February 17, 2019

The Migraine Relief Plan by Stephanie Weaver


Published Date : February 17, 2017
Publisher : Agate Surrey
Genre : Non-Fiction / Health
Rating : 3 Star

Goodreads / Amazon / B&N / BookBub / Google Play


ABOUT THE BOOK


An essential lifestyle guide to reducing headaches and other symptoms related to migraine, vertigo, and Meniere's disease. Its "slow-approach" plan and more than 75 trigger-free recipes set readers up for success--even when they're in pain.

In The Migraine Relief Plan, certified health and wellness coach Stephanie Weaver outlines a new, step-by-step lifestyle approach to reducing migraine frequency and severity.

Using the latest research, her own migraine diagnosis, and extensive testing, Weaver has designed an accessible plan to help those living with migraine, headaches, or Meniere's disease. Over the course of eight weeks, the plan gradually transitions readers into a healthier lifestyle, including key behaviors such as regular sleep, trigger-free eating, gentle exercise, and relaxation techniques. The book also collects resources--shopping lists, meal plans, symptom tracking charts, and kitchen-tested recipes for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner--to provide readers with the tools they need to be successful.
The Migraine Relief Plan encourages readers to eat within the guidelines while still helping them follow personal dietary choices, like vegan or Paleo, and navigate challenges, such as parties, work, and travel. A must-have resource for anyone who lives with head pain, this book will inspire you to rethink your attitude toward health and wellness. 

MY REVIEW

If you are looking for a book to help with those pesky Migraine headaches that come on suddenly, then look no further than this book that will try to help you with that problem! I have been dealing with Migraines for the past few years and nothing ever seems to help other than avoid foods that seem to bring them on but even then, that doesn't seem to help at times.

The only thing that kinda bothered me the most about this book was how the author wrote it in a way that makes it kinda more tailored for her own needs rather than trying to help others with their Migraines. Some of the trigger foods that she says to avoid are the very ones that help me not get a Migraine and the ones that she claims to eat to not get a Migraine, are the ones that give me one.

It wasn't much help for myself but if this book helps someone to avoid getting Migraine. then go for it. Migraines are no joke and any little bit of advice to help you not get them, is a winner in my book!

Thank You to Stephanie Weaver for this interesting book about Migraines and how you can avoid them!

I voluntarily reviewed a complimentary copy of this book from Rachel's Random Resources!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR



Stephanie Weaver, MPH, CWHC, is an author, blogger, and certified wellness and health coach. Her recipes have been featured in Cosmopolitan, Bon Appetit, Cooking Light, Parade, and more. She lives in San Diego, CA. 

February 15, 2019

Still Not Love by Nicole Snow



















Still Not Love
Nicole Snow
Publication date: February 13th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Not the heck again. I’ve had my alpha-jerkface fix.
Now he’s my sworn protector…

I’m about to go nuclear.
Yet I have to smile and pretend I won’t slap him into the next century.
James Nobel and I have history.
Raging hearts. Dueling kisses. Firestorm nights.
A man like him breaks laws with that suit and that smirk.
How could I ever forget my first?
Or pelting an Adonis with balled up love notes in class?
We were young and dumb and lied about forever.
Spoiler alert: he did the lying. Then he disappeared.
Maybe I always wanted to know why, but not like this.
James, my personal bodyguard.
James, my flipping bunkmate in a luxury cabin for newlyweds.
James, who still makes me crave one more night of bad decisions.
Even worse, we’re snowed in with my VIP father and his scary friends.
It’s a date with chaos. And Mr. Hell No Hero-Man makes me do the asking.
What if there’s more to us than scalding banter and I-hate-you glares?
What if there’s still – do I have to say it – love?
From Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow – a category five enemies-to-lovers swoon-storm. Watch what happens when irresistible alpha charmer has to fight to win back the woman who got away. Full length romance novel with a Happily Ever After squeal or ten.


EXCERPT:

Faye’s Point of View (our heroine)
I’m still mulling my career prospects when a new shape catches my eye. I suck in a deep, trembling breath.
There. It’s him.
The driver’s side door of the lead SUV opens, and even the way the door opens reminds me of those meticulous, careful movements, like he’s aware constantly that his own body is a blade and with the slightest wrong movement, he could destroy an innocent bystander.
It’s an instant slug to my gut. Something between hate and sad and longing.
Even dressed for the weather in black gloves and a thick jacket over his suit, he’s neat and crisp and so perfectly put together. That subtle air of menace around him always reminds me exactly why girls always love those sinister, elegant, wickedly sadistic movie villains.
It’s not just that he looks like he could kill a man with his pinky finger.
It’s that he looks like he could twist your body up into a million knots without even trying, and then smile in that slow, serpentine way he has as you explode into stars everywhere and completely fall apart. He could be Lucifer himself, fallen angel and master of hell. Or maybe just the quintessential bad boy.
Unfortunately for me, the way my lungs pull tight and the heat in the pit of my belly, tells me far too well how true that is.
James Nobel is dangerous in more ways than one.
He’s a complete and utter demon in bed, and he’ll make you develop kinks you didn’t realize were possible. My toes scrunch and I’m instinctively biting my lip.
I had no idea, until one fateful night on a training mission, that I apparently have a thing for lying naked and vulnerable under a fully-dressed man in a three-piece suit, while he strokes every inch of my body, slips his fingers inside me, works me into a fever, and then leaves me breathless and hovering on the edge.
Refusing to bring me over the edge until I admit in broken, gasping whispers that I need him, crave him, can’t live another second without his fire.
He’s got such sensitive hands, too. Hands that can play a woman’s body the same way he plays piano keys…and he used them ruthlessly.
Until I came completely undone. Always after I thought I’d gotten under his skin and broken his control.
Instead, I’d only learned he was just as good at controlling my body as he is at controlling his own.















Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty.

GIVEAWAY!

XBTBanner1

Birth by Donna Russo Morin

















BIRTH
Donna Russo Morin
(Once, Upon a New Time, #1)
Publication date: February 15th 2019
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
New worlds don’t appear. They are born from the labor of those who envision them.
Count Witon has grown weary of the constant war between the races. Together with his wife Belamay, and Persky – first of a rare Human / Elf breed – Witon plans to create a new society: a utopia for anyone who longs for peaceful coexistence.
They recruit pilgrims from every city and species; most to success, some to failure. Together, they set off to a small, yet promising island, found by chance in the middle of the churning ocean.
But the journey there is fraught with challenges, and none of them is as dire as the one they face once they reach their destination. Will they have the strength and determination to give Birth to this New Time?
Once, Upon A New Time is a medieval fantasy with a double-edged sword: one of blood, the other of lust.


EXCERPT:

THE FIRST STEP OF MANY

The screech-like cry of the seagulls rent the air.
“They laugh at me,” Witon remarked acerbically, shading his eyes with his hand as he followed the flight of the ocean fowl above the glittering sea.
“No, My Lord, they send ye a bon voyage,” said Persky, looking up at Witon, the adoration blatant in his slanted eyes.
The sun sparked off the ocean, the wind playfully nipping at it, making small, lively waves upon its surface. The pungent, briny scent of it invaded Witon’s nostrils and his adrenaline soared with the promise of the quest.
He stood at the very edge of the long dock, unable to move his gaze from the beautiful vessel bobbing gently upon low waves.
“She’s not big, sir, but she’s quite beautiful,” Persky said as if reading Witon’s mind.
Witon turned his dazzling smile to the small creature. Choosing Persky as his first mate was one of the easiest decisions Witon had ever made.
They made an interesting sight standing together; one fairly small, the other slightly more than six and three, but in each burned the same loyalty… to each other and the beliefs and dreams that bound them.
Witon turned his smile back to the ship his father’s legacy had helped to build. The sailing craft, a three-masted schooner about one hundred and twenty-five feet long, was constructed of mostly square timbers. The ship’s design served multiple purposes; to bring them to their destination, to return and guide the second ship onward, and, once there, to be dismantled and the wood used to erect temporary housing in their new world.
“A new world,” Witon intoned, as if he prayed.
“You have never looked at me so longingly.” The soft, seductive feminine voice broke Witon’s contemplation. With a hearty chuckle and a hitch in his breath at the recollection of last night’s perusal of her, he turned to see his Belamay approaching, resplendent in her form-fitting purple bliaut, the gold chain resting on her hips marking their sensual sway.
“My longing for you is always here.” He placed a hand upon his heart. Leaning down, he brushed his lips upon hers, his eyes never leaving her bright face, one he swore looked more beautiful than the day he had first seen it.
Where would I be without her?
Belamay reached up and pushed a stray strand of white hair from Witon’s face. He felt her gaze warm upon his cheeks. Pulling back, but only a smidge, she laughed with almost comic delight.
“Do I amuse you so?” Witon did his best to look brutish; smoothing any smile from his sun-drenched skin, forming a straight line with his full lips. A futile attempt.
“Your eyes are aglow like a boy’s, one ready to grab a sword for the first time,” Belamay chortled.
Her laughter died away and in her pitch-dark eyes, Witon saw what he felt, the heartbreak of leave-taking.
“It will not be long, I swear it to you,” Witon said as if reading her mind. “If the maps are correct, we shall reach land in just four days. As soon as we do, I shall send the ship back to lead yours.”
“If the maps are correct… if you don’t encounter a storm… if…”
“If you worry so much, you cannot see to our work.” Witon entwined her arm in his and led her to the edge of the dock. “I need you to reassure the others, keep them from changing their minds. They will feel the same fear as you. You must keep them strong.”
Belamay commanded what they called the ship of love, for when the first vessel made land, they would follow, the families of those who charted the course, who dared go before all others, into the unknown. She would bring their loved ones and, with them, the new land would be full of the love required for a world to be born.
She shook her head with a smile and Witon knew she shook off her fears. She became, once more, that fiery, ferocious warrior he had met on the battlefield.
“I will keep myself, and them all, strong.” Belamay squeezed his arm.
In tune as always, their twin gazes danced out upon the sea, pulled out to the ocean’s horizon.
“Look, Bel, do ye see it?” His voice came as naught more than a whisper, a faint breeze.
Belamay strained her eyes to search the gently undulating water.
“See what, Witon?”
“Our future,” he said, gifting her with his dazzling smile. “I see our future free of hatred and bigotry, a peaceful and serene life, where we can raise dozens of children without constant worry, without losing them to endless battles and war.”
Belamay’s jaw dropped, unhinged, her eyes popped, bulging.
“D… dozens?” she croaked, shooting a sly look from the corner of her eyes.
Witon gave her hip a slight nudge with his.
“Tease,” he chirped, delighted.
Witon turned and raised the hand he held in his. With his gaze locked upon hers, he lifted the cuff of her glove, and, with the softness of a feather’s caress, brushed his lips on the underside of her wrist where the skin was thin and the blood rushed so close to the surface. “We will have as many children as you wish, my dear.”
He smiled as he watched her skin ripple with pleasure.
“Now who is the tease?” she said, her voice low and husky.
“We will have to…”
“My Lord, My Lord!” Persky ran toward them, calling loudly, waving his arms. “They’re coming!”
Witon’s eyes popped; he clutched the hands in his.
“They’re coming!” Witon whispered, his voice prayer-like once more. With a parting squeeze of his lover’s hands, he spun round to follow Persky.
Belamay smiled as she watched him hurry away. No longer the seductive rogue, but a boy again, Witon shimmered, brilliantly alive with the promise of what lay ahead. She quickened her own step. This historic moment would not happen without her.



















Donna Russo Morin is an award-winning historical fiction author. Donna has dabbled as a model and actor, working on Showtime's Brotherhood and Martin Scorsese's The Departed. Branching out with her storytelling skills, Donna is now a screenwriter. A graduate of the University of Rhode Island, Donna lives on the south shore of Rhode Island close to the ocean she loves so very much. She is the proud mother of two sons, Devon and Dylan, her greatest works in progress. 

GIVEAWAY!


XBTBanner1

February 14, 2019

Curse Of The Fae Queen by Delia Castel
















I am so excited that CURSE OF THE FAE QUEEN by Delia Castel is available now and that I get to share the news!
If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book by Author Delia Castel, be sure to check out all the details below.
This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $25 Amazon Gift Card, International, courtesy of Delia and Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, enter in the Rafflecopter at the bottom of this post.


Title: CURSE OF THE FAE QUEEN
Author: Delia Castel
Pub. Date: February 14, 2019
Publisher: Delia Castel
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 231
Find it: GoodreadsAmazon

A Huntress of Faeries. Five cursed Fae Princes. An evil that will destroy the world. 

When Eighteen-year-old Neara saves a villager from the clutches of a deadly faerie, the Fae Queen sends warriors to abduct her dying father in revenge. To gain his freedom, Neara must venture into the Shadowlands and obtain three enchanted objects under the supervision of the bestial Prince Drayce.

As Neara and Prince Drayce grow closer, she discovers the Queen’s scheme to release an ancient evil and enslave the mortal world. To thwart these plans, she must break the curses of five Fae Princes, but the cost of doing so is her Father’s life.

Torn between saving the human realm and saving her father, Neara must navigate this treacherous world and choose between love, liberty and power.

Curse of the Fae Queen is a reverse harem fantasy adventure for fans of A Court of Thrones and Roses and A Song of Ice and Fire! 

Excerpt:
Ch1

Wherever there was commotion, there was a faerie.

Wherever there was a faerie, someone was about to die.

I rushed after the crowd of merrymakers toward the tavern’s exit and the source of the commotion. The fresh scent of wildflowers wafted in through the open doors, a welcome respite from sweat and sawdust and sour ale. Someone’s booted foot stepped on the hem of my skirts. I snarled and yanked it free.

A leprechaun darted through the throng, slashing purses and swiping gold pieces. He stuffed his pickings into the openings of his blood-red tunic, eyes gleaming, handsome features twisted. I clutched my basket of burn salves and stared ahead, avoiding eye contact with the leprechaun, avoiding his clever fingers, and most importantly, avoiding his notice.

The folk in the Isle of Bresail say a maiden who can see the fae is twice-blessed. Blessed to behold beings of beauty and blessed again for the chance to bargain for health, riches, and immortality. Whoever said that had obviously never met a faerie.

The fae, creatures of hideous power and beauty, revel in human misery, beget bad luck, and feast upon mortal lives. Every encounter with the monsters carries the risk of being killed. Or worse, a repeat of that horrific Samhain night seven years ago, when the fae slaughtered an entire village trying to find me. Terror still grips my heart like the jaws of the hound of Culainn.

I see the fae. I fear the fae. I’m powerless to stop the fae. And I can say I am thrice cursed.

As I neared the exit, the baker’s apprentice bumped me on the shoulder, and I stumbled across the gritty floor. “Sorry, Neara!”

My gaze dropped to the salves. They lay in the basket, nestled in muslin cloth I’d wrapped around them for safekeeping. “I’m looking for Eirnin. Is he here?”

“Have you tried the forge?”

“They told me he’d be having an early dinner here.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen him.” He raised his massive shoulders. “Maybe he’s watching the spectacle Shona is making of herself in the square.” He rushed ahead, shoving through a group of sailors stumbling toward the doors.

Dread rolled through my belly like a summer thunderstorm. Shona, the haughty eldest daughter of the mayor of Calafort, would never even sip a tankard of ale in public. If she was doing something to attract the attention of drunken louts, there could be only one cause: the fae.

I stepped out into the warm evening, inhaling a lungful of fresh air. The sun hung behind a dip in the Fomori mountains, a burst of daffodil amidst clouds tinged the color of blood-red poppies. Its   yellow haze reflected off the whitewashed timber framed buildings lining the cobbled thoroughfare. My gaze traveled down to the crowd gathered at the end around the village square.

Shona, the center of the attraction, wasn’t exactly a friend. Since Father and I moved to the port town of Calafort, she had sullied my name with allegations about my associations with the blacksmith, the retired soldier of fortune, and the local priest—people vital in my private crusade against the fae.

Two young men sprinted past. The smaller of the pair yelled, “Hoist me up on your shoulders, Colman!”

“As if!” The taller gave his companion a playful shove.

A warm wind swirled around my hair, blowing vibrant, copper strands into my eyes. As usual, its color brought back memories of the night I had been willing to bargain to look… less peculiar. The night I had doomed an entire village. Guilt clawed at my gullet, and I gulped. Even if Shona had soured my existence with her gossip, I couldn’t leave anyone, not even her, to become a faerie’s prey.

I strode after the rush of drunk men, only for the familiar pull of dread to weight my steps. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, faeries had become more commonplace in Calafort and more malevolent. Benign household spirits and mischief makers were replaced by malicious beings of unusual and tremendous power.

The innkeeper’s wife stormed out of the crowd, skirts swishing, shooting sharp glares at the men rushing through the cobbled thoroughfare. 

“Don’t think I won’t tell your wives and mothers about your disgraceful conduct!” she screeched at their backs. “There should be a law against giving an audience to a public harlot!”

An iron fist clenched my heart. “Mrs. Martin?”

“What?” She whirled around, auburn locks falling from her bonnet.

“Are you talking about Shona Mulloy?”

Her thin lips twisted. “She’ll never be able to put on airs and graces, that one. Not after revealing the wanton hussy beneath that false piety!”

My pulse throbbed in my throat. Not waiting to ask any further questions, I broke into a run. The only cause for Shona to make a public spectacle was magic, and no one could stop it but me.

Hoots and cheers and roars exploded from the podium, louder than a clap of thunder, making me trip on a loose cobblestone. Splaying out my hands for balance, I slowed my steps. What in the name of all that was holy did I think I was doing? Father’s words echoed in my skull. Every encounter with a faerie increased the chance of being captured. The creature behind Shona’s shameless display could be one of the horsemen from that terrible Samhain night. What if he recognized me?

I brought my feet to an abrupt stop. After six years of moving from place to place, we had a mere week before the dense mist covering the coast of Bresail would clear. No merrow could lurk in the waters, calling people to their deaths with their enchanted music, and no kelpies would board the ship and attack. Father and I planned to gain passage on a ship to Hibernia, the land where holy men slew monsters to protect the innocent. Guilt crawled up my back and clung to my shoulders like the talons of a night hag. If I did anything to ruin our chance, Father’s sickness might not grant him another seven years

“Get ’em off!” cried one drunken reveler.

“What kind of lass can’t even undo her own corset?” shouted another.

Guffaws filled the air, and someone bellowed, “The pampered sort!”

My eyes widened. Before good sense could prevail, my feet pounded the cobblestones, and I reached the edge of the crowd. Pushing my way through the eager men, I caught a glimpse of the spectacle. The bodice of Shona’s dress hung around her waist like a shed skin, her breasts jutting out of her under-bust corset. She had hitched her skirts, revealing her thighs and glimpses of a thicket of mahogany, pubic hair.

“Higher!” screamed a drunkard.

Blood surged through my ears, dulling the men’s lascivious shouts. My jaw clenched so hard, it throbbed in time with my raging pulse. I turned my head away, understanding why Mrs Martin had been so incensed. No-one, not even Shona the gossip, deserved to be humiliated in such a fashion!

Using the bodies of the leering men as cover, I receded into the crowd and studied the men in the direction of her glazed stare. The usual village louts and ne’er do wells jostled each other about in the front, but one male stood out from the rabble. Not because his silk jacket was too fine for the village of Calafort, not because he was the only man remaining calm amidst the scandalous display, but because his face was devoid of features and did not even have a nose.

His eyes, fathomless tunnels of black, stared at her with a cold amusement. Around his unlit pipe, one corner of his lips curved into a whisper of a smile.

Gancanagh.

The word popped into the forefront of my mind. It came from the leather-bound book Father insisted that I study for hours every evening. The gancanagh was a silver-tongued, shapeshifter faerie who could morph into a woman’s heart’s desire and drive her into a frenzy of wantonness. While a gancanagh enjoyed sexual contact with women, what really nourished them was the ensuing despair he caused from withdrawing his affections and ruining her reputation.

Ostracized, isolated, and full of despair, his victim would commit suicide, providing him with a condemned soul upon which to feast.

“If you can’t manage the corset, open your legs and give us a good show!” bellowed the inn-keeper to a roar of drunken cheers.

Shona’s head lolled to the side, and she moaned. “Please… I need you!”

The gancanagh nodded, indicating for her to do as they said.

Disgust curdled my stomach, making me want to spit. That was as much as I could stand. Delving shaking fingers into my pocket, I gathered a heavy pinch of salt. It soaked up magic, rendering the attacks of many faeries useless.

Then, I put it under my tongue, suppressed a grimace, and pushed through the crowd, making sure not to look at the gancanagh.

“Shona Mulloy,” I shouted, making my voice as shrill as Mrs. Martin’s. “Your father would be ashamed of you!”

She ignored me, as I had expected. Those in the thrall of a gancanagh became powerless to do anything but his bidding. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she hiked her skirts to her waist, eliciting ear-ringing catcalls.

“That’s a bushy tail if ever I saw one!” yelled a voice from within the crowd.

Affecting a shriek of outrage, I slapped her hard across the face, ensuring that my iron ring made contact with her lip. The salt remaining on my fingers must have either gotten into her mouth or into the tiny cut my ring made, because her eyes focused.

“Get yourself home,” I screeched. “You’re giving all the womenfolk of Calafort a bad name!” I yanked on her arm, hoping to convince the gancanagh that I hadn’t noticed it.

“Neara, show us your ginger muff!” shouted a heckler.

I ignored the drunken dolt and headed to a gap in the crowd. A few of the men, now shamefaced, stepped aside. Rage seared my veins. Any one of them could have intervened, but they had chosen to let a neighbor debauch herself. According to the information in my book, the gancanagh’s allure only affected women and only if they touched him of their own accord. There was no reason, apart from malicious lechery, that they couldn’t have stopped Shona from falling to ruin.

A hand wrapped around my wrist, its chill seeping through my skin, permeating my bones to the marrow. I suppressed a shudder. The fae, immortal creatures that were neither alive nor dead, were nothing like humans. My leather-bound book said they were the offshoot of a supernatural race called the Fomorians, but from what I had seen over the years, and I had seen a lot, they were hungry spirits made flesh. The only thing that differed from one type of faerie to another was what satisfied their appetites.

Gritting my teeth, I turned my head and glared at the hand restraining me. It was an effort to keep my voice from trembling, but I focussed on my anger and said, “Let go of my person, sir.”

“Permit me to introduce myself.” He released my wrist, gave me a gentlemanly bow, and held out an elegant, smooth-skinned hand that could have belonged to an artist or a Prince. “I am Gerald Canice, and I wish to commend you on your valiant rescue of that young lady’s virtue.”

“I would be doing a better job if you didn’t keep me here talking,” I snapped. “Excuse me.”

Most would have lowered their hand and stepped away at my rudeness. This creature did not. He glided closer, still with his hand outstretched, now turned as though he wanted to take mine and press a kiss on my knuckles. “Please… I must know your name.”

“It’s Neara,” shouted a drunk. “And she’s interested in nothing but stinking herbs and withered old men!”

My face heated, indicating a blush as red a hawthorn berries, one of the many disadvantages of having skin the pallor of diluted milk. The drunks snickered, and I pressed my lips together, trying to exhale my anger through flared nostrils.

“Ignore those louts.” His voice soft and cultured, just as I would imagine a storybook Prince. “Won’t you at least look at me?”

As though of its own volition, my gaze lifted to his face. It was no longer the characterless visage from earlier. He now resembled the raven-haired faerie whose presence had cursed me with the sight. A bolt of shock shot through my heart as fast as lighting, jolting it into action. I drew in a sharp breath between my teeth.

Everything vanished from my attention. The crowd of drunken men, the sobbing girl at my side, the fear of being discovered by the fae. It all faded now that Gerald had caught me in his mesmerizing, viridian-green gaze.

His full lips split into a breath-stealing smile of even, white teeth, rising up to high cheekbones, and leading to eyes so longing they wrung my heart.

“Neara…” My name sounded like supplication on lips that begged to be kissed. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

One of my hands twitched toward his still outstretched hand. My mouth dried, not because of the salt, but due to the warmth pooling between my legs, creating a fire that only he could quench.

My throat dried, partially because of the salt under my tongue, but mostly because of the male’s beauty. If he had chosen any other face, I would have ignored the gancanagh, but I couldn’t resist this dark-haired, green eyed apparition. 

A tiny voice, as quiet and persistent as a midge, whispered that it was a trap. The monster wanted to infect me with the venom coating his skin and see me debased before my village.

“I…” A gulp interrupted words that had already withered in my throat. I had come prepared, wearing a bracelet of iron with a matching torque and ring, but I hadn’t anticipated being faced with the being who haunted my dreams… my deepest, most oft-denied desire.

“Neara,” said a voice hoarse with tears.

I turned to lock gazes with Shona, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears.

“Will you take me home?”

Her voice was the splash of saltwater I needed to break gancanagh’s spell. Without a backward glance, I pulled her away from the lecherous gazes of the crowd, trying not to succumb to the pit of dread wrenching open my stomach. Once again, I had attracted the attention of the fae. The gancanagh likely wouldn’t work out that I had seen through him, but my awakening of Shona from her stupor would have at least aroused his curiosity.

Shona and I walked unmolested through the crowd of degenerates, many were now slinking back to the tavern. Without his audience, the gancanagh would not pursue us. He fed on the humiliation of his victims, delighted in their ruin and not their lust.
His gaze, heavy on my back, turned my steps to lead. The gancanagh was likely evaluating me, wondering why I could resist his magic. My throat thickened, and I gulped down my rising panic. This was exactly the kind of thing Father had warned me against. We could not flee Bresail if we attracted the attention of the fae, and I had done exactly that!  If the wicked creature stayed to satisfy his curiosity, we were doomed.

A curious faerie always attracted others, and I of all people would know that arousing the interest of the creatures was deadly.

*****

The folk in the Isle of Bresail say a maiden who can see the fae is twice-blessed. Blessed to behold beings of beauty and blessed again for the chance to bargain for health, riches, and immortality. Whoever said that had obviously never met a faerie.

The fae, creatures of hideous power and beauty, revel in human misery, beget bad luck, and feast upon mortal lives. Every encounter with the monsters carries the risk of being killed. Or worse, a repeat of that horrific Samhain night seven years ago, when the fae slaughtered an entire village trying to find me. Terror still grips my heart like the jaws of the hound of Culainn.

I see the fae. I fear the fae. I’m powerless to stop the fae. And I can say I am thrice cursed.




About Delia:
Delia Castel has loved fairytales for as long as she can remember. The books she writes under this pen name are steamy, reverse harem retellings of classic stories.

To download a free copy of The Big Bad She-Wolf as well as the exclusive chapters that follow the tale, visit:

www.DeliaCastel.com








Giveaway Details:
1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.