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Anne Malcom is stopping by today for the release of ETERNITY’S AWAKENING, book 3 in The Vein Chronicles! Check it out and grab your copy now!

Title: ETERNITY’S AWAKENING

Author: Anne Malcom

Genre: Paranormal Romance

About Eternity’s Awakening:

Heartbeats had a pesky way of complicating things. They almost always came with the nasty side effect of humanity and finally... death. Since Thorne came into my life, I'd been plagued with both. Heartbeats and humanity. Both of these things were going to be the death of me. One way or another. And the death of everyone I knew and loved, a list growing longer with every beat of my newly repaired—and irritating—heart. That pesky humanity was almost as toxic as the most debilitating illness on this hunk of rock, killing more humans than any vampire could. Love. And there I was, attached to a slayer who I couldn't be undead without. Friends who I was becoming increasingly attached to. All things—people—he would take away from me. Then he'd take me too. But if it came to that, I'd yank out my beating heart and crush it in my hands before he could touch me. It was lost anyway. If he won, my eternity would come to an end. As it happened, so would the world. That only meant I couldn't lose.  

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Exclusive Excerpt:

  “We need to talk about him,” Thorne said, his voice tight. “Who?” I asked, swiping my face with blush and pretending to be innocent. It didn’t work well, despite me being an excellent actress. Someone as fucked up as me couldn’t even feign innocence; they could only ruin it. Plus, I knew who he was talking about. I could sense it in his very words. We hadn’t uttered his name since we left the compound, and the all-night sexathon did not warrant such conversation. Thorne’s quicksilver gaze bored into my reflection. “Your fucking husband.” I paused for a sliver of a second before I resumed applying my makeup. “I’d say that our marriage is considered null and void after he faked his own death and then tried to kill us both, don’t you?” It was a considerable effort to keep my voice tight with sarcasm and nothing else, but I did it. “He was something to you, Isla. You told me as much when you told me the story of his death.” He paused. “He was something to you, and now he wants you back. And he’s made it quite clear that he’s going to kill every single person who gets in his way. I didn’t miss your reaction when Alexus said those words.” I put the brush down, laying my palms flat on the marble counter, glaring at his reflection. “No, he was something to the human I used to be,” I corrected, my voice rising slightly. “He’s nothing to the vampire I am now. Nothing but another target to take out in the middle of this war.” The lie sounded weak even to my ears. Thorne stepped forward, face tight and blank, his energy swirling around me. “You may be able to lie to yourself about that, but you can’t lie to me. There’s still something there. He still has something over you,” he rasped, coming to stand behind me but not touching me. I pretended I didn’t care, that I didn’t crave his touch, that I didn’t need it to chase away the sickness that carried Jonathan’s memories. “He doesn’t. Videos weren’t invented five hundred years ago, so he can’t show everyone how dreadfully dense I was,” I retorted. “Nor can he broadcast my equally dreadful fashion sense, so I’m good.” Abruptly, Thorne’s fist shattered my reflection. Glass rained down around us, and the fragrance of his blood filled the air, mingling with his hot and wild fury. “Stop it!” he roared, snatching my shoulders to painfully twist me around. The pop of my shoulder dislocating echoed through the room. I gaped at his fury-filled eyes. They were so far gone he hadn’t even noticed injuring me in the midst of it. “Stop with the jokes, with the sarcasm,” he hissed, voice a blade. “I watched it. I watched you fucking freeze and turn into some kind of robot in the middle of the battle at your parents’ house. Watched you walk toward him. Nothing has control over you. Or I’d thought that until I saw him. He has control over you, Isla.” It was an accusation, but it was something else too, something more than jealousy. Something like dread. A sickening premonition of the visceral fear he’d feel when we were faced with Jonathan again. But I wasn’t about to inspect it, because it would mean that I had to recognize whatever feelings had been dredged up from the grave along with Jonathan. “No one has control over me, Thorne,” I lied. “Not even me.” My voice was pure ice. “And especially not you.” I wrenched myself out of his grip and stormed from the room. He didn’t follow me.

Catch Up On The Series Now!

Fatal Harmony (Book #1) Deathless (Book #2)

Fault in Fate (Book #2.5)

About Anne:

Anne Malcom has been an avid reader since before she can remember, her mother responsible for her book addiction. It started with magical journeys into the world of Hogwarts and Middle Earth, then as she grew up her reading tastes grew with her. Her obsession with books and romance novels in particular gave Anne the opportunity to find another passion, writing. Finding writing about alpha males and happily ever afters more fun than reading about them, Anne is not about to stop any time soon. Raised in small town New Zealand, Anne had a truly special childhood, growing up in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. She has backpacked across Europe, ridden camels in the Sahara, eaten her way through Italy, and had all sorts of crazy adventures. For now, she's back at home in New Zealand and quite happy. But who knows when the travel bug will bite her again.  

Connect with Anne:

Facebook: https://bit.ly/2Ku2ovw Amazon: https://amzn.to/2rz8GRA Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13857312.Anne_Malcom Website: www.annemalcomauthor.com Instagram: anne.malcomauthor

Enter Anne's Giveaway:

Breaking Mr. Cane, the gripping, steamy follow up to the bestselling forbidden romance, Wanting Mr. Cane, is coming July 12th!

Would you dare to defy destiny? Are our destinies written in stone? Do we become nothing more than the self-fulfilling prophesies of other people's opinions? Or can we dare to become who we believe we were born to be?

 

“A gorgeous, heartfelt journey of redemption and love” (Wendy Higgins), ONLY A BREATH APART is a young adult contemporary novel from critically acclaimed Katie McGarry. “Haunting, authentic, and ultimately hopeful” (Tammara Webber), ONLY A BREATH APART will be available on all retailers on January 22, 2019!

About ONLY A BREATH APART:

Jesse dreams of working the land that’s been in his family forever. But he’s cursed to lose everything he loves most.

Scarlett is desperate to escape her “charmed” life. But leaving a small town is easier said than done.

Despite their history of heartbreak, when Jesse sees a way they can work together to each get what they want, Scarlett can’t say no.Each midnight meeting between Jesse and Scarlett will push them to confront their secrets and their feelings for each other.

   

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“Gritty and real, Only a Breath Apart is a story of hope conjured from pain, strength drawn from innocence, and love earned from self-respect. Beautiful, poignant, and fierce.” ―Kristen Simmons, critically acclaimed author of the Article 5 series

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Add it to your Goodreads today!

Katie McGarry Bio: Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine's 2012 Reviewer's Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.

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Review

I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart. My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . . “What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked. I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.” I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .” My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right. Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker. She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—“You’re the DJ,” she said. Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress. She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang. She sounded like my mum. A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton. “I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ. “Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise. “Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.” I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell. Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet. I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see. No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin. I didn’t need this kind of crap. “Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.” She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden. “Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness. I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.” “I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.” I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto. I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?” The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under. “What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me. Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin. “Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant. Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul. My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.” “Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.” “Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart. I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach. With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.”

The Church

The explosive finale of The Cloister Series. Trapped. Beaten. Broken. Adam destroyed himself to save me. At first, I doubt if I have the strength to go on. But with every second that passes, I seethe and curse the Prophet. My time as a Maiden is over. I refuse to be a toy in his game any longer. But there’s always more ways for the Prophet to get to me, to use me, and to keep me under his influence. Will I be strong enough to break free?

Review

 

The Prophet

I can’t save myself from the Cloister, and maybe I never could. The Prophet grows more dangerous by the day. His delusions are steeped in blood, and if I’m not careful, that blood will be my own. Despite the growing risk, I still continue the search for the truth, no matter if the thorny path eventually twists back to Adam, guilt in his dark eyes. I’ve seen glimpses of his soul, and I know there is more to him than the monster, but it’s so hard to reach him. I knew when I came here that I’d have to fight, I just didn’t realize the war would be waged on so many fronts. Author’s Note: If you have a trigger, this book will pull it.

The Cloister Series

I joined the Cloister to find the truth. But I've discovered so much more, and the darkness here is seducing me, pulling me down until all I can think of is him. Adam Monroe, the Prophet's son, a dark prince to an empire that grows by the day. He is tasked with keeping me safe from the wolves of the outside world. But the longer I stay at the Cloister, the more I realize the wolves are already inside and under the Prophet's control. If Adam discovers the real reason I'm here, he'll bay for my blood with the rest of them. Until then, I will be Delilah, an obedient servant of the Prophet during the day and Adam's Maiden at night.

About Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is a USA Today bestselling author and recovering attorney who loves romance and erotic fiction. Dark to light, angsty to funny, real to fantasy–if it’s hot and strikes her fancy, she writes it. Thanks for reading.