Monday, December 3, 2018

Twelve Days by Hope Waters @hopewatersbooks #romance


TWELVE DAYS by Hope Waters, Romance, 212 pp., $.99 (kindle)

Title: TWELVE DAYS
Author: Hope Waters
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 212
Genre: Romance

Zoey Blake is having a perfect holiday season. Finals are over and it’s time to head home for Christmas, but when she wins the Hartbreakers True Love contest to join them on their tour, she has a chance to follow her favorite band for twelve days — and twelve steamy nights.

Mackenzie has been a player since and joining Hartbreakers has only edged up his game, that is until he meets Zoey. She’s turned his world upside down and only she can make it right. Now all he has to do is convince her to stay with him forever. For a guy like Mack, that shouldn’t be too hard but it’s gonna take all he has and twelve days to win her true love.

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“So this is your room?”
I nodded, hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder. I leaned up against the doorjamb, watching all the people running up and down the corridor as they settled into the hotel for the night.
Mack leaned against the wall, glanced at his phone and tried to stifle a sigh. “Tired?” I asked.
“Incredibly,” he said sheepishly.
“Why didn’t you take a nap this afternoon?” I asked.
“Because…I wanted to talk to you.”
I smiled. Mack wore his heart on his sleeve. He was a straight shooter and I admired that about him. You couldn’t dislike him either. “That’s sweet,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said and looked into my eyes. I met his gaze, not wanting to break the magic of this moment.  “Um, was…would you like to, you know, see more of each other while you are on tour with us?”
A pit started in my stomach. I wasn’t sure what I was most scared of. I was scared that Mack would hurt me emotionally. I was scared of leaving him behind after the tour was done. Or him using me and leaving me behind.
But most of all I was scared of falling for him. Scratch that. I had already fallen hard.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said.
He leaned into me and I met him halfway.
God, he was a good kisser.








Hope Waters has been writing romance for over thirty years, traveling the globe but finally finding true love and now lives in Florida with her family.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website Address: http://www.hopewaters.net

http://www.pumpupyourbook.com

Slay Bells (A Christmas Village Mystery) by T.C. Wescott @mousetrapbooks #mystery


SLAY BELLS by T.C. Wescott, Mystery, 230 pp., $4.99 (kindle)


Title: SLAY BELLS (A CHRISTMAS VILLAGE MYSTERY)
Author: T.C. Wescott
Publisher: Better Mousetrap Books
Pages: 230
Genre: Cozy Mystery

‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the village, the night settled in over swirling-smoke chimneys; the air was alive with pine and holly, with sugar and cinnamon and cider, by golly!

Along snowy lanes and through shadows it crept, past windows behind which each villager slept, where sleeping dogs lie and cats rest a’purring-

Tonight, in Christmas Village, a killer is stirring.

Welcome to Christmas Village, a magical hamlet where even in December the roses hold their luster and bees buzz among the bluebells. Nestled betwixt an opulent garden with meandering footpaths and an ancient grove of plum trees, Rose Willoughby’s boarding house is plum-full with lodgers. There are no vacancies, but just wait. Soon there will be one…and another…and another.

When the Inn’s guests begin dying in inexplicable ways, some villagers believe a beast from old village lore is the culprit. The sheriff knows better, but he’s just as helpless to catch the invisible killer as are the town folk with their eyes to the sky in search of a flying creature. But our mysterious murderer hasn’t counted on yet another lodger coming to the cottage: Maribel Claus.

Short as a stump, round as a wheel, sweet as a candy cane, and a sharp as a whip, Maribel loves a good puzzle. But can she unmask the phantom killer in time and save Christmas?

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PROLOGUE

Night settles in over smoking chimneys and snow-capped rooftops.

A potpourri of pine, holly, and cinnamon swirls in the breeze over white pastures and along sleepy lanes as festive decorations left hanging on each street lamp and along every thoroughfare dance upon its passing.

Winter birds offer up their sing-song as the rows of cottage windows blink out their goodnights.

But for many in the happy hamlet of Christmas Village, the night will be a short one, made restless with excitement for the morning when they will rise early to prepare for the inaugural day of the annual Christmas Festival.

The festival, running the full week before Christmas Eve, is the last great hurrah of the year, barring the ringing of the new year bells. It is no exaggeration to say that the best hope one has of experiencing something more glorious is to return the following year for the next Festival.

So, it is with smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts that every soul in the village, farmer and squire alike, closes their eyes in anticipation of sunrise.

One among them will not live to see the sun.

Something moves among the birds, along the snowy lanes, skirting the light in favor of shadow.

In Christmas Village, this night, a creature is stirring.




T.C. Wescott was born in Missouri but has lived in Oklahoma most of his life. Like pretty much every author who has ever breathed, he is an avid reader. His favorites are classic mysteries from the Golden Age, as well as just before or just after that period (which is widely considered the period between the two World Wars). His first mystery novel, Running from Scissors, was published in July 2018 and will be the first of at least three books in the Running Store Mystery series.

The Christmas Village Mystery series launched in November of the same year with the debut title Slay Bells. The formula for his books is simple – mixing the classic, traditional detective fiction standards with all the trappings of the modern cozy mystery.

Wescott is also (under another name) the author of two award-winning non-fiction books as well as many essays and articles.

His latest book is the cozy mystery, Slay Bells (A Christmas Village Mystery).

Website Address: www.tcwescott.com
Twitter Address: www.twitter.com/MousetrapBooks
Facebook Address: www.facebook.com/BetterMousetrapBooks
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Bargaining With the Billionaire Bodyguard by Lisa Weaver @dreamweavings #romance #suspense


BARGAINING WITH THE BILLIONAIRE BODYGUARD by Lisa Weaver, Romantic Suspense, 288 pp., $2.99 (kindle)


Title: BARGAINING WITH THE MILLIONAIRE BODYGUARD
Author: Lisa Weaver
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 244
Genre: Romantic Suspense

Having miraculously survived the bombing that blasted his private jet out of the sky, billionaire Donovan White has dedicated his life to the pursuit of justice. Now a covert operative for the Sentinels Agency, he is closing in on the man responsible for the crash. When his mission is nearly botched by a spunky reporter with a score of her own to settle, he reluctantly strikes a bargain with the one woman who just might be capable of decimating his love proof armor.

Reporter Madison Tremaine will do anything to nab the exclusive she must write to secure the promotion she desperately needs—even if it means bargaining with a devilish billionaire. Once burned, twice shy, she has serious reservations about partnering with Donovan, but there’s more than a career upgrade at stake. Her ability to unearth the truth surrounding a newly discovered family secret hinges on the sexy billionaire.

When their quests collide, will their dangerous deal lead to love or will it cost them more than either of them bargained for?

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Amazon






Chapter One

She was going to self-combust. She was sure of it.
Downing a gulp of strawberry spritzer from the chilled glass in her hand, Madison Tremaine resisted the urge to fan her face to cool the heat rising there. It was bad enough she was the only woman at the bar in this glitzy nightclub without a date, the last thing she needed to do was draw more attention to herself.
Against her volition, her gaze drifted back to the stranger who was responsible for setting her aflame. Those piercing blue eyes, though! And the man’s perfection didn’t end at those show-stealing, mesmerizing windows into his soul. From the top of his head of stylishly-tamed curls to the tips of his Ferragamo shod toes and every millimeter of chiseled muscle in between, the dark-haired guy standing alone at the far end of the bar was the epitome of scrumptious.
Too bad she was on a strict yumminess-free diet, courtesy of her ex-fiancé’s betrayal. She’d adored Eric, but he’d thrown her love for him back in her face and turned her heart into a crime scene.
She was over him, now. Her days of treading the serious relationship path were over, too. But if there was ever a man worth breaking her love embargo over it was this one. Thankfully, common sense roadblocked her driving inclination to get to know the sexy stranger. She couldn’t afford that indulgence. She was here for business tonight, not pleasure, and Mr. Dreamy Eyes would only splinter her focus.
Actually, ‘splinter’ was putting it mildly. She was quite certain the handsome stranger was capable of blowing said focus to smithereens.
As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, the owner of those deliciously sexy peepers raised his glass in salute, shooting her a grin that had her hormones whimpering in eager surrender.
Reluctantly tearing her gaze away from the intriguing planes and angles that made up his sculpture-worthy face, Madison shoved aside the driving compulsion to explore where the blatant interest his body language was telegraphing might lead. There was no way she could go there. Both professionally and personally, there was too much riding on the assignment she was here to carry out.
A reporter for the Daily Commentator, she was here tonight to secure an interview that could very well be career defining. Her shot at landing the promotion she so desperately needed hinged on convincing one of the state of New York’s most speculated about billionaires to share the story of his rise from abject poverty to rolling-in-it riches. She was here to track that billionaire down, but Mr. Dreamy Eyes made her want to back-burner the task at hand and skip directly to playtime.
She promptly stamped down the urge to take him up on the invitation simmering in his gaze. No one on her paper’s payroll—or any other paper’s for that matter—had managed to garner a sit-down with media-shy business mogul Alan Sonetti. She had every intention of succeeding where they hadn’t.
For her brother’s sake, she had to.
Alan Sonetti had ignored her fellow reporters’ attempts to connect with him via phone calls and e-mails, so she was employing a different tactic to try and secure an interview with the elusive playboy billionaire. If the mountain wouldn’t come to her, then she would go to the mountain.
The only downside to her plan was that this particular mountain happened to reside in a mansion that was more secure than most fortresses, and his corporate headquarters was a stronghold, as well. With zero chance of getting face-time with him at either location, she decided to seek him out at the flagship of his chain of clubs where it was rumored he surfaced on rare occasion.
After getting a tip that tonight might be one of those rare occasions, Madison had shared her plan with her editor, Felicia, who had given her stratagem her wholehearted backing.
More than just her boss, Felicia was also a good friend. Earlier today, Felicia had called her into her office and handed her a shopping bag emblazoned with the logo of a high-end retailer.
“A little something for you to wear tonight when you visit the club,” she’d announced, looking immensely pleased with herself.
A peek in the bag had revealed a slip of black silk nestled in a bed of tissue paper. “A scarf?”
“Very funny. It’s a dress.”
“There’s not enough yardage here to qualify as a dress.”
“You can dispense with the eye rolling. Trust me on this. Senetti’s caters to the silver spoon set, and designer micro-minis are de rigueur there. Besides, if you want a face-to-face with the man himself you need to get his attention. I guarantee he won’t be able to take his eyes off you in that outfit.”
“But…”
“There is no but. Just wear the dress. That is unless you don’t want the promotion?”
Oh, she wanted it. She’d never wanted something so badly in her entire life. The new position would super-size her paycheck, which meant she’d be able to help Matt. Since she was the reason her brother was in a bind in the first place, failure wasn’t an option.
It was that drive to succeed that had her shimmying into the wispy garment that was the polar opposite of her usual office armor of tailored slacks and blouses, and joining the crowd queued up to gain entry into the nightlife hotspot that carried Senetti’s surname as well as his personal stamp of posh.
It wasn’t until the doorman ushered her inside that it struck her just how far out of her element she truly was. Felicia’s gift served as terrific camouflage, but it didn’t prevent her from suffering from one mega case of fish-out-of-water-itis. Sonetti’s catered to the rich and famous, a demographic she was light years away from meshing with.
It was some consolation that she wasn’t the only square peg trying to fit into this round hole of a nightclub. Even though this realm of the mega-rich might as well be the planet Mars in her book, she’d bet her last dollar the real-life Artemision bronze at the bar was as much of an outsider here as she was.
It wasn’t that Mr. Dreamy Eyes didn’t fit in with the clientele here when it came to net wealth. His clothing and demeanor were the epitome of refined and urbane, and he carried himself with an easy grace and sophistication that spoke of a bank balance that matched or exceeded those of the affluent partiers in this exclusive hot spot. His smoldering gaze, however, telegraphed something altogether different. Something primal, dangerous, and untamed—something that made it clear he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the others.
She found that something irresistibly compelling.
Shaking her head, she reminded herself that she wasn’t here to get this sexy stranger’s story. It was Alan Sonetti she was after. Unfortunately, she wasn’t making any progress towards that end. If Alan was here tonight, she’d yet to spot him.
Curling a strand of her hair around her pinkie, she tried to ignore the bitter disappointment burning a hole in the pit of her stomach. Her deadline was looming. If she didn’t land this story soon, she could kiss any chance she might have of earning that promotion goodbye.
Resuming her search with renewed determination, she scanned the club for her quarry. Moments later, her gaze inadvertently tangled with the sexy stranger’s again.
The accidental eye contact sent a bolt of impossible-to-ignore chemistry zipping between them, and a wave of heat rushed to her cheeks. As the sensual pull of attraction wove through her, it struck her that tonight wasn’t the first time she’d seen this man. 
Drinking in the details of his perfect features, she only grew more certain she’d seen those high cheekbones and that classically aquiline nose before. But where?
She’d discounted half a dozen possible reasons why he seemed so familiar when her cell phone chimed, announcing an incoming text from Felicia.
“Find him?” the text read.
“Not yet, but I will.” she texted back in reply.
“That’s the spirit. R U behaving?”
Madison’s mouth curved in a cat-caught-the-canary smile as she keyed her response. “Sort of. Might be guilty of indulging in an eye candy fest.” Discretely using her cell phone to snap a photo of the visual treat in question, she sent the picture off to her friend.
“OMG,” Felicia texted back.
“I know, right?” she typed in reply.
Felicia’s response pinged back immediately. “Do you know who that is?”
“He looks familiar, but…?”
“He’s a billionaire, just not the one you’re chasing down. He made headlines two years ago. Plane crash.”
Felicia’s prompt was all it took for the ‘ah ha’ moment to dawn. Small plane crashes rarely became the focus of national news, but when the disaster involved a private jet piloted by one of the inamoratos of the rich and famous the story definitely merited prime billing. The newsworthy-factor doubled when word leaked that the only other person on board the plane was a popular young Hollywood actress, Vanessa Ashcroft.
Madison’s fingers quivered with excitement as she keyed her reply. “Donovan White!”
Her editor’s enthusiastic confirmation flashed across the phone’s screen. “Yes!”
Madison couldn’t believe her luck.  She’d come here in pursuit of one story and another one had quite possibly just fallen into her lap. Donovan White hadn’t been spotted in New York since shortly after his accident two years ago. When his aircraft had gone down over the ocean near a remote Brazilian jungle, rescue crews hadn’t been able to locate the wreckage. It had been assumed there were no survivors, but a last-ditch search effort had led to the billionaire’s discovery on an uninhabited island miles from the presumed crash site.
Donovan White had miraculously beaten the odds. Vanessa Ashcroft hadn’t been so fortunate.
After attending Vanessa’s funeral, Donovan had retreated from the social scene he’d held court over and left New York. From that point on, the billionaire playboy who’d once featured regularly on almost every society page had pulled a vanishing act. Rumor had it he’d joined in the operation of his family’s California vineyard.
Then why, after withdrawing into utter seclusion, had he suddenly surfaced here at the apex of the social spotlight he’d abandoned? Madison had a feeling if she could answer that question, she would have the makings of a scintillating headline.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Donovan White rubbed at eyes that were gritty from too much caffeine and too little sleep. Two years ago, clubbing had been one of his go-to pastimes. He’d reveled in the throbbing beat of the music and fed off the energy of the crowd.
He wasn’t that man any longer.
Now the strobing lights, ear-drum-busting din of the band, and the obnoxious clashing of a myriad of warring designer perfumes only grated on his nerves—nerves that were already stretched thin by the dire nature of the mission he was here to carry out.
A covert operative for the Sentinels Agency, he’d invested countless hours over the past few months knitting together a tenuous bridge to Alan Sonetti. It was believed that Sonetti was doing business with master mobster Lawrence Mendacci, and the bridge he’d cobbled together just might bring the agency one step closer to putting an end to Mendacci’s reign of terror.
Gaining Sonetti’s trust hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to convince the man he was every bit his match when it came to treading in the gray. He was here to rendezvous with the club owner after being granted his first face-to-face meeting with him.
So far he’d been left cooling his heels.
He despised waiting. It gave him too much time to think about things he wanted to keep tucked away in the ‘do not disturb’ section of his mind—too much time to dwell on the way lives had been irrevocably changed in the aftermath of the crash he’d been unable to prevent.
He was determined to do everything in his power to prevent future tragedies. Tonight’s meeting would open the door to doing just that. Liz Meyers, the dynamo at the helm of Sentinels who’d recruited and trained him, had tasked him with entrenching himself within Sonetti’s organization. He wasn’t about to let her down.
And so he would wait. He could be patient if this temporary inconvenience brought the Sentinels Agency one step closer to quashing Lawrence Mendacci’s blood trail and bringing an end to the mobster’s reign of terror.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that his wait came with an unexpected reward—an enticing distraction from the tedium of being on Sonetti’s stand-by list in the form of a blue-eyed, ebony haired angel at the bar. The pulse-stutteringly beautiful woman practically vibrated with barely suppressed energy. She’d captured his attention the instant she’d swept into the club.
He wasn’t the only one who’d taken notice of her. Despite the fact that he and the bartender were the only men in the establishment without a woman hanging on their arm, that didn’t stop the other male patrons from checking the sexy siren out. 
And who could blame them? The beauty wore a flashy designer mini dress that highlighted her curves, paired with sky-high stilettos that accentuated her long, shapely legs. Her stunning face was framed by a cascade of dark hair that glinted with burgundy highlights.
The urge to thread his fingers through those seductive strands of ebony silk flared hot and insistent, surprising in its intensity. He chalked the craving up to not having had a woman in his life since Vanessa, but he knew it was more than that. There was something about this woman that called to him. She looked like she was here on a mission, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her quest might be.
Noticing his interested perusal of the beauty, the bartender quirked an eyebrow in masculine solidarity. “Not hard on the eyes, is she?”
“That she’s not.”
“Why don’t you do yourself a favor and buy her a drink?”
It was a shame he didn’t have time for such a pleasant distraction at the moment. If he did, he wouldn’t need the bartender’s urgings to connect with the woman. 
“I would if I wasn’t here on business,” he replied. “I’m waiting to meet with Alan Sonetti.”
“Business, huh? Too bad.” Rubbing the teak countertop with his polishing cloth, the bartender paused mid-swipe and regarded him intently.
Donovan saw the exact moment recognition dawned.
“Say, you’re Donovan White, aren’t you?”
Nodding, Donovan took a swallow of his drink in preparation for the volley of questions he knew would inevitably follow.
“It was a miracle you made it off that jungle island alive. I imagine it couldn’t have been easy being stranded in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if or when you’d be rescued.”
“It wasn’t. It’s an experience I don’t like to rehash.” A half-hearted smile took the bite out of his response.
Not at all dissuaded, the bartender ploughed on. “A shame about that actress you were dating. Tragic that she didn’t survive the plane crash.”
“Yes,” he agreed, taking another drink in hopes of anesthetizing the sharp sting of guilt. But the bite of the brandy couldn’t dispel the painful memories, and the world’s supply of alcohol wouldn’t ease his crushing despair over what had happened in the aftermath of the accident. Nothing could.
Leaving the bartender’s curiosity unquenched, he steered the conversation back to the topic at hand. “The woman…is she a regular?”
“First time I’ve seen her. A lot of purebred peacocks gather here, but this one is a ray of sunshine. I just wish she wasn’t here poking around looking for trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“She was asking about Mr. Sonetti, earlier. Not to disrespect the boss, but nothing good ever comes of that. Beautiful women are in here all the time, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He’s got that RHS factor, you know? Rich. Handsome. Single. On the rare occasions one of them is lucky enough to find him, they inevitably throw themselves at him hoping he’ll fall for them. He doesn’t throw them back—just uses them until he tires of them. The relationships all end the same, and it’s not with him putting a ring on their finger.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow at the man’s candor. “I see. Well, I’ll be keeping your boss tied up with business for a bit. Maybe she’ll get tired of waiting.”
For her sake, he hoped she did. Alan Sonetti was into shady up to his neck, and he’d hate to see her get mixed up with the man. If the bartender was right, and the dark-haired beauty was on a hunting expedition to bag Sonetti, odds were good she had no idea she was tracking dangerous game.










Lisa Weaver’s love affair with all things literary was sparked the moment she opened the cover of her first book and The Pokey Little Puppy captured her heart. Her tastes have matured since then, but whenever she delves into the pages of a new novel she experiences the same thrill of discovery. Every book is a glorious safari into a world of endless possibilities and inexhaustible inspiration. Since romance is Lisa’s favorite genre to read it was inevitable that, when she was bit by the writing bug, she would choose to pen stories of strong, sexy heroes and bold, beautiful women finding their happily ever afters. She thinks of her stories as fun and flirty romantic romps—like decadently rich cupcakes, heavy on the frosting. She hopes her readers will find her novels every bit as satisfying as dessert.

When she isn’t reading, writing, or plotting more romantic treats, she can be found behind the lens of her camera, in front of a canvas with a paintbrush in hand, or spending time in her garden. She also loves exploring her beautiful home state of Maine. Lisa loves to hear from readers! Please drop by and visit her anytime at her website, www.lisaweaverromance.com. You can also keep in touch with the latest Weaver Romance happenings via her Facebook and Twitter pages.

Lisa’s latest book is the romantic suspense, Bargaining with the Billionaire Bodyguard.

Website Address:    https://www.lisaweaverromance.com
Blog Address:    https://www.lisaweaverromance.com/blog
Twitter Address:    https://twitter.com/Dreamweavings7
Facebook Address:    https://www.facebook.com/Dreamweavings

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Die Back by Richard Hacker @richard_hacker #fantasy #thriller


DIE BACK by Richard Hacker, Fantasy/Thriller, 332 pp., $4.99 (kindle)


Title: DIE BACK (Book One of the Alchimeia)
Author: Richard Hacker
Publisher: Del Sol Press
Pages: 332
Genre: Fantasy/Thriller

In 272 AD Egypt, an enemy thwarts an attempt by League Inkers, Thomas Shaw and Nikki Babineaux, to obtain the Alchįmeia, a document holding alchemical secrets. Sensing his impending death, Thomas secures Nikki’s promise to keep his son, Addison, from the League, an organization defending the time continuum. After his father’s death, Addison inherits a mysterious pen, accidentally inking himself into the consciousness of a man who dies on a muddy WWI battlefield in France. Hoping to make sense of his experience, he confides in Nikki, his best friend and unknown to Addison, an Inker. Keeping her promise to Thomas, she discounts Addison’s experience.
Fixated on the pen, Addison inks into a B-17 bombardier in 1943. The pilot, whose consciousness has been taken over by someone calling himself Kairos, gloats over killing Addison’s father and boasts of plans to destroy the League. As Kairos attempts to wrest Addison’s consciousness, Nikki shocks Addison out of the Inking. She confesses her knowledge of  the League. When Kairos threatens to steal aviation technology, she she sends Addison and his partner, Jules, to an Army test of the Wright Flyer in 1908. Believing they have succeeded, they return to find the continuum shifted and Nikki knowing nothing about the League.

Inking back to his father’s mission in Alexandria, Addison and Jules hope to get his help in returning the time continuum to its original state. Instead, Addison’s father gives him the Alchįmeia to hide in a crypt at the Great Lighthouse on Phalos. On their return to the present a Kairos agent murders Jules, her consciousness Inked into the past. Addison follows the clues, Inking into Pizarro in 16th century Peru. He finds Jules in the child bride of the Inca emperor. His plan to find the technology and save Jules without destroying the Inca civilization is thwarted by a fleet of Inca airships. Captured, he is taken to Machu Picchu. With Jules help, they find the stolen schematics, but are confronted by Kairos. He stabs Addison, forcing Addison’s consciousness back to the present and traps Jules in the 16th Century. Addison returns to another altered world. Nikki no longer exists, the world is at war with the Inca, and Manhattan lay in ruins.

Addison Inks his father, learning the origins of the League. Thomas urges Addison to uncover their enemy with the help of his colleague, Maya. Putting suspicion on another inker,  Cameron, she insists he must be killing Inkers and acquiring Pens. In a final attempt to stop him, they entrap Cameron, only for Addison to discover Maya is Kairos, his enemy.  She kills Cameron, also wounding Addison.  He chases Maya, who intimates that she holds his mother’s, Rebecca’s, consciousness. Confused he delays, giving her time to scrawl a name with her pen before shooting her dead.

Inked away when Maya died, Kairos finds himself, not in his intended host, Hitler, but in a German infantry soldier POW in the Ardenne during the Battle of the Bulge, WWII. Hoping to repair the shift in the time continuum, Addison brings the League Pens together with the fate of the world and everyone he loves at stake. He awakens to a dissimilar world, but Jules and Nikki exist. And with life there is always hope.

First Chapter

 
I am an Inker. Without death my job goes undone. Like other Inkers, I plan for it, yearn for it while never loving it, but this time, death might well prove to be my doom. Alchemic algorithms placed my partner Nikki and I at the historic burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, Egypt, in 272 AD. We had inked ourselves into the consciousness of the right people—an arthritic librarian and his slave boy—and stole the Alchi̱meía papyrus scrolls for their rare alchemical formulas.
Our plan should have worked without a hitch. Instead, we are now faced with a severe obstacle: a massive Roman centurion in heavy scale armor, a member of Aurelian's legions currently sacking the city in an effort to defeat and demoralize Queen Zenobia. The centurion stands at least six foot three, his armor smeared with Egyptian blood, his mouth open and yelling at me, not in Latin, but with a voice oddly reminiscent of twentieth century New York:
"Stop, Inkahs!"
He blocks a narrow passageway of the library, holding an infantry gladius, a short-sword with a golden hilt, sunlight from the open courtyard glinting off his blade. There is no way forward or around him. White limestone walls on my left, stonework railing and black marble pillars on my right, and a long drop over those rails into the quadrangle. We are so screwed. I speak in the librarian's Coptic dialect.
"You must be mistaken, brave centurion." I nod to my partner, Nikki Babineaux, an athletic twenty-something woman present-side, but a small, twelve-year-old boy in this passageway. In our robes and sandals, an old man and a boy, we define defenseless. "I am a librarian and this boy is my slave."
"Bullshit."
American English with a New Jersey accent. Who is this guy? I feign confusion, continuing in Coptic, hoping to buy some time. "What is this word you use? Are you a foreigner?"
"Enough, Inkahs. Gimme the satchel!"
Nikki drops the pretense, shifting to twenty-first century English, "You know killing us won't do you any good."
"The satchel, ya little prick!"
Before I can stall, the New Jersey centurion surges forward, scale armor clattering against leather, his short sword poised to strike. Nikki dives to the right while I hurl myself toward the son of a bitch. His powerful forearm catches me in the chest like a cinder block, slamming me back against the wall. My vision blurs, but I see the boy jump to his feet, the satchel hanging from his shoulder. He tries an evasive head fake, but the centurion proves too quick in this narrow space, his blade piercing Nikki's side. The crack of breaking ribs echo down the passageway. Nikki sprawls to the floor with a shriek, and lies there moaning, crimson blood spreading from the wound. No, this was not going well at all.
"Goodbye, Inkahs." With a clean sweep of his blade, the centurion cuts the satchel loose. He rips the bag from Nikki, turns, and runs.
Who is this guy working for?
Whoever he is, I hope the bastard runs face first into a flaming arrow for his die back. I’m still winded and dazed, but I crawl over to Nikki. The boy opens his eyes, color draining from his face, the savage wound foaming with blood.
"Thomas—" He coughs a red mist. "We failed."
"We'll get another chance." I tear a piece of my robe away, placing the cloth under the boy's head. "We didn't expect a fight with Arnold Schwarzenegger in Roman centurion gear. I thought Aurelian's men were still out in the harbor burning the docks."
"Merde." The boy closes his eyes, grimacing. He swallows, opening his eyes again. "Wrong time, too."
An early die back is always a potential problem for Inkers, especially if the premature death alters the temporal flow. "You're supposed to get run over by a cart later today, but this will do."
Nikki manages a smile, a rivulet of blood dripping from the boy's mouth. "Bummed 'cause you won't get to throw me," he grimaces, taking in several quick breaths, “…under the wheels, mon ami?"
We always die, but I never get used to the final moments. "You're still pissed about me garroting you with a string from one of Puccini's violins? Thought you'd be honored. It was Puccini's string. Of course, you're the one who shoved me in the path of the Starlight Express."
Nikki, in the boy’s body, labors with each shallow breath. Reaching with a weak hand, the boy touches my arm. "Mind yourself, Thomas Shaw."
"I'll do my best." I lean in, the boy, just a few years younger than my own son, dying in front of me. I thought I would pass my legacy on to my son, but now I know differently. I can't let him walk into this hell. "Nikki, there's something you need to know, just in case."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just a hunch, but be on your guard present-side."
Nikki fought for another breath. "Compromised?"
I hold his gaze. "Someone I trust told me I'm dead."
"Murdered?"
"Does it matter?" Dying back into a dead body equals dead. Permanently dead.
“Who…kills you, Thomas?"
"My friend didn't know. But keep an eye on Cameron."
Nikki winces, blood oozing between lips thin with pain. "I know…you have history, but Cameron?"
Yeah, we definitely have some history. "I'll never forgive him, but the League sanctioned his actions, so that's the end of it. Besides, I don't even know if he's the threat. It could be anyone. But Cameron has…well, he's killed before. Just watch your six. Five bucks says we'll be drinking a beer together, laughing about all this, in a few minutes. And if not…"
Nikki tugs at my sleeve. "No, mon ami."
We lock eyes. "If not, I made some arrangements. Renascentia is safe, but…my son. I've changed my mind. Find someone else. He's been through enough already."
"He's stronger…than you think."
"No. We assumed we were just dealing with a rogue, but our enemy is proving far more malicious than we thought possible. Addison would be risking everything. His very existence. You have to promise you'll keep him away from all of this, Nikki. Promise me."
Nikki glances at the wound, sucking in air through clenched teeth, then exhales. "I don't know, Thomas… Ahhh.” The boy moans, squeezing my hand with his remaining strength. "Doesn't know League. When he does…" His chest rattles with each breath.
"Addison's strong, but he's in pain. If I'm gone he'll need you, Nikki. I'm counting on you. Keep him out. Got it?"
"Copacetíc…," he chokes up more blood, "mon…ami."
“There’s a letter. You’ve got to get it from my lawyer.” A hiss of breath leaves the boy’s blue tinged lips. “Nikki?”
His grip slackens and I’m looking into vacant eyes. I stop talking.
Nikki has died back. I should have held her after we'd made love on her favorite red chaise lounge last night, her scent still a precious memory. I should have stayed the night with you, Nikki.
"Forgive me, my darling."
Footfalls echo around me. I rise turning just in time to see another Roman soldier close enough to smell his sour sweat mixed with blood. Without a word, he drives his blade through my heart. A savage pain explodes in my chest, dissolving to nothingness as my mind leaves the old man’s body.

***

Thomas stirred, now removed from the “I” of the old librarian, after-images of Alexandria flashing in his mind: Nikki’s dying breath, the grand sweep of sunlight outside the Great Library, the intense burning pain of a sword tip thrust through his host’s chest. He took in a gulp of air, his eyes fluttering open. A moment of disorientation before the tumblers fell into place.
Present-side.
He scanned the desk of his study, pen still in hand, his eyes registering a figure across from him. Blue jeans, tee-shirt, Asian, leaning on the desk, his veined arms rippled with lean muscle. The figure spoke.
“Don’t you want to ask me who I am, Thomas?”
Their eyes locked on each other’s. Thomas suspected the mind behind those eyes belonged to another—an Inker from the past.
“Not really.”
The man laughed, stepping back from the desk as if he had dropped by for a casual visit.
“I’ll give you one thing, Thomas. You do have…what is the word…a man in Juarez begged me not to cut them off. What was it? Cojones! Yes, you have cojones.” He scowled. “Your feigned courage in the face of certain destruction. Very moving.” His eyes flashed to the pen in Thomas’ right hand. “Good, I see you’ve got your pen for me. Excellent.”
Thomas kept his eyes on the intruder, all the while inching his left hand toward the gun in his desk drawer. The man’s eyes flitted to Thomas’ gun hand as he swung the weapon up. With a speed Thomas didn’t anticipate, the man leaped on the desk, and with a violent swipe of his foot, sent the gun smashing into the wall, the knee of his other leg crashing into Thomas’ face, slamming him, chair and all, to the floor.
Thomas lay still for a moment, dazed. Then he rose with slow, deliberate movements, pain hammering his head.
“So, who do you think I am, Thomas?” His attacker had stepped off the desk and now danced like a boxer waiting for an opportune moment to plant a combination punch.
Nose broken, blood pouring down his face, Thomas maneuvered to keep the desk between them. “One of Cameron’s hired guns, I imagine. Been expecting you.”
The man stopped dancing, putting his hands on his hips, cocking his head. “Expecting me? Oh, you’re talking about the two dead sentinels in your back garden.”
Thomas had posted two Inkers at the house to prevent this very thing. Crap. “What did you do?”
He glared at Thomas. “Terrible how some people lose their heads at the first sign of trouble.”
“You didn’t?”
He smiled with a chuckle. “I’m afraid I did.”
“My…God. Cameron wouldn’t…Who are you?”
“My name is Kairos. I’m the one who is going to kill you and destroy your League.”
Kairos had been a threat in the past, but the League had stopped him. No, it can’t be. Too much has been sacrificed. Rage and grief exploded from Thomas. Crying out, he hurled himself at the man, but a fist slammed into his chest with an unexpected ferocity, the sternum fracturing with a loud, crack! Reeling back, his knee exploded in agony as he went airborne, slamming to the floor on his back with a forceful thud. He tried to move, but the grinding of his fractured sternum and the throbbing jolts of pain from his knee slowed him down. Kairos grabbed Thomas’ feet. He heard the sound of his own agonized cry of pain as something outside of his body. He took in a breath, willing himself to focus. Kairos dragged him down the hallway. Thomas’ head banging across the floor, he reached for door jambs, furniture, anything to slow Kairos’ progress. But each time he resisted, Kairos twisted the broken knee, causing Thomas to break his hold, screaming in torment.
At the open basement door, Kairos dropped Thomas’ legs. The world constricted to a small dark space filled with anguish. In the distance he heard his attacker.
“Stay with me, Thomas. I don’t want you to miss the finale!”
Kairos levered him up against the wall, each movement a hundred knife wounds slashing his broken body. He opened his eyes to his attacker’s dark, angry gaze. In a labored voice, Thomas spoke.
“You. Won’t. Succeed.”
“Oh, but I will, Thomas. After I kill you, I will kill every League Inker until I have possession of the five pens.”
Every League Inker? No! Through the pain, a panic crossed Thomas’ face.
“Not…Addison. Not…Inker.”
“The son of the great Thomas Shaw?”
He grabbed Thomas by the shirt, dragging him to the open door.
“Don’t worry another moment. Once I have your pen which you have so kindly left for me—” He shoved Thomas down the staircase. Slamming into a wall, Thomas’ ribs cracking against a handrail only for his battered body to flip, shattering his jaw against a stair tread, Kairos’ words taunting him as he fell.
“Consider.”
He slid across several steps upside down, and rolled, the broken knee punching a hole with explosive force in the wall.
“Addison.”
Thomas tumbled, limbs askew, the concrete floor rushing toward him…
“Dead.”

***

Kairos went down the steps to the body crumpled at the lower landing, his victim’s head and limbs twisted awkwardly. After checking for a pulse to be certain the deed had been done, Kairos returned to the study for Thomas’ pen. The League had five pens which, individually, enabled an Inker to transfer his consciousness to someone living in the past. But together… Ah, together the pens will create new continua. Imagine, the power to forge a new world at my fingertips! He expected to gather Thomas’ pen from his desk, but instead, he found a green puddle of melted acrylic, alloy, and ink.
The son of a bitch built a self-destructing pen?
Enraged, he tore through the study, pulling out drawers, ripping books off shelves, checking floorboards, but turned up nothing. Even in death Thomas had managed to be a thorn in his side. He considered scouring the entire house, but if Thomas had the forethought to create a self-destructing pen, he certainly wouldn’t leave the real pen somewhere vulnerable. Besides, he had a better idea.
His current host, Kwan, a martial arts instructor from San Francisco, had come in handy, killing Thomas and the other two Inkers. But now he needed a host with a bit more finesse. He got in Kwan’s car, driving the short distance to Seattle’s Sunset Park overlooking Puget Sound. With Thomas dead, surely his son would take up his duty as an Inker, which means, the young man would certainly have the pen. He pulled a Glock 17 from the glovebox, and dropped the sun visor to gaze into the vanity mirror, Kairos’ consciousness giving fire to Kwan’s eyes. He smiled at the thought of ripping the life out of Thomas’ boy, Addison, once he had acquired his pen.
Time to get to work.
Placing the gun’s muzzle over Kwan’s heart, he fired. For a brief moment Kwan’s consciousness rose to the surface, filled with the panic of a man who had no idea of where he was, how he got there, or why a gaping hole gushed crimson blood all over him and the dash of his car. His last awareness, a consciousness not his own whispering by, as his own life sputtered to darkness.









Richard Hacker is a longtime resident of Austin, Texas who now writes and lives in Seattle.

His writing has been recognized by the Writer’s League of Texas and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. In addition to his writing, he provides editing services to other writers and is the editor of an online science fiction and fantasy journal, Del Sol Review. His three published humorous crime novels ride the sometimes thin line between fact and fiction in Texas. DIE BACK, his first fantasy thriller novel, has been published by Del Sol Press.

When not writing he’s singing in a vocal jazz ensemble, cooking with a sous vide and a blow torch, or exploring the Pacific Northwest with his wife and his springer spaniel, Jazz.

Website Link: http://www.richardhacker.com
Twitter Link: @Richard_Hacker
Facebook Link: http://www.facebook.com/RWHacker



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