Cursed

Lynn Ricci

Genre: Paranormal Romance

ISBN:         1481276034

ASIN: B00AQO2ISW

Number of pages: 259

Word Count: 70,000

The story takes place over the Christmas holiday… it involves a witch . . . and other surprises…

Book Description-

When Sarah Carter moves to Boston to escape her past she realizes there’s more than meets the eye with the landlord and her mysterious new best friend.

What happened to the owner of this Boston brownstone and what secrets lie within its walls and continue to torment?

And is she actually running back to her past instead of from it?

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About the Author:

Lynn Ricci was born and raised in the Boston area. Her professional background is in financial communications and she pursues her artistic endeavors of writing and painting while enjoying an active family life with her two children and dog, Fenway. In the summer, she enjoys relaxing in Chatham on Cape Cod.

A writer of several published short stories including Daydreams which was picked up for an anthology collection through Outskirts Press, The Dating Intervention is her debut novel and Cursed, a paranormal romance, is her most recent novel released December 2012.

More information on novels available and underway can be found at www.lynnricci.com

Website: http://www.lynnricci.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Lynn.Ricci.Author

Twitter: http://twitter.com/lynnricci

Excerpt Chapter 1

Staring out of the small dormered window, he could just see the corner of the street. Leaves on the trees lining the sidewalk were moving past their prime of orange and red and turning brown as autumn made its way through Boston. The ones still clinging to the trees blocked part of his view. Absentmindedly he pulled his pocket watch out of his pants and checked the time although he instinctively knew it was still early. Purposely, he had chosen this spot to watch the street for a sign. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

Mrs. Casey was nearly three stories below waiting on the sidewalk next to her white BMW. He gazed down at the plump woman in her camel jacket and brown plaid scarf. She had just arrived and was on her mobile phone, trusty bag over her shoulder. As he watched from above, he wondered if he might keep her for a while. She had proven to be discreet and respectful in their dealings thus far –always keeping her eyes conveniently averted. That was a big plus in his book.

The sky had been bright blue and clear all morning but now the sunlight dimmed and small gusts of wind kicked up from time to time, stirring up the brittle leaves, scratching at the sidewalk and causing drifts against the wrought iron fence. He would go out and clean up the two small patches of grass in front of the building later, when it got dark. After all these years, he was comfortable working outside after nightfall.

A flicker of yellow caught his eye as a taxi turned from Columbus Avenue onto Dunhill – a small side street in Boston’s South End, lined with fashionable brownstones. He straightened his bent frame as best he could and intently watched the cab’s approach, completely absorbed in his surroundings and on high alert. Below, Mrs. Casey tucked her phone away and pulled her coat closed. Is it getting colder, he thought, touching the glass pane in front of him, the chill spreading through his fingertips.

The yellow checker taxi glided to a stop in front of the building and a young woman with ash blonde hair stepped out but held the door and leaned back in. His heart clenched as if it had been submerged in cold water and he grasped the windowsill to steady himself. From his vantage point, he could see the cabbie handing her some bills. She closed the car door and turned to Mrs. Casey, shaking hands. He wished he could hear the conversation, but knew that it would be pleasantries and then the expected basics.

Both women squinted up towards the window and he faded back as quickly as possible. He was sure he was a moment too late, but what did it really matter? He snuck another quick look and relaxed, realizing Mrs. Casey was pointing out items on the ground level – most likely the security system, or flower boxes. But as he continued to watch he finally saw it: the sign he had been waiting for.

Small gusts that had been making the crunchy, dry leaves rise and dance with their still colorful counterparts whipped up again a few buildings further along the street and came towards the women like a mounting wave. The leaves blew up waist high, swirling and twirling onto themselves until the force reached the women and spun around them in a leaf tornado. Mrs. Casey stepped back towards her BMW parked at the curb to get out of the maelstrom and the leaves continued, picking up energy and speed; surrounding the flaxen-haired woman, lifting and tossing her long hair like a Medusa at the center of the funnel. In reaction to the onslaught, the young woman covered her head with her arms and ran up the front walk toward the building to get out of its path. The wind disappeared and the leaves fell to the ground on the sidewalk as quickly as it had started. Overhead the sky was once again blue.

She’s here, he thought.

The leaves settled gently on the sidewalk. Sarah laughed, removing a few dry leaves that had snagged on her scarf and sweater.

“My goodness! It’s getting blustery!” Mrs. Casey exclaimed as she hurried across the brick sidewalk to the open gate that Sarah ran through, moments before. “Are you ok, dear?”

“I’m fine, really.” Sarah said almost to herself while smoothing her hair. “Just a little wind.”

“Well, dear, if it was any more wind it would have swept you away to Oz.” Sarah heard the deep Boston accent in the woman’s voice and felt immediately comfortable with the realtor. The cadence was almost like she was listening to her maternal grandmother, Rose. Growing up in Connecticut, her grandmother’s Boston accent was fodder for jokes, but she always associated the distinctive pronunciations with happy childhood memories. Sarah waited as Mrs. Casey reached into her oversized bag and easily pulled out a business card.

“Thank you, Mrs. Casey,” Sarah said as she examined the card. “I’m so glad you were able to meet me on short notice.” Sarah stood on the bottom step and waited as Mrs. Casey dug paperwork out of her briefcase. Glancing around the small front enclosure she wasn’t sure was big enough to qualify as a yard, she noticed the black wrought iron flower boxes mounted below the bay windows, full of deep russet, red, and burnt orange mums. Mrs. Casey finished pulling out the listing sheet and noticed where Sarah was looking.

“The flowers are lovely, aren’t they? You should see this place in the summer! I don’t know how he does it. No one ever sees him working in the garden but it’s always immaculate.” She leaned over and pointed to the side of the building indicating she actually meant around the corner. “Over there are the rose bushes. This is actually one of the few brownstones that has a little side yard since the alley cuts through there.”

Sarah looked at the old-world cobblestone alley. Mrs. Casey continued her garden tour, “Not big enough to do much with, but he keeps pink roses in the summer all along those wooden trellises.”

“It’s very nice. You can tell the property is well kept; it’s wonderful that he cares so much for the landscaping.”

“Everything is kept well. This was a grand house in her day.” Mrs. Casey stressed the last sentence as she looked lovingly up to the front door. The realtor continued with a tone of letting Sarah in on a fact already well known in certain social circles, “This is one of the prime rental properties in the South End, dear.”

Mrs. Casey started to climb the front steps slowly. Sarah wondered if it was her age that slowed her down but this seemed different, almost hesitant. As if on cue, the woman turned and looked down at Sarah, two steps below. She put one hand on the railing to steady herself before speaking.

“Before we go in, I must tell you something. We will be meeting with the owner in a few minutes. He’s very particular about his renters since he lives on the first floor.”

Sarah started to say she would make a good impression but the woman laid her gloved hand on her arm to quiet her.

“There’s more.” Mrs. Casey looked down at her feet in discomfort with what she was about to say. “He had an accident . . . of some sort. I am not sure exactly what happened but he is disfigured and very, very self-conscious.” Her eyes darted back to Sarah’s and locked. “Don’t act like you pity him. Don’t ask any questions about it. And, whatever you do, don’t look straight at him.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I really don’t know the extent of it. He tries to cover as much he can and I pretend like nothing is wrong. But it’s bad. I always keep myself busy and interested in looking at something else.”

“I will avoid looking at him. Promise.”

“I’ve lost some good tenants by them being too interested in him. He’s a proud man. He has done a lot of beautiful work; everything in this home has been lovingly maintained. The whole building possesses a charm you just don’t see anymore.”

Mrs. Casey searched Sarah’s face, making sure all this had settled in.

“Ready, dear?”

“Ready.”

The Nymph’s Labyrinth
The Nymph Series Book 1

Danica Winters

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Crimson Romance

Date of Publication: 12/31/12

ISBN: 1-4405-6223-7

ASIN: B00AKERYRI

Number of pages:  300

Word Count: ~60k

Book Description:

A world shrouded in mystery and intrigue, the Sisterhood of Epione must not be exposed.

A Shape-shifting nymph, Ariadne, is tasked with keeping the truth of her group’s existence and their ancient mysteries far out of reach of an American archeologist and his troublemaking son.  When forgotten and forbidden passions are awakened, Ariadne is forced to make a choice—fall in line and continue to be overrun and pushed down by the sisterhood, or follow her heart and put everyone’s lives in danger.

Can Ariadne have the man she loves or will the pressure and secrets of the past keep her from her heart’s desire?

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/z8e3R9T9-hc

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes and Noble  | Kobo | All Romance

About the Author:

Danica Winters is a bestselling author who is known for writing award-winning books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and often a touch of magic.

She is also the Marketing and Promotions Manager for Books To Go Now publishing.  When she’s not working she can be found in the wilds of Montana working on her patience while she tries to understand the allure of various crafts (quilting, pottery and painting are not her thing).  She always believe the cup is neither half full nor half empty, but it better be filled with wine.

Social Media Links:

Website: www.DanicaWinters.net

Blog: www.DanicaWinters.net/blog

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Pinterest: www.Pinterest.com/MsDanicaWinters

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5764273.Danica_Winters

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The Nymph’s Labyrinth Chapter One

Present Day

Shoveling dirt in a dark, forbidding hole was the last place Ariadne Papadakis wanted to be. She used the trowel in her hand as a weapon to scrape the clay away. A drop of sweat trickled down the ancient black tattooed snake on her arm, past her elbow, over the serpent’s weaving body, and stopped at the base of her wrist as if it was afraid to enter her palm where the head of the snake was poised for attack.

The city of Gournai sat at the base of a Cretan hill, a blister of light in the callous night. Ariadne could remember when the town had been nothing but a few villas and a market, perfectly rural—a great location for a secret. Now it bustled with modern life and somewhere within the public maze, sat an archeologist who wanted to expose the Labyrinth she and her sisterhood of nymphs had kept hidden for so long.

How had Beau Morris found their secret…a secret that had been hidden for thousands of years? She couldn’t know for sure, but now she had been ordered to deal with the consequences of his action.

Earlier that day, while Ariadne had been working at the museum in Heraklion, a braying couple from Alabama had been amongst the handful of visitors. They had laughed at the bare breasts of the statue of Epione, the snake goddess. They had snickered and made jokes of the serpents that graced her arms and her ample breasts. They never paused to consider what the woman had once meant to so many and still meant to Ariadne’s sisters and all nymphs. They had just laughed and gawked at the oddity before them. Stupid Americans.

Did no one revere what is sacred anymore? Had culture changed that much?

Ariadne pushed the thoughts from her mind. There were some things about the modern world that she just didn’t understand, and Dr. Morris’ ardent desire to destroy the nymph culture by exposing the secrets of the Labyrinth was at the top of her list.

Couldn’t he just leave some things alone?

If he found the Labyrinth, the artifacts would sit in the museum, and like the statue of Epione, be pointed at and mocked—or they would be misused. The sacred Labyrinth needed to stay exactly as it was, hidden from science, from prying eyes, mocking laughs, and greedy hands.

She jabbed the trowel into the hard earth.

The trowel-marked square walls around her seemed to move in a little closer as Ariadne worked. She swallowed back her fear as she looked up at the night sky. When she was done, she could get out of this place and never come back.

Her gaze fell to the exposed light gray column at her right. For a moment she stared at the moonlit carved stone, it reminded her of the thousands of years that had passed since she had been born. Each year brought a new challenge, a new set of problems. She ran her finger against the arid dirt and brought her fingers to her nose to smell the burnt sage, the citric aroma of oranges, and a hint of olive.

To have an archaeologist sticking his nose where it didn’t belong was an invasion tantamount to war. Subterfuge was the game and nymphs had thousands of years of practice.

The ocean breeze picked up and with the scent of salty air, came the dank, putrid scent of forbidden secrets. A hooded crow called out, announcing the arrival of night and sordid undertakings, and pushed Ariadne back to work. She needed to complete her task and get out of the depths. She needed to get back to Heraklion, back to normalcy and out from under her sisters’ command.

The tip of the trowel struck gray volcanic ash and Ariadne stopped. The top of the Minoan-era dirt sat exposed and vulnerable. Ariadne grabbed the box beside her and pulled off the cardboard lid. After she slid on a pair of latex gloves, she lifted the tiny skull and placed it in the hole.

Lifting the rest of the bones one by one, she laid them beneath the skull. Ariadne thought of the child to which these bones had once belonged. She and the child must have been alive at the same time. Had she seen the little one playing in the fields or at the market? Maybe the child would like the mischievous game she was playing, but only if she was successful.

It was of no use to wonder about the past. Now these were just bones, and the child’s spirit was alive and well in the heavens.

Ariadne moved on to the ribs, lying one bone above the next.  In no time, she was done. After all, the skeleton couldn’t be too perfect. This was supposed to be a body that had been resting beneath the earth for thousands of years, not a freshly sown grave.

Satisfied, Ariadne pulled the sweaty blue latex from her fingers and stuffed the gloves into her back pocket. Grabbing her trowel, she carefully pushed the soil over the body and packed it down.

Perfect. 

The roar of a car stopped her in her tracks. Looking up, Ariadne watched as headlights bounced off the edges of the pit above her. Her heart pounded.

Damn it…Someone is coming.

Grabbing the box and trowel, she stood up. Standing on her tiptoes, she grabbed the edge of the pit and peered out into the night. A thickset man had his back turned to her as he opened the rear door of his car. For a second, she could only stare at the man, his snug American jeans, and his gray T-shirt that stretched over the well-defined muscles of his arms. He brushed his shaggy hair behind his ear.

Breaking her gaze, Ariadne stuffed the handle of the trowel in her back pocket and pushed the emptied box under her arm. The dirt from the edge crumbled beneath her fingers as she pulled away. Stumbling backward, she shoved her body into the tight space between a column and the earthen wall.

Hopefully he wouldn’t come into the pit where she was hiding. A confrontation wasn’t ideal. No, it was supposed to be in and out, as Kat had instructed.

Ariadne tried to slow her heart as she stood still, a human bridge between the memories of the past and the terror of the future. So much was at stake—her life, her culture, her species.

The car door slammed shut and crisp footsteps approached the pit. Ariadne pushed her body back as far as it would go against the crumbling wall. The tight space made her heart race faster, and a bead of sweat slid down her forehead —she was a trapped animal.

So…tight. She must stay calm.

He moved closer, and her breath quickened. She needed to get out. Though he couldn’t kill her if he found her, trying to explain her presence would be next to impossible.

Shifting was an option, to strike at him with her serpent fangs—a couple of well-placed bites and he would no longer be a problem. But to kill…it was so permanent.

I shouldn’t have come here.

She sat the box down in front of her feet and closed her eyes. Shifting was the only option.

Shuffling her feet, they scraped against the dry soil. Her eyes sprang open. The sounds of the man moving toward the pit stopped.

“Who’s there?” the man said, his smooth voice breaking the tense silence.

Ariadne didn’t answer. Holding her breath, she peered out from behind the column. A pattering rain of dirt announced the man’s entry into the pit. His thick, brown hair shimmered in the moonlight and silhouetted his V-shaped torso.

The beam of his flashlight bounced around the cave, and she pulled back, deeper into the small space.

The light moved away from her and she peered around the darkened corner. The man’s back was to her, as he faced out into the night. His feet were in front of the disturbed patch of soil, but he didn’t seem to notice. Thank the gods.

Pulling the trowel from her pocket, Ariadne sat it on the ground. Closing her eyes, her arms pulled into her sides and her legs blended together. Her teeth grew longer and sharpened in her mouth. There was a quiet thump as her clothes fell to the ground. The man turned toward the sound as her body dropped to the ground.

The light flashed above her, but he must not have seen her and he turned back.

Her smooth body snaked around the cardboard box and past the edge of the column as he pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a long drag.

The ocean wasn’t far. Beau’s body would be easy to hide.