Goddess of the Wild Thing

Let nature and the elements be your guide as we introduce you to Goddess Of The Wild Thing!

Paul De Blassie III

Paul De Blassie III

Goddess of the Wild Thing is a dramatic tale of one woman’s spiritual journey where magical happenings, unexpected turns of fate, and unseen forces influence her ability to love and be loved. Eve Sanchez, a middle-aged woman and scholar of esoteric studies, encounters a seductive but frightening man who introduces her to a supernatural world in which the wicked powers of a surrogate mother’s twisted affection threaten love and life. In the mystic realms of Aztlan del Sur, Eve and three friends struggle with whether bad love is better than no love and discover that love is a wild thing.

Paul De Blassie III

Paul De Blassie IIIPaul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of everyday people. Memberships include the Author’s Guild, the Depth Psychology Alliance, the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International Association for Jungian Studies.

His other award winning book:

Paul De Blassie IIIA young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, “The Unholy” is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.

Books On Fire Tours: This was a difficult read. Not because it was a bad story. On the contrary. It was mind blowing! It was difficult because it messed with one’s mind in the most clever and effective way, which only a Pscychologist can do. So what is it about?

Eve and her friends use yoga and other spiritual means to help them navigate life when it gets tricky, and the often elusive thing called love. Debating whether or not bad love is better than no love at all, they go through life’s ups and downs together. Yet when Eve meets a man called Sam, who has potential, evil lurks and causes havoc in her life. An epic battle between good versus evil ensues between her and Sweet Mary, and in the process she finds her true self. BUT, there is so much more and as a reader you can only wonder what is real and not real.

Many people will complain about the lack of dialogue on this novel, but it is rich in back stories and information vital to the development of the plot. This book is not only filled with mystical and magical, but paranormal, metaphysical and occult elements. Essentially a great read for horror/ thriller fans, those who like a little romance will also enjoy this read. Because it catered to all my needs as a reader, I give this book 5 stars.

“Paul DeBlassie III has an extraordinary ability to pull the reader into his mythical world, and the special effect depictions drawn within my mind while reading *Goddess of the Wild Thing *could easily match up with some of the most gruesome of horror stories on film. He transports you through an amazing spiritual journey exploring the power of fate and love. Packed with action, suspense and even romance, Dr. DeBlassie has written a truly brilliant and riveting supernatural story!” ~ Tamara Ferguson, international, multi-award-winning author”

“Paul DeBlassie III has a wicked gift in writing psychological thrillers, and he does it in a way I have never experienced before. In *Goddess of the Wild Thing*, he gave me a glimpse into his reflections, inviting me to draw closer to the dark side. His writing is rich with supernatural symbolism and, when all is resolved, deeply empowering.” ~ Uvi Poznansky, artist and award-winning author

“*Goddess of the Wild Thing* by Paul DeBlassie III brilliantly couples his in-depth knowledge of the human mind and behavior with his love of lore, imaginatively knitting a deeply psychological and esoteric story that will keep you turning the page. I could picture clearly the fantastical sense of place . . . a must-read magical tale.” ~ Luna Saint Claire, author of *The Sleeping Serpent*

“Dr. DeBlassie, author of the multiple-award-winning *The Unholy*, produced another novel with depth, action, and spirit in *Goddess of the Wild Thing*. For centuries we’ve struggled with whether bad love is better than no love. In this paranormal thriller, a fierce woman tackles the question with determination and fire.” ~ Rayna Noire, author of the *Pagan Eyes Series*


The stone altar was used by Eve and company to conjure natural energies of earth, air, fire, and water. Tonatzé symbolized feminine strength and ancient powers. Around the altar, the four women entered mystic states with intuitive inspirations and visions. The four mestizas frequently gathered at midnight, when the full moon shone most lustrously. They held hands, sipped their whiskeys, and inhaled magic herb. Soon the image of the Goddess flickered in rhythm with their soft singing under the light of the high-desert moon. Chant and trance conjured natural magic. They yielded to relaxation, reverie, and trust in one another and the natural world.

Descending into a meditative state, they were whisked from one world to the next. On slips of paper, they quietly wrote their worries, dilemmas, trials, and tribulations.

Seeking answers and relief, they placed the folded papers in a granite bowl before the altar. They lit a match. Paper burned. Silence wrapped its arms around the four. Gentle breezes stirred. Hoots of distant and nearby owls carried through the nighttime atmosphere. Flames from the granite bowl rose three feet and abruptly expired, devoured by darkness.

The ritual of fire fortified the coven, foul happenstance and unexpected hazard averted, all save one kind. Man trouble waited for Eve like a demonic jack-in-the-box, head bobbing and grinning. Muscles up and down her back tightened. It was this that caused her to flee into denial, the thought of time wasted, mind and body pained. The desire to talk, confide in her friends about misgivings about Sam, the last worst guy ever, fled like alley cats into a lonely night. Denial made everything go away—and stay gone—better than a couple of vodkas on the rocks on a chilly evening.

A white cab edged out of the alleyway bordering the cantina. It pulled stealthily alongside Eve. She bent down and looked through the smudged passenger window. She wanted to make sure she knew the cabbie. Past midnight was no time to be in a trusting mood.

Paul De Blassie III


At three a.m., the proverbial witching hour of Aztlan, Sweet Mary left her apartment for the gathering of Las Brujas Malas, deep in the crumbling limestone edifice of vicious spirits. The condemned downtown limestone church, once a prosperous enclave of the Ecclesia Dei, had long been abandoned. It sat adjacent to Sweet Mary’s bedroom, badly stained by gray and black soot.

Putrid odors of the cursed underworld that lay beneath its unhallowed edifice, curled through the atmosphere surroundingthe decaying structure.

Sweet Mary wound her way past the fenced and barbed wired blockade that deterred homeless souls and nighttime vandals. Her lithe frame smoothly squeezed between the slightly ajar, chained doors. She walked over the toppled wooden pews and stone statues littering the concrete flooring from the back of the church to its altar.

The religious artifacts had been defaced by those news media referred to as sledgehammer-wielding lunatics claiming clerical abuse as children.

She quipped to herself, Religion mocks, uses, and abuses. Nothing new under the black sun.

She opened a narrow side door that led to a rusted iron spiral staircase. Into the haunted and torch-lined basement that stretched thirty feet beneath the surface, she stepped. At the final stair, she touched bare earth.

Torches were lit along a cave of mirrors, shards embedded in the walls, shattered remnants taken from the homes of victims who had defamed Las Brujas.

Anyone who dared speak ill of the brujas ended the day tormented, injured, or maimed. Crises happened. One second they were safe, the next mowed down by an out-of-control car, or mugged and cut, or worse, lured in by a soft and sexy vixen loaded with a nasty biological curse. Mirrors confiscated from homes during nighttime raids reflected the victim’s horrified face when doom struck. Sweet Mary hurried past the legions of rats scampering away from her every step into the cracks and crevices of the century-old limestone structure.

An unavoidable eyesore at the heart of one the most decayed areas of the often sinister downtown Aztlan del Sur. It was a meeting . In this haunted zone, Sweet Mary presided over the witches of black magic. They knew how to spot love, taint love, kill love. It’s what bad mothers did. It’s what Las Brujas did. It’s what Sweet Mary did—because what had been received must be given.

No one knew where they gathered. Evil demanded hiddenness. Street-smart folk and fear-ridden church folk knew them as Las Brujas Malas, the foulest of witches, not to be crossed. Even those who suspected the whereabouts of their lair dared not cross the street to look at the unholy building, now a crumbling religious edifice.

The witches met at the mouth of a deserted tunnel, which in former years led to the secret chapel of the reigning archbishop, who there entertained a bevy of female devotees. Las Brujas, the four desert urban witches, walked down the twenty-foot descent. Hard-pack dirt sloped gently into the entrance of the unhallowed region of the chapel that had become the accursed cave of Las Brujas.

They moved forward, into the mouth of the cave.

Paul De Blassie III


But here Eve was, paralyzed. Waves of gurgling and quicksand were no metaphor. Agitation could turn bad to worse. Eve clutched harder for a stable mind. It was a torment, nearly impossible not to panic. She gritted her teeth, tightened her mental hold. Gently, millimeter by millimeter, she managed to raise her right hand. Mud offered no resistance. She raised her right forearm out of the hungry maw of dirt and grit. She grabbed hold of a desert oak’s dropping branch. It held firm. Five fingers clutched like a vise. She lifted her left arm and hand. Inch by inch, she loosened her torso from the deadly mud. Low-lying olive tree branches gave steadier purchase.

Memories of circling sparrows, an ancient warding against fated demise, provided a moment’s comfort. She pulled upward. Branches did not snap or break. They were supple. Evenly, she pulled with breath after concentrated breath. She gazed toward the sky. There were no sparrows overhead. The silence felt unnerving.

The sky shifted, turquoise bright turned to leaden gray. The desert olive branch snapped. Eve screamed and dropped. She sank to her shoulders. Quicksand lapped up past her chin, grains of sand forming crusts along her lips.

Clenching her teeth, she was grateful her mind hadn’t snapped along with the branch. Wits kept panic at bay.

Dying wasn’t a concern, survival was. It was the getting there that mattered—how it happened, how she did it. She detested the thought of dying by a witch’s curse, slipping into an underworld of final breaths and mud-loaded lungs. If she went down into the belly of the abyss and the mouth of a soul-famished witch, she’d do it on her terms. Middle finger out.

Paul De Blassie III

Book trailer with the Author’s choice of music to listen to his book.

Vermillion Tears

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Vermilion Tears is a gothic paranormal novel set in Victorian times. Lydia comes from humble beginnings living with her family in New Haven. Her life gets turned upside down when she is on a train to New York City to start her new life. Lydia is attacked by supernatural creatures she didn’t even realize existed. Now a supernatural being herself, she finds herself fleeing from a brutal captor and trying to keep her family intact. Will she be caught or will she succeed in escaping and restoring her family?

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Add to you TBR ➞ https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35706295-vermilion-tears

Author Links & Bio

FB page: https://www.facebook.com/tialee1869/?ref=bookmarks

Website: authortialee.wordpress.com

I’m author Tia Lee and I am a self-published author and live in one of the most humid places in the USA: Houston, TX, but I love it here (sans the humidity of course.). I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful kids. My passion is writing and I can’t stop thinking of more stories for the future. My debut novel is Vermilion Tears. It is a Victorian gothic paranormal, that starts out like any other boy meets girl book, until vampires, werewolves, and witches show up. I absolutely loved writing this book and it will always be my book baby. I am currently writing a novel about a self-absorbed mob wife, who has aspirations of being at the top herself. Not sure when it will be out yet, it’s currently going through beta reads.

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The Magpie


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The Magpie by Oliver Rock

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One body per month. Stripped of all its possessions. Zero clues…

Detective Van Loo, one of Amsterdam’s best, is racing against time to track down and capture a serial killer creating unrest in Amsterdam leaving a trail of bodies. Nine bodies and counting – all men, stripped of all their possessions with no clear pattern or commonalities among them. The killer, nicknamed The Magpie, a confident, ruthless and sadistic psychopath is always a step ahead of the authorities. The pile of bodies left behind by the Magpie leaves everyone gasping for clues to connect all the bizarre murders devoid of any real pattern or connection.

Who is the Magpie? What connection do all the victims have? Will the Magpie ever be caught?


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September 25
7:15 a.m.
It was a typical September morning in Amsterdam as the first light broke through a blanket of dull grey sky. The onslaught of heavy rain pelted down on the old cobbled stones of the ‘nine streets’ in the center
of town, washing away old cigarette butts and fast food wrappers that were scattered on the narrow roads, remnants of last night’s festivities. A lone cyclist zigzagged between the litter on Wolvenstraat, almost driving into the five lost English guys who were huddled together in the middle of the street – drunk, disorientated, and white-faced. The cyclist, a young Dutch student, was heading home from a night at her boyfriends’ and was in a rush to get back and change for Sunday field hockey. She rang the bell on her bike but to no avail, as the hungover English guys were too busy arguing amongst themselves about the way back to their hotel, and clearly, they had no clue.
You knew they were English as they all dressed the same – shirts or polo shirts hanging outside their perfectly ironed jeans, tattoos, short cropped hair, loud, and annoyingly drunk. The cyclist swerved around them and rang her bell again. Making sure that she was a good ten meters past them, she shouted out, “eikels”, as she sped off down the street. The stag party was oblivious to her frustration as they had other pressing issues on their mind – a warm hotel room. Now, they were lost in this maze of narrow
crossroads that split the four main canals in the heart of Amsterdam and were getting wetter and colder by the second.
The ringing of the cyclist’s bell and the raised voices woke Roos up. She had had a terrible night’s sleep.
First, the heavy rain hitting the window ledge and beating down on the skylight above her bedroom had woken her at two in the morning. Then, there was the pigeon on her windowsill that was trying to shelter itself from the downpour and didn’t stop cooing. Now, at 7:15 a.m., there were the cyclist and the muffled drunks shouting outside.
Lying in bed, she brushed her dark brown hair off her face and lifted her head up so that she could look at the digital clock that sat on the small bedside table. She checked the time and reached across to turn off the alarm. It was set to go off at eight but there was no way that she was going to fall back to sleep now. Roos was still tired but she had too much going on in her head.
Her hair fell perfectly into an immaculate bob cut, thanks to her monthly visit to the hairdresser, on the Spui. This was the sole treat she gave herself other than her weekly manicure, which she really still couldn’t justify as a nurse in her third year out of training college. Even without a good night’s sleep, Roos still looked pretty, with fresh pale skin, no blemishes, wrinkles or spots. At twenty-five, she took care of her features, using both day and night creams, facial scrubs, and numerous glosses. If only she
could lose the last annoying three and a half kilos, she would be very happy. Working long shifts as a nurse, she only had time to exercise a couple of times during the week and on weekends, so she relied on cycling to and from the hospital to burn the extra calories. The extra weight on her thighs and waist
troubled her and was at the top of her list of issues to deal with.
Roos looked around the room as she lay in bed. It was a small cozy bedroom with clean white walls, recently painted by her younger brother, who had been trying to earn a few extra euros during his school break. The walls were quite bare, apart from the giant-sized poster of a beautiful lonely lady, looking out of a house as if waiting for somebody. Roos often felt like this woman.
Light began to creep in through the gap between the blinds and the skylight. Soon, the bedroom would be lit by the natural rays from the sun and Jade would wake up as well.
At the end of the bed was a large dark brown chest of drawers. It dated back to pre-First World War. It had been well-cared for over the years and this hadn’t changed since it had been passed down to Roos from her parents. When her brother had painted the bedroom, she had given him clear instructions on how to varnish the chest of drawers without damaging the old oak wood, ensuring that it didn’t lose any of its character. It was no surprise as Roos was a bit of a control freak and over the top about cleaning.
The chest was passed on from her father and grandfather. She liked to think of this beautiful piece of Dutch furniture as her third favorite belonging in the apartment.
On top of the chest sat her second favorite possession – the silver picture frame. The frame had been a gift for her twenty-first birthday from her parents, Bram and Theresa Van Vels. They lived in Amstelveen in the same middle-class house where Roos had grown up. Originally christened RoosMarijn, which she hated, her parents were the only ones who still called her by her full name.
The frame was A4 in size and was immaculately polished especially over the silver crest. There was no smudging on the glass or marks on the blue velvet on the back. In fact, it looked nicer now than when it was first removed from its wrapping several years ago. The picture frame was positioned on top, close to the edge of the chest, so that it received maximum light when Roos opened the window curtains in the
Next to the picture frame was a medium-sized but perfectly manicured white orchid. Placed in a small pot, the orchid had a clean stem and three white flowers. She looked after the orchid as if it were a
terminally ill patient at the hospital. She would wipe the leaves, stem, and petals every day with a wet
cotton ball. Roos would water the plant religiously and followed all the instructions about caring for orchids on the internet. This was actually her fourth orchid and despite the tender loving care she had given, she had lost the first three. Roos was determined to keep this one. Apart from these items, the bedroom was quite bare, which was Roos’ intention. As she lay there looking at the frame, she thought to herself that the only thing that had changed was the picture that sat inside
the frame. When she had opened the gift four years ago, there was a colorful picture of her brother and parents, dressed in their smartest outfits posing with extremely cheesy grins. The whole family wore glasses and Roos always felt good having made the decision to go to Belgium to have eye surgery. She always wanted to please her parents but there were some instances where she would stick her neck out
and go her own way. Having surgery so that she wouldn’t have to wear glasses or contact lenses everagain, was one of them.
Roos enjoyed nursing. Working long hours and helping sick people made her feel good. It had also pleased her parents, especially her father, a consultant and renowned heart surgeon at the Vu Hospital.
She couldn’t have handled the extra years of studying required to become a doctor, and in fact, she wasn’t that ambitious. Becoming a nurse was a satisfactory compromise and it made her father happy.
He also got to have coffee once a week with his daughter at the hospital when their shifts crossed and if Roos bothered to check the text messages that he would send. They would discuss work, her mother, her brother, and her father’s golf game but never anything too serious or personal, like relationships.Whenever relationships were discussed in the past it would always end in a heated argument with her
father raising his voice, her mother getting frustrated and crying, and Roos storming off in a mood. She had gotten so used to these conversations now that when she sensed the topic beginning to arise, she
would either sigh and walk off or make a fake smile and suggest that they change the subject. Roos had learnt to hold back her tears, even if it still made her upset inside. Her parents had also learnt not to
bring up the subject anymore, especially if they wanted to continue seeing their daughter. They had adored both her previous boyfriends: Thijl and Arthur. Both were nice, clean cut boys, and the same age as Roos. She had dated one when she was eighteen and the other when she was twenty. Thijl had become
a journalist and Arthur a teacher, and both had grown up to be great guys but neither was in contact with Roos anymore.
Roos slid out of bed sideways without lifting the duvet in the process. She was wearing a thin, almost transparent, white cotton nightie, through which you could see a tiny string. Her pale skin was smooth, her legs recently waxed and well-creamed, and her toe-nails were perfectly cut and beautifully painted.
As she crept towards the bathroom, she sidestepped on the floorboards that didn’t creak. She was desperate not to wake her flat-mates. As she slipped into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her without making a noise. Flicking on the light, Roos stared straight into the bathroom mirror, observing
her face for any blemishes. Her skin was perfect and her lips rounded and full, never requiring bright
lipstick, unless she wanted to draw attention to herself. She thought her lips were a big plus point and
perfect for being kissed.
Her eyebrows were well-shaped and didn’t need plucking this morning. Happy with her facial features,
Roos lifted her arms towards the ceiling and stretched and yawned silently at the same time. She checked her armpits that she had shaved last night and they were still looking clean. As Roos stretched, her nightie also moved higher, revealing the top part of her thighs which disappointed her greatly. The
cellulite was unsightly in her opinion. She would need to cycle harder to work and spend an additional ten minutes on the ‘step machine’ at the gym to try and deal with this. Roos sat down on the toilet to take a morning pee and looked at the small tattoo on the inside of her right wrist, Greek markings that
spelt out love. She smiled to herself thinking about her parents, who didn’t know that she had a tattoo, and how crazy they would be if they saw it. She liked being a bit rebellious.
Roos got up from the toilet, washed her hands, and took one last glance in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light and creeping back into the bedroom. Gently lifting the white cotton duvet and
quietly lying back on the mattress, she couldn’t help herself from rolling over to stare at her favorite possession that lay beside her in the bed. She stared across at this amazing slender body that lay intertwined in the duvet, noting the real contrast between the dark brown skin and the pure Egyptian white cotton sheets. Roos liked to think of Jade as a possession but actually she was an obsession.
Jade had everything that she didn’t. She was tall, very slim, with beautiful long legs, and a swan-like neck.
Her hair was long, thick, and fair in color, with sun-bleached streaks. Her skin was constantly tanned,
partly from her origins but also from the continuous long distance trips she took as a KLM air stewardess
to South America and the Caribbean. Roos always worried when she was away travelling for work, as she
feared that Jade would fall for someone at a party with the flight crew. Whilst she knew that Jade wasn’t
interested in men, she had the ability to attract anyone and would sleep with them just to play with their
mind. In fact, she had confessed to sleeping with a captain in the past that was arrogant and very sure of
himself. She wanted to teach him a lesson and after a drunken night of passionate sex, she spent the next
three months ignoring him, which brought him back down to earth.
Jade had, of course, experienced relationships in her twenty-seven years of life with both men and
women. At the age of eighteen, she came to realize that she preferred women more. She had had five
proper relationships with girls, Roos being the fifth. Jade never really showed much emotion except in
bed. It was frustrating for Roos as she didn’t feel close enough to her.
Before Jade, Roos had never been jealous but this had all changed as soon as they started dating. She
dreaded Jade going on these long-haul trips. She knew that most of the air hostesses were not gay.
However, there was a small group that was, and they were also pretty and quite forward. Jade was leaving
today for a five-day trip to Argentina. Roos wanted to wake her up, but at the same time, she was scared
that Jade would be annoyed if she was disturbed. They had had a big night yesterday and both would be
suffering from hangovers this morning, especially Jade, who had drunk far too many tequilas. A flirty
barman at the Escape Club had spent the evening chatting Jade up, and she had played along, receiving
complimentary shots in the process.
Everything about Jade was cool, thought Roos, even her name. Moving the long blonde locks away from
one side of her face, Roos could see her perfect cheekbone and pouting lips. Leaning across, she noticed
the smudging of ruby red lipstick on her pillow, mixed with fresh saliva. Even this looked sexy. As Jade
lay fast asleep on her side, Roos moved her hair behind her ear, so that it fell over her back. This revealed
the fine pencil thin Balinese writing that was tattooed at the top of Jade’s neck and continued for about
ten centimeters down her spine. She had got this tattoo done in Asia four years ago with her ex-girlfriend
Brie. Roos had told her that she hated the tattoo but really, she just hated Brie and saw this cool marking
as a memory of her ex. Roos quickly placed Jade’s hair back over her neck to cover up this annoying ink.
Jade was much more confident of herself than Roos and refused to wear anything in bed. While this
made her feel like a prude, Roos did like to feel her naked body next to hers when they slept.
Roos moved her right hand towards Jade’s as she wanted to look at their identical tattoos inked on the
insides of their wrists, together. This made Roos happy as she knew that they would always have this
attachment whatever happened between them in the future. Roos turned Jade’s hand over, and noticed
frustratingly, that the markings were hidden by the old brown leather wristband Jade wore. In contrast,
Roos had her tattoo very visible, purposely not wearing a watch or jewelry, unless she was seeing her
parents. .
While the girls made similar salaries, Jade had a more exotic, carefree job – meeting new people,
travelling all over the world, seeing more places, and partying in the sun. For the five days that Jade was
going to be away, Roos would be bored and needed to find things to do in her spare time. Apart from
working extra shifts at the hospital, she would add more gym classes and running to her schedule. She
didn’t enjoy the fitness training but it kept her mind off Jade and she needed to stay in shape.
Roos knew that she would get very jealous wondering what Jade would be doing and who would be
‘hitting on her’. The more she thought about it, the more it made her blood boil. This time, however, it
would be worse, as they had just had a heated argument the night before. Jade had got drunk and flirted
with not only the barman but also with a tall attractive barmaid. Roos had stayed late just to keep an eye
on her prized possession.
Roos kissed Jade’s neck but Jade didn’t show any sign of enjoying it. Her eyes remained closed and even
her body rolled a little further away as if to say ‘leave me alone’. Roos lay still for a few seconds
pondering over her next move. She decided that she didn’t want to wake Jade and was glad that she had
kissed her neck and smelt the faint fragrance of perfume, surviving odors from last night’s partying. The
soft oily skin against her lips and the familiar smell of the perfume turned Roos on. She got up once
again and tip-toed slowly back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and then stepped into
the shower.
Having dried herself off, Roos went to the top drawer of the old chest in the bedroom to pick some fresh
underwear for the day. She stopped for a second to stare at the black and white picture of Jade and Fleur
hugging each other in the silver picture frame. The picture was taken on a holiday in France last summer
and Roos absolutely adored it.
With the towel wrapped around her body, Roos walked out of the bedroom and down the winding
stairwell into the living room. She decided to get dressed there so that she would not disturb Jade.
Hanging over the kitchen doorway was a clean nurses’ outfit, ready to slip on. Normally, Roos would be
more discreet but she could see that Fleur wasn’t home yet. Her bedroom door was wide open. Roos
didn’t know if Fleur had been working last night or was out partying but it must have been a good night
either way, as it was now eight in the morning and there was still no sign of her.
Looking through the open doorway to Fleur’s bedroom, Roos began to shake her head in disbelief at
how messy her second flat-mate was. Scattered all over the floor and bed were stilettos, miniskirts, piles
of underwear, and glittering blouses. At least the mess didn’t spill out of her bedroom, thought Roos.
Fleur’s only excuse for being like this was that she was still a full-time student holding a part-time job.
Roos still had time for breakfast but she was so angry with herself for causing the argument last night
that she felt like she had to be punished. She decided to skip food and head straight to work. Roos had
too many emotions going through her head right now of anger, jealousy, and anticipation. At least her
work would take her mind off things for a while. What was Jade going to do when she was away? Maybe she would get involved in one of these KLM drunken orgies? Would she flirt with another barmaid again? Was she fed up with Roos’ jealous nature? Maybe, when Fleur got home later this morning, they will meet in the kitchen and Jade will tell her how jealous Roos has become. Maybe, Jade actually likes Fleur and will make a move on her. She felt dizzy and grimaced with all these silly scenarios racing through her mind. Fleur likes guys and in the six months that they had been living together, they had become good friends.

Fleur was far too sweet to do that to Roos.
Roos needed to get outside. She put on her shoes and raincoat and left through the front door picking her hospital ID pass and bike keys in one motion. The fresh air would clear her head pretty quickly, she hoped and the ride to work would act as a distraction. As the rain began to fall harder, she thought she was probably going to get very wet and be late for work. That was not a good mix coupled with a head filled with jealous thoughts.
* * *


Oliver Rock is the author of The Magpie, a crime thriller about a serial killer in Amsterdam and the pursuit to find and capture the ruthless slayer. English born, Oliver lived and worked in London before moving to Amsterdam for ten years. Oliver is married with three children. He is a dedicated husband and father.

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The Frenemy Series

The Frenemy Series
by Kate Benson
Romantic Comedy


Author Bio.jpg


Kate Benson was raised in Texas and currently resides in central Florida with her husband and their growing army of fur minions.
She learned to read at the age of four and has been hooked ever since. She credits her passion for literature to her mother, her love of story-telling to her father and her unwavering faith in happily-ever-after’s to her husband, Sean.
Some of her favorite things include rainy days, loud music, superhero movies, hot tea and of course, lazy afternoons with a great book.
To find out more about Kate, her work or to just say hello, she loves hearing from her readers and can be found on social media.


**This book contains adult content intended for mature readers**

Evie King.
God, even her name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I’ve put up with her for years for my best friend, her overprotective older brother, Mason.
I’d grown comfortable in my distaste, reliant on my hatred. But when a favor goes too far and I wake up naked next to my sworn nemesis in a hotel room in Dallas?
That’s when my life begins spiraling out of control.
We swore we’d keep it between us. We vowed to never let it happen again.
Can you crave and loathe someone at the same time?
I’m about to find out.
It only takes one snowflake to start an avalanche.
Welcome to the avalanche.

Have you ever met one of those people who just dry humps your last nerve?
Enter Dash Hunter. Humper of my nerves.
Leave it to this jackass to ruin my life.
I’d had it all, but one drunken mistake with this asshole has it all crashing down.
They say everything happens for a reason, but I see no rhyme or reason to this disaster.
This was never what we wanted, not at all what we planned.
We were supposed to do our respective walks of shame and move on, but then…
We were blindsided. We never saw it coming.
All we want is to go back to what made sense, back to hating each other, but there’s a problem.
How do you defeat your enemy when you’re no longer frigid?



***This book contains content intended for mature readers***


Boy meets girl, they spend a decade at each other’s throats, seething with hatred until fate lands them wasted together in an airport hotel, waking naked and hungover to find they’d done the unthinkable.
Tale as old as time, right?
Dash and I both thought that’d be the happy ending of our dysfunctional fairy tale, but months of bad decisions have somehow led us to where we are now-crazy in love, despite how hard we fought it.
I guess we’d be alright if we hadn’t forgotten one minor detail: We still had to tell my insanely overprotective brother and Dash’s best friend, Mason, the truth about us.
We thought the feelings we had for each other would fade out as quickly as the alcohol, that we could fight fate.
We were wrong.

Secrets, lies, deception… we should have known from the jump we weren’t smart enough to pull any of it off.
I’m not sure what me and Evie were thinking. Hell, we were so blindsided by all of this, I think it’s safe to say we weren’t thinking at all.
If we had been, we would have moved on before everything went to hell. I should have turned around and ran before I fell for her wicked vagina voodoo, but I didn’t.
What started as the most awkward walk of shame in history with my nemesis shifted into something neither of us saw coming.
We were powerless… hooked… it came for us, slamming into us like a cinder block.
By the time we looked up and saw what was happening, it was too late.
We were already sprung.




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**A Faerie Tale – The Enchanted from Genevra Thorne**


Title: A fAeRiE TaLe – ThE EnChAnTeD

Series: A Faerie Tale Series Book One

Author: Genevra Thorne

Genre: A Faerie Tale Romance/Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Booktrope Editions

Release Date: Jan 24, 2016


Prince Gabriel of Rhyddon is the reluctant heir to the faerie kingdom of Eilithia. It’s said that there is nothing more beautiful than Eilithia and the Tylwyth Teg faeries that live there. Gabriel would disagree. Since being enchanted by the seductive temptress Aneira, a powerful witch who spoke his name four years ago, he has not seen the beauty in anything. Imprisoned by indifference and oblivious to any power but Aneira’s corrupting passion, Prince Gabriel’s mind may no longer be his own, but he will never give her his heart. That was taken from him long ago, and only glimmers of that joyous pledge keep him sane.

Somewhere across the earthly realm of Wales, Taryn of Hamilhawk dreams of a magical forest with music in its trees and a man who holds her heart in his hands. But she’s afraid of magic and, looking out her lonely tower window prays each night to forget him. She has no idea that soon she will be his wife and that she will somehow save both him and herself from a force that threatens their future. She would never imagine that her path to passionate love will be filled with faeries, a talking tree, and a shape-changing king… and best it not be revealed until Taryn is free to bring her own magnificence and resilience to bear.

All she knows is that he calls out to her in her dreams. “Save me, Taryn.”

And her heart, no matter how she tries to deny it, must answer.


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About The Author

Genevra Thorne

Genevra Thorne lives in beautiful New York City with lots of little dogs. When she’s not writing, she enjoys picnics, hiking through the woods, and journaling.

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