Today I have Bri Clark here doing a guest post, book spotlight and a awesome giveaway. Welcome Bri, to Romance Book Junkies.
10 Reasons You’re ParaAdict
10. You are in the paranormal romance section of your
local library so much the librarians ask you where a book is instead of looking
it up.
9. Your book club (where you’re the president) talk about
the characters on a first name basis without using titles or author names. This
information is a prerequisite to join.
8. You’re significant other has actually accused you of
having an affair when you call out the latest vampire’s name in your sleep.
7. There are so many books with paranormal titles on the
spines your mother thinks that you are taken up “the dark arts” and sent her
preacher over to talk to you.
6. You’re family has a system for getting dinner for when
you are reading a new book. Phrases like “It’s a series…call Dominoes” are used
often.
5. You’re children have learned the Febreeze can act as a
dewrinker and temporary wash because you were too caught up in a book to do the
laundry.
4. There was a family meeting. It was decided that a
garden would be planted because mom can never get to the grocery store. You’re
son suggested planting Wolfsbane and Garlic to see if it had an effect you.
3. You haven’t watched TV in three years. But something
called “Vampire Diaries” changed all that.
2. At work you hide your ereader under your keyboard and
sneak in chapters when no one is looking.
And the number one reason you are addicted to paranormal
romance…
1. You have outright lied to someone saying you
are sick to avoid a date, work, playdate, reunion, or get together just to stay
home and read your new download.
Now granted some of these are a little extreme and my
tongue and cheek sense of humor did embellish. However, I’m unsorry to say that
experience created some of these. In fact I’m downright unashamed. And I can
prove it.
I’ve never done number 1. Once my bff had plans to hang
with me and saw that I had downloaded a new book via Facebook. She didn’t even
call just assumed and she was right. LOL
So how about it? Are you a ParaAdict?
Giveaway rules: In the comments below leave me an example
either from the top ten list above or your own special experience of being a
paraAddict.
I’ll give away an eBook copy of Scent of a Witch to the
best one.
Book Description
Maeve da Paer has lived her life free from the restrictions
of the world of sorcery and the Board of Witchery hidden behind the combined
protection of her grandparents powerful clan magic—and a lie. Although her life
has not been worry free, it is when all that desperation and grief cause her to
cast her most powerful spell ever…a spell that will end the pain before it
begins on the powerful All Hallows Eve.
Fionn Hughes, an immortal tracker, former heir to a powerful clan of time
warlocks is on a mission to restore his honor—instead he finds Maeve da Paer.
Following the scent of Gardenias and Honey Suckle, he discovers the last Scent
Witch. It’s only after she almost takes off his ear that something more stirs,
eventually changing his mission from one of duty to one of need.
What will Fionn do when he finds out Maeve plans to cancel out her own
existence? Will he be strong enough to stop her?
Fionn Hughes leaned against the brick building,
shaking his head in frustration. Upon his father’s insistence, he’d traveled to
this cursed century seeking a prize that had been lost. With the death of the
warlock, Patrick Sweeney, the powers of time sorcery had gone with him, leaving
only the Hughes clan. Fionn’s father would be furious and terribly saddened to
know that Sweeney’s wife, Cordelia da Paer, was dead as well. While Fionn
didn’t know the details, the marriage had caused the clan’s centuries-long
allegiance to sever. Fionn’s father, Laird Rordan Hughes, was soul-weary, and Fionn
feared this might send his father over the edge to seek the afterlife.
Before fear could grip him, he decided to
continue after the mortal grandchild of the deceased couple. He had followed
her from the Sweeney estate to the downtown Halloween festivities. If the
mortals knew the truth of All Hallows Eve, they’d put an end to the
commercialized debauchery that occurred every year.
Fionn looked up and cursed. The tangled mass of
brown curls with auburn highlights he had been tracking disappeared. Panic
bubbled up in his innards, but his warrior instinct dismissed it as quickly as
it appeared. A strict warning from his father to use his magic sparingly
sounded in his memory, but he longed to call up a tracking spell. He offered
another colorful Gaelic curse, causing an elderly woman walking by to jump.
After a mumbled apology and bow, he jaywalked to the side of the street near
the food vendor. The last time he had seen her, the granddaughter had been near
the mobile cart offering saturated fat and processed food. Fionn preferred the
simpler fare of stews, homemade cheese, and ciders.
Unable to use magic, he took a breath and used
skills acquired as a boy under his father’s guidance. Offering his most
dazzling smile, he set his charms on a group of older ladies with low cut
athletic shoes and fanny packs.
“Good afternoon ladies.” He bowed and the three
women turned and giggled in unison.
“Where are you from shoog?” asked the tallest
one, a brunette who was obviously the leader. “You have an accent the likes
I’ve never heard.”
“Why, I’m from Scotland.” He offered her a smile
but then quickly continued. These women were ferocious when it came to gossip.
“I’ve lost track of the lass I was with.” Three sets of intensely plucked then
re-penciled eyebrows went up and the tracker knew he had them.
“What does she look like?”
“Where did you last see her?”
“Don’t worry dear, we’ll help you.” All sounded
in unison in their ages-tarted accents, signature for the region. He couldn’t
help but smile and felt a tad guilty for lying to the three helpful grannies.
“She’s about your height, long curly brown hair
that has a touch of auburn highlights when the sun hits it.” They sighed in
unison. “She had a scarlet shawl tied around a long white skirt…” He would have
continued, only the brunette started bouncing up and down.
“That way, she went that way,” she declared,
pointing down a dark alley in between two very close buildings.
The
earlier panic reappeared. Was the woman a twit? It was a night of danger for
not only those of Witchery, but mortals too, and walking down a dark alley was
most unwise.
Nodding to the glassy-eyed women, he ran to the
end of the alley, then stopped and kneeled. The gravel was disturbed, creating
a slight pile. Then, going in a western direction, every few feet there was
another mound, before finally it stopped at the edge of a wooded area. Fionn
sensed a presence of power in the air. But that could be a combination of the
coming night and being so close to the haunted Carton Plantation.
Memories of the gracious
MacGavok family pulled at his emotions. He had been injured at the Battle of
Franklin, the bloodiest five hours of the Civil War. The family had tended to
him as well as many others. Randal and Carrie McGavok were truly two of the
noblest mortals Fionn had ever known. They would turn no one away based on skin
or uniform color. The bodies of the dead had been stacked four feet high by the
end. Later, after the battle, the family unburied and then reburied over
fifteen hundred Confederate soldiers, dedicating two acres of their land for a
military cemetery. When Fionn had asked his friend why, he’d been admonished
that everyone deserved a proper burial and last rights.
Squatting so he could look more closely at the
ground, he caught site of small bare footprints in the softened dirt. He
grinned in triumph, then scowled. One footprint sunk deeper, indicating she was
limping. Had she hurt herself? An urgency he didn’t understand pushed him
forward, the sensing of power becoming stronger. But as he traveled deeper into
the foliage, a feeling of peace seemed to emanate. He puzzled over the source.
That is, until the distinctive smell of Honeysuckles and Shamrocks invaded his
nostrils.
A Scent Witch. The scent of Shamrocks was
exclusive to that line of witches, and the scent was only detectable through
their blood. Whoever she was, she was the last, for he knew of no other. And
she was hurt.
Fionn moved at the speed his unnatural
immortality allotted him. The panic he’d managed to contain before exploded in
his chest. If he could bring her back to his clan, perhaps he would be in his
father’s good graces again. The flora opened up in his line of vision creating
a half clearing along a stream of water and there, sitting along the edge, was
an enticing water nymph with unruly brown hair and auburn highlights created by
the sun.
Unable to look away, he watched as she moved her
feet in and out of the water, allowing him a generous view of long shapely
calves that flowed seamlessly into milky white thighs. His throat tightened as
craving burned in him. Desire he hadn’t known in a long time warmed his
insides. Fionn was no rogue but he was certainly no saint either. However, he
had never felt the stirrings of passion as he did viewing the female before him.
With an easy grace she leaned forward, reaching
out with her right arm and bending her right knee up to drape water from her
fingertips down her leg. So enchanted by the movement of the elegant beauty he
didn’t see the dagger that appeared in her left hand until it took off a lock
of his hair before firmly ending in the tree behind him.
The realization that he almost died startled
Fionn out of his daze. The wild-haired woman let out a particularly unladylike
Gaelic curse, and her eyes looked around as if seeking escape. Finally she
stopped, face forward staring at the water, then she looked at him. It was only
a moment but, in that instant, he saw what his father had sent him to retrieve:
the key to their future. Thick lashes, darker than the brows above them, framed
light brown eyes with flecks of gold in them, feline-like in their slanting
shape. The Sweeney Eyes. Then she disappeared into the water.
Bri Clark is a real example
of redemption and renewal. Growing penniless in the South, Bri learned
street smarts while caring for her brother in a broken home. She watched
her mother work several jobs to care for their small family. Once her
brother could fend for himself, Bri moved on to a series of bad choices
including leaving school and living on her own. Rebelliousness was a strong
understatement to describe those formative years. As a teenager, her
wakeup call came from a fight with brass knuckles and a judge that gave her a
choice of shaping up or spending time in jail. She took that opportunity
and found a way to moved up from the streets. She ended up co-owning an
extremely successful construction business. She lived the high life until
the real estate crash when she lost everything. She moved west and found
herself living with her husband and 4 kids in a 900 square foot
apartment. She now fills her time, writing, blogging, leading a group of
frugal shoppers and sharing her southern culture. Her unique background
gives her writing a raw sensibility. She understands what it takes to
overcome life’s obstacles. She often tells friends, “I can do
poor. I’m good at poor. It’s prosperity that I’m not used to.” Bri and her husband Chris
live in Boise.
Bri is known as the Belle of Boise for her true southern accent, bold demeanor
and hospitable nature. Bri boasts several positions in the publishing
industry. An author, professional reviewer, blogger, and literary strategist
she enjoys all aspects of her career from the creation of story to the branding
and marketing needed to make her books successful.
Bri Contact Links:
An amazing story! Definitely a keeper.
A must read. A good page turner.
A enjoyable read. An average book.
A book that has flaws and is hard to finish.
Terrible and couldn't finish it.
