Saturday, February 18, 2017

Witches in Ravenwood has been expanded extensively....

I expanded Witches in Ravenwood extensively and it's up at all your favorite online stores:)

When Morgan came out of her room, she put on her heavy sweater and headed for the front door. Opening the door, she stepped outside and started to shut the door behind her when she spotted a long-haired black cat across the yard. She stared at it. She couldn’t help it. It was just a cat, but suddenly she felt a pang of excitement race through her. How odd. Poking her head back in the house, she yelled at Claire. “Hey, have you noticed a cat hanging around?”
Claire was still in the kitchen, and she appeared at the door a minute later as Morgan continued to stare at the cat. “Yeah, I’ve seen him a few times over the months,” she said.
Frowning, Morgan shook her head, glancing at her sister, now. “Why haven’t I noticed him before?”
Claire shrugged, grinning at her. “Maybe you’ve had your mind too tied up with a different male,” she said. She laughed now as Morgan glared at her and went back to the kitchen.
Frowning, again, Morgan walked past the cat on her way out the smaller wrought iron gate. The cat sat there, staring at her with his yellow eyes, as she walked away. Intrigued by something she couldn’t name, she kept glancing back at him, as she walked until she couldn’t see him anymore.

Faeries in Ravenwood soon to be re-released....

I am soon to re-release this book, Faeries in Ravenwood, on March 17th. This book has been expanded extensively and is coming along. Here's a taste. I hope you enjoy:)

Late into the morning, dressed in jeans a t-shirt and wearing a wool poncho, with Lakota Native American designs, Morgan headed out to the front porch, where Claire and Tara waited. Opening the screen door, she glanced at one then the other. “We really going to do this?”
Claire blinked and raised a brow at her poncho, but she didn’t say anything. She also wore jeans, but she wore a deep purple tank top and a deep green, light fleece jacket. “The more I think about it—the more I know it’s our only option,” she admitted.
Compressing her lips as she stepped fully onto the deck into the bright sunlight, Morgan frowned but agreed. “I’m scared to death,” she admitted. “But I can’t think of another thing to do.”
Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other in her hiking shoes and dark blue jeans, glancing at Claire, then eyed Morgan. “Same here,” Tara said. “I went through every scenario, but this appears to be our only viable option.” She wore a flannel button-up shirt and vest to help her stay warm against the early fall chill of the mountains, and as she looked out over the meadow, Morgan realized just how much she was ready to get this show on the road.
Looking at Morgan, Claire sighed. “Okay.” She stepped back inside the door and yanked her sweater-coat off the hall tree. “Let’s go.”
Morgan stared at her. “You’re going to wear that, too?” she said. It was cool, but it wasn’t that cold out. Morgan put her arm around her sister when Claire made a face at her.
“I’m always cold,” Claire said.
“Okay, okay,” Morgan said, throwing up her hands and grinning, “I won’t say anything more about it.” She glanced now across the meadow, too now, and frowned. “But I am rethinking this thing about leaving Thorick out of the loop.” She reached out her hand to Tara.
Taking a deep breath, Tara took her hand. “Today’s a good day to die,” she quipped.
“Where does that saying come from?” Morgan asked, following Claire off the porch.
“I saw it in an old movie,” Tara said, heading down the trail that would take them to where they’d cross into the Land of the Fae.” She started down the path they’d worn into the grass from walking it so many times.
They followed the trail along the meadow, and Morgan squinted across the deep, green grass in the bright sunlight, until they reached the woods. But just after they stepped into the forest, Thorick appeared in front of them—blocking the trail.
“You know this is crazy, right?” he said, looking at Claire, folding his arms over his chest.
Glancing at Claire and Morgan, Tara gave them both a smug look. “I told you he’d figure it out.”
Looking at his strong, foreboding form, Claire nodded. “I realize that. But we’ve run out of options,” she finally said.
Morgan’s gaze darted out from the shaded edge of the woods, back out across the meadow at the trail they’d just followed alongside the fence on the side of the beautiful pasture, still wet from morning dew. Taking a deep breath, she turned to gaze at Thorick.
Thorick still stared at her sister. “You will bring down the queen’s wrath down around your heads?” he warned. “And she’ll have my head for allowing you to go there.” He sighed. “How did you expect to cross the veil?” he finally asked.
Tara actually grinned at him. “We found a spell in the old Book of Shadows,” she said, her tone distinctly triumphant.
Morgan blinked at Tara. Her friend had lost her mind.

Thorick glared at Tara, then Morgan before his gaze narrowed on Claire. “Fine,” he relented, coming forward and kissing Claire. “I’ll take you across the veil, myself. We’ll see how well your spell works later when we have more time to mess around with it.” He headed down the trail. “But the rest is up to the three of you,” he flung over his shoulder.

Monday, December 19, 2016

First Poll Question

Which Book Cover do you like best?  Email me above, why or why not:)


                        Second                                                                           Third

But would you now want to open the book? Why? or why not?

Feel free to leave me those comments at the bottom or email me at

Thank you so much!! I really appreciate your feedback:)

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Ravyn's Kiss
Book One
Witch and the Vampire Saga
90,000 words
Paranormal Romance
Due out 2016

Plantation, South Carolina, 1836

The woman arched forward, trying to escape the claws tearing at her insides, stifling her moan into the rolled-up cloth between her teeth. The fire in the hearth leapt, licking at the wood with a fiery tongue—in the same manner the pain scorched her womb—splitting her in two.
She couldn’t bear this. No, that wasn’t true. She would bear this. She must. What she couldn’t bear—was what must happen after.
When her contraction subsided, the aged witch, who worked over her, brought cool water to her lips—before following with a hot liquid smelling of something strong. Simmone tasted the bitter herbs, and nodded her thanks to the old crone, who was her grandmother.
“You do well,” the old woman told her. “It won’t be long now, granddaughter.”
Tears sprung to Simmone’s eyes. For nine months, she carried her daughter under her heart. Now, her time had come, and with it, a time when she must also let her go….
She didn’t know how to say goodbye to her baby girl. Yet she knew she had no choice in that—not if she wanted her to live.
“I’m so sorry. You know this must be, child,” her grandmother told her, echoing her thoughts and touching a cool cloth to her head. “The master will never allow you to keep the child. He always kills the half-breeds who spring forth from his loins,” she said bitterly.
“He’ll never believe she died on her own,” Simmone whispered her greatest fear aloud, and not for the first time.
Once spoken, her words seemed to take on a life of their own, squeezing her throat with terror.
“He must.” the old woman admonished, picking up her sage to smudge the little shack again. A child of the Goddess cannot be allowed to be killed, or raised as his half-breed, even if he were inclined to do so—which he’s not….” She came back to the bed. She must not be raised a slave,” she reminded in a quiet, gentle voice.
Simmone nodded. Her grandmother was a healer, well-known and respected, both wise and kind. As hard as it was for Simmone to say goodbye to her daughter, she knew her grandmother spoke the truth. She must not live in a make-believe world, pretending the worse wouldn’t happen. She must be strong. She couldn’t allow harm to come to her daughter—even though that meant she’d never see her little girl again.
She took a sip of the bitter brew her grandmother held to her lips, swallowing the hot liquid on a sob.
She gasped as another contraction hit her, and put the rag back between her teeth. She dared not scream. She dared not even moan—in case one of their master’s spies heard her and reported them.
When the contraction passed, Simmone fell back, staring into the fire, burning in the broken bricks of what was left of the embers, within the hearth. She knew it wouldn’t go well for her. He wouldn’t believe their daughter died. And he wouldn’t take her rebellion lightly.
She didn’t care what happened to her—as long as they protected her daughter, from her father, who intended her harm.
Her grandmother arranged for the babe to be taken into the deep South—to the bayou—to her grandmother’s people, where she’d be safely transported to a place, where she was to become the daughter of a powerful family. Simmone wouldn’t be told where her daughter was to be taken. She knew the child’s father might whip the answers from her. She couldn’t be told, so she couldn’t tell what she didn’t know. But Simmone knew the story of her grandmother’s people well, and she knew of the home where they were to take her babe. Knew they’d provide what she couldn’t give her.
She’d brought her daughter into this life. Now it was up to a family, she didn’t know, to save her.
She arched her back, just as she’d begun to doze, another contraction ripping through her insides, threatening to rip her apart. She managed to get the rag between her teeth, waving at her grandmother, as a much stronger sensation gripped her.
Fear consumed her.
Her grandmother came to help her to get down onto the dirt floor, and turn over to lean over the bed, showing her how to grab the ropes she’d provided for her to strain against. Simmone lost all connection with reality and time. She bellowed muffled pants and choked off screams into the rag. Neither of them paid attention to the fact that she wasn’t overly loud, yet neither was she silent, as they labored to bring her babe safely into the world.
When her daughter sprung forth in a rush of fluid, the old woman gently cleaned her. Though healthy and strong, the babe didn’t cry, as if she knew to do so would place her own life in peril.
“You are the daughter of the Goddess,” her grandmother whispered gently near her ear. “You have the power of the ravens.” She touched her brow again with the cool cloth. “You are protected by her power. For you—are the witch of the Vampire.”
She touched the mark on the baby’s neck, looking up at Simmone. The babe’s mother leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s forehead.
“One day, a daughter will spring forth from the loin of your loins,” she whispered. “The Goddess will come forth, once more, to take her place in a world, who has all but forgotten Her. A mighty nation awaits Her, and She will take her place among them. The time is at hand, for the love of the Goddess to heal our great Mother Earth—and free her children from those who would rule her children with fear.”
She fed her daughter, watching as she suckled hungrily, for what would be the first, and last, meal she’d ever receive from the breast of her mother. When the babe slept, her tummy warm and full, Simmone watched her grandmother bundle her newborn babe and put her in a basket. Simmone sobbed, placing a final kiss on her daughter’s brow. She watched as her grandmother went to the door, to call out to someone who waited.
There was no more time left to lose—and they were well aware of the danger permeating the air with their every breath, these past several hours.
When she’d gone, Simmone sank into a dark pit of despair, even as she fervently prayed for her daughter’s safe passage. The hours slipped by—and though they went, as she lay mostly unaware of their passing, in her grief, the part of her which remained bitterly aware resented every moment lost to her—of time she could have spent with her babe—while being keenly aware that every moment that passed also took her little girl to safety.
At nearly dawn, they woke to a heavy fist banging on the door. The men didn’t wait for permission to enter, but pushed the old witch aside, as they stormed the interior of the small hut. They gave not a care as they drug Simmone from her bed.
They didn’t stop until they’d drug her before her master. By then, she lay there, far too weak from blood-loss and grief to care that he’d have her beaten to death. When she told him the babe had died, he demanded to see the body. And when she refused to produce it, he had her strapped to the post, he was so fond of using for meting out his punishments, and had her whipped.
Well into the late afternoon, he finally realized she might actually be dying and had her returned her to her grandmother’s care—demanding the old witch save her life.

It was then the old crone knew—that in spite of his cruelty, somewhere in his icy veins. he’d a speck of something inside him—that loved her granddaughter….

Out this summer!

Deep in the woods, where the forest is our church and spirit is found in all living things, you will find four friends who begin to put together the pieces of their shattered lives to find out what this means for them. These novellas tap into this realm. A realm that brings to life the world of the Land of the Fae, where magickal beings really do exist, and you can come to visit for awhile....

In book One of this deeply mystical fantasy, ongoing novella, Morgan lost her memory, and her family, while playing with magick as a child when she called out the shadow. Now, disconnected from her future--and unable to resolver her past--she learns that she's inherited an Old Gray House. Yet the moment she spots Ravenwood manor--even though she doesn't remember how she came to leave there as a child--or that magick that took her away--some part of her knows the key can be found up in the attic--if she can only overcome her fear to search up there for her answers.

Her sister, Claire, remembers everything. Though she and her aunt were torn away from years, to look for her missing sister, they never found her. Now, when her grandmother passes away--just like that--Morgan reappears.

Claire knows she and her sister are born witches--and before her grandmother died, she taught Claire that she must gather the Daughters of the Circle--before it is too late....

Tara, Sophia and the boys also lost their friends that fateful day, when Morgan disappeared and Claire left home to search for her. Now, fate has stepped in to bring them all home and each of them battles their own hidden traumas in searching for the truth that once tore them all apart.