Tag Archives: thrillers

3 Books for ONE Great Price! Labor Day Weekend Contest – FREE!

It’s called a “bundle” and might be the smartest way to stretch a dollar if you’re an avid reader like me. But wait . . . I’m also an author so treating readers to my backlist seemed like a great idea as both a reader AND a writer. The only thing to make it better is if you win it FREE by submitting a comment to this post. I’ll be giving away THREE (I thought that number seemed appropriate) E-copies in MOBI or PDF format so enter now! Drawing will be held Tuesday morning, Sept. 3rd.

ThreeCoversTHREE ROMANTIC THRILLERS is a smorgasbord of delight for those who enjoy some sexy romance with their suspense. Buy at Amazon and hoard it for those cold wintry nights when you need to generate a little “heat”. Or read it now . . . because I’m very close to releasing my next book, UNHOLY ALLIANCE – a contemporary thriller with paranormal aspects.


Deb Sanders

Genre: Romantic Suspens



STONE COLD JUSTICE – When Maggie McGregor returns to her childhood home, she realizes the killer who stalked her ten years earlier is still out there and wants her dead -now, more than ever. The only person who can save her is sexy Nick Stone, a man determined to put her behind bars . . . but not before he puts her in his bed.


“W…What are you doing here?”

Nick cocked his head to one side. “I’m enjoying the hot springs after a long day, just like you. I come here two or three times a week.”

“How did you know I would be here? Are you following me?”

He laughed. “Would you blame me if I was? I mean, after this morning . . .”

She cut him off. “This morning was a mistake. We both know it.” To Maggie’s dismay, Nick began to glide toward her.

“The only mistake we made was not finishing what we started,” he murmured provocatively.

Heat flamed across her cheeks. “And that’s the way it must stay.”


He was dangerously close. Close enough to detect the shimmer of her bare skin beneath the ripples. She watched his eyes dilate into black orbs. “Because it’s not wise.”

“What if I don’t want to be wise? Perhaps wisdom is overrated.”

“Not this time,” she retorted. “We have a business association. Nothing more.” Maggie felt his leg brush her thigh and shivered.

“I’d say there’s a lot more going on between us than just business. All work and no play can make life rather boring, don’t you think?”

She tried to ignore the seductive way he was looking at her. “On the contrary, I believe it makes life productive.”

“We might have to debate that philosophy.” He reached for her but she pushed away. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.” Maggie eyed him warily, slowly increasing the distance between them. “What would your girlfriend say if she knew you kissed me this morning?”

He arched an eyebrow. “My girlfriend?”

“The woman from your award ceremony. I read about it in the local paper.”

A strange light glimmered in his eyes. “Marianne was my date but I would hardly call her a girlfriend.”

So he was unattached. She tried to camouflage her delight with sarcasm. “And I would hardly call our encounter this morning anything but regrettable.”

“Why, you little minx!”

She dove under the water, reappearing several feet from the shore. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his surprise turn to pure determination. Pushing off a rock, he sliced through the water in direct pursuit.

Maggie propelled herself faster, leaving a small wake until her feet hit the rock floor. Within seconds, she was scrambling from the steamy pool, her legs straining against the resistance of the water.

Nick sprang for her ankle. His fingers skimmed the slippery skin before closing around a handful of air.

Plucking her towel from the ground, she quickly wound it around her dripping body like a sarong before gathering up the rest of her clothes.

Nick grinned. “Tally ho,” he called wickedly, refusing to give up the chase. Judging by the intensity of his glazed eyes, he must have seen her naked body.

The cool air hit Maggie, bringing her senses alive. Nick’s jeans and shirt draped across a boulder. It took only a moment to form a plan. Without stopping to second-guess her decision, she grabbed his pants and fished inside for keys.

Nick’s eyes grew wide. “Maggie . . . don’t . . .”

It was too late. She threw the keys into the tall grass, turning to grin triumphantly over her shoulder. That should delay his pursuit.

He rose from the water’s edge like Poseidon, dark hair spiked against his forehead. Boxer briefs clung tightly to his wet form, emphasizing what she already knew – Nick Stone was a big man.


RED HOT and DANGEROUS – As a favor to her best friend, Andie Lange agrees to act as personal assistant for a famous movie star on a one day press junket. When the movie star is murdered, Andie’s life takes a dangerous turn – it seems she’s next on the killer’s list. Just when she decides things can’t get worse, Detective Drake Slater shows up to put her in protective custody . . . a job he takes way too personally!


“Is this the kind of law you practice? Guilty until proven innocent?”

Drake’s features turned to granite. “Miss Lange, in my line of work, most suspects are guilty.”

“So now I’m a suspect?” Horrified, she rose to her feet, nearly knocking over the chair.

Drake showed no signs of relenting. “You need to cancel your return flight until you’ve been cleared. You were one of the last people to see Miss Dixon alive yesterday. How do we know it wasn’t you who poisoned the wine?”

Andie blinked as the blood drained from her face. “Why would I want to murder Diana Dixon? You don’t actually believe I had anything to do with this?”

“Stuart Prescott is missing, we don’t have a firm set of prints on the wine glass, so that leaves a lot of unanswered questions. And yes, Miss Lange, until further notice you are under investigation.” He motioned to his partner before heading toward the door, pausing to place his business card on the kitchen table. “If you remember anything else that might help us, give me a call.”

Joe Barnes approached the car in silence, not speaking until Drake pulled out of the drive. “She’s not guilty and you know it. How come you’re being such a dick? You’ve got the poor girl scared half to death.”

“It’s always the sweet, innocent types who shoot you in the back.”

Joe unwrapped a stick of gum and plopped it in his mouth. “You two have some history. Where’d you meet?”

Drake stared straight ahead, ignoring his partner’s curious expression. “I saw her yesterday at the Biltmore. Never got her name, though.”

“Is that why you were so hard on her? Geez, what’d she do? Turn you down for a date?” Joe’s mouth dropped open when he saw Drake’s expression. “That’s it.” His triumphant tone made it redder. “She turned you down. The great Drake Slater met a woman who refused his bed. I’ll be damned.”

“Shut up. It wasn’t like that.”

Joe leaned back, a huge grin creasing his face. “She sure is a looker. There’s something about redheads. I’ll bet she’s hot between the sheets, too.” He shot his partner a sideways glance. “Of course, you wouldn’t know.”

“Enough, Joe!” Drake gripped the steering wheel and maneuvered a turn.

There was no way he would admit she got the best of him. Not that it mattered. Andie Lange was a potential suspect. Nothing more.

He thought about the creamy white leg peeking from the folds of her terrycloth robe. Quite a shapely leg, too. Just like the soft mounds barely visible at the neck. He’d wanted to take her right there, and he might have if Joe hadn’t been around. Drake gave in to a reluctant smile. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad she had to stick around for a week or two. Andie was the first woman in a long while to show immunity to his charm – and that intrigued the hell out of him.


BLOOD STORM – Kate Merrill is determined to fulfill her deceased father’s last wishes – deliver a mysterious package to an unknown woman in Atlanta. When the chartered plane in which she’s travelling is shot down over the snow packed Sierra Nevadas, Kate is rescued by reclusive Sam Holden, a secretive man who can’t wait to get her off his mountain. As tensions rise and passions burn, Sam and Kate are thrust into a deadly game of cat and mouse with terrorists intent on launching a brutal attack.


“You’re awake.”

Kate blinked at the man hovering in the doorway. Where was she? Who was this man and why did she feel like she’d survived a head-on collision with a freight train?

Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she searched for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers twitched as she spied a heavy looking lamp on the bedside table. She began to inch closer to the edge of the bed. If she could just reach it before he had a chance to react . . .

The sheet slipped from her fisted hands. She froze. I’m naked. Her gaze flew to the stranger. He’s half naked. A towel circled his hips, hanging low on his waist. Golden hair spiked against a wide forehead, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His upper body still glistened with beaded water, accentuating every ripple of his well toned abs.

Yanking the bedcovers to her neck, Kate battled a deluge of emotions. Fear, shock, embarrassment – and admiration for the hard bodied man in front of her who seemed to have no problem with the intimate surroundings. What had she done? What had they done?

“Who are you?” she croaked, shrinking as far away from him as possible. “How did I get here?”

“I rescued you.”

It was a simple statement but did little to ease her agitation. “You rescued me?”

The man moved slowly toward the dresser, retrieving his wallet from the top and flipping it open. He held up an official looking badge.

“I’m a Wilderness First Responder. Sort of like an EMT for remote areas. You’re at my cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

Mountains? Great! Stuck in some God forsaken outpost with Paul Bunyan.

She swallowed the bile building in her throat. What was she doing in the mountains? Nothing made much sense and she was having a hard time remembering things. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

Two days? Panic tightened her chest. “I want my clothes.”

Silence fell between them like an impenetrable wall. Kate wrapped the blanket around her before attempting to swing her legs to the floor. The movement sent shockwaves of pain racing through her. She groaned and fell back against the pillow.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

She shot him a withering look which didn’t appear to faze him.

“You’re pretty banged up. There’s a laceration on your thigh and a nasty bump to your head. Nothing life threatening but you’re gonna hurt like hell for the next couple of days. That was quite a crash you walked away from.”


She must have wrecked her car. That explained the bruises. But it didn’t clarify how she’d wound up naked in a strange man’s bed. Granted, he had a body that rivaled Mr. December on her Chippendale’s calendar but that was beside the point.

Or was it? He is the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Had she slept with him? And if she had, who could blame her? Her gaze followed the dark shadow spilling across his chest to where it disappeared beneath the towel. If he moved an inch in any direction, his wrap would fall off . . . and from the way the terry cloth bulged, it would no doubt reveal an impressive sight.


Must Read Christian Thriller: Soul Defenders

Soul Defenders Button 300 x 225


RATED: 4 Stars

If you enjoy Frank Peretti, you’re going to love Carol Van Atta’s SOUL DEFENDERS. Steeped in a biblical base, the suspense is edgy and tense, driving the story with a clear plot of good vs. evil and an impressive gathering of characters.

I’ll be honest, I sometimes find Christian based books to be plain vanilla. Authors seem to skim over the elements that make sinners, well . . . sinners.  Flawed characters battle internal demons and walk a fine line between salvation and condemnation on the road to redemption. I think that makes them interesting. Others might find them offensive.

So when I began reading SOUL DEFENDERS, I prepared myself for plain vanilla. What I got was so much more. The story moves quickly and sets up the battlefield early on, surprising the reader with a few unexpected twists along the way. Let me be clear, this is a story of angels and demons, and the small town souls who are at risk. It’s also a great thriller. Yes, the dialogue sometimes sounded juvenile or naive but I confess, the characters wormed their way into  my heart to the point I was flipping pages long after I should have paused for the night.

If you can tolerate a book without graphic violence, sizzling sex, or language that would make your mother reach for the lye soap, you should truly read SOUL DEFENDERS. Even if you feel a good book absolutely must contain all of the above, you should still read SOUL DEFENDERS. Why? Because it has a message we should all hear. And the story is pretty darned good, too!

cover_angel_biggerSoul Defenders: The Black Orchids
Soul Defenders, Book One
Carol Van Atta
Genre: Christian Fiction/Thriller/Suspense
ISBN: ISBN-10: 1479246964
ISBN-13: 978-1479246960

Number of pages: 310
Word Count: 95,510

Cover Artist: fantasiafrogdesigns.wordpress.com


When Ted Lyons accepts the new pastorate at Cherry Creek’s Community Church, he has no idea just how handy his former law enforcement skills will become. A murdered pastor, the pastor’s kidnapped wife, and their runaway daughter are only the beginning in a series of problems he wishes were part of a bad dream. Ted soon realizes he’s facing a battle better fought on his knees, in prayer, than with his gun.

As ruthless demons, summoned by an international cult – The Black Orchids – take over the town of Cherry Creek, angelic warriors are dispatched to protect the weary residents and stop a diabolical plan of destruction. By surrendering their lives to God and forming an unlikely alliance, Ted and a rag-tag group of struggling believers work together to slay the shadows of evil that threaten their very existence.



Although she was only five miles from the security of her little town, Karen White’s hand trembled as she shut the door of her mud-splattered Jeep.

Glancing skyward, she noticed familiar gray clouds. Rain was in the air; she could smell it. Cherry Creek was a magnet for grey skies and rain. The flourishing grassy farmlands and surrounding forest ranges gave the town its green hue while Mount Hood towered in the background, its majesty inspiring protection.

At the moment, Karen wasn’t at all encouraged by her picturesque surroundings; rather, she was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack.

Glancing up at the stately, snowcapped mountain, she felt so insignificant, inadequate. She’d never imagined herself as a spy, but she knew — God didn’t make mistakes. If He wanted her to play detective, she would.

Walking toward the Henderson’s abandoned farmhouse, she fought the urge to turn back. The place was already filling her with an eerie uneasiness that increased with every step.

On the outside, the building looked pitiful: chipped paint, missing shingles, broken windows. Its apparent state of neglect belied the truth Karen had learned listening to the town’s two worst chatty-Cathie’s at Monty’s Styling Salon last week. It amazed her that a secret society would invite such loose-lipped ladies into its concealed depths. Those same lips had gushed that the Henderson property was a decoy for a high-tech compound hidden beneath. From her vantage point nothing appeared high-tech.

She gazed up at the barn. It loomed threateningly behind the old farmhouse. To her relief, there didn’t appear to be anyone around as she picked her way up the path through the swaying grass. Perhaps she was early?

She gasped, shocked by a thick hand grasping her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. She cringed as recognition dawned. Byron Marker gave off that cringe-inducing feeling anytime he was near. Lost in her thoughts, she’d missed him creeping up behind her.

“Glad to see you accepted my invitation. I wasn’t sure you’d show up. Your familiarity with the town’s archives will be of great benefit to The Cause,” Byron Marker oozed. He sounded not only creepy, but also strangely formal.

Attempting to camouflage her anxiety, she forced her eyes to meet his. “I hope I can help.” She made a point of scanning the area. “Is your daddy, Mr. Police Chief, here too?”

His disapproving expression led her to quickly change the subject to what she hoped was an approved topic: “Being part of such a powerful organization is an honor.” She wondered if it was enough to diffuse the tension.

His expression remained guarded, providing little assurance.

Forgive me for that lie, she prayed. God, please protect me, guide me, and reveal to me what You will.

Byron ignored the inquiry about his father and guided her around the old farmhouse, to the backyard, where they joined a group of at least fifty people clustered outside the barn’s main entrance.

“Why can’t we go in?” she whispered.

“They’re probably still preparing the room.” He didn’t elaborate. “It’s quite an event.

This is insane. God, I can’t do this!

Before she could muster an excuse for leaving, she spotted the two women from Monty’s Styling Salon. Why hadn’t she rescheduled her hair appointment? Shirley, her regular stylist, had been out sick.

Jolted back to the moment by a slight shove, she moved with the crowd, prodded forward like cattle. She crossed the threshold into the vacant barn, wishing for the final time that she’d stayed out of Joyce and Lori’s conversation. But the truth remained: She believed God had spoken to her, desiring for her to go. That knowledge had changed everything.

Okay, God, I’m in. Please stay right next to me and don’t let me make a fool of myself.  She prayed with the fervency of a child reaching for a trusted hand in a windstorm. She wasn’t disappointed.

Peace caressed her spirit, bringing much-needed comfort along with a strong sense of purpose and God’s presence, convincing her she was exactly, no matter how wacky it appeared, where she was supposed to be. The renewed sense of purpose gave her enough courage to follow the others down the stairs and into the passageway below, where the corridor fanned out into another vast room.

“Remove your clothing and put on the robes provided,” an unidentified voice boomed, threatening to disrupt her newly-acquired confidence.

Take off her clothes! Why? She hadn’t anticipated this.

Glancing around the cavernous area, she observed in amazement how quickly the others complied. She assumed most of them had been through this before. Were they going to take off their undergarments too?

The bare behinds were her answer.

Not wanting to appear as conspicuous as she felt she undressed, slipping out of her skirt and blouse, and yanking on the black robe. After adjusting the floppy hood, she discarded her panties, adding them to her neat pile.

Terrified couldn’t even begin to describe how she was feeling. She guessed that standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a dark abyss, with no bottom in sight, might compare.

“I caught a glimpse of that cute tush of yours, Ms. White,” Byron said, leering.

She shuddered. How revolting.

Revolt changed to relief, when she realized there was no possible way he’d seen her “tush.” The discreet manner in which she’d removed her last article of clothing left no opportunity for any ogling.

Swallowing her disgust, she followed his lead. They joined the others who were forming rows around an ominous red symbol in the center of the floor. Smaller astrological shapes, magical sigils, and what seemed to be words, scrawled in an unidentifiable language, were displayed in a multitude of colors on the surrounding walls, ceiling, and below her feet.

Lit by candles, the room glowed eerily. Spirals of smoke twisted upward. She stifled the urge to gag, overpowered by the sweet yet pungent smell of burning incense.

The others stared expectantly at a portion of the wall. What were they looking for?

She chanced another glance at the other participants, her curiosity heightened as she recognized the familiar faces peering from under their hooded robes: the diner’s manager, Roy; Tom, a gas attendant at the local Arco Station; Susan, the new elementary school teacher; and so many other so-called normal people. Her definition of normal had just shifted.

This is too bizarre. Has our town gone mad? God, give me courage.

Once again feeling calmer, she continued her attempts to identify the shadowed faces. Before she could recognize anyone else, a concealed door swung open, revealing a towering, gaunt, grey-haired man. He reminded her of a ghoulish game show host as he strolled into their midst, his presence commanding attention.

“Good evening, fellow adventurers. We are progressing splendidly with our goals. The translation of the most difficult portion of the scroll will begin soon. The Translator will join us any day.” The man smiled as he continued his address.

“Tonight is of the utmost importance. One of you will be selected to host a spirit guide. We will receive crucial instructions. So please, relax. You may be seated if you wish. Open your mind; go within; and begin to seek insight.”

A strange hum vibrated throughout the room. The air seemed to shiver with unseen energy. Karen noted the hairs on the back of her neck and forearms were standing at full attention in the static atmosphere.

Several people sat in yoga positions with their legs crossed. Others stood rocking, arms raised, in a posture of worship. Most of the group began to chant. The sound, both ancient and evil, grew in intensity, increasing the throbbing, electrical feeling surrounding her.

She wanted to cover her ears, but hated to admit the rhythms were somehow enticing. The words, although foreign, had a drug-like effect on her mind. An erotic tingling sensation traveled up her thighs, another terrifying testimony to the power unleashed by their invocations.

She found herself swaying with the others as if an invisible force was pressing against her, drawing her into a diabolical dance.

A baseball-sized crystal was passed with reverence through the crowd. It glowed amber, giving off an unnatural radiance. The moment Joe Nickels, a conservative banker, grasped the orb, it flared crimson, blazing between his fingers.

He toppled over, the crystal clutched in his hands.

Karen watched, horrified, as his body writhed with convulsions. Alarmed, she started forward thinking maybe she should administer first aid.

Byron shot her a warning glance.

Struggling for balance, the banker sat up. He didn’t seem so small anymore. His eyes, usually a dull gray, now had a haunting crimson glow.

Someone, or something, stared out through those red eyes.

His mouth gaped, as if pried open by invisible hands, and a menacing, other-worldly voice bellowed, “The plan is progressing as our Master wishes.”

His head twisted in an unnatural jerky motion, until, without warning, the red eyes latched onto hers.

Oh no! He knows I’m an intruder. Afraid to look away, she maintained eye contact, ignoring the perspiration trickling down her cheek, only to drop from her jaw in what felt like slow-motion. She was sure he could sense her secret, and see her perspiring.

Mercifully, when she couldn’t bear it a second longer, his attention transferred to the next person. She swiped sweat from her upper lip, and attempted to regain her composure.

He continued his announcement: “There is the matter of Rose Howard, Pastor Howard’s widow. She has located her late husband’s journal and will attempt to disclose its contents this evening. We cannot permit these narrow-minded, judgmental people, to interfere with The Cause.

And beware of a new man coming to town. He will try to stop us. Make note of his weaknesses.”

With the message dispatched, the banker’s body sagged; collapsing like a puppet whose puppeteer had released its strings. Emptied of whatever force had filled him, he lay motionless.

The grey-haired man lurched forward, drawing closer to the awestruck crowd. “You heard the instructions. Our timing is critical. Several of you have envelopes in your pockets.”

Karen, along with the others, fumbled through her cloak’s pockets. Nothing. Thank you, God.

“Those of you fortunate enough to be chosen for this assignment will remain for further instructions. The rest of you are free to go, or you may stay and visit the specialty rooms.”

People nodded, sharing knowing glances. One woman winked at the owner of the bakery. Others clustered together talking in hushed tones.

Karen could imagine what went on in the specialty rooms: sex, drugs, and more in-depth contact with evil spirits. She wanted to escape but waited, not wanting to appear as repulsed as she felt.

Several other participants found their clothing and began to dress. She followed their example, relieved the ordeal was almost over. Locating her clothing, she dressed faster than she thought possible. Fear had a way of speeding things up.

Moving toward the exit, she noticed Byron opening one of the infamous envelopes. Not wanting to discuss her impression of the evening with her horror so fresh, she hurried by with her head down.

Dodging through the remaining participants, she stumbled up the stairs and through the barn, no longer caring what anyone thought.

Relieved to be out of the smoke-filled dungeon, she inhaled deeply, savoring the refreshing night air. Off in the distance, over the tree branches, she could see the carnival rides’ twinkling lights. They’d been erected earlier in honor of the annual Mountain Day’s Celebration.

Celebrating tonight was not an option. All she wanted was to go home, lock the door, take a long, hot shower, and cry.

Lily Howard laughed from her perch high atop the groaning, old carnival ride. She felt as if she could reach out and touch the stars blinking overhead.

Some of the children shrieked with delight. Others screamed in terror. She grasped the security bar in front of her as the iron cage spun and began its rapid descent.

“What a ride!” she shrilled, realizing she felt pretty good tonight.

Her father had been dead for almost eight months; she’d been feeling like she’d died right along with him. But here, on this giant grinding machine, she was alive, exhilarated. Her stomach, protesting the spinning motion, gurgled; even though she’d made a point to avoid the enticing aromas when she’d strolled down the midway earlier with her mom. Puking on the rides was not her idea of a good time, nor was it cool.

A good time would be when she turned sixteen in just over a month. Sweet Sixteen, at last. I can’t wait!

Interrupting her birthday thoughts, the ride screeched, and then shuddered to a sudden, clanking halt. A scruffy, greasy-haired man unlatched the door to her metal cage. With caution, she stepped onto the narrow ramp. Her legs were wobbly, like a newborn foal’s. She smiled at the image, and caught her mother studying her.

“What? Do I look funny?” Her mother was awesome. Lily couldn’t imagine a day without her.

“Funny isn’t the right word.” Rose smirked, her playful side making an appearance.

“Whaddja mean?” Lily shot back, joining her mom at the railing.

“Well, you look happy, and rumpled.”

Her stomach grumbled again and it had nothing to do with motion sickness. “What I really am is starved. Let’s eat before it rains.” She linked arms with her mother.

“I feel different tonight, like a gloomy cloud has been lifted. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, sweetie, I do. Hey, there’s the jumbo corn dog stand. Shall we eat, darling?” Her mother drawled, trying to sound like a Southern belle.

“Yummy,” Lily replied.

“I’ll assume that was a yes.”

Giggling, they joined the long line, evidence that they weren’t the only ones craving the fair’s most gourmet dish.


Rose Howard spread a generous amount of catsup on her second corn dog. Taking a bite, she observed Lily. Her little girl was becoming quite a beauty. Lily loved being well-dressed and took care of herself and her clothing to the point of obsession. Rose smiled at the thought of Lily’s hysterical reaction to a few muddy paw prints on her new white shorts last week.

Hearing laughter, Rose returned her attention to the present. Lily and several of the local girls huddled together whispering. Teenagers, almost young adults; they seemed more like aliens from another planet.

Seeing her interacting and laughing with her peers again was encouraging. Considering all she’d been through, when her father was murdered, Lily had come through okay. Still Rose worried. Sometimes she couldn’t quite read her like she had in years past. There was something off, but not anything she could put a finger on.

What Rose did know for certain was just how challenging single parenting could be. She had a whole new perspective. Doing it alone, without Bill, was difficult to say the least.

He’d been the anchor in her life, her best friend, her lover, and her cheering squad. Of course Bill had been far from perfect, but he’d been a man who wasn’t afraid to admit his mistakes, always asking for God’s forgiveness. She hoped he had asked for the Lord’s mercy before taking his last breath.

She peeked in her purse at the leather-bound book that was Bill’s personal journal. She wished for the hundredth time that she’d never found it. Wasn’t ignorance supposed to be bliss? It was too late now. She already knew too much to pretend otherwise.

“Hi, Mrs. Howard.” A young man’s voice put a stop to her worries. “How are you?”

She could tell his question was sincere by the concern in his eyes. “I’m better. Thanks so much for asking.” Rose liked Robert Billings. He was a fine young man, strong in the Lord, and a journalism major at Mount Hood Community College. He was just the type of man she would like to see Lily interested in.

With Sweet Sixteen just around the corner, Lily had earned the privilege of dating in a group. But unfortunately, her daughter seemed to be more interested in the rebellious, rock-star types.

“Mrs. Howard…?” Robert began.

“It’s about time you called me Rose,” she encouraged.

“All right, Rose. I know Lily is going to be having a birthday soon, and I was hoping you’d allow me the honor of taking her, with some of the other kids, of course, out for a birthday dinner.” He sighed as if relieved to say what was on his mind.

“I’m sure that would be just fine. She’s over there.” Rose pointed towards Lily, who was staring brazenly at the lead singer of the pop band that had just taken the small stage.

Great, why does she have to like all the wild ones?

The demon, Senturus, hovered high above the fair on a thick gnarled tree limb. Few rides were higher than his present viewpoint. If a human were able to see him right now, they might mistake his identity, believing him to be some deformed, winged, prehistoric creature scanning the earth for prey. They would be right on both counts, but not quite in the way they imagined.

The searching for prey part was accurate. Indeed, he was ancient. But a dinosaur, he was not.

Senturus was one of the many beings created before the dawn of man. He, like his commander, Prince Lucifer, was created by Elyon, who had many names, such as: Jehovah, God Almighty, Jesus Christ. How he despised those names, for they represented the Great I AM.

“P…ssst, Senturus, don’t look so grim,” Jocenlas wheezed, hovering just above Senturus.

“Must you always interrupt my …”

“Your what? Thoughts? What would a stupid demon like you be thinking about?” Jocenlas cackled.

Senturus was always stuck working alongside Jocenlas. He’d learned not to complain though. After all, it might be worse; he could have Rakus for a companion.

Senturus eyed the gnarled branch, wishing for a momentary reprieve. But they were too near a church of the faithful — those who had claimed this land for God. On the other side of the field lay the town of Cherry Creek. There they’d surely find some rest.

Rest for them came only in the human realm in two ways: when they were permitted by a human to travel in or with that human, or when a human abdicated his authority over a specific geographical region.

There were specific areas on earth that were havens for demons. These refuges often lay in the worst sections of cities, or within corrupt world political headquarters, where so many humans were under the control of the Evil One that demons were given complete control of the region. They could also be found in a greed-filled church on Sunday morning, in places where church staff used their positions for pleasure and prosperity.

With so many opportunities, gaining access to a human would be fairly easy, if not for the fierce competition from other demons.

Human emotions were great perches. Fear, unbelief, uncertainty, rebellion, and pride were the strongest and most stable grips a demon could get on a human. Once the human began believing and accepting the whispered lies and half-truths the fiend crooned in his ear, the demon would get some rest upon the perch of nagging thoughts and emotions.

Senturus had seen the mightiest of demons strip the host demon right off a human. The devils from the tribe nicknamed The Addictions were good for that.

Once an Addiction got a perch, not many demons would even attempt to unseat him from his human. The best demons were able to gain complete possession of their human.

All I have to do is to gain control of someone, he thought. Then he began to despair, thinking about the difficulty of such an endeavor. With this Christian filth around here, I have to be satisfied with oppression, which gives me only a moment’s opportunity to rest. These Christians toss us off like we are flies. They put up with us just long enough until they start to pray for relief from God.

 If only I could get a denouncement of faith. That will happen. I just have to get this job done. This job will be my prize seat! I’ll be rid of Jocenlas for good. Let him take his comedy routine to the Addictions, demons so strong they make me look pitiful. They won’t appreciate him; that’s certain.

Senturus redirected his attention on the job at hand. “There is much to discuss,” he continued with authority, before Jocenlas could interrupt again with his ridiculous attempts at humor.

Jocenlas had been assigned to destroy a once famous comedian. Since completing that quest, he was always attempting to make jokes, which were always unfunny.

Senturus explained, “Thus far, I’ve seen no evidence of the Heavenly Army, but rest assured, they will come. This area is too crucial to be ignored for long.” He again scanned the wooded landscape.

“I heard that Marcus the Merciless will be joining us,” Jocenlas commented, now intent on the tasks ahead rather than failed attempts at humor.

“You are correct. You and I are to instill lust and doubt into Lily Howard, and pave the way for him. She is a prime candidate for deception. The girl is disappointed in God and blames Him for her father’s murder.”

“A nice set up for us. Why they blame Him for our work continually surprises even me. You would think they would have learned over the centuries.” Jocenlas shook his horned head.

“Humans are ungrateful, you know. They always want more of everything. When God could provide them with everything, instead they turn to the world and are left empty and craving yet more.” Senturus grinned. He despised the human swine.

“These humans couldn’t begin to comprehend what awaits them here in this small town. And they say small towns are safe? Ha! Let us move in closer and follow the girl. She is difficult to reach when accompanied by her vile mother. That woman is fully devoted.” Senturus wanted Rose Howard to suffer. Her spiritual confidence was an abomination.

“Did you receive the order about The Translator?” Jocenlas asked as he passed Senturus and glided to a point just above the ground, his onyx wings slightly extended.

“What?” Senturus felt his excitement mounting.

“We will be planting an ancient language into his mind. This will allow him to translate the remainder of the words and symbols needed to complete that which must come to pass.”

“Very ingenious. Let us proceed. I want to accomplish as much as possible before the holy people begin to join forces.” Senturus bolted through the brush, joining his comrade.

“I hate it when they surrender and pray,” Jocenlas agreed. He wasn’t joking now.

Senturus crouched low to the ground, his companion nearby. Together they slunk though the field surrounding the carnival. Small rodents and animals scurried away as they approached. It always amazed Senturus how animals could sense their presence. Humans could too, if they were spiritually discerning. Most, however, were not.

In a flash, he reached down and grabbed a baby rabbit. Feeling its tiny heartbeat race in fear, its eyes gazing up at him, wide in horror, excited him.

Without a second thought, he sunk his fangs into the tiny white ball of fluff and tore its head off. Blood spewed in their path. He spat out the head wishing it was Lily Howard’s. Now, that would be a tasty treat.

Ted Lyons drove with a crumpled road map in his hand. Although he’d highlighted his destination, Cherry Creek, Oregon, the map was still difficult to read at night, even with the overhead light. He’d yet to embrace the technology that would eliminate his need for a paper-made map. Maybe it was time to rethink that decision.

He pondered the growing ministry in Southern California that he was leaving behind. His friends and family were there. Ted didn’t know anyone in Oregon, and had never even heard of Cherry Creek seven days ago. Now he was making the town his home, a cold and wet home, if the current weather was any indication.

He cherished the warm southern climate, not this rain beating down on his windshield. But more than anything created he loved The Creator. When the Lord wanted Ted to drop all and follow, he followed. If any doubts encroached, which they often did, he thought about Abraham’s quest, and how he’d left everything behind to follow God. The decision to move had been riddled with reservations, but he’d relented.

For Ted, the whole process started just a week ago at a leadership conference where he’d enjoyed the company of several pastors from the green, northern state. They’d discussed the plight of the Cherry Creek Community Church, and Ted had felt that familiar tug in his heart; the tug he knew, without doubt, was from God.

He’d scheduled an appointment to meet with the church’s elders; and he couldn’t deny the gnawing anticipation at the prospect of something new and different. He was both saddened and intrigued by the events leading to his arrival.

Murder of a well-respected man of God and months without a replacement were not ordinary occurrences. His intuition told him something was very wrong in Cherry Creek. Having once been a police officer and, briefly, a private investigator, caused Ted to be inquisitive. He was lonely too; maybe here God would answer his prayers for a wife.

He approached the exit, shifting gears, when an eerie chill fanned down his spine. He sensed the presence of something close by — something malevolent.

As a pastor, who’d experienced more than a few implausible situations, he understood what was happening — a spiritual attack. The enemy didn’t want him to reach Cherry Creek.

He was on the verge of an accident.

Wiping a trickle of perspiration from his brow, he took a deep breath trying to calm himself enough to think. The defroster had decided to quit working and he couldn’t get his windows to open. He wiped the front window with his palm. Nothing changed. It was too fogged to see. In fact, he couldn’t see out any windows now.

A horn blared as an unseen vehicle sped by on the left. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled over to what he hoped was the right side of the highway. Another car blew its horn and screeched to a halt behind his bumper. It continued on its way around him, honking the entire time.

Taking another deep breath, Ted adjusted the controllers on his console. Everything was functioning fine now. He wasn’t surprised to find the windows working too. Fresh cool air poured in along with a few raindrops. Thank God he was on the right shoulder. Both he and his car were intact.

“Thank you, God, for Your protection. Help me to reach Cherry Creek in one piece.”

A sense of relief replaced his fear. Such a blatant spiritual attack confirmed what he’d suspected all along — this was no ordinary job.

Taking a long look over his shoulder, he maneuvered back into traffic. His headlights reflected a welcoming sign just ahead — Cherry Creek next exit. Clicking the turn signal, Ted turned toward an uncertain future.

He knew he was right on schedule.

The angels assigned to protect the holy man unsheathed their flaming swords. Their demonic foes screamed their fury, swearing obscenities as they retreated from the pastor’s car, spiraling into the overcast sky.

“Observe, my friends. That preliminary encounter will allow Pastor Lyons to reach his destination unscathed,” Raulo, the Lead Angel, announced, triumphant. He continued to fly over Ted’s vehicle for a few more minutes before veering to the right.

“This man will provide the leadership the church needs. He is dynamic, creative, tough, as the humans would say!” Raulo glanced curiously to his right at Mileo, who had just been assigned to his ranks.

For centuries, Mileo had been in charge of welcoming the saints into heaven. Raulo could not fathom the reason for such a drastic change in position, but he knew better than to question The Father’s divine plans. He would make every effort to train the angel, helping him develop his instinctive fighting skills.

“Mielo, do you sense the evil creatures arriving? Your opportunity for battle may arrive sooner than expected. We will discuss strategic warfare soon,” Raulo explained as the church’s steeple drew his attention. He circled, landing on a grassy slope. He and his battalion would rendezvous here.

From his position, he watched as the pastor parked his car, heading towards the safety of the Country Inn Hotel. He hoped Ted and the other Christians would begin to pray soon. Their petitions affected heavenly response far more than they were aware.

Raising his magnificent wings, Raulo saluted his fellow comrades as they too glided down. He marveled at God’s handiwork. Each angel was created different. They all shared human qualities, but they were anything but ordinary.

All were clad in flowing beige or white tunics adorned with glittering jewels. Swords, shields, spears, and crossbows could be seen attached to belts or tucked inside their cascading garments. All were male in appearance, although not men in the human sense of the word. They were muscular and fit. Most of the warriors towered well over seven feet tall, a few even taller. Amazing, grand, powerful, and perfect could only begin to describe his heavenly allies.

Raulo reached into his tunic and grasped his most prized possession, an exquisite golden trumpet. Placing the instrument to his lips, he blew. The sound, gloriously clear and perfectly holy, signaled the beginning of their meeting.

“Let us begin.”

Raulo recognized many of the warriors from previous battles. These angels were what the humans would refer to as the “best of the best.”

“Lord, we praise and honor you. May we obey and operate inside the parameters of your perfect will.” The intercessory angel opened their meeting.

Raulo stood to his full height, commanding respect. “Welcome, friends. Many of you have traveled far and are eager to receive your new assignments. Our leader, Michael, has given us explicit directions from The Father. I expect Rafael will join us in the future.”

He observed his companions’ reactions. They were thrilled by the prospect of fighting alongside such a respected and experienced warrior.

Unrolling the glowing parchment, Mileo had given him, he began: “Several humans will play crucial roles in resolving this conflict. Rose Howard, Ted Lyons, and Karen White will be protected and guided by me and my new partner, Mileo. Argentio will have a challenging young charge, Lily Howard. These humans will be under intense attack. I am quite certain you all received extensive background information on each individual in your pre-battle briefings.”

He surveyed the warriors. All eyes remained on him.

He continued, “We are not yet permitted to engage in outright combat. Our job is to protect the humans involved in this conflict, yet we must allow them to make their own mistakes. The enemy will be permitted to test these humans, extensively, for a time.”

Pausing, he allowed this statement to penetrate. By the uneasy glances he knew the significance of the boundaries were understood, not liked, but accepted.

“We are to protect their lives and offer encouragement. I believe at a later time we will be allowed to take a more aggressive approach. Our actions will depend on the tactics the enemy employs.

I am not sure what they are after, but from their numbers, it is of the highest significance.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:carol van atta

Like most authors, Carol Van Atta is no stranger to the written word. She penned a short novel at age 12 (somewhat frightening illustrations included) and had a creative writing piece published in her high school newspaper. Devouring books from numerous genres, she developed a thirst for more reading materials and could almost always be found with her nose in a book. She has contributed to several popular inspirational anthologies and devotionals, published by Zondervan and Regal Publications, and was a regular writer for Campus Crusade for Christ’s Christian Women Today. Writing fiction is her greatest joy.Soul Defenders: The Black Orchids, is the first book in a trilogy of spiritual warfare thrillers.

Website: http://www.princesswarriorsforchrist.com/
LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/carol-van-atta/15/355/84
Blog: http://princesswarriorsreignreal.blogspot.com

CONTEST and Author Interview – Meet PM Richter

Next on my list of October’s Hallowed Authors – Pam Richter, author of four edgy thrillers, The Necromancer, Midnight Reflections, The Living Image, and Deadly Memories. To sweeten the blog pot, Pam is awarding a complete SET of all four books to TWO of my lucky readers. Wow, four books….free….and all you have to do to enter is leave a comment at the end of this post! I’ll draw names on Sunday. Don’t be selfish, share the info with your friends. If they win, maybe they’ll let you borrow one. 🙂

Read on to see what lurks in this talented writer’s mind!

The Necromancer is steeped in witchcraft and wickedly good suspense. How do you make your characters so multi-faceted and intriguing? Does your Psychology degree help with character development?

Actually, the characters seem to take on their own personality.  Sometimes one of them will just insist on doing what they want.  I let them!  This makes plotting more difficult, and I find it easier to list questions for myself so I don’t let any loose threads go.  Recently in my newest book, I had just finished the novel and I looked over my questions. One of my minor characters who was injured did not have any resolution.  Did he live or die?  I had to go back and it only took a few sentences to settle his fate.  You can bet the readers would have been asking questions if I didn’t fix this though.  I take plotting very seriously.  I want the whole arc in my book, beginning, middle and I pretty much insist on a happy ending.  Readers don’t want to be let down and depressed.  They learn to love our characters if we writers do our job. We are actually entertainers who take the reader out of their world for a little while into an alternate reality.  It should be fun and suspenseful.

Yes, a degree in psychology is very helpful in character development.  When I wrote about the psychological aftermath of rape on my main character, Michelle, in The Necromancer, the way the violation influenced her behavior because of sub-conscious fear was a real problem for her. The fear generalized to all men so she was uncomfortable in social situations.  She couldn’t stand the thought of a man touching her ever again.  When she finds out the real reason for her fear, and that her panic was justified, her whole outlook is changed.  The flight-or-flight burst of adrenalin which happened to her when alone with a man ended.  She could love and live a normal life again.

Some readers were distraught over the rape scene in the third chapter, but it was written in the third person, as a flashback, and the reader knows Michelle survives.  It was necessary for her character.  Personally, I think what I wrote about her subsequent reaction is the best I’ve ever seen in fiction, even if I did write it.  My degree in Psychology was important here to make it realistic.

I enjoy the paranormal and sci-fi elements in your books which takes them to another level.  What made you decide to write thrillers?

Oh gosh, I don’t think I decided to write thrillers.  I loved paranormal books by authors like King, Koontz, Konrath, and I wanted to write a big book in their tradition.  For The Necromancer I added witches, an animal familiar named Lucifer, (after the orange striped cat in Alice in Wonderland) a professor of the occult, and of course a woman in jeopardy, Michelle, and her best friend Heather.   The Necromancer is Omar, who stalks Michelle, and then there’s our hero, Rob Nakamura.  A classic clash between good and evil; it’s for mature audiences.

I’m an identical twin, so I wondered what would happen if a person found someone who looked exactly like them.  That started The Living Image.  It evolved into a thriller just because a lot of people wanted to possess the woman who had been changed by a scientist, and the two women have to evade them.

You live in southern California but hail from Sacramento. (Lived there myself for some years and loved it.) Do you incorporate settings from places you’ve lived and visited or do you research new locations based on the plot?

I lived in Honolulu, Hawaii for a few years, so I took that location for The Necromancer.  Still, I did a lot of research on Hawaii and some of the other islands so I could add fun tidbits about the traditional culture.  I love to learn things when I’m reading so I added these things for the reader.  In another book one of my characters was French, and I had a wedding in the novel on the French Riviera, so I had to do a lot of research on France.

The location of a book I’m doing now is on a cruise ship visiting Puerto Rico.  I have a character lost in the Rain Forest there.  I found out there are tree frogs that screech all night long.  She has a horrible night in that jungle.  It was fun doing the research because I saw a YouTube video and heard the actual noise.  Those frogs are loud!

Like many authors, you’ve had an interesting employment background. Do you use those experiences as inspiration for your stories? Where does your ideas come from?

In The Necromancer, Michelle is a property manager in Hawaii.  I did that same kind of work in Santa Monica.  I had a review on the book by a person who said one incident in the book couldn’t have happened.  But it did–in an office building I managed.  There was a burst pipe that flooded a whole floor of offices.  The water went down through the floor, through a smoke detector, and set off the building’s fire alarm.  I thought there was a flood and a fire in the building simultaneously.  Talk about being in a panic!  The whole building, all 22 floors, had to be evacuated.  I put this incident in The Necromancer.  I’ve never thought about doing a story about teaching ballroom dancing, one of my former jobs, but you’ve got me thinking….

Name three books/authors that you found memorable and tell us why.

It, by Stephen King.  One of my favorite books he’s written because his characters seem so real.  I like big books with big themes.  He has the children who eventually become adults and solve a haunting mystery that started in their town when they were young.

The Mill River Recluse, by Darcie Chan. This is simply great.

The Entire and the Rose, by Kate Kenyon.  This is a Science Fiction series of four novels.  It’s very complex, intriguing, mysterious and wonderful.  She makes the other worlds seem so real, and the reader is catapulted into different realms.

May I add another series?  Wool, by Hugh Howey.  This is Science Fiction, wonderfully done.

What is something that scares YOU most?

Bugs–insects.  I don’t mind them when I’m gardening.  But when they’re in my house, forget it.  I panic, wave my arms, act crazy.  I start off The Necromancer when Michelle sees a Big Bug on the wall.

One of my friends said, “I don’t know why I even started The Necromancer.  It has big bugs, a rape scene, and it’s scary–nothing I like.  But it’s my favorite book this year.”

If you had a magic rock that could take you back in time to any era, where you visit . . . and why?

First choice:  Atlantis.  The legendary island first mentioned by Plato.

If Atlantis doesn’t really exist in history, hum….  The big cities of long ago are enticing.  London, Paris, Rome.  The problem is they are beautiful to see, but while visiting I think of the lack of sanitary conditions, poverty, starvation.

About the Author

PM Richter is an author living in West Hollywood California. She has a degree in Psychology, from Northridge State University. She has worked as a property manager for Nansay, Corp. a multi-national corporation, been a dance teacher for Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire Dance Studios. She has five novels available on Amazon Kindle.

The Living Image

The Necromancer

Midnight Reflections


Deadly Memories

Website:  http://anauthorsplace.weebly.com/index.html

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/pam.richter.391

Twitter: @pmraven

The Necromancer

P.M. Richter

Genre:  Paranormal

ISBN-13: 978-1478349501

ISBN-10: 1478349506


Number of pages:  346

Word Count:   121,705

Amazon Kindle       Amazon Print       Barnes and Noble

Book Description:

She picked the worst guy to have an affair with! –  Evil stalks in Hawaii

Michelle was brutally attacked in her locked hotel room in Las Vegas. The police didn’t believe her and thought she must have lured a man up to her hotel room for a little sexual adventure, which went dangerously out of control.

Michelle sustained visible scars from the terrifying and almost lethal attack, but pure fear motivated the move from her home in California to Hawaii. She’s scared her attacker will come back. She’s sure the next time he’ll kill her. Now she has a successful career and she figures abstinence is an acceptable, if lonely, way to live.

Michelle decides that an affair with a wickedly handsome man who moves into her building might cure her of the humiliating, embarrassing, and uncontrollable anxiety attacks which plague her whenever she finds herself alone with a man.

How could she know she made the worst possible choice?

Omar Satinov, the man Michelle has chosen, is a secret, whispered legend across several continents. His lure is a mystical religion based upon Witchcraft; his hook, the addictive herbal products he sells his followers. But does he really have supernatural powers, as many of his disciples believe?


It was just past twilight, almost time for the Crystal Prophesies.  Omar leaned his elbows on the penthouse balcony, enjoying the moment.  This was a magical time of day and he was a magician.  He preferred calling himself a Necromancer to the common titles: warlock, conjuror, magus, seer or wizard.  There were subtle variations, but he fancied ‘romancer’ in his title.  Necromancer.  It described him.  He romanced his way into hearts and minds.  With the help of a little magic.

As he gazed at the panorama spread out below, the Pacific slowly changed from light blue to a misty topaz.  Lush clouds floated on the horizon, and stars began to glow.  To his left was the tinsel-tourist Waikiki, and to his right the city of Honolulu was lighting up. Below him, in this very building, he could sense the presence of a remarkable woman.

He turned, gazing through plate glass windows into his new penthouse.  Ginger and Samson were inside.  Ginger noticed his look and, with a flourish, she uncovered an enormous crystal ball from its leather shroud.  She winked at him.  Ginger was a disciple, a beautiful tall woman, with long curly red hair.  She wore a flowing blue gown for the ceremony.

It was a tradition for the three of them to gaze into the crystal ball to divine their future when they expanded to a new location. They had arrived in Oahu a week ago.  Tonight was perfect, the time of the full moon.

Omar went inside and sat down in front of the crystal.  The sphere was almost two feet in diameter and sparkled on a base of black onyx.  The three were seated in the main living room, beneath a skylight.  White rafters crossed the cathedral ceiling.  The room was dark except for a cold silvery glow from the candles Ginger had placed around the room.

Omar passed his hands over the crystal ball several times for theatrical effect, principally for Samson, who was watching with curious eyes.  Omar’s acolyte, Samson was a gigantic man who would never age mentally.  He did remember this ritual.  His mouth was open in anticipation.

Omar frowned and leaned closer, gazing into the depths of the crystal.  Indeed, the omens were not auspicious.  Red forms floated amorphously inside, constantly changing shape.  This denoted the substance that controlled all magical rites.  Blood was a fluid like the tide; it flowed like the ocean, was coaxed by the moon to move subtly in bodies, causing emotional changes called lunacy. Sometimes it spilled.

The black he observed, swirling around the red forms like a night wind, could be taken as a symbol of his own influence.  It was the bright white light clashing there which forced Omar’s dark eyebrows to slide together.  White, an opposing force, seemed capable of exerting great influence in these Hawaiian islands.  Omar couldn’t tell if it indicated an old curse peculiar to these islands, with their ancient polytheist beliefs, or if it referred to a threatening individual.

The white was glowing, taking over.  There was busy movement inside the crystal.  It might have been a reflection from the stark white walls, but Omar was not taking chances.

“Who will sacrifice?” he asked, frowning at Ginger and Samson in turn.  He took a dagger from the leather sheath that Ginger had placed beside the crystal ball.

The colossal young man cowered away.

Omar shook his head.  Samson let out a tiny moan, but Omar swiftly reached across the crystal and pointed the tip of the dagger at Ginger.

“I need heart blood,” Omar said.

Ginger closed her eyes and nodded.  He made a small slashing cut above her left breast, above her heart.  The cut was superficial, but blood immediately started flowing.

Ginger leaned forward and red dripped on the round crystal ball, and slowly, like wine with good legs, inched down its sides.

Omar recited incantations and waved his long expressive hands.  Both Ginger and Samson saw silver sparks extend from his fingertips and enter into the crystal. Ginger thought the effect might have been starlight drifting down from the skylight above.  Samson was sure it was magic.

Omar peered into the depths of the crystal and was satisfied.  The white light was winking out.  The sacrifice had been potent.

His mind again sought the lovely feminine presence he had felt below him in this building.  When he found it he smiled.  His final aspiration would be fulfilled.  The Crystal Prophesy said so.

October’s Hallowed Authors: Micheal Rivers

I’m not a native North Carolina girl but I’m adapting at lightening speed. The Carolinas are rich with history, Southern comfort i.e. foods, hospitality, and supernatural lore. What’s not to love? And one of North Carolina’s home-grown Paranormal Thriller authors, Micheal Rivers, has become my go-to source for haunting, evocative tales. I recently joined a group of ghost hunters who frequent North and South Carolina paranormal hotspots, which makes Micheal’s books even more enjoyable because of the familiar geographical settings. So, first on my list of  October Hallowed Authors is Micheal Rivers, an author who should be on your list of “must read” authors.

Click on the cover art to read a blurb of each book. Appalachia Mountain Folklore will be released in November but you can save $$ by pre-ordering now.



Micheal, an American author, was born in Ahoskie, North Carolina in 1953. He served his country during the Vietnam War in the USMC. Later, his travels provided over thirty years of investigating and collecting stories of the paranormal. His genres include horror and thriller with an element of paranormal in all of his novels. The Smokey Mountain Ghost Trackers of Western North Carolina was founded by him and he is the lead investigator. Micheal currently resides in the mountains of North Carolina along with the love of his life and his Boxer he fondly calls Dee Dee.

Visit his website http://michealrivers.com/
Email: contact@michealrivers.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/micheal_rivers or @micheal_rivers
Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/MichealRivers.Author

Nook Owners…It’s Your Turn!

I’ve just uploaded Stone Cold Justice onto Barnes & Noble and Smashwords. If you have a Nook, Sony or other e-reader, check it out on Amazon, B&N or Smashwords It’s getting great reviews on Amazon. I’m sure my other ebook reading fans will enjoy it just as much!