An old snip, some promo and an achy shoulder

I hope everyone has had a wonderful — and safe — holiday season so far.

I’ll admit that I’m going to wimp out on the blog today. Part of the reason is I have a promo going on and today is the last day for it. Part is the injured shoulder is making it more and more difficult to sit and type. So, I’m going to fall back on giving you guys a snipped from one of the novels I have for free on Amazon today and then links to it and the other books currently free.

This snippet comes from Nocturnal Origins (Nocturnal Lives Book 1).

Some things can never be forgotten, no matter how hard you try. The memory remains, forever imprinted on your soul. It colors your perceptions and expectations. It affects everything you say and do. It doesn’t matter if the memory is good or bad, full of life and love or pain and death. That memory remains until the day you die – if you’re lucky.

If not, the memory haunts you for all eternity.

Detective Sergeant Mackenzie Santos knew that bitter lesson all too well. The day she died changed her life and her perception of the world forever.

It didn’t matter that everyone, even her doctors, believed a miracle had occurred when she awoke in the hospital morgue. She knew better. She knew she had died.

It hadn’t been a miracle. At least not a holy one. Ask the poor attendant who’d run screaming from that cold, desolate room in the hospital basement, when Mac had suddenly sat up, gasping for breath and still covered with too much blood. He’d been convinced a demon from Hell had risen to come for him.

Mac couldn’t blame him. As far as she was concerned, that was the day the dogs of Hell had come for her.

Now, standing in the alley behind Gunn’s, one of the most fashionable restaurants in Dallas, Mac closed her eyes and prayed. She suspected what lay ahead. She could almost smell it – not quite, but enough to know what was there. Sweat trickled down her spine and plastered her thin cotton shirt to her back. Her stomach lurched rebelliously and she swallowed hard against the rising gorge. She had to keep control. At least for the next few hours.

Easy, Mackenzie. Just take it slow and easy.

She opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. She knew it was bad. Two uniformed officers, hands on knees, vomited into the gutter. There was no black humor, no conversation, nothing. In fact, other than the sounds of retching, the scene was eerily quiet; it felt almost like a dream. A nightmare.

She took a few more steps. The harsh, unmistakable stench assailed her nose, warning her what she’d find.

Unless the restaurant had dumped several hundred pounds of raw hamburger out to spoil in the summer heat, a dead body lay at the far end of the alley. That was bad enough. Then she felt as though she were enveloped in blood, and her stomach rolled over once again.

Oh, God.

Jaw clenched, she stepped forward. Never before had it been so hard to approach a crime scene. Not even when she’d responded to her first dead-body call a lifetime ago. She hadn’t hesitated then, not like this.

But she was different now. She knew what sort of horror awaited her. She’d seen it before and it haunted her. Haunted her because it touched something in her very few suspected even existed, something she tried so desperately to hide. The beast within fought for dominance, called by the smell of blood, the sight of raw flesh.

She mustn’t lose control. Not here and certainly not now. She blew out a long breath and slammed her mind shut to the horribly enticing sights and smells. Even as she did, the nightmare that had become the core of her existence clawed against her all-too-fragile self-control as it fought for release.

Focus on the job, Mac. Just focus on the job.

Finally, satisfied she wouldn’t lose control – yet – she nodded once. It was time to get to work.

*   *   *

Also available for free today:

Hunted (Hunter’s Moon Book 1)

When Meg Finley’s parents died, the authorities classified it as a double suicide. Alone, hurting and suddenly the object of the clan’s alpha’s desire, her life was a nightmare. He didn’t care that she was grieving any more than he cared that she was only fifteen. So she’d run and she’d been running ever since. But now, years later, her luck’s run out. The alpha’s trackers have found her and they’re under orders to bring her back, no matter what. Without warning, Meg finds herself in a game of cat and mouse with the trackers in a downtown Dallas parking garage. She’s learned a lot over the years but, without help, it might not be enough to escape a fate she knows will be worse than death. What she didn’t expect was that help would come from the local clan leader. But would he turn out to be her savior or something else, something much more dangerous?

*   *   *

Wedding Bell Blues

Weddings always bring out the worst in people. Or at least that’s the way it seems to Jessica Jones as her younger sister’s wedding day approaches. It’s bad enough Jessie has to wear a bridesmaid dress that looks like it was designed by a color blind Harlequin. Then there’s the best man who is all hands and no manners. Now add in a murder and Jessie’s former lover — former because she caught him doing the horizontal tango on their kitchen table with her also-former best friend. It really is almost more than a girl should be expected to handle. . . .


6 thoughts on “An old snip, some promo and an achy shoulder

  1. This must be shoulder month. Something went “ping!” as I was doing shoulder presses this AM. I was OK with 50 lb, but when I dropped back to 40 I got in six reps when something in the right deltoid said, “I quit!” It’s a minor pull, but it certainly got my attention – seeing as how I had a 20 lb dumbbell over my head at that moment.

    1. Mine actually goes back many years. I initially tore the shoulder up when I was 9 months pregnant. I fell and twisted to avoid the pregnant belly and messed the shoulder up. About a year later, I had major surgery on it. When I did, the ortho doc noted a problem and told me I had, if I was lucky, 10 years before I would need another major surgery. That was much more than 10 years ago. I finally did too much and, when I removed the refrigerator door a couple of weeks ago and then re-seated it, I did the final bit of damage. Now I’m waiting for insurance to finally approve the surgery.

      1. I’m working on avoiding being the third shoulder injury for the month in the group. Back to weightlifting. Of course, when even in correct form it pops and clicks with every rep… Well, I remember why the physical terroris… therapist! said that she’d know if I slacked on ’em, because I’d be back in to see her. For the rest of my life.

        I am getting an emotional reaction to the very sight of the 3-pound candy-coloured weights. But it’s my own fault, and I can’t blame anything but me. (and genetics, but even then, if I hadn’t been young and stupid once…)

        *sigh* Yes, 3 pound. Here you talk about your 20 pound, and your fifty, and I’m longingly eyeing the day I can start ditching the 3-pound for the 5-pound on some exercises below shoulder level. Be kind to your shoulders, you’ll miss them when they’re gone!

        1. Somehow damaged the right biceps tendon – probably because I’ve had to do so many back extensions. Dr. today gave me some exercises to strengthen it – but it has been very painful sleeping, and it twangs with pain enough to keep me up.

          I’m lucky if I’m allowed a soup can!

          This growing old thing is no fun.

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