year-old pitching phenom Mickey Tussler is back with the rejuvenated minor league Brewers in the sequel to The Legend of Mickey Tussler (the basis for the television movie  A Mile in His Shoes). Despite Mickey’s proclamation that he will never play baseball again after last season’s violent conclusion, his manager—and now surrogate father—Arthur Murphy cajoles the emotionally fragile, socially awkward boy with autism into giving it another shot. Mickey reluctantly returns to the field and must once again cope with the violence and hatred around him. When a young African American player joins the team, the entire team is subjected to racial threats and episodes of violence, one of which Mickey witnesses firsthand. Struggling to understand such ugliness and hatred, and fearful of reprisal should he tell anyone about what he has seen, the boy’s performance on the field suffers. Mickey now must deal with a side of human nature he scarcely comprehends.


Excerpt of The Legend of Mickey Tussler

Excerpt of Sophomore Campaign


Frank Nappi has taught high school English and Creative Writing for over twenty years. His debut novel,  Echoes From The Infantry, received national attention, including MWSA's silver medal for outstanding fiction. His follow-up novel, The Legend of Mickey Tussler, garnered rave reviews as well, including a movie adaptation of the touching story "A Mile in His Shoes" starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder. Frank continues to produce quality work, including Sophomore Campaign, the intriguing sequel to the much heralded original story and the just released thriller, NOBODY HAS TO KNOW, which received an endorsement from #1 New York Times bestselling author Nelson DeMille. Frank is presently at work on a third installment of his Mickey Tussler series and his next thriller. He lives on Long Island with his wife Julia and their two sons, Nicholas and Anthony.


The Legend of Mickey Tussler/Sophomore Campaign book trailers:

author website

 Frank will be awarding a $50 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Make sure you leave a comment with your email address for a chance to win!

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Vegas Vacation Book Blast

by Crystal Jordan



It’s spring break, and a group of teachers from Half Moon Bay Middle School are planning to cut loose. History teacher Meg Phillips hadn’t planned on being one of them—Vegas isn’t really a town for a bookworm—but somehow she let her friend Anne talk her into it.

Though honestly, she’d rather indulge in some poolside reading than co-star in an R-rated edition of Teachers Gone Wild.

It took some major arm twisting for Finn Walsh to convince his fellow gym teacher, Anne, to do whatever it took to get Meg to Vegas. For over a year he’s been looking for the chance to get to know her outside of work. He’s drawn to her quiet beauty and intelligence—and the hint of fire beneath her understated exterior.

When he finally gets the opportunity to peel away those layers, the result is far more explosive than he ever fantasized. Now to convince her that the week isn’t a wildly out-of-character mistake, but the start of something amazing...



“Come on, Anne. The least you can do is ask her for me. She’ll listen to you.” Finn Walsh offered up his most winning smile, but his colleague gave him a dubious glance.

“Why exactly would I help you get in my friend’s pants?” Anne Kirby snorted, bending her long limbs into a stretch as they both warmed up to start the day. Teaching physical education at a middle school kept them running. “Besides, Meg turned you down the one time you asked her out.”

Yeah, she had. Finn winced. “I don’t want to get in her pants.”

Anne straightened and stared at him. “Right, I believe that one. You want to date Meg, but you don’t want to do her.”

He lowered himself to the wooden gym floor and grabbed the toe of his sneaker to help flex his calf. Meg’s heart-shaped face filled his mind. Brunette curls he wanted to tangle his fingers in, eyes that were an impossible shade of storm cloud gray. She wasn’t tall or short, just average, but she had curves in all the right places. Her ass, especially. Tight, round and perfect. He wanted to get his hands on it. Hell, he wanted to get his hands on all of her, as often as humanly possible. But if it were just about getting laid, he could find a woman for that easily. No, he wanted Meg, specifically. “Okay, I don’t only want to get in her pants.”

“That’s a little more believable.” Anne smiled when the school bell rang. Within a few minutes, gangly teens began trudging past them into the changing room.

“I mean it.” Finn waved to a few of his students, picking himself up off the floor. “I like her, Anne. She turned me down because she thinks it’s a bad idea to date co-workers. She never said she wasn’t interested in me.”

Crossing her arms, Anne shrugged. “She’s being smart about it. We had an ugly breakup between two teachers a few years back, before you came to HMB. The memory for those of us who were here is still pretty fresh and really harsh. I don’t know if I’d date another teacher either. When it goes sour–”

“If, not when. It doesn’t have to go sour.” Usually, he wasn’t one to fish in the work dating pool either, but for Meg, he’d make an exception. She taught history, and she was quiet, smart, and drew him like a magnet. Seeing her was his best reason to show up for staff meetings. He liked being around her, liked her considered approach to every controversy that came up at work. She wasn’t out-spoken and ready to jump into the fray like Anne, but when she offered an opinion, everyone listened. Everything about Meg appealed to Finn. There was huge potential between them, potential for something that could actually last. He knew it, without any doubts.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Crystal Jordan is originally from California, but has lived all over the United States. Currently, she serves as a librarian at a university in her home state, and she writes contemporary, paranormal, futuristic, and erotic romance. Her publishers have included Kensington Aphrodisia, Harlequin Spice Briefs, Ellora's Cave, and Samhain Publishing.



Buy links will be added to the book’s page on my website as they become available:

 Crystal will be awarding 5 digital copies of her backlist story, "All Tangled Up" to randomly drawn commenters during the tour, and a grand prize pack of a copy of "All Tangled Up", a $10 Amazon or BN gift card, and a Vegas-inspired playing card necklace to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

Please leave a comment with your email address to participate and make sure you follow the tour for more chances to win! 

Monday, April 15, 2013

Playing the Maestro Virtual Book Tour

Playing the Maestro
Maestro Series Book One
Aubrie Dionne

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publisher: Entangled Bliss

ISBN: 1622668723

Number of pages: 190
Word Count: 48k

Cover Artist: Jessica Cantor

Book Description:

Melody Mires has sworn off dating musicians, but when the sexy European conductor Wolf Braun takes over her struggling symphony, her hesitation almost flies out the window with the notes of her flute—until he opens his mouth. Wolf is arrogant, haughty, and seems to have a personal vendetta against Melody. Oh, and he’s her boss. If she wants to keep her job as principal flutist, she’ll have to impress Wolf while simultaneously keeping her undeniable attraction to herself.

Wolf came to America to get as far away from his past as possible, and to recover some of the swagger he had as one of the world’s best maestros. He never imagined being forced to reassess the entire orchestra’s talent—and potentially fire anyone who doesn’t make his cut. Dating the attractive flutist is out of the question, but as their feelings reach a fever pitch, can they risk both their careers for a chance at love?

Two Quickie Teasers:

"Every one of the musicians she’d dated was the same as her: burned out from practicing to beat the chair ahead of him, teaching five million lessons a day to make ends meet, scrambling for gigs two hours away on the weekends, so involved in a dying art form that he didn’t even know the Bruins were an ice hockey team."

“Why would a flute prodigy from Julliard want this little Civic Symphony seat anyway? Seems to me a girl who played the Mozart G Major concerto in front of the New York Phil at age seven could get a seat in any orchestra. Age seven. When I was seven, the only thing I was playing was pretend flute on my toothbrush.”

About the Author:

Aubrie grew up watching the original Star Wars movies over and over until she could recite and reenact every single scene in her backyard. She also loved The Goonies, Star Trek the Next Generation--favorite character was Data by far--and Indiana Jones. But, her all time favorite movie was The Last Unicorn. She still wonders why the unicorn decided to change back to a unicorn in the end.

Aubrie wrote in her junior high yearbook that she wanted to be "a concert flutist" when she grew up. She majored in flute performance at the University of New Hampshire on a full scholarship, then secured two teaching jobs at a University and a local community music school. While playing in orchestras and teaching, stories popped into her head, and she used them to make the music come alive for her flute students. Her students said they were so good, she had to write them down! Maybe they were right, who knows? Two careers seems to keep her busy. For now.

She is represented by Dawn Dowdle and writes sweet and adventurous fantasy, science fiction, and contemporary romance.


Giveaway! Leave a comment and your email address for a chance to win!

Monday, April 8, 2013

Virtual Book Tour Jessie's War by Meggan Connors

Jessie’s War
by Megan Connors



She's about to become a pawn in a brutal game between nations...

The American Civil War has raged for more than ten years. The outcast daughter of a famous inventor, Jessica White has struggled to salvage what little remains of her life. Then, one cold winter night, the lover she'd given up for dead returns, claiming the Union Army bought the plans for her father's last invention. But he's not the only one who lays claim to the device, for the Confederacy wants the invention as well. Both sides will kill to have it.

...And only he can save her.

As an agent for the Union Army, Luke Bradshaw is a man who will use whomever and whatever is at his disposal in order to complete his mission. An attack by Confederate soldiers ensures that Jessie will turn to him for help, but Luke can't help but wonder about the secrets she keeps--and if those secrets will ultimately prove fatal.

Steampunk and Romance

Steampunk and romance are two of my favorite things, and they seem, to me, to be a natural pairing.

When I think of steampunk, I think of a story set in the Victorian era. I grew up in a mining town, one that was built in the Victorian era. I think it shaped our principles, and how the people of my town see the world, even to this day.

There is something inherently wild about the Victorian age. It was a brave new world of scientific discovery, with huge developments and innovations, a time of robber barons and cowboys, when poor Irish lads could show up in a town and leave as millionaires, and a millionaire could wind up broke and penniless. It was a time when the madam of the town brothel often had more influence than the mayor—her funeral was more impressive anyway. Besides, her picture still hangs in one of the local bars. His doesn’t.

So, it’s against that kind of backdrop that steampunks are set. The reality of the Victorian age is just as fascinating as the speculative fiction set in it. When you consider the wildness of the era, put in new technology and perhaps a ghost, a vampire, or some magic, a setting in which the odds are stacked against the characters, how can you avoid romance?

Today’s world is so civilized. Oh, I know we don’t often think so, as connected as we all are, but honestly, we are a pretty civilized lot. We are a world of rules and laws. I think that’s why I crave a wild, unruly setting, where all the rules are broken over and over: it creates excitement. But I also want to think of my characters’ redemptions, as well. Being honest, there is nothing more redeeming than love.

No matter how world-weary or hardened my characters are, they get to show their softer sides when it comes down the romance. And my characters are hardened in the beginning: given the nature of the environment, they’ve had to become that way in order to survive. If I don’t give them something to show the heart that lies beneath the roughened exterior, I risk them becoming unsympathetic.

I’ll admit, I’ve read steampunks that have failed at this. They’ve failed to show me the character’s heart, and I’ve lost interest, because there’s no one to root for. Why should I care about an invincible hero with no soul? Why should I care about an antihero who has no redeeming qualities? But give that antihero a love interest, and suddenly, he becomes someone worth reading about.

Her cheeks heated and she sniffed. “I wouldn’t try the patience of my very generous benefactor, if I were you. I might also mention a bath could make your presence a little more tolerable. You’re lucky I didn’t sic Muha on you.”

Luke looked at the wolf, who thumped her graying tail in eager canine devotion. “You wouldn’t bite me, would you, old girl?” Scratching her head, he caught Jessie’s eye. “See, she still loves me.”

“Well, that’s one of us.”

“Right.” He dug into the pocket of his vest, removed a small, folded envelope, and extended it to her. “I brought you something.”

The paper trembled, and it took Jessie a moment to realize his hands shook.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want anything from you, except your promise that tomorrow you’ll leave and you won’t come back.”

“Can’t promise you that, but I can give you this.” He shoved the envelope at her.

“Don’t overstay your welcome, Bradshaw.”

“I always do.”

A nervous laugh escaped before she could stop it, and she took the letter from Luke’s outstretched hand. It was well worn and wrinkled, the edges charred, as if it had been rescued from a fire.

She ran her hands over the paper, and she sensed smoke and the heat of flames.

With shaking hands, she opened the envelope. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a photograph and a flood of memories.

Two young men. Union soldiers. Luke, clean-shaven and an older version of the boy she remembered, smiled broadly at the camera, his free arm around the shoulders of the young man standing next to him.

Gideon. His black hair and eyes, skin and high cheekbones showed the native blood he and Jessie shared. His mouth was set in a somber line, but she recognized the mirth in his eyes. Luke had never failed to amuse her brother.

On the bottom of the photograph, written in Gideon’s strong, precise hand, was, Me and Luke. October 28, 1867.

The day he died.

She put the photograph down beside her and turned to the second piece of paper, and her throat tightened as she began to read.


We leave for South Carolina today. Luke and I are assigned to different airships, but we’re both expected to be there by this afternoon. We don’t expect much resistance. There are rumors the Rebs have developed a weapon against our airships, but I’ve been working on something with Pop’s blue silver alloy. If it works, the Rebs will never be able to take us out of the sky. I only wish Luke were on my ship.

Don’t worry about us. Any day now, and we’ll be back where we belong. Luke sends his love. I’ll take care of him for you—don’t you worry. You take care of yourself and Pop.


The letter they’d received from Gideon’s commanding officer had assured her father that her brother had died quickly when his ship had plummeted to the earth and burst into flames. She had pretended to believe the lies for her father’s sake.

She traced Gideon’s words with the tip of her finger, trying to feel some remnant of her brother’s presence in the strong lines of his penmanship. New pain built in her chest when she realized her efforts were futile—his energy wasn’t there. His letter contained his words, but no trace of him.

“I always meant to come back.” Luke’s voice sounded rough. “I walked all the way back to the crash site, looking for him or something of his. I was given this. I’ve carried it ever since. I always meant to give it to you.”

She set the photograph in her lap. She memorized this last image of her brother, dressed as a solider with his best friend by his side.

Luke put his hand on her shoulder.

She flinched. “Don’t. You should have sent this when you found it.”

He dropped his hand. “I wanted to give you the letter in person.”

“Go away.” The words came out strangled.


“I wish you had been the one to die that day.”

This one small memento of her brother ripped her open and tore out her heart all over again. The pain was as raw as the day she’d learned of his death.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished the exact same thing.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Meggan Connors is a wife, mother, teacher and award-winning author who writes primarily historical and steampunk romances. As a history buff with a love of all things historical, she enjoys visiting both major and obscure museums, and reading the histories of the Old West and the British Isles. She makes her home in the Wild West with her lawman husband, two children, and a menagerie of pets. When she's not writing, she can usually be found hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, or with her nose in a book. Favorite vacation destinations include the sun-kissed hills of California, any place with a castle or a ghost (and both is perfect!), and the windswept Oregon coast.



Twitter: @megganconnors

Buy Links:


Meggan will be awarding a silver pocket watch pendant and a cameo choker, and a signed paperback copy of The Marker, her historical romance to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. (US/CANADA ONLY) Make sure you leave a comment and your email address to enter in the tour wide giveaway!

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Silver Hollow Virtual Book Tour and Giveaway

Silver Hollow
Jennifer Silverwood

Genre: Paranormal Romance/ Fantasy Romance/ Chick-lit

Publisher: SilverWoodSketches

ISBN: 1481000144 
ISBN13: 9781481000147

Number of pages: 322
Word Count: 131, 325

Cover Artist: Najla Qamber

Book Description:

Amie Wentworth writes paranormal romances, not because she is looking for a degree in ectoplasm, but because she’s got bills to pay. Ever since her parents’ car crash, she has been led a reclusive life and trusted books more than people. Not even a letter from her long-lost uncle, begging her to visit, gives Amie incentive for anything other than ire – until she is stabbed in an alley and brought back to life by a mysterious stranger. 

After crossing the Atlantic to her father’s homeland, Amie is dragged into the very sort of tale she is used to selling. Silver Hollow is a place of ancient traditions and supernatural dangers, where everything is the opposite of what it seems and few escape sane. 

To make matters worse, the man who saved her life keeps turning up and her would-be-murderer is still at large.

But when she comes face to face with the ugly truth, will she too be sucked into her father’s madness? Or will she discover that madness is just another name for honesty?

Silver Hollow Excerpt #1:

The hour before dawn found Amie pulling her car round the back alley. Through the gloom and decades-buried waste behind Pat’s Delights was a narrow strip leading to the back staircase leading up to her flat.
The stranger’s face came unbidden to her as she gathered her things and moved her weary legs. Black eyes set deeply in a shadow-drenched face haunted her, eyes which seemed to accuse and praise, sift and wonder. Now that she knew, she realized she must have seen him before today, maybe even in the past she had tried to forget.
The faded yellowing parchment marked with heavy black ink, with words too absurd to be true, flashed in her mind. Clutching the key hidden in her jeans pockets while digging through her purse for her keys, she remembered Uncle Henry’s letter. Mulling over the words, she once again recalled how angry she had been ten years ago after reading his first note. So what the cops were uncertain how the accident had happened. So what her father had known some powerful people. Amie had been primped and pushed into the upper-class social sphere through her teens and knew how to handle that sort. She could take care of herself just like she always had. She would tear up the letters and the tickets tonight. The twins and James were her family now.
As she placed her shoe upon the first rickety metal step, two thick and powerful hands grabbed her in the same moment.
It happened so quickly she forgot to scream. Dropping her purse she struggled, kicked and bucked against the crazy person lifting her and pulling her deeper into the shadows of the alley. And the harder she struggled the tighter his choking embrace became against her chest.
She thought at last to cry out, only to feel her face being smashed against a brick wall. She gasped as the figure suddenly pushed her aside, out of his embrace. Amie stumbled back and nearly tripping over a metal pipe. She righted herself only to come face-to-face with the black-masked figure. His brilliant blue eyes blazed into hers, now filled with unmistakable purpose. Too late she realized his intentions as a sickeningly cool object was plunged into her chest and pulled quickly out again.
Her vision swam, then blurred as she slumped against the trash-littered concrete. Her mind began to fade into an ever-deepening sleep though her eyes watched on. The black-garbed man was fighting someone else. Unmasked, this guy was taller, broader in the shoulders than her murderer and wrought by fury.
Pain…she had not known the meaning of the word before now and even this too was fading into the deep sleep. The further she fell the less sense the scene before her made. Her mind didn’t believe that the tall man had really tossed her attacker five feet into the air over his shoulder and into the brick, or a strange light and energy crackled in the suddenly luminous alley.
She was too afraid to hope when a pair of warm hands cradled her in a firm embrace. He pulled her from the muck and fixed his dark eyes on her. Obsidian-cut eyes, familiar eyes, pierced through her gaze and reached deeper. His face, once so indiscernible it could be called plain, was now twisted as though in agony. Even though she was slipping, falling into a calm quiet darkness, he refused to let her go. His hand moved from her neck to her cheek with the faintest touch. He pushed past and clasped hold of something tearing deep inside of her then. The black of his irises gave way to a strange mix of blue and green flecks gleaming in their depths. She saw…
Fields of brilliant emerald grass and a sun filled with more colors than she knew to name.
Darkness and a dirty cell, where heavy fists punctuated his pain.
Time beyond counting became a lifetime lost.
A green-eyed dark-haired beauty bathed in sunlight stretched out her hand to him.
Someone was screaming. Amie frowned as the woman’s cries grew louder. Pain spiked up in her chest as her lungs constricted and her heart was ripped apart then reformed. The woman’s screams died when she took a breath and realized the voice was hers.
She blinked.
And then she was lying within the narrow strip between two brick buildings, alone.

The Romance Phenomenon
Men might deny it, but one of the best things about most stories is when the damsel in distress complex. Let’s face it peeps, Braveheart wouldn’t have been as great if Mel Gibson hadn’t been upset over a woman. And what other reason would Nathaniel have to lead his family into a white war, if it weren’t for Cora and her dumb sister? (Seriously now, why did she throw herself off a cliff for a dude she only exchanged heated glances with? Who does that? ;) I digress. My point is, love is key. It’s at the heart of every story in some form or other.

Silver Hollow is no different. No one can deny the appeal of a love triangle either (Twilight, Vamp Diaries, Lord of the Rings, anyone?) or the underdog. Amie doesn’t act like the sort of heroine to have two men pining after her. She’s pretty insecure and an eccentric oddball. She may have the looks, but she’s not everyone’s cup of tea. So of course she finds herself in a muddled mix of suits from two very different heroes.

Emrys is handsome, rude, manipulative, brooding and as callous as he is charming. Naturally it makes most of us good girls love him, right? He not only stalks Amie at Uncle Henry’s behest, but he becomes her teacher. Amie brings out the best and the worst in him. He pushes her harder and she pushes right back. But is he what’s best for her?

Dearg or Eddie as he’s more commonly known is the opposite. He’s your hard working, strong silent type with many secrets. He’s that dude you don’t notice because he’s made it his business to blend in with the background. And he has his reasons for not wanting Amie to get too close to him. At the same time, he can’t help but feel compelled to protect her and help her wise up to reality.

Originally I wanted to carry this love triangle on into the eventual, possible sequel. But I’m not a fan of falling in love with characters and being disappointed either. Sometimes it becomes just exhausting having to watch the heroine go back and forth too much. You’ll learn by the end of Silver Hollow who Amie is meant to be with, though not necessarily who she chose. Because neither hero was necessarily wrong for Amie, but one of them is so obviously right for her.


When coming up with swag with my designer, Naj, I wanted to make fun of the “team” fandoms that are so popular now. Everyone is “team someone” these days, it seems like. So I played around with it. Silver Hollow is partly a satire on the paranormal romance, even if it doesn’t come across as such. I wanted it to stay light enough to play around with the characters in the beginning, and let it progress from there. And in real life, no woman would want to be fought over like that, and torn so completely. That’s what makes it so much fun in fiction.

For your viewing insider pleasure, here is the original ending of Silver Hollow. Read the new to find out what has or hasn’t changed. And be the judge yourselves, on whether it’s better to make the harder or easier choices, like Amie was forced to make. Thanks for reading!

Trouble was brewing inside the Vale. No one new but the messengers had ventured past its borders in a thousand years and the evil trapped within was lashing out. The Council of Ten Sovereigns requested her attendance to their next meeting, without delay to help them resolve this unnamed issue. And according to Dameri, ignoring a Council summons was like signing your own death sentence.
This is how Amie found herself standing at the end of a vaguely familiar garden pathway, wearing travel gear and banked by her closest friends. Worrying her lip with another quick tug of her teeth, she recognized the gate she had only noticed in passing before. She had always assumed it led to some abandoned garden, never would have guessed this was the infamous gate to the Vale.
Dearg shifted on his leather booted feet, wrapping his arm more securely around her waist and digging her side into the blade strapped to his thigh. “You don’t have to do this now, if you’re not ready.”
“She’d better be ready!” Faye piped up behind them, picking the dirt from her nails with a tiny paper thin blade. “I was getting bored to death hanging around her just waiting for something to happen!”
Ben chuckled behind her, once again in his human guise and with barely any effort snatched the dagger from her hand to rest near her cleavage. “Don’t think I’d say bored was the word for how we occupied our time, my little cougar.”
While Faye grunted a muffled retort, Amie smiled at Jo and James. The Unseelie and her human had spent almost all their time in either the garden or exploring the vast library. Amie knew they were only coming along because they could handle Underhill in small doses. And James refused to let his family fall into the line of fire without a seasoned marksman in their convoy.
Emrys waited patiently for her, hand outstretched. “You know they’re all lying, don’t you love?” Returning Dearg’s subtle growl with one of his trademark smirks, Emrys continued. “You’re the Key Jessamiene. You were born for this.”
Amie hoped he was right. She hoped that Slaine, Underhill and Alastair could manage the estate in her absence. And she hoped she wasn’t going to regret allowing the others to join in her mission. Reluctantly she allowed her protector to pull her from Dearg’s arms and closer to the gate. It hummed, glowed all around its solid wooden edges as if the border was the only think keeping the sun blocked. It shone silvery as moonlight over the endlessly carved patterns, reworking the ring’s ancient symbol over and again. She shivered with anticipation, gripped Emrys’ hand tighter and shared and caught the excitement trapped behind his onyx shaded eyes. For one lost moment it felt as if nothing else existed, just she and the Tuatha Myrddin and the Vale’s gate.
When Emrys spoke it carried a weight and an echo along with the whispers of a forgotten song. The music was coming from behind that door. “Are you ready?”
She nodded and felt the tickle of his ancient power prodding her own into action. Instantly she just knew she had to press her hand to the centerpiece of the wood. It would only ever open for her hand, until her inheritance passed to the next generation. The door opened with a fresh breeze, falling into the gated world; carrying luscious scents and colors so full she couldn’t breathe. Blinking her eyes shut Amie struggled to see past the bright white light.
Emrys’s lips were at her ear. “When you came to us you saw things as you wanted to see them Jessamiene. Because we wanted you to have the chance to dream we were hesitant to wake you. And you’re still dreaming even now. There is a world grander beyond your wildest imaginings beyond the gate. Now ye must waken, love. Open your eyes.”
Amie hesitated, shuddered because her vision faded in and out. In place of normal images she saw colors rather than light and shadow, objects illuminated from the inside out. Each tremble of the house foundations shook her to her bones as one with her shattered heart. And just as tempting as he had warned, she could drown in the high of new sensation or let her human heart cave in, drown in an untimely death.
“What will happen?”
Emrys’ smile was pain filled and broken, his mask gone forever from her gaze. “Everything if you wish it. Just open your eyes Jessamiene…your real eyes…”
She breathed in the remnant of desecration around them, felt her pain and that of everyone around them and awakened.

Free read:

About the Author:
Jennifer Silverwood was raised deep in the heart of Texas and has been spinning yarns a mile high since childhood. In her spare time she reads and writes and tries to sustain her wanderlust, whether it's the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania, the highlands of Ecuador or a road trip to the next town.

After attending three different universities without managing to square a degree, she decided to the next logical thing; become a writer. Always on the lookout for her next adventure, in print or reality, she dreams of one day proving to the masses that everything really is better in Texas.

She is the author of the Heaven's Edge series and Silver Hollow. To stay tuned, please have a gander at her website:

Twitter- @JennSilverwood

Silver Hollow Excerpt #2
The windows Amie passed on her mad dash back to her rooms betrayed the first glimpse of dawn. How her bare feet managed to take her back without getting splinters from the fallen wood beams or getting lost, she didn’t have time to dissect. Amie darted past the shadows, relieved when the West Wing was nearly behind her.
Home stretch, Wentworth! You’re almost there and you didn’t even last a week in track.
She grinned, touching the end of the feather sticking out of her robe pocket. This was her biggest mystery and most intriguing find. She wondered if any of the books Henry had put in her bookcase could shed some light.
Amie squinted and gasped when the distant candle light winked out of existence. The corner shadows literally moved to stand in front of her, blocking her vision. Confused and more than a little freaked out, Amie decided to just plunge through the gap. It had to be a trick of the eyes. She’d been awake most of the night, after all.
When she impacted the shadow, she realized too late it was hard as a brick wall. Within seconds she was flipped onto her back, the breath knocked out of her and the candelabra pooling wax onto the floor beside her head. She was too frightened to shout, flashbacks of the night she was attacked penetrating her mind. So she flinched when the shadows shifted and drew into her candle’s light to reveal the impression of a face.
Amie threw up her hands and scrambled backwards when the shadow reached to touch her. “Don’t come any closer! Get away from me!” she hissed, afraid to scream and wake the house. A part of her was still convinced this was a figment of her troubled imagination. Shutting her eyes, she willed the spirit to flee, then froze in terror when it spoke.
“Forgive me for startling you. I only intended to be certain ye were real, flying about the castle in yer nightdress as if ye had all the golems of the world at your back.”
“Your voice…” she whispered, blinked up at the source of the deeply masculine voice. “I feel like I’ve heard that before.” When he chuckled at her words she frowned, so he explained.
“I’ve been told a great many things by maidens far uglier and others with only a reflection of your true beauty, but never this. Tell me,” he said after a tense pause, where she focused on the reflection of her candle’s flames dancing in his black orbs, “what reason should a blood-filled woman have in the West Wing this night, lest she be a wight?” He was mocking her yet her curiosity won over her frustration.
“What’s a wight?” she asked and could have sworn his eyes shifted colors, from black to red to silver and then brilliant blue.
“A walking specter, milady, doomed to haunt its resting place forever.”
“I’m not a wight,” she said. For a long moment he said nothing, only peered intensely over her, until she felt the blackness would swallow her whole.
“Then neither am I, Jessamiene Wenderdowne,” he whispered, drawing back into the darkness. Amie’s heart was pounding, her blood racing. He shouldn’t have been able to leave so quickly. There were no other rooms past hers, no alcoves she had uncovered, or hidden passages to escape into. Yet as soon as his whisper was nothing more than a memory and his face had left her candle’s glow, she knew she was truly alone.