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Shadow Walker
Title: Fever
Series: Inquisition Series #2
Author: Ellen Mint
Genre: Adult Romantic Suspense
Release Date: October 22, 2018
Doctor Mae Jones had no idea when she agreed to assist the army in vaccinating children half-way around the world what she’d face. She didn’t sign up for a sexy British officer trailing her every move, his giddy smile and sunshine good-looks distracting her. Nor did she expect the sudden rebel attacks and bullets flying while she attempts to try to cure an unexplainable virus about to threaten the whole world. It’s up to her to try and stop a war before it even begins while she keeps falling for this man who’s her total opposite in every way but the heart.
In the second entry of the Inquisition series, this stand-alone novel presents Alistair Young. For those tired of the alpha who want someone sweet as cotton candy, Alistair is your man. Easy on the eyes, and light on the heart — he’s prone to cracking jokes and playing card games with the sick kids. For all his easy-going ways he knows how dangerous growing close to the new genius doctor can be, but he can’t look away either.
“I am so happy that Ellen Mint wrote this amazing page turner. This book will keep your eyes glued to the pages.” —Penny L
“Tibbs, where did you bugger off to?”
Mae turned to the man and tried to not gasp. Even in this drab, olive world of papers, bureaucracy, and bullets he looked like a ray of sunshine. Copper gold hair pushed up high off his forehead, eyes of a mischievous brown that put her mind of an old golden retriever a neighbor had, and a smile… His smile was so deep it excavated two dimples on both sides of his pale cheeks. In her flippant heart, Mae wanted that beam of light to focus on her, but his eyes were fully upon the sergeant.
“Had to do a pick up,” Tibbs said, jabbing her thumb to the woman standing in the shadows.
When his eyes swept over her, Mae was ready. She dug her fingers tighter into her rucksack to not do something foolish like thinking she could take his hand. Or babble about how handsome he was. “Well,” the mystery man somehow smiled wider, “welcome to the family.”
He stepped even closer, meeting Mae almost eye for eye. His hand slipped off the butt of his gun for her’s and she squeaked out the first words in her brain, “You’re English! I mean, your accent, it sounds…uh…” Oh, dear god. What are you doing?
The man chuckled, “Scottish, if you want to get technical. But lived a bit everywhere, absorbed a bit of everything. Bit of an accent bastard, I suppose.” His smile didn’t dim, but the proffered hand began to lightly shake as if he wanted to pull it back.
“I just…” Mae scratched at her head, then hissed at herself for being foolish, “I thought, this being the army that…”
“No Brits allowed?” he shrugged his sunny shoulder and wrinkled the tip of his long nose.
Sweet lord, he should not look so adorable. He’s a marine, or soldier, or whatever. Man’s holding a gun right now!
“He ain’t in the army,” Tibbs spoke up, turning away from whatever paperwork she was filling out. “Wardens. The clowns running this circus.”
“If that were true why aren’t you all in your requisite red noses and floppy shoes?” he called to the sergeant before focusing on Mae. “Name’s Alistair.”
“Mae,” she let her fingers slip into his warm ones. Grip tight, give it a hearty shake. Don’t let the soldiers boss you around. You have every right to be here. But he’s smiling so pretty and his palm feels like a warm hug. Her turncoat eyes drifted to his wrist, dooming her.
A clip of boots rescued her from drooling on his toned forearm, both of the soldiers snapping to attention and their hands tapping to their foreheads. “Sir!” both Alistair and Tibbs shouted.
“Sergeant,” the newest man nodded to Tibbs before turning to Alistair. He was lean, like the type of sort who can’t sit still long enough to put fat on. A hearty mustache wound across his upper lip, the black hair seeming to tickle his mouth when he talked. The face reminded her of an old librarian or professor, not at all a strict soldier commanding the troops.
“Captain Young,” he nodded to the ray of sunshine who was gulping and patting the butt of his gun. Calculating grey eyes sized up Mae and a smile graced the man’s mustache, “I am guessing you are…”
“Mae Jones,” she said instantly. “Doctor Mae Jones.”
“Colonel Stewart, doctor.”
“Wait, wait,” Alistair inserted himself into the greeting. “No chance in…Tibbs had to have screwed up. You cannot be the new doc. You’re too cute,” he said with a laugh in his voice.
Her hackles transformed into spikes, Mae’s lips pursing into a tight line and she turned on the man. “I assure you,” Mae’s tone could flash freeze the desert they drove through, “despite my age, gender, or other aspects you question I am more than qualified to serve as doctor for this expedition.”
“Ah, tour,” Alistair said, gulping deep. He had enough sense to know he said something wrong, but clearly no brains to understand what.
“You know what I meant,” Mae hissed at him.
“Right, sure, just…Hey, look, it’s the colonel!”
Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid's Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood herself. Along with her husband and black lab, she spends a lot of time with her skeletons -- don't worry, they're just Halloween props.
Baseball Lover
Crazy Scottish Love
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: However, the peaceful sound of the wind and seagulls as Donella enjoyed the enchanting sight didn’t last. Something smacked her on the side of the head. She lost her balance and fell on her ass. After a string of profanities that would no doubt earn her a scolding later on, Donella slowly sat up and touched the side of her head. Looking at her fingers, there wasn’t any blood. A Scottish male voice she didn’t recognize shouted, “Are you all right?” Donella looked in the direction of the sound. A tall guy with short, reddish-brown hair rushed toward her. Before she could do more than open her mouth, a large black and white dog dashed past the man and stopped in front of her. He promptly put his nose to her privates. He bumped and sniffed around, reminding her why she preferred cats. Sure, both sniffed butts, but at least with cats they sniffed other cats and left her lower body well enough alone. The dog rose its head, a bright green ball in its mouth. The dog dashed back toward the man and dropped it at his feet. She’d found her attacker. “Is that how you always welcome tourists to the island? By pelting them with hard balls and knocking them on their butts?” The corner of the man’s ticked up. “Well, to be fair, only a tourist would be dressed like that. So you would be an easy target for anyone who was out to find them.” She wasn’t embarrassed about her yoga pants and T-shirt. A combined thirteen-hour plane ride wasn’t meant to be a fashion show. “I’ll make sure to mention how the locals hit tourists and insult their attire on my online review.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I doubt you’ll do so. After all, it would affect everyone on the island, and I don’t think you’d want that.” Before she could ask how he knew she wouldn’t, a little girl of about six or seven peeked her brown-haired head out from behind the guy and stepped to the side, holding one of those ball-tossing things dog owners liked to use. She glanced up at the man. “Should I say sorry? I didn’t mean to hit her.” Donella suddenly felt like an ass. She wasn’t the best person with kids, but from her own childhood, she knew full well how mini-disasters could happen without warning. The man placed a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “I’d apologize to Donnie now or you’ll have to face old Mrs. Spencer later.” The girl’s eyes widened, but Donella focused on the man’s revelations. “How do you know who I am?” “Putting aside how your gran’s been going on about your visit for weeks, this isn’t the first time we’ve met.” He bowed his head. “Robbie Campbell, at your service.” A memory from twenty years ago, of her being stranded on a tiny slip of land with water on one side and a small cliff behind her, came rushing back. She pointed a finger. “You. You’re the reason the police and fire brigade had to rig a harness and rescue me.” He put up a hand. “Don’t blame me. You were the annoying ten-year-old following me around all summer. Everyone around here with good sense knows not to go out there when the tide’s about to come in.” Donella narrowed her eyes. “Local knowledge that relies on ‘good sense’ only works if you live here. You should’ve known that and warned me.” Again, he shrugged one shoulder. “I was almost thirteen and assumed I was king of the world at that point. Besides, an American always on my heels was a nuisance. My mates teased nonstop and I wanted it to end. Stranding you during high tide did the trick.” She growled. “I could’ve drowned.” “But you didn’t. Who do you think called the authorities to rescue you?” Donella searched her mind for a good come back. They never came when she needed one. Before she could even sputter something halfway witty, the little girl asked, “Why are you angry at my daddy?”
GIVEAWAY! Stolen Goods
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Wolf Tamer
-- Are you a book blogger? --
GIVEAWAY! The Boss
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: No way was she misinterpreting the need reflecting back at her. Say it, she silently urged. Too proud to beg out loud. Do something. “What do you want, Finn?” she repeated. Please. He tipped his head down, though his gaze remained on her, but the light in those blue depths shifted, turning from banked need, held ruthlessly in check, to a possessiveness that drew her body into aching awareness. He pulled lightly on her wrist, drawing her across what had been an impassable chasm of space, until she was flush against his hard body. His other hand came under the fall of her hair to rest against her neck. She didn’t look away, not even as he lowered his head, his movement agonizingly slow. His mouth only a whisper from hers, he stopped. “You,” he said. “I want you.” Finally. She had no idea if she closed the distanced between their lips or if he did. She only knew that she was getting exactly what she wanted. Sensation forced her eyes closed as the heat of him seeped into her skin, her body flushing with it, swamping her senses. Their tongues tangled, his mouth hard and urgent against hers, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to possess her. The speed of her body’s reaction was so fast, so immediate, that she went dizzy with the need, like looking over the edge of a terrifying drop. She was too out of her element, too out of control, but she didn’t want to stop. She wanted more. He released her wrist, wrapping his arm around her waist, her softness yielding to his hard body as he held her closer. At the same time, he loosened his grip on her neck, brushing over the sensitive skin at her nape with his fingers. Shards of electricity zapped from that simple touch directly to her core, which throbbed in response. At the same time, warmth from that touch spread through her on a wave of a feeling akin to total acceptance. Like this was where she was supposed to be. A low moan dragged from her mouth as he lifted her, just enough that it put him in complete control. He slipped a thigh between her legs, then pressed her down. Holy hell. Delaney leaned into him, her body softening into his, attuned to what his wicked hands and lips were doing to her even as her heart beat fast has hummingbird’s wings just to be in his arms. She arched into him, moving against him with a moan. His hand slid under her shirt and he brushed against the sensitive flesh at her waist, his skin warm against hers. Which only made her want more skin. With eager hands, she tugged at his black t-shirt, breaking their kisses only long enough to pull it over his head. Then she allowed her hands to roam, to feel the rigid strength in his body, loving the heat of him, the bourbon and Coke smell of him. A shudder shook his body. “I want you.” He paused, then said something else under his breath. Something like, “More than I should let myself.” But then his lips were back on hers, addling her senses and taking over her mind. A bellow rent the air and jerked Delaney out of the oblivion of pleasure where she floated. She snapped her head up, breaking the kiss to listen. Another sound that she could only classify as a roar broke the stillness. “What was that?” she asked. Fear, rather than need, had her heart tripping over itself inside her chest. “It sounds like a…wounded animal.” Finn gave a low rumble that sounded more like a warning growl than anything a human would make, and her heart slammed into high gear. Slowly, dread pulling at her, she turned her head to look directly at him. To encounter eyes ablaze. Not figuratively. Literally ablaze. Blue flames consumed his irises. What the hell? Panic spiked inside her, and her breath came out in short, sharp bursts, speeding up as she absorbed what she was seeing. Adrenaline joined the fear and she shoved his chest. Hard. She must’ve surprised him, because Finn released her, stumbling back a few paces. She managed to keep her feet under her, then scrambled back, trying not to trip over any rocks in her path. He held up his hands. “Delaney, don’t—” She did the only thing she could. She ran.
GIVEAWAY! Montana Dreams
-- EXCERPT: The ringing of a bell interrupted her thoughts, and when she realized it was coming from directly below the open door, she rose and crossed the room. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, with a light now shining in the stairwell, was Jaden, dressed in a pair of black slacks she hadn’t seen before—split at the knee to accommodate the cast—a white button-down shirt, and no expression on his face whatsoever. The bell kept ringing. “I take it you need something?” She rested her shoulder against the doorframe and shot him a sarcastic look. “I do.” “Is that so?” She highly doubted it. She made a show of angling her head in both directions as if checking to see that nothing looked out of place. “You don’t look to be in pain of any sort.” He rang the bell harder, but his lack of expression didn’t change. “Jaden,” she finally yelled out, and his hand quit moving. “I’m busy up here.” She thought about the website and had the idea to show it to him. Would that help him to see that she wasn’t just a flake? Did she really care what he thought about her? She did. And for some reason, the idea of showing it to him excited her. The bell started up again, before she could make up her mind to grab the laptop and take it down to him, and as the noise clanged louder, Jaden’s expression went from nonexistent to one of mulish intent. He clearly intended to keep ringing the blasted thing until she went down there. “Stop ringing that bell!” Though she hadn’t heard the noise in days, he’d rung it enough the first couple of weeks to make her regret ever giving it to him. And at the moment, she regretted forgetting to take it away. “Then come down here and see what I want,” he yelled back. “You don’t need anything!” The noise stopped so abruptly that she weaved in place, suddenly off balance. “But I do,” he told her, and this time his tone was sincere.
GIVEAWAY! Blessed Fury
-- Are you a book reviewer? -- EXCERPT: The stench of stale beer and sweat invaded Ava’s nostrils as she moved toward the bar. A football game played on the screen behind the counter, but none of the three men populating the pub paid any attention to it. The air inside was musty, old, and it only worsened as she approached the end of the room. She passed by the first man, who sat in a booth on the left. He stared at nothing in particular, with a cry stuck midway in his throat and a half-empty jug of beer clutched in his hand. The bad lighting drenched half of him in shadows, making it seem like darkness was swallowing him. He didn’t notice Ava because she had masked her presence before entering. She wasn’t exactly invisible. Humans could see her if they focused hard enough, but they rarely did. Ava made a mental note to check up on that poor soul if she had the chance, her Guardian instincts urging her to help. He was clearly suffering, but she was here for a reason, and the reason was not that man. So she went back to the task at hand. The wooden floor creaked as she approached the bar. The bartender, an old man with white hair and a face marred by deep wrinkles, cleaned a dirty glass from behind the counter. She wasn’t here for him, either. The last man sat hunched at the edge of the counter. Well, he wasn’t exactly a man. According to his file, he was a Selfless, an angel whose memories had been wiped out so he could be reborn as a human—standard procedure, considering centuries of memories could overload a human brain. She stopped by his side and sat on the red padded stool to his left. The seat’s ripped leather grazed the white fabric of her bodysuit, scratching her thighs. The man was hunched over, so she couldn’t see much of him except for his strong build and dark hair. He took a long gulp of his drink and didn’t acknowledge her presence for a while. So she waited. “Archie isn’t dead yet,” he finally said, his voice rough like a cement wall. “I do belie—” “He’s not dead,” the man repeated, his attention solely on what was left of his whiskey. She took a deep breath. “I know, Liam.” She used her Guardian voice, the calm, soothing tone to which she had grown accustomed. It was how she talked to her charges, how every guardian angel spoke, actually. Using the same serene tone. Liam turned to Ava, his brow furrowed and his lips twisted, and for a moment too quick to count, she lost her breath. Ava had seen his photo on file, but the live version of him was brutally handsome. Liam was a cool wind on a summer morning and a thunder waiting to crack. His features were all sharp angles and fierce lines, but his eyes … Ava had never seen eyes like those. Rough emeralds cut with razor-sharp precision, almost like crystalline water, if water were green. “Don’t call me by my name,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me.” “You’re right, and I apologize.” She patted her thighs as if she were fixing the apron of an invisible dress. “I only read your file, but I’d like to get to know you, Liam.” “You’re a Guardian,” he scoffed and took a sip of his drink. “I am,” she said, ignoring the contempt in his tone. “However, the word the Messenger used when he assigned you as my charge was ‘temporary partner’.” “You’re not my partner,” he barked through tight lips. “Archie is.” “I’m not here to replace Archibald, Liam.” He glared at her, certainly because she had used Archibald’s name and his. This seemed to be a sensitive matter to her new charge, so she calmly added, “I can’t replace your partner. No one can.” Ava extended her hand to him. “I’m Ava, by the way. And I’m here to help.”
GIVEAWAY! The Devil to Pay
-- EXCERPT: The pill is small, so I decide to be cool like people in movies and pop it in my mouth without a drink. When I swallow, the pill sticks to the back of my throat. It’s not big enough to block my air, but I’m full-on gagging and hacking when I see a guy in a white shirt and tie duck past my window, open the rear door, and let himself into the backseat. “Hey,” I croak, “you’re just in time to pass me that soda at your feet.” Which doubles in heavily-accented snark-talk for Who and/or what the hell, random guy? But he’s not bilingual, so he only searches at his feet and passes up to me a half-empty bottle of soda. After a drink, I cough out: “Sorry, I wasn’t ready just then to host a mugging. But I’m good now.” “Um,” he says, unsure, “okay, I think I might have made a mistake.” “It’s true, I’m not a hooker.” In the rearview I can see a pristine wedge of blonde hair above pleasing green eyes. But very concerned eyes. Haunted, even. He says, “I thought you were trying to take me.” “Again, not a hooker.” “But there’s no room back here to take somebody. I can’t even sit down. Are these all your clothes?” “It’s laundry day,” I lie. “And let me get this straight. You were afraid I might be here to take you away in my car, and so…you got into my car?” “Yeah, but I was going to do this.” He jabs a gun into the back of my neck. His voice is shaking. “Now look to your left. See those guys?” “Wait, you were going to do this, or you’re actually doing it now?” “Just look!” He quickly adds, “Please.” “Well, since you said please…” “You see them?” I do. Up ahead, just beyond the light of the blue street lamp, stand two tall figures, deep black silhouettes against a lighter black night. They appear to be facing us. Just watching. “Yeah, I see ’em.” “Can you call them off?” “Hey, remember that one time when you were saying you might have made a mistake about me?” “I know, but now I figure maybe even vampires gotta have laundry day, right?” I take another look at him in the mirror. He’s sweating. Eyes darting. His aggression is coming from fear, not anger. I know he’s human, because I can’t feel any underworld in him, and I definitely would feel something from this close. “And now I figure,” he says, “that when I say vampire and you say nothing, that tells me that maybe I didn’t make a mistake.” “Could be I’m just speechless because I think you’re a crazy person. Or I could be waiting for you to look at me in the rearview mirror…” His eyes go to mine in the mirror. “…so I can use my Dracula mind-control powers on you.” He quickly turns away and digs the gun deeper into my neck. Ow. “You might be supernaturally fast, but can you dodge a bullet?” Human. White shirt and tie. Knows about vampires… “You’re from Washington?” “Washington state? Is that a vampire thing? Makes sense. Lots of rain there, not much sun.” Okay, I’m going to shut up now. This guy’s either the world’s greatest bullshit artist, or he’s just a human who found out way too much, and those two shadows under the streetlight really are vampires, in which case they’ll either wipe his mind or kill him. “I’m Detroit PD, Homicide,” he says. Not the bullshit artist, then. Nice knowing you, guy. “Two days ago I’m assigned to a hooker from Corktown, and there’s no—” “When you say assigned, you mean she’s dead?” “I mean, her body was found with her throat ripped out, only there’s no blood at the scene, because there’s no blood in her body. Like it’s been sucked out.” “By vampires.” He eases up on the gun. “Right? Is that what you think?” “I’m saying that’s what you think.” “I don’t think, I know. Just like I know you’re either a hooker or a vampire, and probably both.” “Try neither, and definitely not a hooker.” “Yeah, you said that already. Very first thing when I got in your car was ‘I’m not a hooker.’ It’s like, ‘Oh, is your name also Methinks?’” “What?” “Methinks, Methinks! It’s like a famous internet meme or whatever, and she protests too much about the thing that’s obviously true. I’m not a hooker, I’m not a hooker! Then why are you sitting out front of Dario Machlin’s apartment?” “Dario? You’re here for Dario?” “You tell me.” He pulls the gun away, and my shoulders can finally relax. After another glance at the shadow figures—yep, still there—he takes a breath, collecting himself. “Vampire or not—” “Hooker or not.” “—you have to know something. Last night you got into Underworld, which I’m pretty sure is a hangout for vampires. And you came home with Dario Machlin. You stayed all night.” “What, so you’ve just been spying on us? Did you peek through his window at any time last night? Because you could have learned some things your girlfriend will appreciate.” I put the car into drive. He flinches. “What are you doing?” “I’m taking us around the block. Unless you want to have a chat with those guys?” He sucks in a breath when he sees that the shadow figures are now on the move toward us. As they pass beneath the light of the street lamp, I recognize them, and yes, they are vamps, and yes, my night just got shot to hell.
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