The cover for Beloved Enemy is also entered in the Authors database cover contest - could I beg you for a vote if you think it deserves it (it was designed by Rae Monet and I love it!) Voting finishes on Monday 23rd October, so there's not much time!
This is the linkand you don't have to register, just fill in your name and a star rating.If you have a few moments to spare I would be eternally grateful - thank you so much! xxx
It's a great privilege and pleasure to welcomemy dear friend Sky Purington to the Flight Deck once again. Welcome Sky - and may I say what a gorgeous cover you have - and it matches my blog! LOL
Genre:Time-travel Fantasy Romance
Date of Publication:June 4, 2015
Number of pages:260
Cover Artist:Tamra Westberry
Amber is heartbroken. Supposedly
because of a pact made between three ninth century
Viking brothers and Mt.
Galdhøpiggen’s seers, her sisters have vanished into the distant past.
Struggling with grief, she leans on her part-time fling Sean until even he is
torn away. Or so it seems.
Of dragon blood and brother to
the king, Kol Sigdir ‘the lucky’ has been determined to avoid his fate since
the moment he promised himself, sight unseen, to a woman from the future. He
adores all women and it’s no easy thing knowing he has to eventually pledge his
heart to just one…until he meets Amber. A spirited artist and musician, she
captivates him. When she offers him a soul-deep glimpse at what was missing
from his life, he soon wonders how he will ever be able to let her go.
As Kol and Amber grow closer,
they face multiple threats. Eager for revenge, King Alrek declares war. To make
matters worse, he has an ally nobody could have anticipated. One determined to
see everything come to an end.
Hearts struggle, rip apart, and
then are rebuilt when the laws of time are tossed aside. A thousand years means
nothing when two star-crossed souls are meant to connect. Even so, will the
strength of love be enough to withstand a powerful enemy and bridge a gap
across time already closed?
another horn of ale, Kol leaned back and eyed Amber with amusement as she
stopped in front of the men playing bodhran drums. Unlike her sisters, she
seemed to be embracing their society right away or so said the slow sway of her
hips. Fortunately, the fires kept it warm enough that she’d removed her cloak,
giving him and every other man a pleasurable view of her backside.
And just like
him, there was nothing but lust in their eyes.
recognize the low growl in his chest and had no idea he was heading in her
direction until he was halfway there. Her sisters might be a solid wall of
protection around Amber but far too many men were contemplating a way past
them. Even with the potential wrath of the king and Raknar coming down on them,
several clearly thought the loot well worth the inevitable punishment.
She must have
said something about the instrument because Kol had nearly reached Amber when
one of the men stopped playing his drum and handed it to her. Red dragon haze
skirted the corners of his vision when the musician wrapped his arms around her
from behind. Though he was only showing her how to use the drum, Kol also knew
he was just as aroused as the men now forming a circle around her.
A dagger at the
ready, he stopped beside her sisters and glared at any man willing to meet his
eyes…which were few. No, they weren’t just lusting but downright enchanted by
Amber. Even his eyes were snagged from protecting her when warm laughter
bubbled up from her chest. She tossed her hair over a shoulder and winked at
the man behind her. Arms crossed over his chest, Kol was impressed with how
smoothly she kept the musician from pressing too close while simultaneously
making him feel like the world revolved around him.
He had never
seen anything quite like it.
From a woman
maneuvered a man nearly as well as Kol maneuvered a woman.
precisely what they did. Made the opposite sex feel special until they tired
and moved on to the next. But Kol would bet that like him, she rarely left a
man lacking. If anything, she left them happier than they were prior.
“I knew it
wouldn’t take her long to make herself at home,” Megan murmured and bumped
shoulders with him. “Put away the dagger, Champ. She’ll be all right.”
“I’m sure she
will.” But he didn’t put away the dagger. Better that his fellowmen see his
intentions…or at least that she was under his protection. Yet even as he tried
to keep his attention on the bastards around her, he soon became as enamored as
the rest when she held the crossbar beneath with expertise and started playing
the drum. She had a way of moving her hand in such a way that the sound made
the listener feel the passion within her.
possessed a natural eroticism that simmered beneath the surface of every move
she made. Kol watched the speed and roll of her hand, imagining that same hand
playing his body with as much talent and hunger. Because there was a definite
hunger in the sound she created. One that originated in the depths of her soul.
A soul that felt things far more deeply than most.
narrowed his eyes at the man behind her, he didn’t need to. Amber was handling
him perfectly as she pulled away and nodded her thanks. Then her eyes met the
women playing the pipes and she offered a dazzling smile as they caught her
couldn’t decide which part of her he wanted to eye more. Her animated face, the
way her hand deftly worked the instrument or the sway of her lovely hips as she
moved in synchronization to the beat she created.
Sky Purington is the best-selling
author of fifteen novels and several novellas. A New Englander born and bred,
Sky was raised hearing stories of folklore, myth and legend. When combined with
a love for nature, romance and time-travel, elements from the stories of her
youth found release in her books.
Interested in keeping up with
Sky's latest news and releases? Visit Sky's website,
http://www.skypurington.com to download her free App on iTunes and Android or
sign up for her quarterly newsletter. Love social networking? Find Sky on
Facebook and Twitter.
I'm delighted to welcome Mort Herman to the Flight Deck today, for my stop on his blog tour. Enjoy hearing more about him and 'Futures Edge' below, and don't forget to enter the Giveaway and follow the other stops on his tour.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, Mort
Herman has a Master’s degrees in Electrical Engineering. Holder of
six patents, he worked at several companies including IBM, Texas
Instruments, AT&T and Lucent Technologies where his specialty was
semiconductor electronics, systems design, and marketing.
Mort lives on the Jersey shore with his
mate Mary Ann. When he’s not writing, Mort is an avid sailor, a
wood sculptor, and a charter member of the Arts Society of Keyport.
In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, he added his technical,
artistic, and project management skills to the design and
implementation of three, free form concrete sculptures that replaced
destroyed public art in the town of Keyport, NJ.
Most people do not carry the fate of the
world on their shoulders. Sam Greenhut does.
By the year 2230, the world is no longer
dependent on fossil fuels. All power is harnessed directly from the
Earth’s core. A clever integration of neural technology and
wireless energy gives rise to the Global Network (GNET),
revolutionizing society. Diverse industries operate efficiently under
the umbrella of a neurally connected world economy, powered by an
unlimited geothermal fuel supply controlled not by Presidents,
Sheikhs nor Monarchs, but by a Corporate Federation run by seven
This is the state of the world when the
Corporate Federation charges Sam Greenhut with ensuring GNET’s
unquestioned reliability and integrity.
Sam sees a world whose population is
totally dependent on GNET, as if the previously admired trait of
self-reliance was weaned from the gene pool. Inevitably, the
insatiable demand for energy prompts a reckless decision by Corporate
Federation board members to expand the geothermal energy lattices.
Despite Sam’s protest, the choice to exceed the cautionary
“Greenhut Limits” precipitate a string of earthquakes that
destroy GNET and plunges the planet into the chaos known as “The
What happens next fundamentally alters
the destiny of the planet and catapults Sam into the center of The
Seed – book one in my science fiction trilogy, Future’s
… With the village stabilized and work
preparations for the upcoming season proceeding smoothly, it was
finally time for Kappi and Elizabeth to depart – a little later
than usual, but still in time to be comfortably cradled between
winter and spring. They left Tyber in the capable hands of the core
group of people who had been with Kappi since the beginning of their
enterprise. As agreed, Frank stayed behind to carry out his primary
job of caring for the puppies. This was to be Kappi’s and
Elizabeth’s alone time.
Their preparations were simple and
swift. They chose to take their three favorite dogs led by Jupiter,
the oldest, strongest, and most even-keeled of the lot. He had the
experience to tame any wild or unsafe actions of the other dogs and
could administer discipline when needed. Tassi (Tassiorpok, the
guide) was the youngest and she possessed the keenest of senses. When
there was uncertainty concerning the weather, a sound, or what path
was the safest, Tassi was the one all looked at for guidance. Lastly,
there was Angus (Angusuktok, the good hunter). Angus could smell prey
for several kilometers and understood by verbal command what animal
Kappi and Elizabeth wanted him to seek. This proud team was
considered a vital, integral part of their family.
Off they went on their adventure with
their dogs carrying food, supplies, clothing, hunting weapons and
tools. They were finally able to leave behind the realities of the
real world. There was no need to discuss their destination. Each knew
instinctively where they would go.
With Tassi in the lead, Kappi provided
the verbal commands that guided them toward a special hidden river
valley. In the summer months, the river would flow freely, but now it
was completely iced over. Tassi understood where Kappi wanted to go,
and he let Tassi guide them with little intervention.
Elizabeth and Kappi were struck by the
sheer majesty of this place even though they had been there before.
Their place, which they called Uyaraut (meaning “precious
stone” in the Inuit language), was bounded on three sides by cliffs
providing a magnificent vista of the frozen river valley as it
stretched for kilometers between the Arctic Ocean on the north end
and the cloud-topped mountains to the south. Their camp was about
halfway down the steep slope on a relatively flat area with a deep
cave at the most easterly point. Uyaraut presented a perfect
view of the sunset at this time of year. The setting provided shelter
from the strong winds relentlessly funneling across the treeless,
Throughout their stay, Kappi and
Elizabeth hardly uttered ten words to each other. In Uyaraut,
they let in the solitude, the silence, their heartbeats, their
individual breaths and all that surrounded them. It was an empathic
event for Kappi and Elizabeth and it bridged the barrier of mental
separateness intrinsic to humans. Uyaraut acted as an
Schedule of Remaining stops on the tour: Giveaway - Signed Print (US Only) Ebook (Int'l)
the 22th Century, the people of the Solar System have banded together
against an alien invasion. Unfortunately, they’re losing—badly.
the only Natural remaining in the genetically engineered officer corps
of the United Planet’s fleet, Henry Gallant has unique mental abilities
that have proven essential to the defense against the Titan invaders.
Nevertheless his fellow officers lack faith in him, and worse, he has
angered prominent men by speaking truth to power.
Admiral Collingsworth has given him command of the Warrior, the most
advanced stealth warship in the UP arsenal, and ordered him to the
alien’s main base to spy, intrigue, and disrupt their war capacity.
mission leads to risky battles and painful choices, but no choice is
more personal, or intimate, than the choice to face one’s own death. And
for Henry Gallant—a flawed young man in a hopeless situation against
overwhelming odds—a dreadful decision looms before him.
He has only one saving grace—he is unafraid.
Lieutenant Henry Gallant walked along the cobblestone streets of New Annapolis—head down, mind racing . . .
My orders say take command of the Warrior immediately . . . but no promotion . . . Why not?
pondered the possibilities, but he already knew the answer. Though he
had steely gray eyes, a square jaw, and was taller than nearly everyone
around him, what distinguished him most was not visible to the naked
eye—he was a Natural—born without genetic engineering.
time he reached the space elevator, the welcoming breeze of the clear
brisk morning had brightened his mood and he fell into line behind the
shipyard personnel without complaint.
Looking up, he marveled; that cable goes into the clouds like an Indian rope trick.
When at last it was his turn, the guard scanned his comm pin against the access manifest.
The portal light blinked red.
“Pardon, sir. Access denied,” said the grim faced sentry.
“Call the officer of the guard,” demanded Gallant.
officer of the guard appeared, but was no more inclined to pass Gallant
through. He touched the interface panel and made several more entries,
but the portal continued to blink red.
“There’s a hold on your access, sir.”
Gallant asked, “A hold?”
sir. Your clearance and authorization are in order, but SIA has placed a
hold on your travel movements. They want you to report to SIA
“I need to go to the shipyard and attend to
important business before going to the Solar Intelligence Agency,”
clarified Gallant, but even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t help.
“Sorry, sir. Orders.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
As a scientist and author
specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty
years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory
(LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of scientists
and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of
supercomputers, workstations, and networks. He graduated from the United
States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear
submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree
at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of seven books.
Mitchell didn't really believe
the story the Man told him, Just take a sip and speak a year. He whimsically
chose a historic event to witness. Little did he know he would become part of
that history. Faster than you can say Teithwyr Amser our man Mitchell is
chasing a bona fide assassin not only across America but across time.
Amber Prelude will require
Mitchell to travel from the America he knows to France and Africa. He will
travel to decades and centuries he is unfamiliar with. Mitchell will chase
authentic villains and make historic friends, all in an attempt to set history
back the way he remembers.
1963: New Mexico
It had started simply. I uncapped the vial, drank the liquid, and spoke the year I had chosen aloud. The room spun. I dissolved.
I anticipated nothing happening. I began by sitting at the old wooden table feeling numb. My expectations extended to looking for shelter the following morning. Maybe I would move under a bridge for a short time; maybe I would do something much worse to myself.
I’d experienced severely morbid thoughts for months. Moving often transformed me. A nightmarish combination of a manic and depressed person was all I had been until the vial. It continued for months, and I expected it to continue forever. What I didn’t expect was a twisting feeling in my chest and lower abdomen. It wasn’t painful, just an unusual feeling. I didn’t expect the room to blur. I blinked several times, but it wasn’t my eyes; the room was blurry. Soon the room ceased to exist.
I had not spent long hours considering the year I would move to. I flippantly selected 1963. It would give me almost ten years before my birth moment and I vanished from the universe forever. The Man was specific about not existing past my birth moment. It would give me a chance to see some of the most tumultuous years in America, civil rights marches, hippies, the moon landing. My choice of year would give me a chance to stand at Dealey Plaza and personally see if there was a second shooter. It was a shallow choice, but it was the best I could come up with.
My first thought as the world congealed around me was that I had said something wrong. Had I said 1863? It was night. The stars above me were crisp and clear. Sagebrush surrounded me in all directions. Gone were the smells of the city. My senses absorbed a clean, fresh smell. This was how I remembered the world use to be. A scrub oak blended with the evening shadows just a few feet to my right. To my left was a light in the distance, a campfire. The flames created dancing shadows on the two trees surrounding the fire. Someone sat next to the fire, stirring the flames, sparks rising into the starry sky.
I walked toward the fire. I didn’t see that I had any choice; every other direction was pitch-black. Halfway there he rose from his place at the fire and raised his left hand above his head.
He sparkled. It wasn’t anything residual from the fire. His whole body twinkled and sparkled. It was disturbing.
“About time, Mitchell,” he yelled. “I’ve been waiting here for damn near three days.” “Come on in. I’m sure you have questions, son.”
I got over my initial anxiety of the twinkle man and sat on the far side of the fire. We had been sitting before the fire for fewer than five minutes. I was dazed, confused, and overwhelmed. Less than an hour ago, I was sitting in a dingy, two-bit hotel room.
Now, here I was, in some large expanse of desert in the company of someone who looked like Ray Teal, that quintessential sheriff on so many TV westerns and movies. He wore standard blue jeans, a simple button-front dress shirt, and a light-gray jacket. This twinkle man had a slouch hat, not exactly cowboy, but not a fedora either. He was half a foot shorter than me, stockier, and a minimum of twenty-five-years older, if I had to guess his age. There was salt and pepper stubble covering his face. His voice was deeper than mine, but not so deep that I envied it.
“Okay,” I began. “Where am I?"
“New Mexico,” he answered without hesitation. “You’re about three miles east of Tucumcari.”
I considered that answer. “When am I?”
“It’s November, 1963.”
“What’s the date, the day?” It concerned me I might miss my reason for picking this year.
“It’s the sixth.” A wave of relief swept over me. I wasn’t too late.
His answers were rapid-fire, no pauses or measurable moments that I would have considered creative thinking. He was either telling the truth or extremely well prepared for my random questions. I tried to think of the relevant questions I should ask. The standard ones, who, what, when, where, seemed a good place to start.
“How did I get here?”
“Well now, that’s an obvious answer to a poorly considered, ill-thought out question.” He shook his head. “You took a drink from that vial you have tucked away in your jacket pocket.”
A sudden gust of wind caused me to wrap my windbreaker tighter around my body. Maybe it wasn’t the night air. I was a little hurt. It wasn’t an attempt at sounding stupid; just understand what had happened to me.
“How did you know I was coming?” Maybe that question would seem less inept.
“Now that’s complicated.” He answered this question more slowly. He was thinking more and not just responding. “My name is Gil, Gil Seward. I got a letter just a few days ago. It asked me to come here and see if you’d appear. The letter said to just wait here a while and see if you drank from the vial or not. If you did, I’m supposed to help you out a little. Get you started and send you on your way.”
“Asked by whom? That guy who gave me the vial?”
“Yeah” was his only response. I hate one-word answers.
“Who was he? Why did he give me this vial?”
“He was someone I owed a favor. I haven’t seen him for a long time. He isn’t someone you need to know. Forget him. I don’t know why he decided to give you his vial. He just did.”
He paused for a while, stirring the fire with his stick, a small branch from one of the nearby trees.
“One last question for now,” he said. “Make it a good one.”
“Okay, Gil,” I said, using his name for the first time. “Why the hell do you sparkle? You look like some creation by Industrial Light, a special effect in a vampire or science fiction movie.”
“Forgot all about that,” he laughed. “You sparkle too. You just can’t see it. You started as soon as you drank from the vial. All Amser will sparkle.”
“What’s an Amser?”
“Sorry, Mitchell, You’ve reached your limit on questions for now. It’s my turn to ask some.”
I started to say something, but the look on his face made me stop. I hoped that ‘for now’ meant there would be more answers in the future.
“What made you pick this year?”
“It wasn’t a rational decision. Who would believe this would really work? I figured I’d see something special, something historic. Dallas and the Kennedy assassination was a significant event in my life. All the other conspiracy theories I remember while growing up could never surpass this one event. Standing on the grassy knoll and knowing beyond a doubt if there was or wasn’t a second shooter seemed as good an idea as any.”
“With all of history to choose from, you wanted to watch somebody die?”
“That wasn’t my motivation.” I said “I thought of it more as watching a documentary on TV.”
“We’ll see what you think of your documentary as you watch it live. Did you have plans afterward?”
“I don’t have many concrete plans. Just live out the next decade before I die.”
“Why would you want to die?”
“The Man said I couldn’t live past my birth moment. That was another reason I came here. That gives me several years to live before that time.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“You have it all wrong, Mitchell. You can use that vial repeatedly. Just refill it. You can travel to any year, any time, as often as you want, as many times as you want. You’re not stuck in this year or decade forever.”
I’m not sure my mouth actually fell open, but that is how I remember it.
From an early age, Kevin B. Henry
was a voracious reader. His collection of science fiction, fantasy and mystery
books bring tears of envy to the eyes of many small community libraries.
Kevin has worked as an educator,
technology specialist and day laborer most of his adult life. During all that
time he lived the life of a frustrated author. That it took 30 years for him to
piece together the series, Amber Gifts is a testament that the best meals need
slow cooking to bring out the flavor.
The Amber Gifts Series begins
with Amber Gifts. The second story, which is really the first, is Amber
Prelude, and is available now. The third story, Amber Legacy continues where
Amber Gifts left off. It will be available in November 2015. All are published
by the wonderful folks at the Champagne Book Group. A fourth story is in the
process of being written.
Kevin is a natural story teller,
so it’s logical that he lectures occasionally. Topics range from the
implementation of cutting edge technology hardware to the creation,
modification and use of e-books within education. He constantly pursues research
to expand his range of possible topics. His most recent research revolved
around the aerodynamic properties of reindeer. He’s also been known to include
little known facts and trivia within his presentations. Did you know just 146
years ago today the Union Army marched into Atlanta. It took longer than
anticipated. They were delayed by a traffic jam on I-75 and the toll booth on
He continues to live in the
Mid-West without human or domesticated mammal companionship.