FMB tours: The Last Degree by Dina Rae : Guest Post and GiveawayP

Please give a warm welcome to Dina Rae, author of The Last Degree, who is guest posting here at BLH.

The Rise of the Preppers

Politics aside, we all can agree the world is a very dangerous place. Some people prepare for the worst. TV shows such as National Geographic’s Doomsday Preppers and Discovery’s Doomsday Bunkers highlight a segment of society who believes impending doom is near. In response, they put all of their time and resources into future survival. The “prepper” label emerges.

Preppers collect water through cisterns, stock canned food, invest in remote underground living quarters, and practice off-the-grid living. Their reasons exceed fear, ranging from nuclear war and natural disaster all the way to prophecies of End of Days and New World Order.

Whatever the belief, they continue to unite, forming their own subculture. This movement is similar to the ‘70s and ‘80s survivalism, but much more sophisticated in technological advances of supplies, weaponry, and social networking. They even have their own vernacular. Here are some of the more popular terms.

BoB: Bug-Out-Bag
Bag packed with necessities when it’s time to take off. Depending on location, terrain, and weather, the contents vary. Everyone should have a flashlight, water, lighter, thermal blankets, radios, compass, hard-copy of a map, knife, gun, first aid kit, and cash. (3 days worth is the minimum recommendation)
SurvivalJane.com sells them pre-packed.

Zombie Apocalypse: It’s not just a horror novel term. When people who are infected and/or insane and become a threat.

PSS: Primary Shelter Site
A hideout. Prepper favorites-a home or trailer in a remote area, underground bunker, a spider hole (very temporary), and a cave

WROL: Without Rule of Law
No government or law enforcement-Chaos

SHTF: Sh@t Hits the Fan
The moment when a prepper makes the decision to bug out

Those who watch prepper reality TV have seen million dollar bunkers, advanced solar technology, militia sized arsenals, and endless shelves of medical supplies. Any attempt to prep seems overwhelming. Nonetheless, it doesn’t hurt to prepare. Dina Rae's The Last Degree uses preppers as her main protagonists of the story.

Title: The Last Degree

Series: Book #1

Author: Dina Rae

Genre:

Action,

Adventure,

Paranormal, Political, Suspense,

Christian

Publisher: Dina Rae

Ebook

Words: 93000

Purchase for only $1.99:

Amazon

Book Description

The Last Degree is a fictionalized account of how Freemasons and other secret societies set up the world for takeover. Ancient writings foretell a ‘Shining One’ who emerges as the world’s prophet. A murder of a Most Worshipful mason resembles a secret oath. A cop gets too close to solving the crime. Paranoid preppers go underground, preparing for war.

Headlines such as the Norway massacre, meltdown of the European Union, unscrupulous media, animal die-offs, Middle Eastern unrest, and U.S. shrinking power make the plot relevant to present day. This book is an ode to Christians, Birthers, 2012ers, Truthers, preppers, and/or other conspiracy junkies who enjoy Dan Brown, Jesse Ventura, Brad Meltzer, Alex Jones, Jerry Jenkins and Tim LaHaye.

Excerpt:

Dwight took off his crown, signifying he was no longer playing King Solomon.

“Sacrifice is expected for ones that you love. Do you love me?” Dwight shouted.

“Then bow down before me and offer praise!”

Everyone knelt and laid their head down to the floor, chanting 'Most Worshipful, Most Worshipful' several times before Dwight commanded them to get up. In a manic energetic state, Dwight vociferated, “Et vitam impendere vero!”

All repeated, with the three new pledges joining in. Minutes later, he began to calm down. “To sacrifice life for truth - that is what we must always do! You must trust me as your Most Worshipful and sacrifice at my command! Are you prepared to do this?” All three pledges nodded.

Dwight pulled the content baby out of Arthur's arms and threw it high into the air. As the baby began to descend, Dwight took his sword and hacked through its neck, decapitating it before it hit the floor. Only the three pledges shrieked in horror. He sinisterly smiled as he picked up the head and body, revealing it was only a doll.

“Don't believe with your eyes, but believe with your knowledge. We are his chosen and will soon be exalted.”

The three men looked down at their hands and tried not to scream. They were covered in blood.

“Sacrifice, my brothers, sacrifice. I will teach you well. You are all Chiefs of the Tabernacle! Let us go and celebrate!” Dwight gleamed.

Check out The Last Degree Prequel as well—Be Paranoid Be Prepared!

About the Author:

Dina Rae is a new author here to stay. As a former teacher, she brings an academic element to
her work. Her two novels, Halo of the Damned and The Last Degree, weave research and suspense
throughout the plots. Her short story, Be Paranoid Be Prepared, is a prequel of sorts to The Last Degree, focusing on the James Martin character. Dina also freelances for various entertainment blogs.

Dina lives with her husband, two daughters, and two dogs outside of Chicago. She is a Christian, an avid tennis player, movie buff, and self-proclaimed expert on several conspiracy theories. When she is not writing, she is reading novels from her favorite authors Dan Brown, Anne Rice, Stephen King, Brad Thor, George R.R. Martin, and Preston & Childs.

Find the Author:

Website | Blog |

Giveaway:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

FMB Tours: Rough Surrender by Cari Silverwood: Excerpt and Giveaway

Title: Rough Surrender

Author: Cari Silverwood

Genre: BDSM, Historical Romance/Fantasy,

Mystery, Romance, Suspense,

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Ebook

Words: 78,000

Purchase:

ARe | Amazon | B&N |

Book Description:

At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly.

The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn't have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor's prayers.

Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all.

WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage.

Excerpt:

“That’s better. Relax, darling. You’re meant to enjoy this.” His hands moved,

untangling and unrolling the last lengths of her hair, drifting lower,

following the contours of her upper back to her waist and circling her there,

pausing for a moment before leisurely curving across the mounds of her bottom.

What she was allowing this man to do stunned her.

“You have lovely hair, Faith, a beautiful body. I could touch you like this all

night.” He kissed her neck, tickling her with small nibbles. “I’m taking your dress

off now. Your answer, my dear?”

An answer? He wanted speech when her throat had seized up? “Yes. Sir.”

The wall behind the chaise lounge was cream...the lounge was timber and

blue and her legs shook. Already.

From the sound, he’d knelt then his hands encompassed her ankles and

ran a little way up beneath the dress. Cool air caressed her body as he took the

garment up. “Raise your arms, Faith.”

She did so. The dress pooled on the lounge where he tossed it. She’d

never stood before a man in her underwear before--in corset, drawers and

stockings--and this was a man who knew how to control her with mere words.

The longing to know what he meant to do made her breath come harsh to her

ears. Her lips parted.

“I like a woman who obeys my commands.” He rested his hands on her

shoulders.

Before she could stop herself a small noise escaped her lips.

“Do you have a question?” His hands moved on her muscles, massaging

and spreading a delicious warmth that pooled in her breasts and groin.

“Yes. Uh, sir.”

“Ask then.”

“I don’t obey.” She let her head slowly drop forward as he continued

the massage, and his body moved in to mold against her back. A hard length

pressed along the crevice of her bottom. “I don’t. Not normally. Just you. And

here. Uh. That’s all, so nice.”

He laughed a little, softly, near her ear. “I could tell you liked it,

sweetheart. Obeying me here and now is all I want.” He stepped away, keeping

a single finger in the center of her back. “I’m going to take off the rest of your

clothes, Faith and bind you.”

Oh my God.

“Now is when you should say, no, my dear. Then I’ll go.”

She licked her lips. Say, no? And miss what her body craved? He’d done

what he had at the workshop--made her throb exquisitely in all her private places.

She said nothing, wanting, needing, to see what else he could do.

“You want me to stay then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” This time she heard roughness in his voice. “Good.”

He drew off her shoes, her drawers, her hose and corset until she waited

there naked with the air caressing her skin. The man in her room was still

clothed...and she was naked. Her heart thudded, fast and anxious.

“Put your wrists together, behind your back.” His voice softened as

he moved away. Something knocked, then came muted noises. Mr. Meisner

returned and stopped there, just behind her, within reach, where she couldn’t

see, waiting.

She sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and did as he ordered--put her

arms at her back. He wrapped some sort of rope around her wrists, tightened the

bindings until she could do no more than twist her hands one against the other.

“The curtain cords,” he murmured. “Being an engineer, I like to use chains

and metal when I can, but this will do, for your first time. How does that feel,

Faith?” He set his hands on her hips. His skin on her naked skin. She shuddered,

feeling wetness seep between her legs. “Turn around and look at me. Now.”

Of a sudden, seeing him looking at her was scarier than staring at the wall

and knowing he did things to her behind her back. She bowed her head, felt her

hands again--roped together. The position made her breasts jut out and as she

looked, her nipples puckered and poked out like fat buttons.

“Faith. Turn and face me.”

“Yes, sir.” She shuffled around and his hands stayed on her, sliding at

her hips, just above there, where she ached. His big brown eyes were on her

and she couldn’t help but look up into them and be caught, the sensation turning

topsy-turvy, messing with every thought in her head. Mr. Meisner had her in his

hands.

“There, love. I do believe you like this.” His eyes crinkled and his mouth

moved in the most heartwarming smile she’d yet observed. “You don’t need to

answer that. I can see. In this.” He put both hands on her breasts, cupping them

then brushing each thumb once across her nipples.

“Oh.” She swayed and found her eyes half closing.

“And this.” Deliberately, while his gaze still locked with hers, he let one

hand leave her breast, trail down her stomach, across the triangle of hair...

No. He wouldn’t. She tugged at the ropes around her wrists but nothing

gave. Her helplessness fed into the heaviness curling tight and low in her

stomach. The nub of flesh inches from his fingers peaked and hardened. She

tensed then arched into his hold, and still he watched.

His hand slid between her legs and paused there. “You’ve no hair on your

lips down here, Faith.” His eyebrows rose a smidgeon.

He wanted her to speak? Just being there, still, his finger confused her,

kept her thoughts centered on the minute details of what he did. “I...I remove it. A

friend in Paris showed me. For cleanliness and all...um.” Her explanation trailed

away, swallowed by the sensations bubbling up.

“Hmm, I like the result.” His gentle baritone hum...the spot his finger

touched...her nakedness and the power this man had over her, and, oh, the way

he watched, it all roiled deliciously around inside her.

She gulped then held her breath as...his finger followed the line of her slit,

where wetness collected, and slow as a tongue licking the edge of an ice cream,

nudged aside her lips, and dipped inside her. There. Oh. Yes. A coil of simmering

energy seemed to squeeze down into the tightest ball, and quiver to be released.

His thumb found her nub and pressed down firmly. Over and over and over.

Her heart stopped. The room shattered. Her breath came out in a choking

squeak from her gaping mouth. Nothing existed except the storm of pleasure

bursting upward from where he probed and pressed. Unable to stop herself, she

jerked and moaned through each wave of the storm until her body was wrung dry

of the very last shudder.

When the room centered and she raised her eyelids, Mr. Meisner held

her in his arms, snuggled to his chest. He rubbed her back, just like he had on

the boat. “There you go, sweetheart. Lord. Never seen any woman orgasm that

easily. You do like this. Do you understand? You like being tied up.”

About the Author:

Though I’d much rather stay invisible and spin you all tales with my words, here’s a little snippet of my world.

I have a lovely family, here in Australia, with the prerequisite teenager who dwells in the dark bedroom catacombs…a husband who raises eyebrows when he catches glimpses of what I write, and a furry menagerie of other animals barking, meowing, and swimming about the place.

I write stories that will blast you from your bed & heroes who will drag you back there by your hair and ravish you endlessly - think kink, adventure and alpha men.

Find the Author:

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads |

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FMB tours: Milk Carton People: The Journey by by Sally Franklin Christie : Guest Post

Please give a warm welcome to Sally Franklin Christie, author of Milk Carton People The Journey.

I am a plotter eleven months out of the year. In November I am a pantser. Throughout the year I wish I could bottle and sell ‘butt glue for writers.’

I’ll tell you a bit about my approach to plotting.

I have a very tattered book that I bring out at the start of my project. I don’t know if writers can buy it anywhere these days.

The Weekend Novelist by Robert J. Ray. I just had to open the cover and look inside because the cover is worn and taped and his name is obscured. It is very important to get the 1994 edition. Don’t be fooled by the newer one with the same title. I am serious as a spark in Montana about getting the 94 edition.

I have character sheets, scene sheets, lists, notebooks, white boards, posters and pens.

I need to have a really firm idea of what is happening in the novel. I have to know what drives a character to madness or bliss. I have to know at least one thing these characters would never ever consider doing.

I make a plotline on poster paper where I mark an inclining line with plot points, turning points and this includes at least six key scenes. I put this poster in the bathroom where I see it several times each day.

I keep notebooks, stray forms, files, character studies, back stories in a clutter cluster I call my ‘Big Bird Nest.’ I use my computer, I think all of my pens and paper files and notebooks make me look a bit tech phobic but I have used a computer since 1982 when I had a Commodore Vic 20. I love my computer. My printer, that is a bit of a different story.

I like to go to fakenamegenerator.com when I am stuck for a character. I eaves drop and gawk at people in parking lots. I have been known to make up back stories for badly or creatively dressed strangers with cart loads of whatever the store is selling.

I also love the invention of whiteboards.

Once my characters are done to my satisfaction I go ahead and write six key scenes. When these are done I write the ‘bridges’ between them.

Now, let me tell you about November.

I change rooms, set up the laptop, sit in my yellow chair so my feet touch the ground and tap out at least 1667 words a day.

Just before I go down for NaNoWriMo I make sure I have my Lightbox ready, loads of glutin-free snacks, coffee and a hat that says “Not Now – I’m NaNo-ing.” I also have a copy of No Plot – No Problem in the room with me. It is not quite as tattered as my other book.

The butt glue is still applied but the planner, internal editor, researcher, sometimes even the spellchecker is sent to a far away kennel and is not even allowed a phone call till I get to the end.

My first published novel, If I Should Die, was a NaNo project. My second published novel, Milk Carton People was a Plotted project.

I really don’t know if I have any quirky writing rituals but I am sure my family may disagree. I am addicted to sticky notes and ink pens. I have notebooks everywhere and if my computer begins to act out I start saving up for a new one. Did I mention the ink pens?


Thank you for having me as a guest on your site.

Thank you Sally for joining us today.

Title: Milk Carton People: The Journey 

Author: Sally Franklin Christie 

Genre: Suspense, Thriller 

Publisher: Eternal Press 

Paperback/Ebook Pages: 132 

Purchase: 

Eternal Press | Amazon Kindle | Amazon Paperback | Are | GoHastings | BooksOnBoard | Coffee Time Romance |Barnes and Noble Paperback| Barnes and Noble Nook | iTunes/iBook | OmniLit | Wise |

Book Description: 

Milk Carton People is a paranormal thriller about people who suddenly find themselves invisible, able to observe things but unable to participate. Do they go mad? Maybe they find others. It is quite possible that there is no point in being invisible.

This is a book that plays on the very thin line of sanity and pure despair. The characters act and react to the new challenges and the reader gets to go along for the ride.

Excerpt:

 I’m going to wake up, now, and go about my day with my cup of coffee. By the time I get to work, the whole thing will disappear like all dreams. I won’t even remember it. 

She turned away from the little tree and took a few steps down the sidewalk. She intended to turn back toward the book store again, to somehow retake control of her destiny. As if turning back would give everyone one more chance to tell her it was all in fun and she was such a good sport.

Just then, a woman in an electric blue colored coat, walked right into her.

“Excuse, me,” Ruth began and stopped speechless. For one long, drawn out, slow motion, nightmare second, her vision was obscured by a brownish red filter which blurred everything before her. She felt hot, sticky, and confined. A cloying odor of spoiled hamburger made her gasp for clean air. She tasted copper pennies in her mouth. At the same time Ruth heard a gurgling noise and a squeak and as the whole event suddenly ended she heard a plop like pudding falling from a spoon back into the bowl.

A sudden cold sweat competed with stomach acid lurching into her throat. Ruth swallowed it back and turned to watch as the woman in electric blue continued walking down the sidewalk without breaking stride. Ruth watched the woman in the electric blue coat disappear around the corner.

“No,” Ruth said aloud with authority. “No,” she repeated louder, hoping make it all go away. “This did not happen.”

She walked to the nearest building and stood close to the cold bricks in the shadows.

I have to go home.

About the Author:

Eternal Press Staff Member

Biography Marketing Manager

Sally Franklin Christie has spent her life achieving incredibly average goals. Her challenges and choices have led to into the world of organizing for social change, civil rights and helping people navigate in a world filled with physical barriers and discrimination. She photographs and paints landscapes, when she isn’t at the computer researching, networking and writing. Special interests include Missing Children and Adults,
Astronomy, Character Traits and Criminal Thinking.

A home schooling mother of children born eleven years apart has added to her liberal arts education. She's had plenty of time to practice and refine the art and craft of writing coupled with opportunities to learn the marketing aspects of writing. She interned for a spell at WOW-Womenonwriting.com and currently has a position as a moderator at The Writers Chatroom. Various published articles appear in places like Pangia Magazine, Creations Magazine and other almost forgotton places. She writes one novel a year as a NaNoWriMo Participant and keeps a more serious project simmering year round. 

Links to the Author: 

Website | E-mail Address: sally@sallyfranklinchristie.com | Twitter: SallyChristie |Facebook

Book Trailer link: 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYn2xcZKkFc

FMB Tours: Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush by T.C. Archer, Promo and Giveaway

Title: Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush

Author: T. C. Archer

Genre: Science fiction, Erotica

Publisher: Loose Id

Ebook

Words: 35,000

Purchase:

ARe | Amazon | Fictionwise | B&N (Nook)

Book Description

"Enforcer Fontana Marks is on vacation undercover until she has to testify against the Track Cartel for crimes against the Galactic Coalition. But the cartel is hiding something, and Fontana intends to find out what--then make them pay for murdering Jenny, the young scientist Fontana failed to protect on a previous assignment.

The last thing Fontana intends to do while vacationing incognito on the fantasy resort Sagitariun is follow the advice of her superior. "Rest, recuperate, and find a man."

But how can a woman resist a blond, blue-eyed, chisel-jawed, great-assed man streaking naked in public when he's obviously running from someone? And why can't she to get rid of the damned trench coat she stole to rescue him?"

Excerpt:(18+)

Fontana spotted trouble when the man first burst into Spacer Jack’s Bar and Grill. It wasn’t his chiseled jaw and blond hair or the way he scanned the joint with his intense blue eyes. No, the trouble was—he was naked. The towel wrapped around his slim hips had snagged on the swinging bar door when he entered, and he didn’t look back in his sprint toward the kitchen. He shot past where Fontana sat at the bar, his muscular ass bunching with the effort of his long strides.

Her pulse jumped. If that's trouble, I want some.

The naked man disappeared through the kitchen doors. A collision of bodies sounded. Fontana straightened. How was a woman to mind her own business when a nude man was in trouble? She shoved off the corner stool and dashed after the naked man, swiping a man’s trench coat off the coatrack standing beside the kitchen door. She pushed through the swinging door and halted centimeters from where the naked man lay sprawled on top of a waiter. A tray of pasta entrées hovered on its anti-grav suspension, where the waiter would have been holding it in his upturned hand before the man rammed into him.

In all her years of undercover work, she had never come across a situation quite like this. And probably wouldn’t again.

Fontana seized the naked man’s arm, hauled him to his feet, and threw the coat over his shoulders as she bolted with him toward the rear exit. She dragged him through the back door, and they practically fell into the back alley by the dumpsters. A furry rodent skittered from nearby tin cans and disappeared behind a stack of pallets. She couldn’t help a smile. The alley was a replica of mid-twentieth-century Earth, complete with robo-rats and all.

She grasped the man’s shoulders and shoved him against the restaurant wall. Her pulse sped up when the steely muscles beneath her fingers tensed. How was it possible for his hard body to get any harder? She’d seen Aslothian gladiators with less muscle. His blue-eyed gaze locked on to hers.

Fontana ignored the tremor that rippled through her, pressed her body against his solid two meter frame, and demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

His cock pulsed against her abdomen and began to thicken. This diversion was exactly what her superior, Colonel Stephaney Lyons, had ordered. “Find a man and reaffirm life. Let him fuck your brains out.” The colonel wasn’t usually one for getting quite so personal or so crude, but she knew how angry Fontana was about Jenny’s death and the failure of the mission on Rigil IV.

The naked man grasped her shoulders and drew her closer. “Who are you?” His drawl belied the intensity of his stare.

Well, well, a man who knew how to pace himself. Fontana slipped a hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his erection. Her mouth went dry.

He was hard as a rock. She squeezed the thick rod. He hardened even more beneath her fingers.

“I’m asking the questions.” Damn if she didn’t sound like Detective Friday from the twentieth-century series Dragnet. Dragnet’s brand of law was before the Criminal Rights Act of 2141.

The naked man gave a low laugh. “Oh, tough girl.”

“Who are you running from?”

“Maybe I should be running from you.”

“Not while I have hold of this.” She yanked his cock with just enough force to keep his attention.

He sucked in a breath. Now she had him. “I can play yanky-panky all night.”

His shaft throbbed, and his warm hands slid down her arms, stopping to rest on her hips. Long fingers flexed against her carbon-fiber parachute pants.

That and the halter she wore were a woman’s standard garb in Spacers. She released him when he rolled her mound against his rod. Fontana grasped his arms and angled her hips so that the steely length slid along her clit. He groaned, and the sound sent butterflies skittering across the inside of her stomach.

About the Author:

T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast.

Evan puts his Ph.D. to good use by writing about alternate realities, and Shawn channels the mythology and philosophy she studied during her wasted youth into writing about exotic places and times.

Find the Author:

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook |

To follow the rest of the tour click HERE

Giveaway:

The giveaway is a 1 eBook copy tour wide

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