Good morning, everyone!  It's Thursday, and you know what that means -- a new voice (sometimes just to me) for me to share with you.  Please welcome author Liia Ann White, who's here today to talk about her new release, Dark Waters.  (I'm seriously liking this cover, by the way.  It's gorgeous!)

Dark Waters
Liia Ann White

Randor is a Fae assassin. As the most feared military officer in the Faery Realm, he only got out by striking a deal with the late King to become an assassin for hire. Something he was only able to do because of his place as adopted family member. When he’s ordered to kidnap the Unseelie Faery Princess and deliver her to the Seelie Queen, he doesn’t think twice, until he sees his target. Adora. Unseelie Princess. Most beautiful being in existence and feared witch warrior and his soul mate. Disobeying orders is something he’s never done before. But when he brings her into the Human Realm; his home, he has no regrets. Until his Elvish friend, Kiel, disapproves and an unexpected attack raises questions about his loyalties. The only way that could have happened was if Kiel tipped off the Queen's witch, Maleficent.

Adora was fearless, powerful and intensely unhappy. Until she was kidnapped by a mysterious stranger, who happens to be her half human, half Seelie soul mate. After being attacked, Adora, fearing she'd lose Randor, admits her feelings for her soul mate. The two of them just need to find a way they can survive together - away from the feuding kingdoms. Entering the Seelie castle, under a pretense of needing the witch's help to bind Adora's immense power, they ask for Maleficent, whom they plan to eliminate so she can no longer track them. 

When all hell breaks loose, they're involved in a fight including the witch, Kiel and the Queen. A fight that not all of them will survive. 

I asked Liia Ann to talk to us about her inspiration for the story.  Here's what she had to say:

Thanks so much for having me today!  (You're welcome, Liia)

When I saw this topic request for a blog post I beamed. She wanted to know what the inspiration for Dark Waters was. Well, there is about five different ways I can answer that, so here goes…

I’ve always loved fantasy. When done well, fantasy is my favourite genre. But there is a lot of it out now, books, movies, TV shows, that just don’t do it for me. If a fantasy book has not enough or too much description, I feel very disconnected from the plot. I’d had my own little fantasy series running around in my head for a while now and the opportunity came up for me to finally write a fantasy romance.

If you’ve read anything about me, you might know all my book ideas come from dreams. I have nightmares, vivid dreams and plain old weird dreams every single night. One night Adora appeared to me, with the basic appearance of a 21st century She-Ra (yes He-Man’s sister) in combat gear. She was tough yet vulnerable. Beautiful yet down to earth. And graceful yet deadly. She was everything I love in a heroine.

Several dreams followed with the appearance of Randor, the super sexy assassin, the outlay of the worlds they lived in, colours, trees, plants and buildings. I love blues, purples and greens – basically any cool colour, so that’s what I incorporated into the world. All the flora is a shade of blue or purple with green leaves and grass surrounding them.

When I write a book, it plays out in my head as a film, so I try to include all the aspects that I see in my book.

As for my inspiration for Randor? Who better than the always hot Ian Somerhalder as my favourite book character – Damon Salvatore :)

Let's take a peek at where her imagination led, shall we?


Adora awoke lying on a cold, hard, stone floor. Her head ached and throbbed. What happened to her? She left the feast, headed for her quarters and...nothing. Her mind was completely blank.

So what was she doing on a floor? Sitting up, Adora rubbed her head and found she was shackled. Both her wrists and ankles were bound in iron cuffs. The metal shimmered with green energy. They’d been charmed, no doubt with a captivity spell.

Good gods, what am I supposed to do?

It was no use trying to free herself. Captivity spells were almost impossible to break without the proper words. Wait, could she pull the chains out of the wall?

Jumping to her feet, Adora stepped back until the chains were tight. They were attached by one hook embedded into the wall.

This should be easy.

Grasping the cold iron chains, she gave a mighty yank. The instant she did, pain shot up her arms. Adora hunched and winced as the cuffs around her wrists tightened, digging into her skin.

“The more you struggle, the tighter they become.” A deep male voice cut the silence around her.

She spun to find a man she didn’t recognise standing at the door of her small cell. He was tall and lean with muscle that she didn’t doubt held immense strength. His sky blue eyes shone in contrast with his tanned skin and brown hair. While this man was obviously Fae, there was something different about him. Something else emitted through his aura.

A smirk spread across his full lips as he took a step toward her.

Refusing to back away, she straightened and stood still. She was Princess Adora, first in line for the throne the Seelie Court and fearless warrior in the Seelie army. People feared her. She feared nothing.

“So, Princess,” he spoke as he continued to slowly approach her. “I’m supposed to deliver you to the Unseelie queen.”

Adora’s breath caught in her throat. The Unseelie queen had tried, many times, to invade the kingdom. But her soldiers never made it past the gates.

“But,” the stranger continued, “I think I’ll keep her waiting. Just for a little while.”

Adora cocked her head. What kind of soldier disobeyed his queen? “Who are you?”


Liia Ann will be awarding a $10 Amazon Gift Card and a $10 Evernight Publishing Gift Card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.  Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here

About the Author:

Liia Ann White is an Australian author, hailing from Perth, WA.

She spent her childhood daydreaming about far off lands, creating her own unique characters, reading books about witches, faeries, demons, ghosts and a host of supernatural creatures. Eventually, she gained the courage to put her imagination to work.

A self-proclaimed geek, Liia collects Disney and Star Wars memorabilia and loves all things nerdy.

A vegan animal lover, she wishes to one day have her own rescue shelter for unwanted and 'unadoptable' animals. When not writing, she can be found reading or spending time with her dogs.

Liia is a member of Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of Australia, Passionate Ink, Futuristic, Fantasy & Paranormal Chapter of RWA and Young Adult Chapter of Romance Writers of America as well as being the webmistress for YARWA.

Always interested in meeting new people, Liia can be found on facebook or twitter almost constantly.

Keep in Touch:

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Please welcome author Meggan Connors to the blog today, and her new Western Steampunk Romance.  Did you hear that?  I'll say it again.  Steampunk.

Everybody squeal with me.  (And for you just visiting the blog today, I'm a huge steampunk fan.)

She's about to become a pawn in a brutal game between nations... 

The American Civil War has raged for more than ten years. The outcast daughter of a famous inventor, Jessica White has struggled to salvage what little remains of her life. Then, one cold winter night, the lover she'd given up for dead returns, claiming the Union Army bought the plans for her father's last invention. But he's not the only one who lays claim to the device, for the Confederacy wants the invention as well. Both sides will kill to have it. 

...And only he can save her. 

As an agent for the Union Army, Luke Bradshaw is a man who will use whomever and whatever is at his disposal in order to complete his mission. An attack by Confederate soldiers ensures that Jessie will turn to him for help, but Luke can't help but wonder about the secrets she keeps--and if those secrets will ultimately prove fatal.


Her cheeks heated and she sniffed. “I wouldn’t try the patience of my very generous benefactor, if I were you. I might also mention a bath could make your presence a little more tolerable. You’re lucky I didn’t sic Muha on you.”

Luke looked at the wolf, who thumped her graying tail in eager canine devotion. “You wouldn’t bite me, would you, old girl?” Scratching her head, he caught Jessie’s eye. “See, she still loves me.”

“Well, that’s one of us.”

“Right.” He dug into the pocket of his vest, removed a small, folded envelope, and extended it to her. “I brought you something.”

The paper trembled, and it took Jessie a moment to realize his hands shook.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want anything from you, except your promise that tomorrow you’ll leave and you won’t come back.”

“Can’t promise you that, but I can give you this.” He shoved the envelope at her.

“Don’t overstay your welcome, Bradshaw.”

“I always do.”

A nervous laugh escaped before she could stop it, and she took the letter from Luke’s outstretched hand. It was well worn and wrinkled, the edges charred, as if it had been rescued from a fire.

She ran her hands over the paper, and she sensed smoke and the heat of flames.

With shaking hands, she opened the envelope. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a photograph and a flood of memories.

Two young men. Union soldiers. Luke, clean-shaven and an older version of the boy she remembered, smiled broadly at the camera, his free arm around the shoulders of the young man standing next to him.

Gideon. His black hair and eyes, skin and high cheekbones showed the native blood he and Jessie shared. His mouth was set in a somber line, but she recognized the mirth in his eyes. Luke had never failed to amuse her brother.

On the bottom of the photograph, written in Gideon’s strong, precise hand, was, Me and Luke. October 28, 1867.

The day he died.

She put the photograph down beside her and turned to the second piece of paper, and her throat tightened as she began to read.


We leave for South Carolina today. Luke and I are assigned to different airships, but we’re both expected to be there by this afternoon. We don’t expect much resistance. There are rumors the Rebs have developed a weapon against our airships, but I’ve been working on something with Pop’s blue silver alloy. If it works, the Rebs will never be able to take us out of the sky. I only wish Luke were on my ship.

Don’t worry about us. Any day now, and we’ll be back where we belong. Luke sends his love. I’ll take care of him for you—don’t you worry. You take care of yourself and Pop.


The letter they’d received from Gideon’s commanding officer had assured her father that her brother had died quickly when his ship had plummeted to the earth and burst into flames. She had pretended to believe the lies for her father’s sake.

She traced Gideon’s words with the tip of her finger, trying to feel some remnant of her brother’s presence in the strong lines of his penmanship. New pain built in her chest when she realized her efforts were futile—his energy wasn’t there. His letter contained his words, but no trace of him.

“I always meant to come back.” Luke’s voice sounded rough. “I walked all the way back to the crash site, looking for him or something of his. I was given this. I’ve carried it ever since. I always meant to give it to you.”

She set the photograph in her lap. She memorized this last image of her brother, dressed as a solider with his best friend by his side.

Luke put his hand on her shoulder.

She flinched. “Don’t. You should have sent this when you found it.”

He dropped his hand. “I wanted to give you the letter in person.”

“Go away.” The words came out strangled.


“I wish you had been the one to die that day.”

This one small memento of her brother ripped her open and tore out her heart all over again. The pain was as raw as the day she’d learned of his death.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished the exact same thing.”



Meggan will be awarding a silver pocket watch pendant and a cameo choker, and a signed paperback copy of The Marker, her historical romance to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US/CANADA ONLY). So don’t forget to leave a comment and follow the tour.  The more you comment, the better your chances of winning!

Complete tour dates can be found here.

About The Author:

Meggan Connors is a wife, mother, teacher and award-winning author who writes primarily historical and steampunk romances. As a history buff with a love of all things historical, she enjoys visiting both major and obscure museums, and reading the histories of the Old West and the British Isles. She makes her home in the Wild West with her lawman husband, two children, and a menagerie of pets. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, or with her nose in a book. Favorite vacation destinations include the sun-kissed hills of California, any place with a castle or a ghost (and both is perfect!), and the windswept Oregon coast.



Twitter: @megganconnors


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Good morning, readers!

I hope you've all had an opportunity to pick up Immortal Trust!  If you have, I'd love to hear which book is your favorite so far.  There's three others to choose from:  Immortal Hope, Immortal Surrender, and don't forget Immortal Protector, the companion novella to the series.

Since it's Tuesday, our teaser this week is the conclusion of chapter one from last week.  With much, much ado, let's see what happens with Chloe and Lucan.

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Purchase Now!

When archaeologist Chloe Broussard accepts the contract to lead a dig in Ornes, France, she has no idea she will uncover Veronica's Veil. When she does, she discovers a danger far greater than the demons that stalk her in the night. Azazel wants her, as well as the Veronica, and his chosen minion is her brother. Her hope lies with immortal Templar Knight, Lucan. Her life depends on oaths she knows nothing about.

For countless centuries, Lucan of Seacourt has lived with the knowledge that his brother killed their family. Now, as Azazel's darkness eats away at his soul, old betrayal stirs suspicion. He trusts no one. Not even the seraph who can heal his dying spirit.

With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.

"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..." - Romantic Times Reviews 4/4



Lucan’s eyes hardened like steel and clashed with Chloe’s annoyed scowl. She turned her back on the three imposing men, unwilling to let Lucan’s handsome face sway her into better spirits. Held back by the insistence from the Vatican that she wait until their representatives could be present, her team had missed a full day. A delay that would cost them dearly if the overcast sky made good on its threat of snow.

She stomped inside the trailer, letting the door bang shut behind her. Determined to ignore the twinge of guilt her unprofessional attitude brought, she dropped into her desk chair and folded her arms across her chest.

As expected, Lucan and the other two blocks of stone ducked through the doorway and entered the single-wide’s makeshift office. They formed a triangle in front of her desk—two blond corners at the rear, with Lucan as the point man. She let her gaze wander across the masculine faces. At Lucan’s right, the slightly taller, sandy blond wore a haggard expression. As if he had seen more from life than his midthirties warranted. He regarded her with subtle curiosity. Like a colleague who assessed a competitive peer. Beside him, the other blond’s expression brimmed with humor. Soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he enjoyed some inside joke.

Her gaze shifted to Lucan, and a strange tightness possessed her skin. Her work took her to the four corners of the world. She’d seen, spoken to, and even worked with handsome men. For that matter, her brother had been known to make women titter stupidly when he walked into the room. But this man . . . His broad shoulders screamed strength. His narrow waist said he knew the meaning of a hard workout. Yet, the way he looked at her, as if he could read her very thoughts, made her wholly uncomfortable. Behind the unmistakable sharpness of annoyance, interest fringed his unusual gray eyes. And the raven hair that fell almost to his shoulders suggested an uninhibited nature that contradicted his neat attire.

A shiver raced down her spine as the word naughty flitted through her thoughts.

He quirked a dark eyebrow. One corner of his mouth threatened to yield to a self-assured smile.

Heat crept into Chloe’s cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze and shuffled a stack of papers from one side of desk to the other. Handsome maybe. Cocky she could do without. Particularly if she had to work beside him for the next several months. She’d had her fill of trying to prove herself among her colleagues.

Fixing her stare on the less threatening face to Lucan’s left, she cleared her throat. “Is there a particular reason you decided to show up today?” Sarcasm crept into her voice. “Why not tomorrow? By then we might have a foot of snow to dig through and three extra pairs of hands would be welcome.”

With the smoothness of brandy, Lucan’s deep British accent washed over her. “I fear we are both victims of miscommunication. We were instructed arrive this evening, milady.”

Milady? Chloe blinked. The antiquated title prickled her arms with goose bumps. She left her chair to give herself a bit of breathing room and drifted to the long countertop behind her. Picking up a printed copy of the Vatican’s communication, she flicked the corner of the paper. “It says here Sunday the nineteenth. I assumed we’d start the week promptly this morning.” Turning, she strode back to the group of men and thrust the paper at Lucan’s wide chest.

He pushed it gently aside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded square of paper. As he pressed the creases smooth, Chloe groaned inwardly. She didn’t have to look to know what that sheet of paper would say. Inevitably, his copy would read Monday the twentieth. Her luck wouldn’t have it any other way.

She accepted his outstretched offering and scanned the paper, confirming her suspicion. Her angry sails deflated, she let out a heavy sigh. “I apologize.”

“No apologies are necessary.” Lucan’s mouth lifted with a smile. His eyes sparkled with the gesture, not unlike silver beneath bright sunlight. “’Tis understandable you would be upset.”

For a moment, Chloe could do no more than stare. If he’d been handsome moments ago, that warm smile made him breathtaking. Her gaze skipped down to his boots, making note of the thick expanse of his thighs, the way the denim fitted snug. As she again met his discerning stare, and that dark eyebrow quirked as it had before, her cheeks heated once more. Good grief, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable by her appreciative appraisal. If anything, she half suspected he’d have no qualms mentioning it aloud if his friends weren’t present.

He took a confident step forward and extended his hand a second time. “Shall we try this again? I am Lucan.”

Swallowing hard, Chloe slid her palm into his. His fingers tightened just enough to make the strength in his hands obvious, but his grip came nowhere close to painful. Pleasant almost. If it weren’t for the overwhelming masculine presence that flooded her awareness. She tugged on her hand, anxious to be free of the unsettling sensations that accompanied the scrape of his skin.

The pressure around her fingers strengthened, trapping her in place. Lucan nodded over his left shoulder. “This is Caradoc.” He tipped his head at the other man. “And Gareth.”

Chloe offered the other two men an uncomfortable smile. “A pleasure, gentlemen.”

Lucan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. The light gesture carried entirely too much intimacy for her liking. She pulled back, and this time, Lucan’s fingers let go. Her palm slipped free, but his gaze imprisoned her. Suggestion glinted in those steely depths. A silent, yet bold statement that invited her to enjoy a bit of wickedly sinful abandon.

She broke free from the rush of heat that infused her blood by returning to her desk. He might be drop-dead gorgeous, but colleagues and sex didn’t mesh. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Nothing short of absolute desperation would let her entertain the notions Lucan’s eyes conveyed. And she hadn’t reached desperate yet. Two years without a man left her a bit hungry for physical satisfaction, but the lack of orgasms hadn’t erased all sense from her head.

Determined to communicate strict professionalism, she summoned her no-nonsense business demeanor. “So, gentlemen, since it’s so late, what do you say to an early start in the morning—assuming the weather cooperates?”

Lucan glanced toward the door. “There is nothing you require of us this evening?”

Chloe shook her head and forced her irritation aside. “No, we’ve done nothing today. I was instructed to wait until you arrived before we excavated any more relics that could belong to the Church.”

Caradoc gestured at the closed crates stacked on the countertop. “We would like to see the artifacts you’ve already unearthed.”

“Those?” She chuckled softly. “Those aren’t what you’re here for. Anything that could possibly carry religious significance is in the other trailer. My brother, Julian, already left for the hotel. He has the keys, I’m afraid.”

Lucan’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “But the cars outside—no one is here with you?”

At the reminder she’d have to close up the field office alone, Chloe’s chest tightened. Out here, especially at night, the presence that had hounded her the last eight years intensified. She didn’t know what, exactly, it was, but she understood one thing clearly—it didn’t like her.

She ignored the chill that inched down her spine. “I’ve been doing paperwork all day. I’m used to working alone.” Just not at night. Never at night.

A slight frown pulled at Lucan’s brow. “Do you have much work remaining?”

“Oh, not much.” She gestured at the open record book on her desk. “I need to transfer notes on three more artifacts into the computer. Then I’ll head on back.” Forcing brevity, she laughed. “Just me and the trees. The quiet’s nice.”

The tight downturn to Lucan’s mouth evidenced his disbelief. He twisted to address Caradoc. “Go on. I will stay with her.”

“No!” Chloe blurted out. Lord no, not alone with him. She’d take the presence in the darkness over ten minutes alone with him. He posed a far greater risk. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ve been here for a full month. I’m quite capable of locking up on my own. Rest assured, I won’t be fiddling with anything that would interest you.”

Lucan eased out of his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. “’Tis not the Church’s interest that concerns me, milady, but your safety.” Leather creaked as he sat down.

“Till morn then,” Gareth chimed, his eagerness to be free of the trailer evident. He exited swiftly.

Caradoc clamped his hand on Lucan’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture of support. “I shall inform Merrick we have arrived.”

To Chloe’s horror, he too vanished out the door. Unable to look at Lucan, she stared at her blank laptop screen. “Maybe work can wait until tomorrow.”

 Her feeble excuse met a wall of determination. “Nay. Do what you must. I will . . .” Trailing off, he glanced around the trailer. On spying Chloe’s coveted, specially shipped from Tucson, latest edition of Cosmopolitan, he picked up the magazine and scanned the cover. A smirk drifted across his sensual mouth. “I will learn how to turn a weekend getaway into an erotic paradise.”

Sheer mortification scalded her face. With a fierce push, she swiveled her chair around so she wouldn’t have to look at him and pressed the button to bring her laptop out of sleep mode. Torture. Not only did the Church seek to insult her ethics by demanding she cease excavation until their representatives arrived to oversee her work, they sought to torture her with a man who could define erotic paradise.


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"Victorians used the term 'limbs' as a euphenism for legs, which were thought to be so sexually exciting to a man, even a glimpse of a table leg could incite him to sexual frenzy. Table skirts were invented to prevent any unnatural unions between men and furniture."
(History Channel International)



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