Monday, April 27, 2015

It's Character Madness Monday

Variety is the spice of life so we're going to change things up again

Today we're introducing 

Australian Author 

Ellen Mae Franklin

(Carol March)

Tolor stretched and lay back against the gate by the meadow and watched as Selene trotted toward him.

"What are you doing Tolor? This is Character Madness Monday. Shouldn't you be at the cottage getting ready for your interview?"

Tolor sighed. "No, there were too many characters to choose from so I decided to showcase this Authors stories instead."

"What's her name?"

Tolor turned to the cover sheet. Ellen May Franklin. Hang out with me. Her stories are interesting and her characters well defined.

"Sounds like fun."

"Here is the Author's story from her own hand."

As a fantasy writer, I am self-indulgent in the belief that anything is possible in the writing world. Dark, epic and high fantasy is where I dwell, so grab onto your seats, settle down with a cuppa or two and lose yourself in the worlds I have created.

Born in Adelaide, South Australia I am a mother, a social media mavern and an author who indulges in fantasy. You will find me on a plethora of social networking sites, from Twitter and Facebook to RebelMouse, Goodreads, Linkedin and Pinterest. I love social media and love to connect with my readers via the various platforms.

"There is more," Tolor tells Selene, but we'll come back to that. Isn't she pretty?"

Selene folds her arms and huffs. "Always chasing the girls. Interview Tolor."

"Alright! Alright!"

"Here are some of her Novels."

Selene sidled. "What awesome artwork."

"And here are the books in the Tarkeenia series."


The struggle between God and man, magic and indefinable evil is without recourse.

Roedanth wants his brother back, it doesn’t matter that the boy is dead; the young copper apprentice can’t seem to stop wishing. Tainted by the magic of the Dark God – Drakite, tragedy and pain follows Roedanth all the way from Crows Nest to the Halls of Coowic, where the Magi live.

 Tarkeenia is awash with life - man and beast live side by side. Monsters hunt the shadows looking for a bite to eat. The tip of balance between dark and light, good and evil is tenuous, even on a good day. Flesh eating Specks turn the living into dust, and the world is no longer safe. Murrdocks, are a child’s story, woven tales told to enchant and incite fear. Their King lays dying, and Prince Pec having no choice, must turn myth into reality.


Strangers become friends, out of necessity more than compatibility for survival takes on the order of the day. Uneasy alliances are tainted by betrayal and self gain, and unlikely heroes emerge to salvage what they can from a world on the brink of chaos.


Everyone strives to make do in a world bubbling with wild magic, working to remain true to their Calling, as the lives of man and monster hang in the balance, subject to the whims of Gods. Can Tarkeenia survive the tug and pull of the very spoilt, and the very wicked? Can those lost to the dark find a way back to the light? Is it possible to forget, or to forgive and begin again? All these questions and more are answered as the reader walks Tarkeenia’s many paths.

Excerpt: Shivering didn’t help but nor did it interfere with what was required of him. Handing the skull cup to the Dark Lord was the only duty he had. He just wanted to see out the day, have a birthday or two more if he was lucky, and after that, if it was time - die. All he had known was blood and tears, hurt and the darkness, for he had been born in the Halls of Abeleaque.

Bones cracked as Drakite stood up from his grotesque throne; he flung the skull bone at the waiting slave. The skull shattered as it hit the human, imbedding shards of bone into his thin chest and he gasped for air. Fighting for his last breath, he whispered, "I can see the light!"

Angered now, the Dark God strode the corridors. His motivation was pure, driven by the hate he felt for everything living. He had created a paradox for himself by placing humans on Tarkeenia. Notably, it fed his loathing for all living things but the aggravation in having them exist at all set his anger on a permanent edge. Reaching the door, a red, shimmering thing, Drakite kicked it open and stepped through. Everything here was an illusion; it was always what he wanted it to be and more.

The mirror flickered and then solidified. The scene before him only heightened his fury. Magdeline stood over the one he had chosen, a slim young man whose adoration for the hovering malcontent stirred an uneasiness that he rarely felt. She was threatening his plans; he knew what was in her heart, for she carried a small measure of him there. Hate and murder was her lover now. This he understood.

He did what he always did. He went against every rule, every decree and did what he did best. Drakite also slipped into Roedanth’s mind as a sliver of reflected madness. The Dark God sat, eager and ready.

SynopsisThe struggle between God and man, magic and indefinable evil is without recourse.

Roedanth wants his brother back. Hasn’t he sold his soul with a promise to Drakite, the Dark God in a desperate attempt to raise Peetra from his grave? There can be no going back and then he fell in love.

Kitty has been caught, taken to the Halls and is now a prisoner of the Magi. A prize by some and an unwilling pawn by others, her life now hangs in the balance.

Pellimac is mad having suffered at the hands of Father, the Speck and is a guest of the Machobe Dwarves. Will their skill in healing be her saviour? Then she met Hi’ayman, the son who she had been separated from and the madness for a sweet minute abates. Is she finally home?

Ro’Breare, the hateful mage and the Murrdock Rhino, Boallag have made a deal. He wants the throne and the traitorous mage wants revenge. How could it get any better?

Kahlu is a schemer and he fancies the High Councilors seat. Nicknamed the peacock this magi uses whatever he has at hand to get what he wants, blackmail and threats, but is he smart enough to pull it off?

Sometimes the most unlikely strangers can become friends. Prince Pec and his companion Guventher arrive at the Halls, it seems that the Murrdocks are not myths after all. Their King is dying and they are in need of help. Everyone is shocked to hear that Ro’Breare is running with Specks as he leaves a trail of death and destruction where ever he goes.

Tarmet grieves as her husband, Taros, King of the Murrdocks lay dying from a burning sickness. 

Everyone strives to make do in a world bubbling with wild magic, working to remain true to their Calling, as the lives of man and monster hang in the balance, subject to the whims of Gods. Can Tarkeenia survive the tug and pull of the very spoilt, and the very wicked? Can those lost to the dark find a way back to the light? Is it possible to forget, or to forgive and begin again? All these questions and more are answered as the reader walks Tarkeenia’s many paths. 

Excerpt: Her struggling slowed, eventually ceasing altogether. She was a bundle of bones and rags that he pulled along after him. Scraping and bruising her already ravaged body, they continued in the dark. Pellimac occasionally whimpered, but for the better part, shock kept her silent. Father tried, crooning affectionate clicks and clacks at her joyous return, but it only terrified her more.

Rats fled the pair. Even the darkness seemed to shy away in the face of Father’s fanatical headlong rush. She was his again! Hours passed, and the jubilant Speck and the stunned nomad woman stopped. His bony fingers clenched Pellimac’s wrist so tightly that smudges of black already rising to the surface of her skin held the promise of blood red rings. Deep in the inky murk, a part still pure and intact screamed at the loss of the sky and open earth. She wept. Her cries excited Father as she dragged in lungsful of air in between loud sobs.
Pulling her by the hair, Father dragged his prize down corridors, past grainy streams peppered with gold and gravel, over spillways flowing with unsullied water, until at last, with a clack and a pop, they entered Hi’ayman’s chambers. Dazed and disorientated, Pellimac stared dumbly ahead. A vague memory rose up, threatening to choke her airways. Another place similar to this, where she had once endured fear and pain, broke through her shattered mind. The deprivation and the loneliness, the cruel nightmares, were old friends.
The trace of human lingered upon this room. A bed and all the bowls of water scattered about the floor signaled familiarity. She did what she did best, and waited.
Father sat silent alongside his love. Her stillness soothed his racing heart and helped to lessen the insatiable hunger gnawing painfully in his bloated belly. Who could doubt his yearnings now? He could feel her trembling. The salty sweat that sheathed her skin and sweet memories caressed him with feelings of the past. A loud sniff sent Pellimac to moaning, and caught up in the excitement of her fear, the monster bit into her shoulder. It wasn't a hard bite, more like a nip, but it broke the skin. Blood so sweet welled to the surface, and he licked it away in a lover's bliss.

The struggle between God and man, magic and indefinable evil is without recourse.
What has gone before!

Roedanth wants his brother back, it doesn’t matter that the boy is dead; he was given a promise.  But a promise is just a promise until it gets broken. New friends, the dream of an army and revenge has him plotting in Shard.

Kendrai and Hi’ayman realize they are in fact, kinsmen trapped in the dark and waiting for what will come next. Flesh eating Specks salivate in the passageway just beyond and Ro’Breare the traitor plots ruination for all.

Drakite and Emanon have struck a deal, but will the Dark God hold true to his word, even with his brother the Wind God. 

Tarmat is dead and Taros is missing, the Lion Queen is a hop and a jump from becoming Lott’s guest, or is she. The realm of Kinaloch is in an uproar: Boallag has a price on everyone’s head for he wants the crown, and everything else that goes with it.

The Halls of Coowic are in ruins and Pubbula runs mad, for Rani, his love is dead. Vengeance is high on the list and Litila, the Forest Fey begins the hunt, vowing to see Roedanth’s head on a spike.

Pec holds court in Doggit’s house: has the mercenary captain switched sides?

Everyone strives to make do in a world bubbling with wild magic, working to remain true to their Calling, as the lives of man and monster hang in the balance, subject to the whims of Gods. Can Tarkeenia survive the tug and pull of the very spoilt, and the very wicked? Can those lost to the dark find a way back to the light? Is it possible to forget, or to forgive and begin again? All these questions and more are answered as the reader walks Tarkeenia’s many paths. 

Excerpt: Being cold, so very bloody cold wasn’t that bad. Going hungry was much worse and since Quaverit wasn’t very good at begging, he went hungry a lot. What did he know of doing it right? All the other beggars laughed when he took his place on the corner. They laughed, so hard, that quite often, it drew a crowd. An ugly meanly-mouth bunch of other beggars, seasoned from their years of privation. He couldn’t help looking like a plucked chook, than the elegant Stork he was supposed to be.

It was a punishment. The plucking of every feather on his body, head and tail feathers gone, and the pain! Well, let’s just say, he had only recently stopped crying. 

He could forgive the painful act itself, even if the Hyena Men had relished their duties a little too eagerly, but the humiliation he suffered each time he left the safety of his cubbyhole, would never he forgotten. The once proud chamberlain was reduced to sitting on the side of a smelly gutter, holding out his hands for the odd copper to pass his way. Glumly listening to his moaning stomach, as it screamed for a bite to eat. 

Boallag had at least had let him keep his uniform. In fact, it seemed rather important, that the Stork Man was tossed out on his ear wearing the fine clothes. It was a message he had warned the skinny Murrdock. 

‘This act of mercy will show other traitors that are stuck fast to a false crown, what will happen if you betray the Rhino!”  The hulking brute had snorted spittle and globs of foul muck in his face. Right through the tears and wheezing pleas as Quaverit suffered the indignation of losing his post.

But, that was weeks ago, and since then, he had been forced to scrounge in The Digs, side by side with all the other unfortunate ingrates in Kinaloch’s slums. His memory of those first days caused him to hiccup. If it hadn’t been for the help of an elderly female Bear Murrdock, half blind and itching with mange – he would have most certainly died.

And let’s face it the nights were no better. Georgette’s screams gave him nightmares, sweats so bad that his skin itched. Kailen’s apprentice had held out when he couldn’t, she was a brave soul and worthy of the Royal’s love. But not him, his confession gave Boallag a chance at the crown. Stupid, stupid, stupid, why couldn’t he have kept his beak mouth shut?


"Pretty awesome, huh?" Tolor said peering up at Selene.

"Totally, Is there more?"



The Un-Named Chronicles is a collaborative work from Australian Author Ellen Mae Franklin and Pete M. Emmerson.

The use of Magic is forbidden…

The Un-Named, the magic wielders are loathed, reviled and feared for being different: forced to hide from constantly searching eyes, from the eyes of those who would strive to expose them to The Render. As the Un-Named struggle to acquire their rightful position in a world that has hated and persecuted them for centuries, a fearsome danger escapes from its five hundred year old prison. Two extraordinary companions begin a journey to discover the origin of the strange phenomena that is allowing wild magic to leak into the world, but they aren’t the only ones who are interested in the source.
The world is under threat of total destruction and only through the powers of magical arts, can it be saved and protected.

But the use of Magic is forbidden….

“The Use of Magic is Forbidden!” 
The saga continues: exposing an even greater threat! 
The question must now be asked 
Is The Use of Magic still forbidden? 

The Un-named face a harrowing realization that without each of them steadfast in a union not of their own choosing, being forced to work together despite adversity, then the world they know will undoubtedly become lost. 
Ripped apart by an evil that not only threatens their way of life but even their very existence stands in question. 

Together they must lay aside vengeance and honour to face what really matters. Putting aside grief to strive in the making of a new power, the magic users of Arinthol united vowing to overcome this new exigency. 

We might fight and fall, but know; we shall rise again

A Dark Compendium
12 Dark Short Stories


"Where can I connect with her or buy her books?"Selene asked?

Tolor smiled. "Any of the places listed below, dear."

"Okay then, I'll be on my way. Don't be out too late, Tolor."

"I'll be right there."


Social Links




Also available on Smashwords and Google Play

Monday, April 20, 2015

Character Madness Monday - RA Marshall

Today we Welcome RA Marshall

My characters were unable to sneak out this week since I've been sleeping a lot less lately. 

So this week we're changing things up and spotlighting 

The Portal & The Panther

Book 1 of Guardians of the Portal


RA Marshall

The only thing seventeen year-old Jon Parker wants is to escape his sleepy Arkansas hometown. But everything changes when Jon stumbles into the boys’ bathroom and transforms into a black panther.

Without choice, Jon is thrust into a world where parallel universes are real, shapeshifters exist, and dangerous “intruders” control the elements with a mere thought. Like it or not, Jon's new mission is to protect our world from intruders from other worlds.

But is it a mission Jon will accept? Haunted by his past and facing an uncertain future, Jon struggles to know who he can trust. Ultimately, his decision will impact the people he loves -- and our whole world.

About Guardians of the Portal, a YA Fantasy Series

The Portal & the Panther is the first book in the young adult contemporary fantasy series, the Guardians of the Portal. The second book, The Girl Between Worlds, is already available through Kindle Unlimited.  Portal ends on a cliff-hanger, but fear not!  Girl picks up the story where Portal leaves off.

** Get The Girl Between Worlds (Guardians of the Portal, Book 2) for FREE when you sign up for the email list! Copy & paste into your browser:


Chapter 1

       I remember the exact day it all began, because it was October 2, a Friday, two days after I'd turned seventeen.  I'd had a driver's license for almost a year already but nothing to drive.  October 2 was the first day that I'd finally gotten the old red Ford pick-up running well enough to take it to school.  Paying for the Ford's final repairs had been my dad's seventeenth birthday present to me.

That morning seemed like any other -- another boring beginning to another ordinary, boring school day, another day where you sleep through study hall and spend the rest of the day avoiding all the people you don't get along with.  In my case, that's a lot of people.  Most of them, actually.

Each day started with twenty minutes of homeroom.  I have no idea why.  It's not like we did anything.  Occasionally there was a memo or something our homeroom teacher had to give to us, and at least ten of the twenty minutes are taken up with morning announcements and closed-circuit TV broadcasts, but no one ever paid attention to them.  Everyone talked through homeroom, and when the announcements come on, they just talked louder so they can hear each other over the TV.

I sat in the back corner, reading a college brochure, feet propped up against the legs of the desk in front of me.  I ignored the chattering my classmates; they ignored me.  The feeling was mutual.

An announcement came on about the homecoming football game and dance against Ozark that night, our cross-town rivals.  Homecoming gave me bad memories.  I used to be the starting cornerback on the football team, good enough that Coach Irvine moved me up to varsity at the beginning of sophomore year -- a rare honor I shared with only a few other underclassmen.

But that was more than a year ago.  I didn't play football anymore, and I tuned out the homecoming announcement as best I could.  I told myself I didn't care about the game.  Maybe the Mecksville High Screamin' Eagles would get trounced on their own field for their own homecoming.  It would serve them right.

Kristin Krull sat on the opposite side of the room, wearing her cheerleading uniform because of the game that night.  She was sitting in the knot of girls she always sat with, where they talked about make-up and clothes and parties and who liked who and whatever other meaningless things girls talked about.

She kept looking over at me through the curtain of her long auburn hair, absentmindedly fiddling with a water bottle.  I ignored her and kept reading.  Or I tried, anyway.  I knew she wanted to catch my eye; when was she going to get the message that I wasn't interested in talking?  After a minute of getting no response with me, she turned back to her friends.

Before everything went down with the football team the year before, I would have called Kristin a good friend.  My best friend, actually.  But we'd had a "falling out."  That would be putting it mildly.

On the very first day of school, she'd walked into this homeroom a few minutes after me.  She hesitated for a minute, but then sat down in the desk in front of me, put her purse down, and swiveled around to face me.

"Hey," she'd said.

I'd ignored her.

"Jon, come on, don't be like this."

I opened up a book and pretended to read it.  She put her hand on the book and gently pushed it down.

"Jon," she said, "will you just talk to me?"

"I tried talking to you," I said, meeting those big brown eyes I knew so well.  "Didn't work out so well for me."  And I got up and changed seats.

I'd found a note shoved in my locker later that day.  It read, "I'm sorry" and had no name on it.  But I recognized the handwriting.  I kept the note and stuck it in the back of my American history textbook.  I don't know why.

Anyway, on that particular Friday, I sat there in my corner, looking at the U of A brochure, ignoring Kristin, ignoring everybody else, thinking about the Razorbacks, when a sudden, powerful wave of nausea and dizziness hit me.  I dropped the brochure to the floor without meaning to and gripped the sides of the desk, swaying.  Seconds later, my vision started going gray, hazy.  Sounds came at me like they were traveling from deep inside a tunnel.

I'd never fainted in my life.  I wasn't going to start by doing it in the middle of homeroom.

I squeezed the sides of the desk harder, my knuckles going white.  I will not pass out, I told myself.  But even as I tried to hang on to consciousness, a wave of nausea hit.  I was going to throw up at any moment.  No, I told myself, get it together, Jon!  I clenched my jaw and tried to get the world to stop spinning.

The bathroom.  I had to make it to the bathroom across the hall before I threw up.

I pushed myself up shakily and tried to stay focused on the door of the classroom, lurching towards it, grabbing desks as I went to keep myself upright.

"Mr. Parker!" shouted Mrs. Mullhooney indignantly as I threw open the door and stepped into the hall.  I didn't turn around.  I didn't answer her.  Mrs. Mullhooney was cool; I would explain it to her later and she would understand.

It was lucky for me that the boy's bathroom was directly across the hall from Mrs. Mullhooney's room.  I almost made it without attracting any attention, but at the exact moment I stepped out of Mrs. Mullhooney's, a girl from the neighboring classroom stepped out of her room.  She was petite with lightly tanned brown skin, with long, frizzy-looking dark hair braided behind her.  She wore a startled look on her face and stared at me with huge, striking gray-green eyes.  It occurred to me that she was pretty, but I didn't have the wherewithal to smile or even just nod.  I probably looked like hell, anyway.  I turned away from her and stumbled through the door of the boy's room.

I opened the door to the first stall and dropped to my knees, banging the door closed behind me with one hand and flipping up the toilet seat with the other.  The smell of cigarette smoke that lingered in the bathroom and the butt floating in the bowl I leaned over didn't help my nausea.

The heat came next, radiating throughout my body as if someone had stuck me inside a furnace..  Fever.  I must have the stomach flu.  I peeled off my green army jacket and tossed it aside, then squeezed my eyes closed to stop the world from spinning and prepared myself to lose my breakfast.

Except the puking never happened.

Instead, the dizzy, pounding feeling in my head intensified, and I found myself falling sideways in slow-motion.  I ricocheted off the side of the stall and landed on my back on the floor.  I found myself thinking that it was probably the filthiest place in the school I could have chosen to faint.  But the thought didn't last long and I didn't faint, because right then, I started convulsing.

Oh God, I thought, I'm having a seizure.  How could I be having a seizure?  I don't get seizures.

I knew a kid back in middle school who used to get seizures.  Most of the time when it happened it was no big deal; you could just see his eyes roll back in his head if you were paying close attention.  He was a decent enough kid, so I'd step in front of him and use my wider frame to cover his skinny one so the other kids couldn't see.  Once or twice during the school year, though, he had a full on, fall-on-the-floor-and-thrash kind of seizure.  Watching it had been scary as hell.  As I laid there on the bathroom floor, unable to control my body, it was exactly what was happening to me.

Or was it?  I remember the kid told me that seizures didn't really hurt and he wasn't aware of what was happening when the big ones came.  I was definitely aware of what was happening, though, and it did hurt.  The heat inside of my body ratcheted higher.  It was like someone had doused me in gas and lit a match.  I was on fire.

My back was itching and burning.  My arms and legs felt like I was being stretched out on a medieval torture rack.  And I had a weird, tingling, pins-and-needles pain at the base of my spine.  It traveled up and down my back like an electric current.

I opened my mouth to call out for help, but no sound came.  I was lying on my back like an upside-down cockroach that couldn't flip itself onto its legs again.

That was when I thought I started hallucinating.  Of course, I wasn't hallucinating, but I wouldn't figure that out until later.  Because right then, my right hand turned into a huge black cat's paw.  I would have screamed if I could.  It turned back into a hand in the very next moment, so fast I knew I had to be imagining it, but then my left hand turned into cat's paw.  At the same time, I felt a horrible pressure in my jeans, as if they'd suddenly shrunk by five sizes, and I heard the sound of fabric ripping apart.  The seams of my t-shirt popped, then the whole back of the shirt ripped up the middle.  The pounding in my head kept getting worse and worse, my vision got watery, then really sharp, and instead of sounds coming from down a long tunnel, I felt like I could hear everything happening in the whole damn school.

Usually you can barely hear the announcements from inside the bathrooms, but I could hear them as if the volume was turned up to full blast and I had my ears pressed against the speakers.


I could hear the voices coming from Mrs. Mullhooney's room and from the room next door where the girl in the hall had come from.  Despite distance and two doors between us, I heard them as if they were standing right next to me, shouting at me.





Somewhere in the girl's room next to me, a toilet flushed and a stall door opened, then bounced twice.  I tried to cover my ears with my hands, but my arms didn't want to work.  I kept trying to move them up towards my head, but they just wouldn't cooperate.  And my hands had turned into big cat's paws again.

If the noise was unbearable, the smell was worse.  The boy's bathroom had smelled awful when I walked in; now it was as if someone had swabbed the floor and all the toilets with a q-tip and then stuck it under my nose.

That's when I finally passed out.

What Readers Are Saying

"I don't often read shapeshifter/fantasy adventure books, but The Portal and the Panther won me over with its incredible heart. This book isn't just about magical realism and exciting fight scenes - though it certainly has those elements too!... Real world problems one page, shapeshifting ones the next, all sprinkled with great humour and a few heart-tugging scenes that take the reader even deeper... The teen characters have real challenges to face and choices to make, and they're memorable enough that they stay with you long after the book is put down." - JH Price

"Shapeshifters, aliens, high school drama, danger, laughs - what else do you want? The story is told through Jon, who finds out pretty quickly he's not your average high school kid, and Layla is there to help him 'adjust'. Jon and Layla are both engaging characters with well-defined personalities. Jon has already been through a lot at home and at school, but it's just the beginning!" - Jim Window

"Jon is a loveable and loyal main character who struggles to survive high school before this mess. He has few friends and an absentee father. Saving the world on top of it would be more than most teenagers could bear. Like most of us, he fumbles his way through the nuances of his life with heart and charm. I was riveted to my seat through this adventure, waiting to see what would happen next. Small town life never looked so interesting before this." - Julie Angel

Monday, April 13, 2015

Today We Welcome Alan Price 


Jonathan Yanez' New Novel

Alan Price and The Statue of Zeus

Book Three in The Nephilim Chronicles Series

With the fallen Archangel Gabriel wielding an unparalleled power and all out war on the horizon, Alan, the chosen Horseman of War, is forced to seek help. There is another Archangel, Raphael, who holds the key to unraveling the mystery behind Gabriel’s power. However Raphael wants nothing to do with either side, still living in regret from a past that haunts him. Convincing the Archangel to once again enter the never-ending battle between Light and Darkness will be a task Alan can’t achieve on his own.

Two more Horsemen will appear. Dragged back and forth by the sides of Light and Dark, these two new Horsemen will sway the outcome of history. It seems demons and even angels will do anything to control a Horseman and the influence they wield.

Things go from disastrous to catastrophic when, Alan finds himself developing feelings for one of his friends. Timing couldn’t be worse for Alan’s newly discovered interest, not only is she reluctant to return his advances, her status makes it nearly impossible for them to be together. In the middle of a supernatural war Alan will find himself attacked on both physical and emotional fronts.

Click here to join the facebook: Alan Price and the statue of Zeus Party April 23rd, 2015 5:30 - 9:30 PDT.

Colovere trots through the meadow basking in the afternoon sunshine. He snorts and shakes his neck trying to untie the braids Juliette put in his mane. He huffs, turns his head and tries to tug one out with his horn, then neighs miserably when he pokes himself.

“Must look good for our guest? Pah!”

She’d done it while he slept, and when he woke he’d chased her out of the meadow. Now she walked toward him with a tall blond man.

“That must be Alan Price from Jonathan Yanez’, The Statue of Zeus, story.”

Colovere nods, his horn dipping toward the ground.

Alan looks around not knowing how a formal greeting should take place. He settles for a head bow of his own and his chin dips toward the ground.

Juliette moves forward to join them but Colovere shoo’s her away.

“Fine,” Juliette says walking back to the cottage. “I was only trying to make you look nice.”

Colovere turns to Alan. “Welcome to Jena’s imagination, Alan. I’m glad you could come.”

“Thanks for having me,” Alan smiles with a quick turn of his lips. “It’s a nice change of pace not having to run from an army of Fallen angels.”

“Tolor was telling me you have a really cool story. What’s it about?”

Alan’s eyebrows raise as he gather’s his thoughts. “Okay you’re going to have to follow me on this one and trust that what I say is true. Everything you think you know about the human world has been wrong. Angels and demons have been waging a war since the beginning of time. Their fight takes place on both the human and supernatural planes of existence. Throughout the pages of history these angels and demons have fought in various forms. They've been mistaken for Greek gods, monsters, vampires, werewolves etc. But one thing has remained the same, the need for the light to fight against the darkness.”

Colovere neighs. “That sounds really exciting. How did all this start?”

“The war in heaven marked the beginning. Before the creation of mankind the Usurper rose to take the throne. One third of all the angels followed him and so the war began.”

“Gods and wars scare me,” Colovere says. “I do well to handle pretty maidens.” He eyes the stupid braids again.

Alan smiles again, “Well there is a bit of that too but I’d rather face down the god of Hell before I face the female problems that are piling against me.” 

 “I’m sure you understand how frustrating young maidens can be sometimes. Do you have a girlfriend?”

Alan raises both hands in a shrug. “Well that’s the million dollar question my love life is… is… complicated. I’m stuck somewhere between the friend zone and a having a reluctant relationship with a warrior angel named Seraphim.

 “Why doesn’t Archangel Raphael want to help you? Doesn't he know there will be a war if he doesn't? Angels can be so selfish sometimes.”

Alan’s eyes grow sad as he looks over Colovere’s braided hair and shakes his head. “I can’t blame Raphael. He’s been through a lot. He’s killed hundreds of his fellow angels all in the name of the light. He’s sacrificed more than anyone should be asked. It’s for this reason he has sworn off violence and refuses to help us.”

“What will happen to the world if you fail?”

“I don’t even want to think about it. That thought visits me enough in my dreams.” Alan pauses as his eyes fall to the ground and he slowly shakes his head. “Darkness, there would be a lot of darkness.”

 “Were you always a horseman?”

“No, I started off as a Nephilim, a human chosen by angels to represent them in the war on earth. It was only later I discovered that the rabbit hole led to a much deeper secret. Every one thousand years four humans are chosen at random to represent the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It’s up to them to fight out the battle that will decide if the Apocalypse is to begin.”

 “What do horsemen eat? Are you human or something else?”

“Oh, unlike my angelic counterparts I’m very human and I’m always hungry.”

Colovere’s herd runs past them to the other end of the meadow.

“What is your worst fear?”

“That I would fail my friends in some way or another. As the Horseman of War I’m prone to losing my temper in battle. It’s something I’ll have to harness if the Light will have any hope of winning.”

“What might happen if an angel or demon managed to get control of you?”

“Chaos, on a level that would shift power in the war.”

Colovere’s body shudders. “What do you hope for?” he asks.

“For this to be over. I’m going to see this through to the end but I don’t know if there can ever be peace between the Light and the Darkness.”

 “Do you have help?”

“Oh yes, the Archangel Michael who was once called Zeus is guiding me as well as an army of angels.”

The ground trembles like an earthquake underneath them. Even the sky shudders.

“Uh oh. Jena’s waking up. We better hurry. She gets so upset when she can’t find us. Personally I think she’s too dependent on us. If we aren't there, she can create someone else.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

The ground moves again and Colovere sidles. “Just a couple more questions.”

“Do you feel like your author, Jonathan Yanez, portrays you well?”

“He’s growing on me. I feel like we’re learning together, everyday getting just a little bit better. I have my own struggles and he has his. But it seems to be working well.”

“Um hm.” Colovere moves closer. “Got any gossip? We don’t get out much.”

“Not that I can think of. Michael and Ardat’s relationship is a rollercoaster ride but that’s not new. I’m stuck trying to navigate a situation between a human Nephilim named Danielle and the leader of an angelic death squad named Seraphim.”

 “Is there anything you want to share that we haven’t covered?”

“I just want people who follow my story to understand I exist to bring them hope with whatever they struggle with in life. My story exists to entertain but also to let them know that anything they may be fighting in their personal lives, whatever demons they have to face, they can rise above.”

Praise for The Nephilim Chronicles. 

“Breathtaking and so much talent.” – Amazon Review 
“Fantastic.” – Book Review
“Five Stars.” – Reader Review
“Wonderful.” – Amazon Review 



Jonathan Yanez writes both young and new adult, fantasy. Author of eight novels he is both traditionally and independently published. His work is available in eBook, paperback, audio book and has also been optioned for film.

Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus is the third book in The Nephilim Chronicles by Jonathan Yanez.

Book 1 - Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes
Book 2 - Alan Price and the Temple of Artemis
Book 3 - Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus


Monday, April 6, 2015

Last week was a blast. Thanks again to KT Stevens, Joey from The Pride Anthology.

This week we welcome Louise Redmann from the anthology 

The Bowman's Inn.

Alexis and Ezra sat alone in the parlor, enjoying the opportunity to have a free moment together, but it didn't last long.

Amos enters the room with Ettie, his Father trailing behind them. He nods at Ezra before they sit. Amos puts his feet up on a box made into a footstool giving Ezra a threatening look.

Before anyone can speak, laughter fills the air and Juliette arrives with Colovere.

“Where’s Selene and Tolor?” Ettie asks. “I so love the bear-man.”

“Not a bear-man,” Juliette says irritably. “Tolor is a beran.”

Amos laughs. “It amounts to the same thing I’d say.”

Juliette opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by a rap on the door.

Alexis jumps, “Oh my God, She’s here.”

“Whose here?” Colovere asks.

Juliette rolls her eyes. “This week’s guest silly. Alexis is doing the interview this week.” She turns to Alexis. “Sorry, he’s been moping over the squirrels taking an interest in the apples this year.”

“Would you please get the door?” Alexis demands.

Juliette reddens but opens the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, embarrassed.

A short woman enters the room with raven hair and vivid blue eyes. She hands Ettie a tub of ice cream. 

Ettie claps with joy. “A gift! I just love presents.” She holds up the container for Amos to see. “Look darling.”

Amos grunts.

Alexis raises a hand to greet their guest. “Welcome Ms. Giordano. I’m glad you’re here. Have a seat.”

“Okay everyone, today we have Katie Giordano. Her author is Louise Redmann from The Bowman’s Inn anthology. Please tell us about your story, Ms. Giordano.” 

Alexis sits back in her chair to listen. The room is silent.

“Wait a minute!” Amos says. “What do you mean the squirrels are taking the apples?”

Juliette gives him a stern look and sighs as Ettie pulls him back into his seat.

Katie smiles at Amos. “I could do with some apples for my apple pie ice cream. I inherited an ice cream parlor not long ago, and I’m still working on funky flavors.”

“You inherited an ice cream shop?” Ettie stammers. “I love ice cream. Did you make this?”

“Yes, margarita ice cream.” Katie nods at the tub Ettie is opening. “It’s a hit in the Bowman’s Inn.” 

“Yeah, but I heard someone tried to take it from her. I know a good assassin if you need one,” Amos says.

Katie raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind if anyone else steals money from my shop.” 

Juliette’s cheeks turn pink. “Who cares about ice cream? I heard there’s a handsome man in the story.”

Ettie nods, “Indeed. I heard so too.”

Amos gives his wife a dirty look.

“Okay, all of you. Hush!” Juliette says, then turns her attention back to our Ms. Giordano. “You’ll have to excuse them, Jena doesn’t let us out much.”

Katie scoots back in the chair and grins. “Maybe if you give her some Margarita ice cream, she’ll loosen up.”

“Is there a handsome man in your story?” she bends forward…”If he’s single, I have a sister…”

“Uh, don’t think he’s into threesomes. Or rather, I’m not into sharing.” Katie shuffles closer. “Tell your sister to come by the Bowman’s Inn and have Val make her one of his specials.  Maybe she’ll meet the man of her dreams.”

“Um hm.” Alexis glances at a piece of paper resting in a file folder. “It says here ‘there was no furniture in the house when you got there. That must have been awful. What did you do?”

“Oh, that’s right. No furniture at all.” Katie pulls at her bangs. “May, the lady who left me the ice cream parlor, owned the apartment above the shop and she left that to me in her will, along with a gorgeous sleigh bed, but when we went to the apartment there was no bed, nothing. I thought I’d have to sleep on the floor, but then Mac insisted we pay Don a visit and force him to give us the bed. You should’ve seen his house. The staircase was littered with car and porn mags. Tasteful guy. So then I had a bed, at least. Mac was a prince. He offered to make me a table in return for free ice cream. I accepted; I mean, what else can a girl do? Hunky guy offers to make things for only ice cream?”

“No furniture,” Ezra ponders. “Where did it go?”

“I guess May gave it away to different people. She was like that, generous.”

Tell us about your Author. Jena’s pretty demanding. Does she give you room to add your own embellishments in the story or make you conform to her thoughts?”

Alexis shakes her head.

“I want a new Author,” Amos says.

“Oh stop, Love. Jena treats us just fine.”

Amos stares. “She murdered you.”

Ettie’s lower lip pops out. “Well yes, but I forgave her.”

“Louise is cool. She doesn’t rule us, we rule her.” Katie lets out an evil laugh. “I know Egon, one of her historical knights, gives her the right old run around. He’s the kind of guy you love and hate, gorgeous, but a bad dude. I dare you to interview him; he’ll probably not even bother to turn up.”

“Does your author have any new stories coming out?” Juliette asks.

Colovere moves forward. “Or gossip. Is there any good gossip where you come from?”

“In a place like Anteros there’s always gossip.” Katie leans forward and puts a finger to her mouth. “Rumor has it that Val, the guy I mentioned before, mixes special drinks for people he thinks should be together. A love potion, I guess you could call it.” She winks at Colovere. “I needed a couple before my heart began to melt.”

Alexis huffs. “Well, thanks to these guys our time is up. Is there anything you would like to add or share with us before we all leave for the day?”

“Sure. Let’s eat the ice cream.” Katie accepts the bowl Ettie hands her and digs in. “I don’t eat while I’m working, the cream and sugars smell too sweet. This margarita has a good twist of lime. What do you think?”

Juliette closes her eyes and moans. Amos insists she needs to make it with scotch next time. Alexis shakes her head and laughs.

"Thank you for joining us today Ms. Giordano. Good luck with the ice cream shop."

Katie Giordano left Anteros at sixteen to follow the love of her life, but after ten years of hard work and nothing to show for it except a heart calloused by Jeb’s continued betrayal, she discovers she has inherited an ice cream parlor and returns to the city of her birth, only to find someone has usurped her inheritance.

Don, the grandson of the previous owner, May, seized the parlor after her death and insists it’s his. Once she has signed the documents transferring the parlor into her hands, Katie fires him. His easy acquiescence fools her into thinking everything will be ok, but the apartment above the flat is devoid of furniture and all she has is a suitcase with some clothes and a single pink towel May gave her ages ago. Don has even taken the bed, which May left to her in the will. With no furniture and no money, Katie resigns herself to sleeping on the floor since she is unable to retrieve the bed by herself. 

A handsome, rangy guy called Mac offers to fetch the bed, and she views him with suspicion, wondering what his motive is. He tells her that May often gave him free ice cream when he was a poverty-stricken kid, and if Katie can make the sort of ice cream May used to make, he’ll be happy with that. Mac volunteers to build her a table and Katie agrees to pay him in ice cream. 

Two weeks later Katie is exhausted from working her butt off in the parlor and doing the finances on top, hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Mac, and then discovers Don has been stealing from her.

When Mac finally turns up with a beautiful table, he realizes she hasn’t been eating or sleeping properly, and waltzes her over the road to The Bowman’s Inn for a good meal. Valentine Archer, the sexy, unusual bartender whips them up one of his trademark drinks. Katie confides in Mac about Don, and he agrees to wait up with her to catch him. Sparks fly.

An excerpt
Mac shrugged. “They owe me a favor.”
“Hnh.” She cocked her head to one side. “You’re still here, so what do you owe me?”
He grinned. “Nothing.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“To make sure you owe me. Then I get free ice cream.”
“As long as you realize that’s all you’ll be getting.” Katie tugged on the door handle to go upstairs and, after a thought, held it open for Mac to go through first.
He raised an eyebrow. “You being polite?”
“Well, you know, roaches down here, might be one up there, too.”
“Ah. Don doesn’t live here, you know.”
“A man doesn’t have to live somewhere to leave his mark. Territorial beasts.”
He snorted with laughter. “And by letting me go first, you’re ceding the territory to me.” He paused in front of her, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I find that very interesting.”
His closeness kindled images of being pushed up against the wall and being thoroughly and slowly kissed. Her mouth dried. She swatted at him. “Go on. You’ll get the cobwebs first. I hate spiders.”
He climbed the wooden stairs. The magenta runner needed replacing. What else needed updating? Regardless, she had a home. What if it was full of her things? She shivered, and set off behind Mac, trying not to stare at his tight backside.
He whirled and threw something at her. 

Available April, 2015

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