FORBIDDEN LAUNCH TOUR CELEBRATION: Excerpt–A Vicious Attack

Well hello, beloved followers. As promised, today Feather Stone is guest posting as part of the Forbidden book launch tour. Check out the schedule listed below for her other appearances. 🙂 There’s also a giveaway and the book is FREE for the next few days. Details are below!

Today’s post features an excerpt from the novel I reviewed on Monday. Check out my review HERE.

Welcome to Forbidden’s book launch celebration

Better Wear Your Flak Jacket

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FORBIDDEN eBOOK IS FREE

February 14th to 18th at AMAZON

book-cover-three-dimensional-finalSynopsis:

Year 2047, City of Samarra, capital of the Republic of Islāmic Provinces & Territories

Fifteen American travelers have vanished. Surrendering to Mayor Aamir’s demands, Captain Sharif becomes the reluctant keeper of his city’s bloody secret – and the witness, Eliza MacKay. The devout Muslim is horrified to discover that if he exposes the cover-up, his family will suffer dire consequences.

The CIA has the lying Sharif in their cross hairs. Sharif’s only hope is to prove his country’s government is free of guilt. Secretly, he hunts forensic evidence. Cryptic messages, backstabbing informants, and corruption threaten Sharif’s resolve to see justice served. When he discovers the shocking truth, he and MacKay become the targets of a ruthless killer.

Sharif is tortured by his attraction to the impetuous Eliza MacKay. In spite of her struggle with PTSD, he’s drawn to her vivacious personality. Islam forbids the intimacy he craves. In desperation to save Eliza, Sharif plots an act most forbidden and fatal.

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TODAY’S FEATURE IS – A Vicious Attack

City of Samarra, Republic of Islāmic Provinces & Territories

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Guardian Mosque, City of Samarra, RIPT

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Feigning sleep, Eliza listened to the sound of Sharif making coffee in his kitchen at the end of his shift. A breeze from the open window carried the scent of his clothes toward her. The distinct smell of gun-fired residue and blood made her gag. She decided not to wait for him to kick the bed to wake her. She got up and dressed in the bathroom. Without saying a word, Eliza zipped out to the hallway.

She listened as the ancient city of Samarra woke up to harmonic sounds. The city came to life each morning at six o’clock with the first call to prayer: Fajr, the prayer before sunrise. The haunting musical sound of the Muezzin called the devoted. Dogs, roused by the earnest supplication, barked. Even Eliza, who had no religious convictions, sat in quiet contemplation, deeply moved. She stilled her mind’s chatter and waited.

Waited for a thread of wisdom to be shared by The One Most High. Waited for merciful revelation of why she had survived and her little boys had suffered and died. Waited alone in the heavy silence.

With each of the four daily prayers, Eliza had watched in awe as the city’s ambiance shifted during prayer. Even within the compound walls, the Muslim faithful halted their activities for prayers. An air of tranquility was palpable. Even those who appeared less devout and ignored the religious practice slowed their pace. The Muezzin’s melodious voice reminded the devout of their connection with Allah, of the teachings of Islam’s prophet, Muhammad.

She had learned that everyone regardless of rank, wealth, sins, or honor stood shoulder to shoulder and intoned their praises to Allah, the forgiver of sins, the lord of peace and harmony. Women were segregated to the rear of the prayer hall, the musallah – for sake of modesty, Eliza had been told.

She eavesdropped on Sharif’s prayers. The change in his demeanor struck her. He became like a child singing songs of praise to an adoring father. His devotion to Islam and the teachings of the prophet Muhammad appeared to be based on genuine love, rather than fear of Allah’s punishment.

When Sharif had gone to bed, she listened and watched as the city’s soul burst forth. From her high vantage point, she could see the insane rush of traffic, businessmen competing for a cab, and women ushering their children to school. The vibrancy of the scene reminded Eliza of the excitement of Cairo. Old men bravely pushed carts of vegetables and fruit, others skillfully herded their goats among the passing vehicles. An air of expectancy, anticipation, even urgency in the way the citizens walked and talked spoke of their eagerness to get on with day.

She opened the kitchen window which offered view of the city. A few blocks away, a wide river rushed toward the Persian Gulf, a few thousand miles to the south. A treed park bordered its banks. She spotted a soccer field, possibly a school, and a two-story mall. Tall office buildings and luxury hotels in the distance dotted the downtown section. The four minarets of the city’s ancient Guardian Mosque reached high into the morning’s tangerine sky.

In so many ways, Samarra appeared like every other urban center stuck in the 1990’s, with a strong agricultural element. Adapting over thousands of years, the city had endured countless invasions and survived as a phoenix rising from the ashes time and time again. The land possessed a soul. It emanated an energy of an untouchable guru – indifferent and yet passionate, unconquerable and yet benevolent.

Eliza felt a connection to the land, its history, and its people. It was more than the exotic culture’s sensory seduction of spices, architecture, and mystical landscape. As the human race migrated out of Africa thousands of years ago, tribes had settled in the Middle East. Perhaps the ancient bones of her ancestors lay in unmarked graves beneath her feet. She sent a prayer to the old ones, just in case they were open to favor her with a miracle.

Eliza began making breakfast. She placed the frying pan on the little stove, careful to not wake her keeper. She made scrambled eggs with peppers and onions mixed in. Aromatic coffee infused a feeling of home.

Sharif had bought her a jar of blueberry jam. “For good behavior,” he had said as he set the glass jar onto the old wooden table with a smack, and left.

A white cloth-covered the small worn table. Well, it used to be white. It looked as though it had been used for multiple tasks, perhaps wiping up spills from the floor and soaking up blood from a wound. It appeared clean.

The aromas of street food vendors blended with the car exhaust, her eggs, and the blueberry jam on her bread. Eliza settled in for another long day keeping her distance from Sharif, and dodging her PTSD triggers.

She glanced around the room. It was getting smaller. Her heart pounded. She forced her shoulders to relax. I’ve got to get out of here, she thought as she forced down a mouthful of her breakfast. Yesterday she had pressed Sharif for time outside. His reply remained steadfast, “Not today.” When she had continued to push for more freedom, he threatened to put her in a regular cell and build a cement wall to keep her out of sight.

Over the past four days, she had developed a routine to pass the time. Yoga, meditation, snack, repeat. However, today she had reached the outer limits of controlling the PTSD, triggered by the walls closing in.

While Sharif slept, she planned to inform the day shift officer, Captain Khizar, she was going for a walk. She shivered. When Sharif had introduced him to her, Khizar barely acknowledged her. She had detected the smirk on the senior officer’s thin face. Her intuition emphasized the need to tread carefully around the officer who walked with a limp.

Eliza wore the required black uniform, put on her polished work boots, and pushed her hair up under the black cap. At the bottom of the stairs she listened for sounds of the men. She approached Khizar’s office and sighed with relief to find he had left. Going down a short hallway, Eliza turned right towards the crew quarters’ door. She hesitated, listening for sounds that indicated the mood of the cops.

Belly laughter and smacks against the wall made the door shudder. The men were absorbed in their amusement and might not be interested in challenging her request.

Eliza knocked on the door, careful to sound neither cowardly, nor aggressive. The door was swung open by a constable.

She held her breath. Skilled at hiding her emotions, Eliza looked into the officer’s eyes. The officer relaxed a little. An intimidating smirk grew on his face. Three other men in the room gathered behind him.

The day sergeant, a heavy-set man, came forward and said in a trivializing manner, “The whore is mine. Leave her to me.”

The sergeant sauntered up to her. His eyes lit up like those of a child about to open a birthday gift. He lowered his gaze to her dark boots, and then raised his focus to her mid-section, then to her chest. Finally, he looked at her eyes.

Eliza did not change her expression from that of bland indifference to his suggestive piercing stare. He had called her a whore, but she repressed the impulse to admonish him. She resisted the urge to put her hands on her hips. That would be sexually suggestive and body language might defeat her faster than the wrong choice of words.

“My apologies for the interruption,” she said in Arabic, her voice trembling despite her resolve. “I’m going for a walk.” She swung around toward the exit door.

The officers chuckled as the sergeant stepped forward and blocked her. His face came uncomfortably close to hers. He spoke with a grin, accompanied by the rhythmic flexing and gyrating of his hips.

“Welcome. Come in.” The three men cheered as the sergeant grabbed her shirt and pulled her into the room.

 

LAUNCH SCHEDULE

February 13:

Review by Lily Eva Blake

February 14:

Guest Post with Pat Garcia

Review and Guest Post with Juneta Key

February 15:

Featured in OPAL Magazine

Guest Post with Lily Eva Blake

February 16:

Review and Showcase with Nicki Elson

Showcase with Jennifer Lane

February 17:

Showcase with Nancee Cain

Interview with Tyler Wiegmann

February 18:

Review and Showcase with Yolanda Renee

Showcase with Michelle Willms

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Romance Under Fire
Author Feather Stone / F. Stone / Judy Weir:

1-b078f2221d6ec0463539f01708b9e727On our cattle ranch, when an animal was in distress or injured, I was put in charge of nursing it back to health. Never mind that I was just a kid and hated the sight of blood, but I had to muster up the courage to apply home remedies. My survival rate was pretty good. It seemed like a foregone conclusion that I would progress to nursing – humans. After one year into nurses training, I bolted. Bed pans and chronic diseases pushed me in different direction; a career of dealing with drug addicts, murder, suicide, fatalities, and biker gangs. In 1983 I graduated with honors as a paramedic and worked in the City of Edmonton’s Emergency Services.

For the next twenty years, I came face to face with scenes most people would rather not think about. I loved it. Having experienced life in the most deadly and gut-wrenching events, and work alongside the police service, I gained the fodder for creating intense novels.

My first novel, The Guardian’s Wildchild, was published by Omnific Publishing in 2011. The setting is on a naval ship, under the command of a surely man who is under suspicion of treason. When a battered woman is brought to his ship for execution, he has no idea that she is about to turn his disciplined life into chaos – and that she is no ordinary woman. The Guardian’s Wildchild has a rating of 4.1 at Amazon.

Social Media Links: Stop by and say hello at:

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Book Release – THE VIEW FROM MY HEELS – WIN CHARLES

Hey everyone. Sorry I haven’t been around much. If you’ve checked my other blog recently, you’ll know that I’ve been under the weather for the past few weeks. Now that I’m back, I’m happy to help promote the re-release of an amazing young lady’s book, A View from My Heels.

If I did book releases and such on my other blog, I’d definitely include this one. (Something I’ll have to consider for inspiration). Read on my dears!

 

About The View from My Heels

Heels

 

Win Charles has Cerebral Palsy—she also has a thriving jewelry design company, enough metal in her feet to set off any airport’s metal detector, and a love of snowboarding. How do all of these things fit together?
Don’t be fooled. This isn’t a novel about hardships or all of the things a young woman with a disability can’t do. This is a story about LIVING, about doing it anyway, and about passion.

The View from My Heels is a novel about a young lady with Cerebral Palsy who has a driving ambition to become a well-known jewelry designer. And she’s well on her way. In fact, she might even be better at accessorizing than you!

A View From My Heels gives hope and inspiration to the disabled community. Win Charles is an example of triumph that will leave its mark on your heart long after you’ve finished the book and set it down.

 

Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JXT3V6Y/

B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-view-from-my-heels-win-k-charles/1119283559?ean=2940151734516

iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-view-from-my-heels/id972392335?mt=11&uo=4

 

Win

 

Born with Cerebral Palsy, Win Charles has defied the odds by becoming an author. Her memoir I, Win is an amazing story of how she remembers her life through the years of having a condition called “CP”. As a competitor in the Kona Iron Man Triathlon, CEO of her own jewelry design company, and motivational speaker, Win Charles truly is an inspiration to many. Today Win Charles tours the country, speaking to schools and institutions to raise awareness about cerebral palsy and living a full life no matter what holds you back. She is also an advocate of veterans across the world.

 

Show your support: Sign up for Win’s newsletter to stay updated on new releases and appearances.

 

Or find her here:

Facebook

Twitter

Website

Win’s custom jewelry and art

Audio Book

 

Enter to win an exclusively created 10×10 canvas painting by Win Charles!

Winpnt

 

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Hope for Her Book Release – Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

HopeBanner

RELEASE DAY BLITZ

Hope for Her By Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

Release Date: October 1, 2014

Get it on Kobo: http://bit.ly/HopeKobo

Get it on Amazon: http://bit.ly/HopeAmazon

Get it at Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/HopeBnN

Hope

No one ever expected much from him.

Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV is on his last chance. A stint in rehab and a transfer to a new school has scared him into putting his life on track. He’s determined to live up to his family’s expectations, but on the first day of class, Josh meets a girl, and he knows his father won’t approve, but in Carrington, he sees a kindred spirit. He’s willing to give up everything to be with her.

No one ever thought she was special.

Carrington Olivia Butler is ready to shine. Always in the shadows of her siblings, she goes away to college to break out of her shell. All Carrington wants is to feel special. Josh’s attention is exactly what she craves, but their intense and sometimes volatile relationship is more than what she bargained for.

Josh’s demons return, and Carrington’s feelings fade, but both aren’t ready to give up hope. They give their love one last shot to survive, but hope, may not be enough.

**This book contains adult subject matter. Not intended for young readers.**

Sydney has decided to offer the NEW Kindle with touch screen
capabilities as a giveaway for the Release Day Blitz of Hope for Her!

Click on the link below!!!

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~*~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~*~

Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a New Adult Contemporary Romance writer, a voracious reader and movie fanatic who hails from Texas.

After surviving 5 1/2 years living in China, she had the courage to finally pursue her passion and become a writer.

Sydney has been blogging at sydneyaaliyah.com for three years, where she interviews people about their tattoos, discusses her favorite movie quotes, reviews books (New Adult & only the ones she loves) and journals about her writing and editing process.

Sydney’s self-published début New Adult Novel Another New Life was released in May 2014.

An active tweeter, she is also a JuNoWriMo (2x) and NaNoWriMo (2x) winner who notes the sci-fi action flick “The Matrix” as the best representation of her life in the past. She is now awake.

She can recite the entire script for the 80’s teen comedy/drama “The Breakfast Club” and loves any and everything associated with the Avengers Movie, especially Tony Stark.

When it come to books, Sydney reads different genres, but some of her favorite writers are Stephen King, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Cora Carmack & Emily Bronte. Under the Dome, The Great Gatsby & Wuthering Heights are her favorite books.

~*~EXCERPT~*~

I reached out and grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She resisted,

pushing and punching my arms and shoulders. I wanted her to fight me. To hit me and scream and show me what I did to her.

After a while, she collapsed in my arms, exhausted from fighting, but her sobs continued for several more minutes. My neck and chest dampened from her tears, and her whole body convulsed when she released an uncontrollable series of coughs. It shook us both, but I held on tight. The vibration of our bodies glued together made me hard, and I found it difficult to concentrate. I tried to push those thoughts out of my head. I wanted her to understand.

It tore me up to know I caused her an ounce of pain. I held her tight with one arm and stroked her back with the other. Each stroke, her body softened. When her last bit of energy drained, I turned us around and her back was up against my car. I placed my hands on her hips; she whimpered as I lifted her and sat her on the trunk.

Her damp hair stuck to her face, and I pushed it away. I wiped her eyes and lifted her chin.

“How could you leave me like that?” she asked. The desperation in her voice

fucked with my mind. I hated myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as my lips sweep across her cheek. She tensed. I

expressed my gratitude by kissing her other cheek. She whimpered, and my heart

cracked.

I kissed her forehead, dropped my hands to her waist, and her head fell forward without my support.

“Why?” she asked. Her voice sounded defeated, but defiant. She wanted an

answer. She deserved an answer.

“Since I meet you, I’ve had the time of my life.” I kissed her jawline as I placed

my hands on her thighs. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” As my lips moved to her ear, she leaned into me. I pushed her legs apart. I wanted to hold her, get closer to her. She relaxed more with every kiss. “I want to be with you so bad.” When I reached her earlobe, I bit it, and she moaned. “But eventually you’re going to leave me.”

MMW