I know...sexy fun!
Here's the book information below, some flash fiction written by Jenn, and information about her. Don't forget to visit the link at the bottom for a chance to win Spooktacular prizes. Good luck!
Struck By Eros
Redeeming Cupid
Book One
By Jenn Windrow
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Muse It Up
ISBN: 1771278196
ASIN: B01FOHLNXG
Number of pages: 242
Word Count: 62K
Cover Artist: Eerilyfair Design
Book Description:
One jaded woman. Two hot men. A
challenge to prove Cupid doesn't always know best.
After a lifetime of dating losers, Noel
Chase thinks she’s found love with college professor Len Holder. But Cupid's
aim sucks worse than his crap-tacular curse, sticking her with supposed soul
mate, Grayson Adler. Grayson is gorgeous, Greek, and an exact replica of the
man-whores of her past. No matter what the chubby cherub thinks, Noel is sure
Grayson is Mr. Wrong with a capital “W.”
Forced to do Cupid’s bidding, Noel must
spend her days with Grayson matchmaking the unlucky-in-loves, and trying to
resist Grayson’s charm and do-me-now sex appeal. But when Cupid tries to match
her fiancé, Len, with another woman, Noel must make an excruciating decision.
Defy Cupid and hang on to Len? Or succumb to her fate and trust Grayson with
her heart?
Excerpt:
The morning fog ebbed, and the
sun peeked between the clouds. Joggers ran through the shallow water, families
searched for seashells, and ten feet away, a gaggle of girls surrounded Grayson
like seagulls circling a kid with popcorn.
I trekked through the warm sand,
threw myself into a chair underneath the rainbow-striped umbrella, and scared
away Grayson’s entourage. “Let’s find our lonely hearts and get this over
with.”
“Hello to you too, sunshine.”
Pulling a book out of my bag, I
cracked it open and settled into my time-toignore-
Grayson pose. A pose that took me
weeks to perfect. “Let’s not pretend we enjoy each other’s company.”
“Don’t you get sick of always
being…” He waved his hand back and forth in my direction like a conductor
guiding an orchestra. “You?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that if the stick in your
ass got any higher we could hang a flag over your head and declare you your own
state.”
I peeked over the top of my book.
“Go get eaten by a shark.”
“Better than sitting on the beach
with a crab.” Grayson hopped off his towel, jogged down the seaweed-covered
sand, and got lost in the distance. I’d see him again when he located our
wayward couple with the bobbing purple arrows over their heads.
Comforted by the sound of waves
crashing on the shore, I tried to get interested in the story of a man and
woman who managed to find love no matter how many obstacles life put in their
way.
Choking out a laugh, I dropped
the book in my lap. “What a crock of crap.” If finding the love of your life
were so simple, Grayson and I would be leading ordinary lives far away from
each another, instead of providing divine intervention for wayward soul mates.
Twenty minutes later, Grayson
jogged back, snatched a towel, and wiped away the coat of sweat that covered
his perfectly chiseled abs. I couldn’t help but notice the way his black board
shorts showed off his Apollo’s belt, that lovely little “V” indent by his
pelvic bone. Just because I didn’t want to spend eternity with him didn’t mean
I couldn’t admire the spectacular view.
“Found our mark.” He grabbed a
water bottle and took a gulp. “I’ll need your help.”
I tossed my book on the sand.
“Anything to move this day along.”
With another gulp of water,
Grayson grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Scenario Sixty-Two?” A
couple at odds.
“No. Not Sixty-Two. I don’t have
the mental fortitude to fake a fight with you. How about Eight?” I pulled my
hand out of his before the lust ignited and we ended up on a Serta sleeper with
post-orgasmic guilt.
“Eight won’t work. He’s not
exactly… handsome.” Grayson scrunched his nose, which only made him look more
adorable.
Not what I wanted to hear. “How
about Thirteen?” I wasn’t in the mood to hit on anyone today, but the lesser of
two evils and all that.
“Thirteen it is.”
We approached the lavish, red and
white beachfront hotel most people found beautiful. It reminded me of the
ex-asshole playing hide-the-sausage in the honeymoon suite with his assistant
while I stood groomless under a hydrangea covered trellis on this very same
beach.
Cupid delighted in finding new
ways to torture me.
We walked down the stone path to
the beachfront café where a purple arrow floated over a man in his late
twenties with a receding hairline, pockmarks, and a shirt that read, “I’m not a
geek, I’m a level nine warlock.” No wonder Grayson wanted Scenario Sixty-Two;
he had a soft spot for the desperate.
Grayson reached out and
unbuttoned three buttons on my bathing suit cover up, exposing a lot more
cleavage than a level nine warlock deserved. “Better than your personality.”
I shoved his hands away. “Just go
find his other half.”
Grayson blew me a kiss and
wandered off.
I closed one of the buttons, slid
into the empty seat next to him at the bar, and held out my hand. “Hi, I’m
Noel.”
He took a gander of the goods,
then knocked over his drink in a hurry to shake my hand. A foamy white
substance smelling of rum and coconut crept along the wood. His stare wandered
between the crawling liquid and back to me, but he finally made the decision to
ignore the mess and talk to the hot girl.
“Norm.” He ogled my abundant
cleavage, then remembered his good manners, clasping my hand in his, shaking
vigorously.
Thank God for divine
intervention, or this poor shmuck would never get laid.
But today was Norm’s lucky day.
Today he’d meet his other half. The ying to his yang. The milk to his cookie.
The peanut butter to his jelly. And he might even have sex.
“Do you play Warcraft?” He looked
hopeful.
I shook my head.
“It’s a great game. See, the
elves hate the orcs…” Norm started his very detailed explanation.
At the twenty-minute mark of the
ins and outs of The World of Warcraft, I developed an irritating twitch.
Another moment and I was going to find a BFG, otherwise known as a Big Fucking
Gun in geek speak, and shoot myself.
Flash Fiction by Jenn Windrow
Armed guards pulled me from my
cell, and dragged me over the blood splattered Astro-turf. They shackled me to
the goal post at the end of a football field turned-execution-chamber, stripped
me of my last remaining article of clothing and left me to die.
Ten guards stood in a circle
around me, machine guns pointed at my head. They thought they were safe. Five
television crews hurried around the arena preparing for tonight’s broadcast.
They thought they were safe. A priest knelt in front of a vat of water,
blessing it. He thought he was safe. I’m a vampire.
No one was safe.
The announcer grabbed my chin
with his pudgy, gloved hand. His mouth spread into an ugly smile before he
turned and blocked the crowds view. He cleared his throat and spit. The warm
glob landed on my cheek and slid down before dropping to the ground. He would
be the first to die.
For five days my human captors
tortured me, punished me, abused me. I allowed it. Their acts bought me time to
plan my escape. The bitter blood of a family of rats who shared my cell kept me
alive, their donation helped remove the last trace of poison that coursed
through my veins.
Humans. They thought they got
lucky catching one of the Seven Sovereign leaders of the vampire race. It
hadn’t been luck. I’d been set up. By the six vampires I trusted the most.
Betrayed, martyred, and left for dead at the entrance of a Vampire Apprehension
Station. Silver injected in my blood to keep me compliant, close to death, to
ensure I didn’t slaughter the humans. Sacrificed because I didn’t agree with
their vision of the future and refused to cower to a lesser race.
Betrayal was an ugly thing.
But so was revenge.
The stadium lights flickered on
and flooded the field in a cold white light. I lowered my head and let my
greasy hair shield my eyes from the glare. Soft footfalls approached, bringing
the all-too-familiar smell of body odor and peppermint with them. For five
nights the same pungent odor visited me to pray for my undead soul.
My gaze followed the priest’s
movements. He dipped a chalice into a vat of water, and raised the cup in the
air, drops of water sloshed over the sides and fell to the ground. He walked
over to me, the beads of his crucifix clicking against the gold cross.
“Delano Melazi, I’ll ask you
again. Shall I pray for your undead soul?”
I ignored him tonight as I’ve
done the last five times he asked me this question. It wasn’t my soul he needed
to pray for, and it wasn’t my body they would be burying this evening.
A moment of silence stretched
between us. He huffed and gestured for the guards. Two hurried over. “Hold his
head.” Warm fingers dug into my scalp and forced me to meet the priest’s eyes.
The twinkle in his baby blues was more devil than saint.
“By the authority of the church,
I mark you as one of the damned.” He dipped his index finger into the chalice.
The water rippled. He pulled his finger out and pressed it to the center of my forehead.
It sizzled against my skin and burned along the two lines the priest traced
with his finger. My fangs sank into my tongue, holding back my agonized scream.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of enjoying my pain.
“In the name of the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Ghost,” he finished. The guards dropped their hold on my head
and it fell back to my chest.
The holy water cross was meant to
weaken me, to stop me from fighting when the executioner came out and the real
damage was inflicted. On a less powerful vampire, a younger one, it was
effective, but I was almost seven hundred years old. I possessed more power
than anyone knew, even the vampires who sent me here.
The Sovereign leaders called my
capture a small sacrifice, a peace offering to the human race. I called it a
punishment, a crime, an injustice.
Static from the Jumbo-Tron played
over the speakers. The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium. The crowd
cheered, excited to witness my demise. And they called the vampires monsters.
“This week, two brave VAU agents
captured one of the Vampires’ leaders. Delano Melazi.” The crowd booed and
hissed their hatred. “He alone is responsible for the Nightclub Massacre.”
I had nothing to do with it, but
let them believe what they wanted. I had no quarrel with them, just like a wolf
has no quarrel with a sheep.
Once the crowd quieted down the
announcer continued. “A tragedy no human will ever forget. You’ve seen the
pictures. Over one hundred and thirty humans captured, tortured, torn to
pieces.” He paused and stepped closer. I felt the warmth of his flesh and heard
the beating of his heart. “This monster locked those doors. This monster
slaughtered your friends and family in cold blood. This monster deserves to
pay.”
His words worked the already
agitated crowd into frenzy. They raised their fists high in the air and yelled
for my death.
Just a few moments more, that’s
all I needed. Seconds until my power was restored.
The announcer’s fat fingers
grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and forced me to look into the camera.
“Tonight he will pay. He will suffer. He will die.” His words echoed around the
stadium.
No one heard the handcuffs fall
to the ground or saw me twist his head or heard his last breath. No one knew
anything was wrong until his head slipped from my fingers and his body slid to
the ground.
The crowd screamed.
The guards aimed their guns at my
heart, pulled the triggers and let the bullets fly in a flurry of silver and
speed, but I was swifter, stronger, superior.
Before the first bullet hit the
metal pole that had bound me, I was in front of the final guard in line. Ten
beating hearts at my feet. Ten gaping holes in their chest. Ten dead bodies on
the earth.
I turned to the closest camera,
the red lights still blinking, but unmanned. “I am Delano Melazi.” I raised my
voice over the commotion. “And I will seek revenge against those who wronged
me.”
The first blast of holy water hit
me in the shoulder. It knocked me off balance. The second hit me in the face.
The cross the priest had drawn on my head merely irritated me, but the
onslaught of blessed liquid burned, weakened and crippled me. It ran down my
arm, melted the flesh off the bone.
I had one chance to get out
alive. With the last remaining bit of strength still hidden deep in my
reserves, I vanished. Teleported, a handy trick only I knew I possessed, away
from the stadium and the humans, but not the pain.
About the
Author:
Jenn Windrow loves characters that have
a pinch of spunk, a dash of attitude, and a large dollop of sex appeal. Top it
all off with a huge heaping helping of snark, and you’ve got the ingredients
for the kind of fast paced stories she loves to read and write. Home is a
suburb of it’s-so-hot-my-shoes-have-melted-to-the-pavement Phoenix. Where she
lives with her husband, two daughters, and a slew of animals that seem to keep
following her home, at least that’s what she claims.
Tour giveaway
3 $5.00 Amazon gift cards and copies of
the ebook.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
No comments:
Post a Comment