Welcome to the #PNR and #UF Giveaway Party!

Who’s ready for a giveaway you can get your hands on? A bunch of authors
got together to bring your this Big Box of Paperbacks Giveaway! One
lucky winner is going to win SIXTY-TWO (62) Paperback Books!
How’s that for an epic Book-Lover’s Prize?! If you are a fan of Urban
Fantasy, Dystopian Fiction, or Paranormal/SciFi Romance, you’re going to
want to get in on this! The best part is that even if you don’t win,
you’ll be subscribed to the sponsoring authors newsletters for a chance
to grab some freebies, snag some special offers, and enter more
giveaways!

Here are a couple of sneak peeks!

Excerpt From Rebel’s Honor: Book One in the Crown of Blood Series

The table rocked as Lukan stood. Lynx’s crystal glass, balanced on the edge, tumbled to the floor. It shattered on the marble tiles, shooting shards across the room. Lynx looked up from her playing, first at the crowd at the door. It included Axel. A flush of scarlet swept across her skin. Her eyes dropped to her drum.

Humiliation burst through Lukan. He strode over and grabbed Lynx’s arm. “I think you’ve played enough tabor and flute. Let’s go.”

Lynx’s flute gave an abrupt whistle as her tune ended. A buzz rippled through the watchers. Her face hardened, and she folded her arms around her drum. “What? But . . . why?”

“Are you a prince or a low-born?” Thurban demanded in Lukan’s head. “Drag the Norin out of here. Make her obey.”

Fighting for control, Lukan bent down and hissed in her ear, “Don’t make me drag you out of here.”

Lynx blinked and then demanded, “Drag me out? Why? What have I done?”

Lukan glanced over at the crowd. Everyone’s eyes—including Axel’s—were on him, watching him being gainsaid by a woman. Face like granite, Axel’s fists clenched and unclenched. Lukan didn’t think his cousin would dare interfere, but he had to rescue this situation. And fast. His voice rose an octave. “Because I told you to. Now, move.” He fully expected Lynx to obey.

Instead, her eyes turned icy, and rage mounted on her face. “No one other than my king can give me orders and expect me to obey.”

Her king? How dare she?

She stood and faced him, and he noticed for the first time that they were the same height.

Voice like a whip, Lukan shot back, “There is but one supreme ruler in this empire, and he is not the Norin king. It’s time you, and all your kind, learned some respect for the Chenayan throne. My throne.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the door.

Lynx dug her feet into the floor. Still, he pulled her along, making her heels screech across the marble tiles. In a blur of movement, Lynx lifted her drumstick and cracked him across the cheek.

Lukan froze. But it wasn’t just the sting of maple that enraged him. Lynx had hit him. In public. With Axel watching. This was worse than anything his father or Axel had ever done to him. The ultimate humiliation. And it was unforgivable. He tore the drumstick from her hand, snapped it in half across his knee, and flung the pieces onto the floor. While she gasped with shock, he lunged behind her and gripped her upper arms. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

She lashed her foot back, clearly intending to impale him with her heel. Her shoe snagged in the hem of her dress. While she wrestled with the fabric—and then with him—Lukan propelled her out the door, over to the ballroom, and out onto the veranda.

It was then he noticed her face. It was feral in its fury. Never before had he seen a woman so angry—or so seductive. It rendered him speechless. He couldn’t fight the compulsion to kiss her.

She punched him on the chin, snapping his head back.

The full Rebel’s Honor can be seen here: REBEL’S HONOR

 

Excerpt from Foxblood: A Brush with the Moon by Raquel Lyon

The funeral was a typically sombre affair, alive with soggy tissues and streaky make-up. I stood at the back, letting the vicar’s voice wash over me, and spent the whole time staring at the flower-laden coffin, wondering if the lid would suddenly flip up and a fanged monster would escape to reap its vengeance on the congregation.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t happen, and as the mourners dispersed in the direction of the pub, I quietly snuck off home. I wasn’t in the mood for crowds and needed time to think, time to try to make sense of at least something, but as I turned to close the door, it was obstructed by a perfectly polished black shoe that belonged to…

“Sebastian?”

“Seb, please,” he said, easing his way through. “Only my father calls me Sebastian.” He checked down the backstreet and closed the door securely. His eyes scanned the flat. “Nice place.”

“I like it.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Living over a funeral parlour?” he asked.

“Why would it? The neighbours are quiet.”

He didn’t laugh at my joke; neither did he comment. He simply stood silently, staring. It was very unnerving and made my legs go all wobbly. Perhaps if I turned away from him, he’d disappear again? It was worth a shot. I forced my jelly legs over to the front window and stared out at nothing in particular. The light was subdued, and the sky had darkened to an air force grey. A low mist was beginning to carpet the distant fields, and I wondered if snow had been forecast.

I knew my little experiment hadn’t worked. He was still there. I could feel his presence and smell his scent, a musky, inviting aroma that filled my senses and sent my head into a whirl, and it was getting stronger.

“Your friends interrupted us the other day. Can we talk now?” he whispered softly into my neck, and his fingertips traced a fiery trail down my spine.

“What’s the point? There’s nothing to say. I wish you’d just leave me alone,” I said, lowering my head in time to see Lara leaving the newsagents. She glanced up with a look of fury contorting her face as Sebastian’s hands reached around either side of me and grabbed the window frame.

“I can’t do that. I’m not that strong,” he said.

I studied the arms now imprisoning me, with their perfectly formed muscles straining against the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt, and seriously doubted his statement. His stance was predatory and made me feel uncomfortable. I ducked under his elbow to escape, but he caught me around the waist and pulled me against him. Our bodies moulded together perfectly, and the strength of his grip made me feel like a china doll that he’d be able to crush in an instant. He was almost a full head taller than I was, and the warmth of his breath caressed my forehead. How easy it would be to reach up and taste those lips. I imagined the feel of them, and my own parted in an involuntary invitation.

The full Foxblood series can be seen here: FOXBLOOD

 

 



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