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Pretty Wicked
-- READ CHAPTER 1: Some people are called to certain things in their life. That’s what hunting is for me. An urge. A desire. The closest thing I have to a calling. My name is Ryann Wilkanson. I’m fifteen years old. And I’m a killer. It was hard to pick my first.Call me sentimental, but it had to be just right. I knew what I wanted. What I needed. Someone worth the risk, the challenge. Somebody who deserved it. Now, I’m not talking about the horrible, abusive assholes you see on TV. I wanted someone who I thought deserved it… And to be honest, that could’ve been just about anybody. Some people might think it’s odd to contemplate killing someone, but it was the most natural thing in the world to me. I didn’t dare talk about it—I somehow knew that much—but my thoughts raced with vivid, red-tinted images. While my fantasies were fun, I had to wait. I still lacked the skill and organization to actually go through with it. And, as I matured, I realized part of me was still hesitant. A piece of the puzzle was missing. It was as though I was waiting for permission. Something to give me the final push into action. Funnily enough, I got that that clarity six years ago, when I was nine. My dad thought he was simply giving me a ride to school, but he initiated the defining moment of my life. I remember it like it was yesterday. He’d just come off nights and wasn’t in the best of moods when my mom asked him to drive me and Bri. I’d raced to the car first, winning shotgun, leaving Brianna to storm behind me. She was a sore loser, and it only made my grin bigger. We were just a few blocks from the house when Dad started with one of his commentaries on all that was wrong with society. “Jesus. People like that make me sick.” We had stopped at a red light, and I spotted a guy standing on the corner with a sign that read Please Help. At first I felt kind of bad for him, and I didn’t understand why Dad was upset. “At least he’s not dealing drugs,” I suggested. “Brilliant observation. Maybe we could put that on a T-shirt for him,” Bri said. My father laughed and my stomach dropped. She never wasted an opportunity to make me look stupid. Dad grunted. “Don’t be naïve, Ry. He’s probably scraping enough together to get his fix. People like that are after one thing—and it’s not a job.” He rolled his eyes, disgusted. Not a minute later, while we were still waiting at the light, a kid in a fancy sports car passed us. “See, look at that. Punk probably had it handed to him from Mommy and Daddy. He’s what—seventeen? Probably hasn’t worked a day in his whole goddamn life. Entitled brat. This is the problem with the world. You got two lazy bums on opposite ends of the spectrum, and neither are worth their salt.” My father didn’t have a whole lot of empathy for anybody, and he certainly didn’t entertain excuses. I had to be the best if I wanted him to love me. “People need to either lead, follow—” “Or get out of the way,” I finished. He patted me on the head. I knew this rant well and kind of understood my father’s reasoning. The homeless guy couldn’t even be bothered to walk up and down the rows of stopped cars to beg. He just stood there with an empty cup. He really was a waste. I fought the urge to point out to my dad that I was nothing like those people—and never would be—but I knew he wouldn’t care. He loved me, but nothing I did seemed to impress him, especially since my older sister Brianna, the golden child, had perfected every- thing before I even had a chance to try. I had to do something really big to make an impression. I had to be a leader. In the car, all those years ago, I realized that my desires could turn into something much more. Those entitled, useless people my dad despised were taking our hard-earned money, space, and air. And I was someone with deadly urges who wasn’t afraid to do something about it. Not everyone could say that. But unfortunately, I would have to wait. I was much too young to execute my plans in the way I wanted. My thoughts, however, were uninhibited, and I became enamored with the power and control that selecting the right kill could bring. The foreplay was intoxicating. I daydreamed about the countless ways I could do it. About all the places I could sneak up and strike. About the legacy I would leave behind. For years I researched and studied serial killers— or as I liked to call them, The Greats. Most of The Greats hadn’t started until well into their adulthood. Call me an overachiever, but I wanted more kills in less time. I had all the qualities required: above-average intelligence, inside information (Dad was a cop), and a sweet cherub face. But I also had something more. Tenacity. I knew what I wanted, and come hell or high water, I was going to get it. By fifteen, the thirst inside me could finally be quenched. Cue my first planned victim—a snotty little brat who lived only a few streets away from me. Olivia McMann. Ugh. She was exhausting. Spoiled. Whiny. Brianna used to babysit her. I’d be dragged along because my parents usually worked overtime at their respective jobs. I was twelve and old enough to stay home alone, but they insisted. Like I had nothing better to do. Brianna would be online with her friends or texting her boyfriend, and she’d stick Livy with me. Olivia wouldn’t leave me alone. One night she pestered me for hours on end until I lost it on her. Then she got the quivering lip and teary eyes and went crying to Bri. Bri’s voice ripped across the room. “Ryann, what did you do now?” “Nothing! Why do you always assume it was me? Maybe Livy is being a little crybaby over absolutely nothing,” I said, arms crossed tightly across my chest. The brat came running up behind me. “You’re mean, Ryann. I hate you!” I swept my hair into a ponytail and turned my back to her. Death glare in full force, Brianna dug into me. “Why are you being such a pest? Leave Olivia alone already. Go find something to do, and don’t think for one second I’m giving you any of the money.” She proceeded to get Olivia some licorice. A reward for her evilness. Maybe they were in on it together and shared private laughs while discussing different ways to torture me. Brianna was seventeen at the time, and she hated me. No matter how hard I tried, she always dismissed me like I was an annoying pain in her ass. “Well, she’s not the one in my face right now. Go play with her for an hour until her bedtime, and maybe I won’t tell Mom.” Smiling smugly, Bri tilted her head. I wanted to punch her. As soon as we were out of her sight, Olivia stuck her tongue out at me and danced around, joyous in her victory. “See, I told you I’d get you in trouble. I always get my way. You have to do what I say.” She laughed. I promised myself I’d never forget. Back then, I’d imagined choking her or holding one of her mom’s embroidered pillows over her face until her squirming stopped. I knew her parents were well-off. Only the best for their princess. Olivia was the type of kid who tantrumed, tattled, and fake-cried to get what she wanted, no matter the cost to anyone who got in her way. Olivia was going to turn into the same kind of spoiled, manipulative bitch I’d seen time and again at school. I knew how to deal with someone like her. After all, I had killed.Once.
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Inside the Book:
Title: Sick to Death Author: Greg Levin
Release Date: September 3, 2016
Publisher: White Rock Press
Genre: Thriller/Suspense/Dark Humor
Format: Ebook/Paperback
KNOWING YOU'RE DYING CAN BE MURDER.When Gage Adder finds out he has inoperable pancreatic cancer, things really start to look up for him. He leaves his soul-crushing job, joins a nice terminal illness support group, and takes up an exciting new hobby: Beating the hell out of bad guys. Gage’s support group friends Jenna and Ellison don’t approve of his vigilante activities. Jenna says fighting never solves anything. Poison, on the other hand… When the three decide to team up and hit the streets, suddenly no rapist, pedophile or other odious criminal in the city is safe. They are the sickest of superheroes. Their superpower is nothing left to lose. But what happens when one of them takes this power too far and puts at risk the lives of hundreds of innocent people? Where does one draw the line when dying to kill? 
Meet the Author:
Greg Levin is an award-winning author of dark comedic fiction.Greg's first novel… meh, nobody but Greg really cares about his first novel.His second novel, The Exit Man, was optioned by HBO for development into a TV series and won a 2015 Independent Publishers Award (a.k.a., an “IPPY”), earning a silver medal for Best Adult Fiction Ebook. Greg’s third novel, Sick to Death, is out now and is being hailed by critics everywhere as one of the top three books he has ever written. Author Craig Clevenger (The Contortionist’s Handbook)calls Sick to Death “a tour de force dark comedy.” Greg resides with his wife, daughter and two cats in Austin, Texas, where he reportedly is wanted by local authorities for refusing to say “y’all” or do the two-step. He is currently working on his fourth novel. Visit him at http://www.greglevin.com 
——————--Tour Schedule
Monday, September 26 - Book featured at The Dark Phantom
Tuesday, September 27 - Book featured at Books, Dreams, Life
Wednesday, September 28 - Guest blogging at What Is That Book About
Thursday, September 29 - Book featured at CBY Book Club
Friday, September 30 - Book featured at The Bookworm Lodge
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Monday, October 3 - Book featured at My Bookish Pleasures
Wednesday, October 5 - Book featured at Write and Take Flight
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Monday, October 10 - Book reviewed at My Book Addiction and More
Wednesday, October 12 - Book featured at Book Cover Junkie
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Monday, October 17 - Interviewed at I'm Shelf-ish
Wednesday, October 19 - Book featured at Confessions of an Eccentric Bookaholic
Thursday, October 20 - Interviewed at Literarily Speaking
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Monday, October 24 - Book featured at Mello and June
Wednesday, October 26 - Book featured at Bound 2 Escape
Thursday, October 27 - Book reviewed at Natural Bri
Friday, October 28 - Book reviewed at Fundinmental
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Monday, October 31 - Book reviewed at Falling Over Book Reviews
Title: Fighting to Dream
Series: The Elite: Book Two Author: Nicole Flockton Genre: Adult, Sports Romance Published: September 28, 2016 
      Drake Roberts bounced down into a squat, grimacing at the sharp needle of pain in his knee. He grit his teeth and rose up again, hoping against hope his coach hadn't seen his face. He'd told Len his knee was fine. That he was fit to compete in the Olympics. Now he was here at Rio. These games were going to be his last. He hoped to win a medal. He didn’t care what color. Anyone would do. If he won, his dad would stop lamenting how he'd missed out on Olympic glory and his son had achieved what he hadn’t been able to do. Some would say Drake was living his father’s dream. He couldn’t deny it, he was. When he’d won silver at the world championships last year for the 1,500m race, he thought that might be enough for his dad, after missing out on a medal in the 2012 Olympics. Unfortunately, his win had only fueled his father to push him to work toward trying for another Olympics. After all, his father said, he got silver and if he worked harder he could get gold. So now, here he was, in the training room at Rio, nursing an injury he’d hidden from his father. He’d told his coach it was okay but he’d aggravated it when he’d taken a run around the Olympic track the day after he’d arrived. He should’ve given his knee a chance to recover from being cooped up in a plane for over eight hours. While the buzz of being at the Olympics was something you couldn’t adequately describe to anyone, unless they lived it themselves, and he wanted it all over. Once it was done he could announce his retirement from competitive running and his life wouldn’t compose of getting up at the crack ass of dawn to practice and travelling all over the States from meet to meet. He might be able to have a normal life. Although what was normal? If he didn’t win gold his father would no doubt push him to try again for the 2020 Olympics. He would be thirty then. He really didn’t want to do another four years of training. Drake closed his eyes as he squatted down again. This time the pain was sharper. He blew a breath out as he rose up again. How many more squats was he going to have to do? “You’re knee bothering you, Drake?” He swiveled around at the sound of the voice over his left shoulder, the movement doing nothing to help his knee. Behind him stood Tamara York, the team’s assistant physical trainer, easy on the eye with her honey blond hair caught in a high pony-tail and crystal blue eyes, curves in all the right places. Not so easy on the rehab exercises she had him doing when he first injured his knee. She was also the last person he wanted to know how sore his knee actually was. He knew the other guys on the track squad talked about seeing if she’d go on a date with one of them, none had tried though, they’d all been warned by TJ the head physical trainer that she was off limits. And seeing as most of the guys on the squad like their balls, they obeyed TJ. Like Joey with is sure fire, How you doing line to get the girls, Drake flashed Tamara his signature melt-your-panties smile and winked. “Nope all good here. But if you feel the need to give me a rub down, I won’t say no.” The crossing of her arms over her chest and raised eyebrow told him if he’d been standing in a bar, he’d be wearing her cocktail or whatever she was drinking all over his face. While he knew it was a sleazy line action, and he could have TJ’s wrath come down on him for flirting, he didn’t care. He didn’t want Tamara anywhere near his injury. He didn’t want her telling him his Olympic run was over before it even started. “Does that really work for you, Roberts? Or am just the lucky one you want to practice your cheesy lines on?” “It can be whatever you want it to be.” Yep, he was certifiable to keep on being super sleazy with Tamara. He hoped she would walk away and be none the wiser to what his body was going through. “Right, well I’ve been watching you and I’ve seen you cringe through every one of those squats. If you want to compete in these Games, I suggest you come see me in the treatment room after you’ve finished your practice.” She walked away, back straight, her pony-tail swishing from side to side, giving him no chance to object to her edict about their meeting in the treatment room. Great, how could his coach and TJ miss the pain he was in but Tamara hadn’t? Unless she was watching him because she was interested in him. Drake chuckled to himself and pushed the thought away. There was no way Tamara was even remotely interested in him. He was just the unlucky one she’d decided to observe that day. Forcing his attention back to warming up his body, he slightly modified his actions when completing the rest of the exercises in the hope no one else noticed his discomfort.  
     
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Lost Wolf
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Beads of sweat broke out along my hairline. I wiped them away, tightened my ponytail, and ran faster along the dirt trail, jumping over exposed roots and ducking under low-hanging branches. Pine trees, firs, and alders turned my path into more of an obstacle course than a trail. A twig snapped behind me. I glanced back, but didn’t see anything. Probably just a raccoon. My sneaker hit a root and my arms flew in front of me. I landed on my hands and knees, and slid down an incline. Rocks and branches dug into my skin until I crashed into a huckleberry bush. I stood and dusted myself off. Blood dripped from my legs. I pulled twigs, dirt, and small rocks from the cuts. “Nice work, Victoria,” I muttered to myself. Sasha had said I shouldn’t have gone into the forest for my first jog. But having just moved to the beautiful Olympic Peninsula, I wasn’t about to join a club when I had the great outdoors. Birds chirped all around and a stream bubbled nearby. It was like the woods were telling me I’d made the right choice. Another snap. “Who’s there?” I sounded a lot braver than I felt. My heart thundered against my ribcage and I whipped my head around. My roommates had said the woods were safe, but I was also trusting people who had been strangers only a couple days earlier. Why had I gone into the woods alone? Wasn’t that how half of all horror movies started? I thought of Sasha running on a treadmill, flirting with cute college guys. Maybe she was the smart one. Footsteps. “Hello?” I called. Nothing. The birds had even stopped singing. “Is anyone there?” The footsteps came closer. My pulse drummed in my ears. I fought to breathe normally. A small gray and black wolf stepped out from behind the tree. He made eye contact with me. I didn’t move a muscle, holding its gaze. 
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Dark Abigail
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo Raven’s Breath – book 1 – is FREE when you subscribe to Tish’s newsletter! --
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  PURCHASE THE BOOK HERE! About the Book Title: On The Run Author: Izai Amorim Genre: Literary Fiction New York City, early 1990s: a young, rich, and well-educated Central American man on the run from the police and Colombian drug dealers. He is accused of crimes he didn’t commit. Ready to do what it takes to survive, Pablo ironically embraces the very drug trade that threatened his life in the first place. Who is he? What is he really capable of? The question of identity is at the heart of On The Run. More than a contemporary story of survival, it’s a journey of self-discovery. Pablo’s voice is funny, sometimes mean and merciless. He moves with nightmarish ease from recounting his adventures to recollecting his early life. Not always politically correct, On The Run gives you an insightful, twisted, humorous, and often disturbing view of conflicting worlds and beliefs: North and Latin America; black, brown, and white; rich and poor; rational and esoteric—and shows how they mix, match, and clash. Author Bio “Make me think, make me laugh, make my day!” That’s why Izai Amorim reads and writes books. He has great interest in the interplay of media, information, and politics in a globalized world and the quest for identity and borders in a worldwide cultural melting pot. Izai was born and raised in Brazil but spent most of his adult life abroad, briefly in the USA, mostly in Germany. He was trained as an architect and worked many years in this profession. But his real passion is story telling. At some point in his life he decided to mix storytelling with architecture, changed professions, and became a branding consultant, something that he loves and has been doing to this day. His first novel, The Games (2013), is a humorous but dark, even mean, political thriller. This mother of all conspiracies shows how information is processed to create and spread the stories needed to establish power structures not accountable to anyone. Links My personal site: http://www.izaiamorim.com/ Book site: http://www.izaiamorim.com/ontherun.html Book on NetGalley: https://s2.netgalley.com/catalog/book/90218 Excerpt
Everything went smoothly. Yes, the whole plan was sound, and the weeks of preparations paid off. There I went, from office to office, from delivery to delivery, in and out in forty-five minutes. I could pass receptionists and secretaries without problems. No questions, no suspicions. “Larry is waiting for you....” “Mr. Silverstein will see you soon....” “Please take a seat. Mr. Roberts is on a phone call right now, could take a few minutes....” “Jim is finishing a meeting, said you should wait in his office....” The clients were all nice. No wonder. I was like Santa Claus bringing them Christmas presents. More than half bought two packages; one even bought three; a lot of unexpected extra revenue. I sold forty-five packages of cocaine that week. Adding the three packages that I had sold to Joe and Peter, the total for December was forty-eight. My income was twelve thousand dollars. It really felt like Christmas. After one of my deliveries, right after the secretary and I had made the next appointment and I was about to leave, she told me, “You must be very good at your work. Bill sounded so different on the phone right now! Before you came, he was very anxious and bitchy. Now he sounded like another guy. He hasn’t been this happy and relaxed in days. What did you do to him?” I couldn’t say that her boss had no more cocaine left when I came, and that was why he was in such a bad mood. He had done a line in front of me. When I left, he was high and happy. I winked and said, “Coaching works! Happy Christmas!” 
MK Meredith writes single title contemporary romance promising an emotional ride on heated sheets. She believes the best route to success is to never stop learning. Her lifelong love affair with peanut butter continues. Only two things come close in the battle for her affections: gorgeous heels and maybe Gerard Butler…or was it David Gandy? Who is she kidding? Her true loves are her husband and two children who have survived her SEA's (spontaneous explosions of affection) and live to tell the tale. The Meredith's live in the D.C. area with their two large fur babies...until the next adventure calls.
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Excerpt
Closing her eyes for a moment, Chase pressed her lips together and pulled a breath in through her nose. She opened her eyes, directing the happiness shining there right at him. “Thank you so much. An introduction from you was all it took. Lucinda’s beautiful, and her store’s amazing. We’ve made plans for some wonderful projects that’ll benefit both her boutique and the hotel.” Chase’s enthusiasm went straight to his gut. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth, even as dread weighed heavy in his chest. He’d have to cross Lucinda off his list of allies. “She’s so warm and inviting. We hit it off as if we’ve known each other for years. That rarely happens for me.” She took a couple steps down the sidewalk, then spun back to him and grabbed the lapel of his shirt. “Grazie.” In a flash, all his fantasies hit him at once as she pressed her hot mouth against his. The scent of mango and cocoa butter surrounded him like the Mediterranean itself. Without realizing it, he’d pulled her in high against his chest. She angled her head and sucked his lower lip into her mouth with a firm tug. Gesù, minchia. It was all he could do to keep standing. With one arm banded around her waist, he slid the other up into her hair and gripped it tight. Her moan almost sent him over the edge of decorum, and all he wanted was to press her up against the side of the centuries-old building and make history. It might be the kind that landed him in jail, but in that moment he couldn’t have cared less. She slid her tongue along his lower lip and dove in to take more. But confusion didn’t even begin to describe his feelings as she pulled back and placed three quick kisses on his lips, then pushed at his shoulders to be put down. “No.” His voice was sharp and low. Laughing, she pushed at him again. “Drago, put me down. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, but I was so relieved.” He went cold. “Relieved?”
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-- EXCERPT: The last time I saw Sam was four and a half years ago at the qualifiers for the National Debate Tournament. He was from a neighboring school and I’d seen him since freshman year at different speech tournaments, every Saturday, from the end of October through March with few exceptions. I had a sense of who he was from the start. He was Lincoln-Douglas debate all the way, baby. Smart, determined, and turning from a silent geek into one hell of a hot guy by the time we were seniors. The funny part was he didn’t know it. The awesome part was that was what drew me to him. He wasn’t awkward, like the other guys. Sam was so self-contained and knew himself so deeply that he didn’t need to talk about it, show off, or prove his manhood. Talking to Sam could be torture. Catching him in the halls, in the cafeteria with his group from his high school, and me with my group from their rival, we intersected enough to hang out. Over ice cream bars and the occasional cup of coffee by our senior year, there was an accumulation of just enough conversations for me to decide that I wasn’t crazy and that there was a spark of interest there. What happened to confirm that was burned into my brain, the second strongest memory of my life. I lost one of the most intense debates of my career two weeks before qualifiers, and Sam found me in a corner of the enormous high school auditorium. I was trying to cry quietly, and mostly not succeeding. He just found me—that’s all. He didn’t lord over the fact that he placed first in the tournament that day, to my third. He didn’t try to say all the right words that everyone thought were kind, and considerate, and comforting, and helpful. He didn’t stumble or say “I’m sorry.” He just walked up and stopped a few feet away from me, his brow lowering with a frown of recognition, and then did something so perfect it makes me ache to this day. Decisively, step by step, he closed the gap and just put his arms around me. Tucked my cheek into his chest and wound one arm around my waist, the other around my shoulders, rested his head on my hair, and held me. I would give anything to go back to that moment in the auditorium, with its cracked wood seats and its shabby, threadbare carpet, its smell of lemony bleach, to feel again how Sam filled all my senses. My ear against the wool of his suit, his arms wrapped around me like a cocoon of understanding. His aftershave, the rasp of his cheek against my ear. Sam created a world for me in that one moment, a safe world where I could cry. A world where I fell in love. What I didn’t know then was that two weeks later at the national qualifier tournament, I would dismantle that world, atom by atom, molecule by molecule, completely unaware that I was doing it at the time. 
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 Coralie Twelve years ago, I ran to stay alive. Port Royal, South Carolina, was my home. I was born there. I fell in love there. And I nearly died there. I never thought I’d go back. Now, after so many years, I have to return to bury the man who made my life a living hell. Some nights, I used to cry myself to sleep, praying my father would die. Other nights were different. Other nights, there was him. Callan Cross. My first confidante. My first kiss. My first love. My first everything: Callan was the glue that held me together when everything else was falling apart. He was my savior. He was there for me whenever I needed him… Until he wasn’t. Every night, I’ve seen the love of my life in my sleep. I just never thought I’d have to face him again. PURCHASE THE BOOK HERE!   ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Callie has experienced many changes throughout her life, and gone through many ups and downs that have all worked towards shaping and moulding her into the person she is today: fun loving, active, social, and hard working. The only thing that has remained a constant throughout her life is writing. Creating characters who will tear your conscience in two is a favorite pastime of Callie’s. There are few real saints and sinners in her books; more often, the denizens of her stories are all very human. Broken, flawed, and always with the potential for redemption. Despite the subject matter being markedly hot and heavy in comparison to the stories she wrote in elementary school, there will always be an element of fairytale to her work. Callie Hart is the author of the Blood & Roses Series. Zeth & Sloane’s story is now complete, but there are a number of stories still to be released under the Blood & Roses banner. 2015 will see Cade, Michael and Rebel’s stories being released, as well as a number of brand new stories, all of which will be Dark Romance novels. If you would like to contact Callie, you can do so here. If you would like to sign up to Callie’s newsletter for info on upcoming releases, exclusive teasers, excerpts and competitions, you can do so here. 
Title: The Seer's Daughter
Series: Beyond the Grave, Book 1
Author: Athena Daniels
Published: November 9th 2015
Publisher: Sunset Coast Publishing
Genre: Romance / Paranormal / Suspense
Recommended Age: 18+
Synopsis:
To save her, he must let go of everything he ever believed.
Upon returning to her hometown for her grandmother’s funeral, Sage Matthews is terrorized by a series of strange events. She dismisses each eerie occurrence as a by-product of her overwrought emotional state, until it becomes chillingly clear that something not of this world is desperate to get a message—or is it a warning?—through to her…
Detective Sergeant Ethan Blade comes to Cryton, South Australia, to catch a serial killer. When Ethan meets Sage—the latest victim’s beautiful granddaughter—his attraction to her is explosive and inconvenient. He knows she’s not crazy, but Sage’s theory about the murders is unbelievable.
With the handsome detective rejecting her ideas, Sage embarks on the supernatural journey that her grandmother started. What she discovers shatters everything Sage ever knew about herself—and who she really is.
Ethan’s routine case quickly turns personal when he discovers Sage is the killer’s next target. For her, he’ll break all the rules and cross every line. But how can he protect Sage from an evil he cannot even conceive of?
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About the Author:
Athena Daniels lives on the northern beaches of sunny Western Australia, where she writes romantic suspense and paranormal romance.
Athena is the author of romantic thriller Desperate and the first two books in the Beyond the Grave series, The Seer’s Daughter and The Alchemist’s Son. The Seer’s Daughter was a Top Pick at The Romance Reviews and was featured in AusRom Today’s January 2016 top-twenty list of “Lust-Have Sci-Fi, Paranormal, and Fantasy Novelists.â€
Athena has a natural curiosity about the “more†there is in life, and holds several qualifications in metaphysics and natural therapies. She is a neuro-linguistic programming (NLP) practitioner, life coach, and feng shui specialist.
To learn more about Athena, or to take a sneak peek at what’s coming next, visit her online or connect with her on social media. www.athenadaniels.com
Giveaway Details:
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
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Ends October 4th, 2016 at 11:59 PM EDT
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