My Watcher's Eyes

By H. A. O'Connor
Paranormal Vampire Romance, 367 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud
Blurb:

It’s not normal to feel close to your watcher. No, it’s not normal to have a watcher. So, why is Tess Young comforted by her watcher’s presence? Why do his eyes fill her dreams? More importantly, will he become her greatest protector…or her greatest threat?

Excerpt:

Moments after she’s passed through my mind, my best friend spills from the darkness to my right. The scarlet light finds her chocolate-brown eyes and gleams warmly against them; it casts ruby-tinted highlights on her black, satiny hair and frustratingly-perfect cheekbones. My eyes skim over her plum-colored dress, which flatters her figure like it was custom cut; then they fall back to my own, plain black one. It manages to hide what few curves I have.

A little sigh escapes me. Whenever Anna’s next to me, I might as well be invisible; it’s the way things are and I’m okay with it. Well, I’m used to it.

Anna just has time to hug me and exclaim, “Happy nineteenth, Tess!” before we’re half tackled by another friend, Janie, whose teal-tinted hair has been altered to a strange shade of violet under the club’s red lights. Neither color is sufficiently alarming to compete with Janie’s personality, I decide. She’s got the dainty looks of a pixie and the demeanor of a fire station alarm.

“Tess!” she shrieks into my ear, before squeezing both my shoulders and shaking me back and forth a few times. “You’re nineteen now! We should be dancing!”

My response is to break into a string of rough coughs; Anna’s is to give me a deep frown and Janie a little shove backward. “You’re still sick,” Anna mutters and starts digging around in her purse. “I thought you were getting better.”

I shrug, but thank her when she produces a couple of cough drops and presses them into my hand. Our other friends, Maria and Celia, arrive in the meantime and receive full-contact greetings of their own. By the time Janie’s through with them, Maria is frowning and tossing her dark hair in anger and Celia is nervously twirling a periwinkle-tinged curl around and around and around her finger. Each gives me a birthday hug and, moments later, we’re all dragged onto the dance floor in a Janie-led mob.

I’m fine for a while, thanks to Anna’s cough drops and some ibuprofen I took earlier, but deep down, I know it can’t last. I’m dancing on borrowed time.

My illness revives with a vengeance and my medications toss up white flags of surrender. My chest suddenly feels constricted and raw; my temples throb in time with the beats shuddering through the room. Bowing out of the action, I grab a soda and a seat, hoping the sugar will bolster my immune system, not to mention my wilting strength.

Janie spots me moments later. If I wasn’t sure before, it’s now glaringly obvious my evening’s a doomed one.

Making a phony, deep pout, Janie insists, “You can’t sit down! It’s your birthday and a guy over there—Jason—wants to dance with you!”

With wide eyes, I follow the direction of her outstretched, perfectly-manicured finger. Two guys stand still among the movement; both are turned in our direction. The taller of the two, a blond, is keeping Janie in his sights, but his auburn-haired friend seems to be watching me.

I quickly scan the features of this second one and, returning to his intense, brown-eyed stare, feel my face slip into a frown. “No thanks. I’m sick.”

“Come on,” she shouts, grabbing my arm and pulling me from my seat, “they’re playing your favorite song!”

She’s wrong. It’s her favorite song, but I couldn’t care less: an acute wave of nausea is on the rise, making me stop, mid step, and cover my mouth with both hands. Janie, feeling me hesitate, smiles back blindly and yanks harder.

Realizing it’s easier to submit than struggle against this petite, aqua-haired maniac, I pull myself together and trail along. At some point, I realize we’ve veered off our path. Panic sets in and I search for a familiar face among the crowd, while earth-quaking chills overtake my body.

This is when things take yet another turn for the worse. Janie tows me between a pair of dancing figures when the beat picks up and the guy next to me—clearly a football player in Goth disguise—sends a flailing elbow full force into my chest.

If I wore false teeth, they would have gone flying. As it is, every available ounce of air evacuates my lungs at the speed of light, leaving me gasping, clutching at my chest in agony.

“Watch it, you big dope!” Anna screams out, suddenly beside me. Her face turns to mine with a look nearly equaling my pain. “Are you okay?”

Midnight Mist

By Ralph E. Horner
Paranormal Romantic Suspense, 387 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

Blurb:

An enchanted ring sends Melody ahead one hundred years in time to reunite her with her true love. Jeff is overwhelmed to see her, but discovers that Alice, Melody's mentally disturbed sister, has time-traveled with her. Jeff must locate Alice to regain possession of the ring, and at the same time protect Melody from her sister’s deadly attacks.

Excerpt:

From behind, Jeff held Alice’s face down, grasping her left hand, searching for the ring. It wasn’t on any of the fingers of that hand. She kicked back, slamming him on the shin. As she thrashed, Jeff put his knee on her lower back, trying to keep control over her. Pain coursed through him as Alice sank her teeth into his forearm. Clenching his teeth in misery, he held up her right hand and saw the gold ring on her index finger. She continued to bite hard on his arm, making it feel like her canines were going all the way through to the bone, but he still managed to grab the ring. Sparks exploded off his hand. Like touching a hot frying pan, he instinctively let go.

Several people watched, making no attempt to stop the fight, thinking they were both men.

Blood ran down Jeff’s sleeve to the pavement as Alice finally let his arm go. She grasped her right index finger with her left hand. Jeff knew she was attempting to make an escape by going back in time. He grabbed her left hand, trying to keep her from removing the ring. Sparks exploded, as Jeff made contact with the ring again, but he held on this time, even though it felt as if he were holding a lit match. He watched in horror as Alice slowly slid the ring toward the tip of her finger. As hard as he tried, he could not stop her from slipping it off. He suddenly found himself struggling with her in the grass next to a narrow road. They had gone back to eighteen ninety-three together.

Alice held the ring tightly in her left palm. Jeff tried in vain to force her hand open. He pulled her short-haired wig off and her long black hair fell down onto her shoulders. As Alice tried to turn toward him, he slammed her wrist on the ground several times trying to break her grip. Jeff was stunned by an elbow crashing into his jaw, disorientating him momentarily. Alice twisted toward him and sprayed something from a tube into his eyes. Jeff covered his face and yelled, feeling like his eyes would burn out of their sockets. More of the mist hit the back of his hand. It had to be Mace.

“Hey, leave him alone,” came the sound of a man’s voice.

Now blind and helpless, pain shot through Jeff’s side as Alice kicked him hard in the ribs. Then came another rib-cracking blow to the same area. Jeff moaned and covered his head in fear she’d strike there next.

“I guess we’ll have to stop you,” still another man’s voice. Jeff realized there were two men coming toward them. He could hardly open his eyes and his vision was so bad it was like looking through wax paper. Jeff could see that Alice was running away. Then two men knelt next to him.

“Are you hurt badly, Mister?” one of the men asked. “Your arm’s bleeding.”

“What can we do for you, son?” The other man lowered his head, gazing into Jeff’s face.

“Water!” Jeff thrashed his head and rubbed his eyes. “Hurry! I need water for my eyes.”

“I’ll be right back.” The man took off on a run.

“Try to relax there, Mister.” The man rubbed his shoulder.

Jeff lay on his stomach moaning and shaking his head. His eyes were in too much pain to be concerned about the fact that he was trapped in another time. He was having trouble breathing.

“Here comes Larry now. He’s running with a whole bucket of water. I hope he doesn’t spill it all before he gets here, though.”

Larry set the pail down in the grass next to them. Jeff got up on his knees and bent over it, scooping out water with his hands and splashing his eyes as fast as he could. The water soon became a discolored red from the blood of his wound. He finally dunked his entire face into the water, rubbed his eyes and forced them open. When he took his head out of the bucket, his vision was slightly better, but his eyes burned as if someone had scrubbed them with steel wool. At the World’s Fair, he had used Mace on Alice to get her knife, and now she had used the same weapon on him.

“Are you feeling any better?” Larry asked.

Through blurred vision, Jeff saw a thin, blond man wearing a straw hat and a handlebar mustache.

The Ghost In The Machine

by Jane Senese
Paranormal Romance, 354 pages
Cover art by Erin Roberts
Blurb:
For two years, widowed photographer Naddy Lewison has lived with her husband's ghost. Now she finds herself drawn to a living man. Marshal Bill Crawford is handsome and cynical, yet beneath his bluff exterior Naddy sees a kind heart, and a loneliness to match her own.

But her jealous husband has no intention of letting her go…

Excerpt:
Nadia Lewison awoke to the warmth of the morning sun on her face. She moaned softly and pressed her face against her pillow. Not yet. When she felt a pair of fingers playfully walk across her bare shoulder, she gave a groan of annoyance.

"Time to get up," a voice purred against her hair.

"Don't want to." Groggily, she reached around behind her and took his hand. "Stay here," she begged, as she pulled his arm snug about her waist.

His warm breath teased at the nape of her neck. "But I have to go."

She felt him slowly disengage his hand from hers. She rolled over to stop him before he could rise. "Walter..." she mumbled, hearing the childish whine in her voice and hating herself for it. After ten years of gentle rebukes, her only excuse was that she would never be a morning person.

He was. He was made for the mornings. The same sunbeams that burned her eyes and set the dust motes dancing seemed to electrify him. The light turned his dark blond hair golden; his skin took on a youthful flush, the fine lines under his blue eyes seemed to melt away. He was handsome in all lights, her Walter, but never so radiant as at dawn.

She was seized by a need to tell him so, an irrational fear that this would be her last chance. But sleep had drugged her tongue, and she was only able to manage a slurred string of sounds she hoped he could decipher as "You're beautiful."

He grinned, wide enough to crinkle his eyes, and flash his crooked right incisor. For some reason she thought back to their early courtship, when he had been so reluctant to smile.
"Sleepyhead." He bent his head to kiss her brow.

She snuggled against him gratefully, closing her eyes against a rain of feather kisses as he tried to coax her out of sleep. Their old morning ritual, from half-forgotten newlywed days.

She felt his touch withdraw. "Don't go..."

"But, Naddy, it's time to wake up."

Burned Into Time

By Mary M. Ricksen

Paranormal Time-Travel Romance 274 pages

Cover art by Richard Stroud

Blurb:

A horrific car accident, a Celtic ring and destiny, send a young woman on a journey to the past. In a desperate search for her lost sister, she follows the instructions left her in a bank vault from a hundred years ago.

Little did she know the ring would save her life and change it in ways she could never imagine. Does she have the strength to live through her nightmare and find her destiny?

Can she face her sister now that things have changed so drastically? Only time will tell…

Excerpt:

Consciousness returned one blurry image at a time. When she wiped her eyes, she saw blood on her hands. King’s whimpering cry and raspy tongue on her face brought it all back. She tried to focus both her eyes and her brain; then it hit her. The car, an accident, she was alive. She’d seen a strange vision, but…

“Blythe!” she shrieked, her voice hoarse already, the pungent smell of burning wires harsh to her senses. Fire! Acrid smoke rapidly filled the car, choking her as it scorched her throat. Frantic, she waved it away, barely able to see.

In abject panic, Lacy looked toward Blythe and gasped. Raw terror overcame her when she saw the extent of her cousin’s injuries. Blythe had hit the dashboard and windshield with her head so hard she cracked it. Tuffs of her hair embedded in the glass around a deeply impacted area. Unconscious, blood streamed from her nose and ears, while it trickled from the corner of her mouth. The entire front of her shirt bloomed crimson. Blythe lay at an odd angle, her body a bit askew, head tilted at an unnatural angle. A shattered thigh bone protruded through the shredded fabric of what had been her slacks. Blythe’s lower limbs were unrecognizable.

Lacy turned to the back seat. Flames engulfed the rear of the car, rapidly heading forward toward the three of them. In the front seat, King huddled as close to her as possible, howling and barking.

“Quiet, King!” she shouted. His loud barks gave way to pathetic whines. “Blythe, wake up, Blythe! We’ll burn to death.” Blythe didn’t respond. Lacy struggled to open her crumpled door to no avail. “Blythe.” She reached past King and touched her to rouse her. A small shot of relief flew through Lacy as Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.

“Lacy, I can’t move. I’m so tired.” Blythe could barely speak.

“No!” Lacy begged her to listen. “We’ll get out, get help, you’ll be all right.” Frantically she tried to move Blythe, to reach past her to her door—if she could only open her door. Flames reached their seats, and Lacy’s hair began to burn. Hysterical, she smacked at her head to stop it.

“I’m tired,” Blythe rasped, “Wanna sleep, so tired…”

Ishtal by David Toft

Paranormal

278 pages

cover art by: Richard Stroud

David Toft's sixth book with Wings ePress

When hard drinking social misfit Stephen falls in love with a shapeshifter it could be the fulfillment of his wildest dreams. It could be the beginning of his worst nightmare…It could be the end of the world.

Excerpt:

He spotted the crows again, skimming low over the grass. They settled fifty yards away to his front and left. He angled to the right so as not to get too close to them. They took wing again, forcing him into a tighter turn. They were herding him as a collie would herd sheep. He could run straight at them. That probably wasn’t a good idea. Neither was going where they wanted him to. He couldn’t run forever though, or even for many more minutes. The next time they landed, he didn’t change course. He stopped before he reached them, and dropped to his knees. He didn’t have enough energy left for flight or fight. He raised his head, his chest heaving and his breathing ragged. Twelve slobbering hounds spread out to encircle him from the spot on which the crows had landed. The one immediately to his front shimmered and became human. Tall, silver-haired and sharp-featured, his tailored, grey business suit looked odd against the backdrop of the grassy plain.

“You will follow me,” he said, turned and strode off up the gentle slope.

My book won't be out until May (2008) but I'm so excited at the prospect that I want to tell everyone, and I will--one person at a time.

I'm a student of the Civil War era (1860-1865) and those years surrounding that very interesting era. So it stands to reason that much of my writing centers on that time period, whether paranormal romance as in Lost In The Mist, ghost stories (see short stories on my site), or historic adventures/romances/mysteries as several of my other (I hope) to be published novels. I even have an unfinished novel of two cats during this era (its an adventure).

I hope you'll be seeing many more of my books in print (or ebooks).

Wanda C. Keesey (www.wandakeesey.com)