Title: Karma Author: Nadine Nightingale Genre: Paranormal Romance Release Day Date: May 4th About Karma: People call me all sorts of names—bad girl, black sheep, and my all-time favorite...Satan’s bride. I could blame the fact I’m a witch for my behavior, but the truth is I’m infuriating, arrogant, and stab-worthy. Alex Remington is a hunter and everything I’m not—righteous, honest, caring. We used to have a thing, but that was before he learned I’m a witch and tried to kill me. Eighteen months later, he’s back in my life and we have a deal; I’ll help him save his brother and he’ll disappear from my life for good. But karma can be a real bitch… Pre-Order Now: AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON AU | Barnes&Nobles | KOBO | Goodreads Exclusive Chapter Reveal: An electric hum charges the chilly air. The ghostly light of a bulb flickers. Seconds later, I gaze into Baphomet’s onyx eyes. He lingers over a naked couple chained to his harpy feet, guarding them like a sphinx, imprisoning them like a warden. “Oh my freakin’ gosh! Is that...Is that the devil?” Redhead screams. The look on her high-school-queen- bee face is priceless. I take a deep breath. “Yes,” I say, swallowing the laughter that crawls up my throat. “It’s the devil.” Redhead presses a palm against her chest. “Sweet baby Jesus. Does that mean I’m...I’m going to hell?” Her otherwise brown aura, indicating self-absorption, is gray. In other words, she’s petrified. The chick is obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed, and I doubt hell recruits stupid cheerleaders. I fake a smile and wave her question off. “Nah, don’t worry. In the tarot, the devil represents desire and passion.” I point to the card deck. “Draw another one.” Her delicate fingers fly over the cards, and she pulls the sixth major arcana card out of the pile. The lovers. Redhead’s sapphire eyes gleam. “I know what that means. He loves me, right?” The devil and the lovers? That’s as bad as a relationship can get. When her fingers accidently brush mine, I get a glimpse of how bad it’ll be. **** The fluorescent lights of the ER blinded Redhead. Closing her eyes, she reminded herself this was her fault. She should have never asked him about the other girl. She’d gotten a taste of his temper before and knew better than to challenge him. But that damn jealousy had gotten the best of her. “Can you hear me?” the doctor asked, worried. She wanted to answer, wanted to tell him she was fine, but she could hardly breathe. It felt like the air hit an invisible wall inside her bleeding nose. Parting her bruised lips, she gasped for oxygen, but the taste of sanitizer made her sick. “Miss Rosewood, can you hear me?” The doctor’s rich voice hammered through her brain. She swallowed the pins and needles in her throat. “Yes.” “How did this happen?” Every muscle in her body tensed. “I...I...fell.” **** I shake the brutal vision off. Every fortune-teller with a conscience would tell Redhead to stay the hell away from this guy. The thing is, if I tell her the truth, she’ll accuse me of lying, and being called a liar is the doom of a clairvoyant. Luckily, I don’t have a conscience. “You guys are star-crossed lovers.” “Really?” she squeaks, like the dumb cheerleader she is. “Yeah, course. Even Romeo and Juliet would envy you guys.” If she doesn’t hear the sarcasm in my voice, she totally deserves someone who’ll beat the crap out of her. Besides, the whole Romeo and Juliet reference should put her on high alert. Yeah, I know, people think of them as the ultimate couple. But did they actually read the play? Let’s summarize their fate: first Romeo wants Rosalind. Why? Because she’s a nun, and guys dig things they can’t have. Then Juliet, another forbidden fruit, comes along. Unfortunately, she’s dumb enough to fall for his shit, and bada bing, bada boom, they both end up dead. Some call that romantic. I prefer stupid. Her aura radiates fifty shades of red. Making an educated guess, I’d say she didn’t get the hint. Hey, at least I tried. Pleased, she pulls a hundred-dollar bill from her bag and puts it on the table. “You’re amazing.” “I know,” I reply flatly before shoving the money in my black lace bra. “Now get out and send the next one in.” The chick doesn’t even mind my rudeness. “Thanks. Thank you so much.” She sounds like a broken record, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the door slams shut behind her. Waiting for my next client, I gather the cards. The foulness of the air bugs me a little. I hate rundown motel rooms, but they add to the mystery, and in my business, it’s all about being mysterious. Harpers Ferry is my third stop in the last two weeks. Small town folk are good clients. They hunger for the perfect house, perfect husband, perfect kids. If they could, they’d even try to breed the perfect dog. No need to say this makes me perfectly sick. But beggars can’t be choosers, and all I need is another five hundred bucks, and then I can kiss my old life goodbye. A faint knock, then the door swings open. My next client is a middle-aged woman accompanied by her daughter. What kind of a mother drags her kid to a fortune-teller? I straighten and wave them over. The little girl is about ten, but she still sucks her thumb. “Are you a witch?” the blonde angel asks, precariously. I totally prefer the term Wise Independent Tremendously Charismatic Human, but before I get a chance to clarify, her mother interferes. “They said you could help us.” They? Who the heck are they? And did she just say help them? Who the hell does she think I am, Mother Theresa? “You want to know if your daughter will become the next Miss America, am I right?” A little sarcasm never hurts. The woman steps closer. The flames of the black candles shed light on her wrinkled face. “Please kill my husband,” she says, throwing a bundle of hundreds on the table. My guess is about ten thousand dollars. “Lady, I’m a fortune-teller, not an assassin,” I say, never taking my eyes off the money. “You’re a witch.” I cock a brow. “Still not an assassin.” “He hurts her,” she whispers, pointing to the kid. I know he does. I’d sensed her heartache the moment they walked in. I might tell lies for a living, but I tend to see the truth when no one else does. The aura of the little girl is a dark, muddy gray, evidence of a broken soul. “Call the cops and get a divorce.” The woman pushes the little girl in my lap. “Please, I’m begging you. Help her.” Hazel eyes, clouded with misery and sorrow, look right through me. That son of a bitch robbed her of her innocence and left her drowning in self-hatred. Shivers run down my spine. Shit. I have no intention of bearing witness to the bastard’s barbaric crime. It’s a real shame visions don’t ask for permission. **** She stared at the gleaming stars on her ceiling. Her mother had put them there to keep the darkness at bay, but it didn’t work. The room was gloomy. She knew the monster would come for her. It would look like her dad, but that was just a disguise. Her real dad would never do such things to her. He loved her. She thought of the puppy he’d once bought for her and the places he had taken her. A monster could never be so kind. The creaking of the wooden door stopped her heart. She pulled the blanket over her head and started to count. One, two, three. The blanket pulled back. Four, five six. A wet kiss. Seven, eight, nine. “I love you, princess.” **** I push the fragile body of the girl away. Her pain. Her destiny. I don’t give a shit about any of it. “Take your money and get the hell outta here.” The woman’s jaw drops. “But—” I hold my hand up. “Out! Now.” The little girl’s gaze drops to her pink ballerina flats. Her disappointment floats through the dark room, leaving traces of hate and sadness in the air. “You said she’d make him stop,” she says as her mother hauls her to the door. Don’t. This is none of your business. Let them go. Shit! I heave a sigh. “Wait.” They spin around. Hope flickers across the mother’s face. The woman makes me sick. How dare she call herself a mother? She knows what her husband is up to. Why on earth did she never try to stop him? I remind myself this isn’t about her. It’s about the little girl. “What’s your name?” I ask the kid. “Jamie,” she replies, voice weak and broken. I wave her over. When she doesn’t move, her mother grabs her by the wrist and pulls her toward me. Ruthless bitch. Can’t she see her daughter is terrified? Mother of the Year is probably expecting me to cast a spell or torment a voodoo doll. Yeah, you kinda get the wrong idea about magic when you’ve watched too many Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes. But real magic doesn’t come cheap. I wonder if the ruthless bitch is ready to pay the price. I pull Jamie’s rigid body closer and put my forefinger on her third eye. The kid is already damaged beyond repair, but what I’m about to do will kill a piece of her soul forever. “Close your eyes, Jamie.” About the Author: Nadine aka Dini is a traveler at heart. She considers the world her home and practically lives out of her suitcases. When she’s not glaring at a blank page or abusing her poor keyboard, she spends her time reading, watching movies (preferably horror), pretends to work out, and hangs out with friends and family. Poor girl also suffers from a serious Marvel superhero addiction. So, if you run into her at night, wearing black, know she’s secretly dreaming of being the infamous Black Widow. Her love for writing started in the sixth grade where she annoyed her classmates with a short story featuring Sailor Moon characters, a cemetery, and creepy ghosts. Yes, she’s always been addicted to the dark side. Nadine writes paranormal romance. Her debut novel “Karma” the first book in her paranormal romance series Drag.Me.To.Hell. is published by the Wild Rose Press and will be out in May 2016. She has a serious girl crush on her protagonist Amanda Bishop. Nadine has a BA in Comparative Religions and studied Creative Writing at the University of Oxford. Connect with Nadine: https://www.nadinenightingale.com https://www.facebook.com/AuthorNadineNightingale/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel https://twitter.com/dini_caroline https://www.instagram.com/therealnadinenightingale/ https://uk.pinterest.com/dininightingale/ Enter Nadine’s Giveaway: a Rafflecopter giveaway
"They all think that I'm a phase. A fetish. A temporary fixture. But I love my cousin Elizabeth, and there isn't sh*t anyone can do to change or destroy that â¦ even her."
Being hopelessly in love with tatted, sexy, bad boy, Roman Masterson can be exactly what one would imagine. Intense. Passionate. Consuming. Dangerous.
After fighting so hard to be together, there still continues to be forces working against them. Yet the most difficult obstacles seem to be the ones that come from within.
Also Available from Lisa Lang Blakeney
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Our passion is incredibly intense.
The connection between us borders on the possessive. Our feelings are absolutely forbidden. We're cousinsâ¦The question now isâ¦what the f*ck are we going to do about it?
âWhatâs my name Duchess?â
âUh-uh. Thatâs not what you call me.â
I think for a minute. Ohâ¦
âThatâs right baby. My dick gets so hard when you call me Masterson. When you start calling out my name in a few minutes, thatâs the name I better hear.â
I close my eyes as he gives that visual. Me calling out his name. And I get even wetter.
âOpen those beautiful fucking eyes Duchess. I want them on me. I want to watch them tear up when I make you fall apart for me again. Eyes. On. Me.â
He slides a second finger in. Pumping them rhythmically in and out of my core with the deep precision of a pro. How he talks to me, what heâs doing to me, itâs all so ridiculously addictive. I want more, I need more.
âShhh Duchess. When it comes time for you to beg, Iâll tell you baby.â
Then he stops completely.
I watch him with bated breath as he gets down on the floor on his knees directly in front of me and stares at me with great intensity before he speaks again. I can feel my heartbeat all the way up in the middle of my throat.
âAsk me what I plan on doing with your body Duchess.â
âWhaaaâ¦ what do you plan on doing with my body Masterson?â
He smiles wickedly.
âIâm going to have you lift up this pretty skirt all the way to your waist, and youâre lucky I donât tear this fucking thing to shreds, because I know you wore it specifically for the swimmer. Nevertheless, youâre going to lift that skirt up high for me. Then ask me what comes next Duchess.â
Both of his hands are under my skirt now. Kneading my thighs and the crease of where my thighs meet my hips. Thumbs rubbing all around the outside of my labia. It feels a little bit like torture and a lot like heaven. When I open my mouth to respond, nothing but a soft moan escapes.
âAsk me Duchess.â He says again as my massage becomes firmer and deeper just like the bass in his voice.
âWhat are you going to do next?â I manage to get out.
â Iâm going to spread your legs wide while you stretch your arms across the back of the sofa and youâre going to keep them there. Now ask me whatâs next Masterson.â
âWhatâs next?â I gasp as my head falls backs as he starts to softly kiss the inside of my knees. I know itâs a matter of time before he starts working his way up. Roman seems to really enjoy being between my legs, but not more than I like him being there. Iâm aching for him. I need to come.
He stops all movement again, and I would yell out of utter aggravation if I didnât think it would inspire him to do something far worse. I think heâs taking great pleasure in this game of denying me.
âYou forgot the last part of that question Duchess.â
Wait what?! Ohâ¦
âMasterson.â I smile. Of course. He loves it when I call by his last name.
âYouâre fucking up Duchess. Start over from the beginning.â
This time he grabs both of my nipples through my shirt and begins to roll them tightly between his thumbs and pointer fingers. A most delicious distraction that takes the orgasm that was already slowly building and rolling it straight front and center. Iâm about to come hard.
Thatâs when his hands and body back completely away from me. I want to cry and then kick him straight in the gut for stopping.
âI have one rule Duchess. Your orgasms belong to me. Youâll come when I tell you to come.â
I take a second to get control of my breathing as the immediate need to come subsides.
âLetâs try this shit again. What do I want to hear?â
âWhat are you going to do next with my body Masterson?â I ask in the most business-like tone I can muster.
âThatâs what I wanted to hear. Youâre learning. Next Iâm going to get a good hold on that beautiful ass of yours, lift you high while you hold on tight, and eat whatâs mine.â
An Alpha With Questionable Boundary Issues!
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About Lisa Lang Blakeney
I grew up an only child gorging myself on daytime soaps, night time dramas, and romance novels. I write steamy new adult contemporary romance featuring strong alpha men and the smart women they seek to claim. I tend to favor continuing storylines and sagas, although I will write a stand alone novel when inspiration strikes. My novels will probably always contain something a bit taboo, lots of dirty language, and mature content... so be warned:)
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I'm a Texas gal with a wonderful husband, an amazing six year old son, and an adorable newborn baby boy!
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