Thursday Threads – Cathy MacRae

The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride
Author: Cathy MacRae

Genre: Scottish Medieval Romance

Heat level: Sensual

Determined to keep the Macrory clan’s holdings out of the clutches of marauding pirates, King Robert II sends his man, Lord Ranald Scott, to hold Scaurness Castle. There, Laird Macrory lays dying, awaiting word from his son who is missing on the battlefields of France. If the son is not found before the old laird dies, Ranald will take over as laird—and marry Laird Macrory’s headstrong daughter. 

Lady Caitriona sees no reason she cannot rule the clan in her brother’s stead, and is bitterly disappointed with the king’s decision to send a man to oversee the castle and people. Not only is Ranald Scott only distantly related to the Macrory clan, but he was her childhood nemesis. She has little trust or like for him. 

Her disappointment turns to panic when the king’s plan is completely revealed and she realizes she must wed Ranald. Pirates, treachery, and a four-year-old girl stand between her and Ranald’s chance at happiness. What will it take for them to learn to trust each other and find the love they both deserve? 



Absently Riona brushed a wayward strand of dark auburn hair from her face as she took two quick paces to catch up with him. The movement reminded Ranald of her as a child.

“I don’t suppose ye were too anxious to come here,” she said.

He formed a rueful expression. “Nae. ‘Twas no’ my first choice.”

“I know ye dinnae like it here. Ye always seemed relieved to depart.”

Ranald laughed. “‘Twas ye I dinnae like.”

Rather than take offence, Riona nodded again. “Nor I ye.”

“Ye were a difficult lass.”

She drew up short, staring at him. “Me? Difficult? All I ever wanted was to be included. Ye were forever running off, trying to leave me behind.”

Ranald did not check his pace. “Ach, we did let ye play sometimes.”

With a huff, Riona scrambled to his side. “Oh, aye. Ye let me play ‘princess.’ The princess ye kidnapped and held for ransom by tying me to a tree all afternoon.” She grabbed at her skirt again as she stumbled and caught herself.

Ranald paused and his horse tossed his head at his master’s sudden halt, but Riona didn’t slow her stride. With one long pace he was even with her again.

“And what about the time ye let me go fishing?” she tossed at him. “Except I had to sit in the bottom of the boat and use my skirt to hold yer catch. I smelled of fish for a week.”

Ranald chuckled and shook his head. “That wasnae me, lass.”

She bit her lip, and Ranald wondered why her straight, white teeth fascinated him so. He stared at the reddened mark her bite left behind.

“True,” she allowed. “Ye dinnae like the water, do ye?”

Ranald swallowed back his wayward thoughts. This was Riona, his childhood nemesis, not the sweet widow he’d left behind at Scott Castle.

He caught her sideways glance at him and realized he’d not answered her. “Nae. ‘Tis all that up and down and sideways motion. Makes my stomach churn.”

“How do ye intend to be laird of a people who live by the sea?”

“I cannae say if I’ll ever be much of a sailor, but I will be laird.”




Author’s links:


Twitter: @CMacRaeAuthor


Thursday Thread – Viola Russell

Buccaneer Beauty

By Viola Russell

Genre: Historical Romance

Heat Level: Sensual

BUCCANEER BEAUTY is the story of Grace, Graínne, O’Malley, the beautiful daughter of a powerful Irish chieftain and a conventional mother. At the age of eleven, Graínne cuts her hair and sneaks aboard her father’s galley ship, determined to follow a life at sea and to seek the company of a handsome Scottish gallowglass, Bruce Donnel. Graínne proves herself a budding warrior when Spanish marauders invade her father’s vessel, but her parents have other plans for her. Though she proves an able sailor, Graínne is forced to marry Donal O’Flaherty, another powerful chieftain. Though enamored of Bruce Donnel, she nonetheless obeys her parents and proves an able helpmate to her violent and rash husband, continuing her own adventures at sea while raising children and supervising her husband’s home. Her heart, however, still belongs to a handsome Scot who she can never have. 

Upon Donal’s death by ambush, Graínne continues her adventures along the Irish coast and Europe, secretly battling England’s growing power in her country. Alternately sleeping with the devil or manipulating the British authorities to her own ends, Graínne is determined to save her family and people from the tyranny imposed upon them by England. To make her family stronger, she weds Richard Bourke, one of the most powerful men in the region, but she can never forget Bruce Donnel and the passion he incited within her soul. Richard proves Graínne’s most stalwart supporter and she his, their minds and bodies uniting in an almost mystical union. Together, they faced the English with no fear—with only audacity and boundless courage. Still, the shadow of a youthful gallowglass intrudes on Graínne’s peace.





 “I wish you could come with me to Bunowen.” Grainne heard Bruce’s footsteps when he stepped on the hay spread along the barn. She looked up from grooming her chestnut horse. 

“Now what would I be doing there?” Bruce ambled toward her and began stroking the mare’s nose. The horse stomped on the ground with her right front hoof and let out a fierce snort. The Scot took a step back. 

“She thinks you mean to dishonor me.” Grainne grinned at him as she combed the horse’s mane. “My da gave her to me after that first voyage. Before that, I’d only had a pony. He said I could handle Anu after that.” 

Bruce had regained his courage. He searched within the folds of his cloak and offered the horse a carrot. Anu gazed at him with what looked like suspicion, sniffing the tempting vegetable. “She’s a wild one.” 

Grainne laughed and threw her arms around the animal’s long neck. “She’s a smart one, you’re meaning.” She stared at the now fully-grown man before her. His fair hair fell lightly onto his shoulders, and he wore the tartan trews typical of his people. She glanced at the way his muscular legs bulged within the tight material of his tartan trews. He’d spent most of his life yielding an axe, and Grainne didn’t want to admit to herself how lonely the months were when he returned to his native land with the rest of his men. “How old are you now, Bruce Donnel?”

Bruce watched as Anu took a generous bite from the carrot, then he lifted it to his own lips, grinning. “Older than you, Lady Grainne.” He studied her for a few minutes. “Twenty.” 

“So no Highland Lass has won your heart, has she?” Grainne swept the coarse mane from the comb and tossed it aside. She wiped her hands on her trews and pushed a stray strand of hair from her face. 

“No, my heart’s been stolen by an Irish goddess, but I can’t have her.” He turned to the pawing horse and shared the rest of his carrot. 

Grainne’s heart hammered inside her breast. She took a deep breath and forced levity into her voice. “Who is she, pray tell?”

Bruce was suddenly so close to her that she could feel his hot breath feathering the slight hairs on her neck. “Don’t play with me, Grainne. It hurts too much.” 

Grainne swallowed hard as her very being lurched with desire and aching need. Every sinew in her body wanted to wrap him within the all-consuming fire of her passion. She forced a laugh into her voice. “What hurts? By what I hear aboard ship you waste no time pining for the chieftain’s daughter. You’re quite the man about port. Many a Spanish and French lass can attest to that.” 

“They mean nothing.” His fingertips lightly touched a strand of her hair, but he jerked away as if an electric jolt raced through his body. He added bitterly, “But you’re the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Connaught, and you’re soon to be the wife of another. I’m a poor mercenary.” 

“Not so poor by what I’ve heard.” Grainne struggled to control her own rapid breathing. The heat of his body infiltrated her very pores. “Rumor has it you’ve farmland in the Highlands.” 

Bruce’s face was very close to hers as he moved closer to her, his breath fanning against her lips as they lightly touched hers. Grainne involuntarily touched his cheek, her fingertips on fire and her own breathing sounding loud in her ears. “You’ve heard right. It would be a great place to raise sheep, if I had the right woman.” 

“Aye. It would be in a place with the right woman.”

Grainne looked away, but she still felt his heat. He cupped her chin under with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. His brown eyes bore into her soul. Grainne’s whole body grew hot, and she gently slapped away his hand. Turning from him, she replied softly over her shoulder, “I have to finish with Anu.” 

“Would you leave with me, my wild rose?” Suddenly, Bruce’s powerful arms encircled her waist. He ran his lips along her neck as his hands shifted to her breasts. 

Grainne turned to him, almost against her as though she couldn’t help her conscious will. In his arms, she wasn’t possessed of a mind at all, only an aching body that longed for sexual release. During her long journeys at sea, Grainne had acquired many unsavory sailors’ habits. She loved to game and swore in such a way that made her mother cross herself before flailing her only daughter, but Grainne had never given of herself to man. She’d purposefully withheld her sexual favors from the men inhabiting her father’s ships. Grainne was a chieftain’s daughter. She wouldn’t disgrace him or herself.


Ghost Story with Shehanne Moore

Happy Day Before Halloween!!! 

One more sleep until the big day! I hope you all have great plans for tomorrow but in the meantime Shehanne is here to tell us about the ghost she lived with for many years…she is braver than I am, that is for sure :) 


 “I know what you think you heard and felt but I swear to you, nobody’s there.”

Sitting there that autumn evening, I couldn’t have been more truthful. Nobody was there. If I’d said to my twelve year old daughter nothing’s there, now I’d have been lying. Something was. And that something was pacing back and forward across her attic bedroom floor, inches from my own toes as I sat on her bed. That something was the house ghost. The presence we’d at that point shared our house with for over that twelve years.

Are you sitting comfortably? Or is your hair beginning to prickle all along the back of your neck?

Firstly I want to thank the lovely Angela Scavone for inviting me here today to her wonderful blog.

Secondly, if you’re sitting really comfortably let’s begin at the very beginning. I do like quoting certain songs.

I was so excited to move into our new house. A big Victorian, with lots of space, overlooking the River Tay in a quietly suburban area? 

Who wouldn’t be? It was roughly day 3 and I was busy putting the sitting room into some kind of order when my older girl tapped me on the arm. I remember it very distinctly because I tapped her hand back. I tried to clasp it anyhow. ‘Mama’s just coming, ‘ I said. But the thing was, she wasn’t there. The room was empty. Then I heard her on the landing upstairs. The thought went through my mind. If that was her up there, then who was that down here who had just tapped me–with a somewhat icy hand too?

Over the next few days, every time I stood in the bathroom –which was two rooms knocked together– I could feel someone screaming at me to get out. This wasn’t my house.

We had bought the house from my sister, and my niece had often told what I had always thought were fanciful tales of a ghost locking her in her room, of something pacing the attic floor at nights. Was it possible these weren’t fanciful?  

There was the time someone drew our bedroom curtains. I heard them and thought it was my husband but it couldn’t have been because he was outside at the time. The time someone knocked on the bathroom door when I was in the bath–there was nobody there when I opened it. The time Christmas decorations fell ‘up’ as if they were being yanked, not down, things were switched on that were off, things went missing and were later found where you just knew you hadn’t left them, the time a toy portable typewriter lying flat on the floor stood up on its side, the times the linen chest in the bathroom creaked as if someone was sitting on it.

My daughters both asked if I thought the house was haunted. Despite having lived in the house at one stage, my sister refused point blank to water plants for us when we were on holiday, after being told to ’get out’ one day , my niece, would never go upstairs when she visited, then there was the incident of the flying plant and kitchen cupboard contents. We had been getting the bathroom redone and the builder wanted to let his wife see. She fled after a plant flew at her off of the top of the boiler. ‘ To let you understand,’ she said, ‘that plant never fell, it was thrown.’

So who was doing the haunting and why did we stay?

Well, I guess I just don’t frighten easily. I really loved my house so I always said, ‘I can live with you, if you can live with me,’ although eventually that didn’t prove to be quite the case.

A lot of the incidents happened when we had the attic properly converted. We wanted to give our younger daughter a big bedroom. A few weeks after it was finished my sister asked me how my daughter was liking it. I had to say she was sleeping on a couch in her sister’s room, insisting the attic was haunted. I thought she would laugh. My sister is a very sensible lady.

Instead she said, ‘yes it is’ and they had experienced everything we had. Also, she’d seen this spirit at the foot of the attic stairs one night and it was a soldier. At that time she’d spoken to the old lady next door– this was the 1970s and the lady had lived there almost all her life–she identified the spirit as Robert who had gone to the First World War and never come home.

So, the following week I was teaching a woman who was a newspaper psychic and she came down from the bathroom to say she had seen a soldier. Despite everything, I am actually a hefty sceptic. I said, ‘ Yeah, as you do.’  

‘His name is Robert Wann,’ she said, ‘and he’s furious that you have taken his chest of drawers.’ 

I kid you not. I also kid you not that a few years after this, I had a roofer in to look at a leak in the bathroom roof and he was out of there in ten seconds. His wife was a medium, he had a slight gift himself. ‘You are not alone up there, are you?’ he asked.  

The thing is I had never taken anyone’s chest of drawers but his wife did come out to the house and she had the same story. The little room that had been taken away when the two rooms were knocked into the bathroom by my sister’s husband– not by myself– had been his. He also had no idea what any of us were doing in his house and wanted us all to get out.

The time had come, not for us to go but for him, really, and this lady agreed to help. Let me kid you not about this either, a black pall descended on the room. I have never experienced the likes and I hope never to again. If ever any doubt lingered, or lingers to this day that there is another world there, that moment dispelled it.

Before anyone asks, we don’t live there now. We live in a ghost free Edwardian house!

I did look for Robert’s name on the local war memorial. It wasn’t there. Nor was it further along the road at the other war memorial either.  

Obviously the psychic got it wrong.

A few years ago I was editing a local history magazine. A local author asked if we would review his new book. It was about the local war dead. The name was there all right. Not on the memorials but on a plaque inside the local church.












































Thursday Threads – C.D. Hersh 


TITLE: The Turning Stone Chronicles: “Son of the Moonless Night”AUTHOR: C.D. HERSH

GENRE: Urban fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

Currently available in eBook on Amazon at:
Owen Todd Jordan Riley has a secret. He’s a shape shifter who has been hunting and killing his own kind. To him the only good shifter is a dead shifter. Revenge for the death of a friend motivates him, and nothing stands in his way . . . except Katrina Romanovski, the woman he is falling in love with.

Deputy coroner Katrina Romanovski has a secret, too. She hunts and kills paranormal beings like Owen. At least she did. When she rescues Owen from an attack by a werebear she is thrust back into the world she thought she’d left. Determined to find out what Owen knows about the bear, she begins a relationship meant to collect information. What she gets is something quite different-love with a man she suspects of murder. Can she reconcile his deception and murderous revenge spree and find a way to redeem him? Or will she condemn him for the same things she has done and walk away from love?


Excerpt from Son of the Moonless Night:

A crash in the alley stopped Katrina Romanovski mid-stride. Like the October mist swirling in off the lake, her gypsy blood stirred sending her intuition into high gear. Something unnatural was happening.

Go see what’s wrong. She heard her father’s voice as clearly as if he stood next to her.

On the heels of his words came her mother’s pragmatic warning in clipped British tones. You know what curiosity killed. Katrina pushed the ever-present warning aside. Mom never approved of Dad’s supernatural hunts and even less of his drawing her into them.

Pulling the oversized cross she always wore out from under her shirt, Kat looked around for a weapon. Please, not a vampire. I hate vampires! A piece of wood sticking out of the trashcan at the front of the alley caught her eye.

Grabbing it, she broke the end off into a sharp point. The mist-filled air filtered the light from the single bulb over one of the alley doorways. The wind swirled the loose trash around making a quiet approach difficult. Sidestepping the paper, with the stake in one hand and holding the gun she took from her purse in the other hand, she crept into the alley.

A roar echoed against the buildings, the sound nearly sending her running. That roar wasn’t a vampire. It sounded more like an animal. Kat inched closer. In the yellow pool of light from the back door of the building, a black bear, over seven feet tall, reared on its back legs and swung its paw at the man standing at the edge of the light. He crashed to the ground, shirt torn open from the slashing claws. Blood covered the fabric, and he clasped his left hand over his shoulder to stem the flow. The bear bent toward him, teeth bared in a smile. A wicked smile.

Kat aimed her gun, but before she could pull the trigger, a shot rang out. The flash of gunpowder lit the face of the injured man. The blast reverberated against the buildings. With an enraged bellow, the bear staggered backward against the wall. Shaking his head, the animal dropped to all four paws. Weaving like a drunk, he lumbered toward his attacker. The man took aim again, shooting the animal between the eyes. Animal and human collapsed on the dirty, littered pavement.

As she started to move forward, Kat’s gypsy senses crawled over her skin like angry red ants. As she slipped back into the shadows, the bear shed fur. Changing size. Then, finally, turning into a man.

Shape shifters. Her stake wasn’t any good against them, and her bullets weren’t silver. This one appeared dead anyway. Had the wounded man seen the shift? Tossing the stake aside, she paused by the shifter and quickly moved to the wounded man. Out cold. Still human.

When she touched him, his eyelids fluttered open. “Did I get it?”


“The bear.”


Where you can find CD:

Soul Mate Publishing:


Amazon Author Page:



True Ghost Story with E. Ayers

Happy October 26th! We continue Halloween week with another true ghost story from E. Ayers! This is a good one and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. 

After the ghost story E tells us about her latest release A Skeleton At Her Door. It sounds like a great read for Halloween week and I can tell you it is cued up on my kindle as we speak! It’s also on sale this week!!

Without further ado we welcome E. Ayers and her ghost …


Hi, thanks for inviting me to be on your blog and giving me a chance to meet your blog readers. Waving hello to everyone!

It’s October and it’s my favorite time of the year. I love the fall colors! Okay, I also love the winter colors and the spring colors and the summer colors, but there’s something about the autumn that is extra special. And we polish it all off with Halloween. Don’t laugh, I love decorating with pumpkins but I dislike jack o’ lanterns when decorating. Maybe it’s the waste factor? I can keep a pumpkin and then scoop it out for pumpkin pie, but not if it’s been carved.

When my girls were little I used to decorate for Halloween, but not anymore. I just decorate for fall. There’s something a little too spooky about Halloween!

If someone had asked me a few years ago about real ghosts, I would have laughed at them. Then I moved into this old house. Well, let me back up. Before moving here, we bought a house that had been on the market for years. The owner had died and no one would buy the house. After we had bought it, I discovered that the owner’s daughter had been shot and killed by an abusive boyfriend in the house.

We hadn’t been in it very long when I’d hear what sounded like someone running across the roof of the house. I still think it was a squirrel wearing combat boots! But I mentioned it to my neighbor and asked if she’d ever seen a squirrel or any animal on my roof. My neighbor then told me about the young woman’s death. She said her father often heard her running through the house. Okay, wild imagination, and I still think it was a squirrel. But then I moved here.

I’ve known folks who live in really old houses and they often tell of ghostly things. But to me, there is a reason for noises. Ghosts are not real – until I ran into them and was forced to change my mind.

We hadn’t lived here long when I’d walk into my darkened bedroom and it was as though a cloud over the bed moved. Granted, I’m tired and the play of light coming through the window… Logical explanation, eyes play tricks on us. Except, I kept losing things.

My husband got more than a little upset with me on a few occasions. And every time he did, it seemed I’d lose more stuff. But when I lost my keys, it really escalated. Probably everyone has put keys down and forgotten where they have left them, but when my girls were little, I found a jailor’s ring key chain. I loved it! I could slip it over my wrist and wear it like a bracelet when I was out and when I had returned home I would put it on the doorknob. I was totally obsessive-compulsive with my keys. Losing them was a big deal! Not only had I lost the keys to the house, but I’d lost my key to my car and the one to my husband’s. In this day, car keys are very expensive because they either contain chips or they have that electronic fob with them. My husband’s had a chip and mine had a fob that opened my car doors, etc.

Hubby finally helped me look for them, after he blew off a little steam over my being careless, scatterbrained, etc. Then all sorts of things began to happen. Oh, come on. Who loses the basket in the coffeepot? Out of desperation, I asked him to get into the car and we drove to a nearby shopping center where I tried to explain to him that every time he got upset with me, even when he wasn’t really upset and just voicing his frustration, more things vanished. When he thought about it, he realized I was right.

We moved bookcases, etc. in an attempt to find the keys. They were gone! Determined that they would show up, we avoided buying new keys for the cars. Then one night while sitting in the keeping room eating dinner, we discussed the fact that they had been gone for almost six months and still had not reappeared. They needed to be replaced. I was going to call the locksmith in the morning and have them made. I knew the combination would probably run close to two hundred dollars, but living without a second set of keys to the cars was probably dangerous. My husband agreed. It was a chunk of money from a budget that couldn’t afford it.

My husband left the table and went to watch some TV in the living room while I cleaned up the kitchen. My hands were in the dishwater when I heard the tinkling of keys by the back door. I looked over and there was my key ring swinging on the doorknob. “HONEY!!!!”

Suddenly, the idea of a ghost was no longer funny. My husband looked at the keys and asked where I found them. I told him I hadn’t. I was just washing the dishes and heard them. I’m not sure he believed me.

Shortly after that incident, I heard a strange noise as I cleared the keeping room’s dining table one night. I stopped and looked across the foyer to the living room.

On the other side of the living room doorway, I have a 4-door cupboard where I keep seasonal items for decorating along with a handy supply of candles, a flashlight, and some other general clutter. I couldn’t imagine why my husband would be going through that cabinet. I stood there just watching him. Finally I opened my mouth. “Honey, what are you doing, and where did you find that old plaid shirt?”

He didn’t respond. I shook my head, put the dirty dishes into the sink, washed my hands, and went to investigate. I didn’t see all of my husband, only part of his arm and shoulder. Enough to recognize that horrid old wool shirt that I swore I ditched years ago. Nor could I understand why he’d wear it when it wasn’t that cold.

Hubby wasn’t in the living room. I heard water running upstairs and followed the sound. “What were you…”

A few moments of conversation and we both went downstairs to check the cabinet. Yes, stuff was missing, starting with the flashlight. But that ugly shirt became my clue as to who my ghost was. Little pieces began to come together. My ghost liked my husband and hated me. I seriously think he tried to run me off. It was always my stuff he stole. And he seemed to enjoy creating problems between my husband and me. But he really enjoyed driving me nuts, and he was doing a good job of it.

One morning after my husband had left for work, I went to make a cup of tea and my infuser was missing. We all have our favorite items, so slightly upset I opened the cabinet to get another one and those were missing. I didn’t even have an infuser for a teapot. Gone! Not in another cabinet, or drawer or anyplace that I could find. Not a single one turned up anyplace in the house.

After I huffed a few times, I decided I’d had enough of this ghost’s games. I’ll spare your readers the sordid details of this previous man’s life, and leave it with he was quite wealthy but had some issues. But he was the most likely possibility as a ghost in this house as there were several matching pieces of the puzzle that pointed to him. So I did what any normal person would do. I stood in the middle of my living room, called his name, and scolded him with all the skill of the meanest drill sergeant. I told him to return everything he had taken. Then I left.

I met my husband after work and we returned to the house together. My infusers were tossed across my stove. Several flashlights reappeared in the living room along with a variety of other things. My husband just shook his head and looked at me. I’m not certain he really believed me, but there was no question in my mind.

That ghost lingered until after my husband died, and then vanished. That has left me with one little whirling dervish that seems to giggle, and then vanish into the living room fireplace. I’m really not certain what it is, but the animals in this house watch it. The other day, I realized that I hadn’t seen that giggling, spinning ghost in quite a while.

People don’t talk about such things. Non-believers seem to think they are superior, and if we see such things, then there must be something wrong with us. Please believe me, I’d much rather I never encountered that ghost in this house. I wish my keys had not vanished for six months or been returned in such an unexplained way. I wish my tea infusers had remained where I had put them, along with my flashlights, and all the other things that kept vanishing. I only know what happened and what I saw. But for those of us who live in these old houses, ghosts stories are common.

So Happy Halloween to those who love the holiday. I love the season but I really don’t want anything to do with the paranormal! I prefer to keep the holiday light-hearted and fun. With our neighborhood free of small children, no one around here even bothers with treats for children, except for a new family that has just moved in and I think those children might be too old to trick or treat. So I’m planning to buy a bag of apples and the kits to candy them. I’ll take that to their door and tell the teens to have fun making candied and caramel apples.

Would you believe I wrote a book that involves Halloween? I promise, it’s not spooky and it’s more of autumn story as it goes through November and a little beyond. It’s about a second chance of finding love especially when having been burnt the first time – it’s often hard to trust again.

When Tom shows up dressed for a Halloween charity auction at the wrong door, he has no clue his life is about to change. Angie thought the skeleton standing before her was her neighbor until her young daughter informs her that the man in costume is not Matt. Add Tom’s two teens, some Chinese fortune cookies, the willingness to try one more time, and it’s the perfect read for a chilly autumn night.

This book has a little sizzle and is not meant for the younger crowd, but it should not be offensive to the average reader. It does contain some adult topics, which includes an ex-wife’s infidelity and a physically abusive ex-husband. 

Buy it here:


Or read for FREE as a Kindle Unlimited


Ghost story with Abrielle Fuerst

To continue with our Halloween theme, today we have Abrielle Fuerst

First She is going to tell us a little ghost story, then we can check out her book Lady Shadow that just came out in paperback!! 

Now on to the ghost story …




This is an instance in two parts. Perhaps related, perhaps not.

Six years ago. 

We were, at the time, renting a small house in a dubious neighborhood. My sister and I were given the massive, grey-carpeted room that had once been the garage, from which we could hear everything that happened outside after dark.

We slept side-by-side for the first couple months. My sister nudged me awake one such night and whispered—in a broken code—that there was a man hiding under the table.

“There is not.”

“There is.”

There couldn’t be. The garage had been permanently sealed years ago. There was only one other door, which led to the kitchen, and I slept facing it. No one had entered, I would have known.

“Go to sleep.”

“Go and check.”

Well, I’d woken her up for things of less import. I kept the lights off to not betray my position, and went creeping around in the dark, seeking a man hiding under the table.

I found none.
Incidence 2.

At some later point I was lying in bed, trying to sleep but not, when I felt someone very distinctly sliding two fingers up the inside of my leg.

I called out to my sister. “Were you just in here a minute ago?”

“No, why?”

“Someone was touching my leg.”

“It wasn’t me.”

I looked; she was right. The door creaked when opened; the floor shifted when stepped on. She would have had to make quite a bit of noise to actually get it here, and she just hadn’t.

But no one else had, either.

Years later, she and I were sitting in a sunny living room of a much more peaceful residence, reminiscing about that little house. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t see anything under the desk that night. I was so certain someone was there. I heard it. I saw his outline.”

I stopped. “What desk?”

“Don’t you remember? I woke you up and told you to look under the desk.”

“You told me to look under the table.” The kitchen table, off our bedroom. The one I’d found no one under.

We both thought about that little desk in the far corner of our room, built right into the wall. Nearly out of sight. Almost.

“I couldn’t remember our word for ‘desk,’ and I didn’t want him to know that I found him there. I was sure you’d figure out what I meant.”

Well, I hadn’t figured it out.

And I’d never looked under the desk.


Oooh that is creepy!! Great story Abrielle! Thanks for sharing with us today!

Don’t forget to check out Abrielle’s novel Lady Shadow now in paperback!! 

Here is a little secret. Assassins do exist. They’re right here, in the kingdoms.

And the one they’re looking for? The mercenary who betrayed them?

She lives.

Betrayal is a death sentence—and Umbra makes a living at it. 

When she was nine years old, Umbra was trained to be a mercenary. They are silent shadows with faces of men: ruthless combat masters, and Umbra was the best among them. Trained to swear fealty to assassins no one else believes in, sworn to die by her own hand before she dares betray them, Umbra becomes the spearhead of the assassins’ revolution: a hidden war to claim the kingdoms.

But what if she was wrong? What if she misjudged them?

So she changes sides, falling overnight from the deadliest assassin to the woman at the top of their most-wanted list. To the woman who, singlehandedly, is preventing the assassins from attaining the position she once killed to help them claim. 

Now Umbra must confront the machinations of her past, from the old assassin masters who taught her everything, to the assassin heir and the man she would have married. But one aspect of her life might be too sharp to overcome. One betrayal runs too deeply to be reckoned with. 

Because you don’t cross the Kai Assassins and walk away unscathed.

Sometimes, you don’t walk away. 

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Haunted Blog Tour – M.S. Kaye

Born from Death series – Haunted Blog Tour

Ghost stories—what better inspiration for character names can there be? Follow this tour to find the background for the character names of the Born from Death series.

Dorothy Walpole

Although she appears only briefly in book 1, Dorothy plays a major role in book 2. In life, she was wealthy, spoiled, and arrogant. She retained that arrogance in death, as well as her sense of entitlement. Although she has nothing in common with Archer and Ilona, her connection to them is deeper than any of them realize.
The inspiration for the name:

“Raynham Hall in Norfolk, England, is home to the subject of one of the most famous ghost photos ever captured, the Brown Lady is named so because she appears in a rich brocade brown dress. She is widely believed to be Lady Dorothy Walpole, sister of Sir Robert Walpole, who married Charles, 2nd Viscount Townshend in 1713. She died under mysterious circumstances in 1726, and sightings of her began shortly after. Though reports of sightings have waned dramatically since the photo was taken in 1936, sightings before then had been reported by some fairly reputable sources.”

Awaken from Death

Book 2 of the Born from Death series

The only emotion Ilona can muster is anger for the death of her mother. Barely engaged in life, she focuses all of her energy on finding and punishing her mother’s killer.

Since Ilona can see ghosts, Archer has to find unique ways to hide while watching over her. When Ilona is in danger of being mauled by a dog, he desperately tries something that shouldn’t be possible. And yet he succeeds. This is just the beginning of his discovery of who—what—he truly is.

Lettie continues to interact with Ilona, her one friend, even when a Messenger warns her. Eventually, Lettie remembers the ancient connection Archer and Ilona share, as well as her part in the punishment Archer bore as a result of that connection.


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Strong as Death

Book 1 in the Born from Death Series

Ilona runs from her sheltering mother in order to find the truth, why she’s seeing people who are invisible to everyone else. A mysterious boy named Archer guides her through Brooklyn and introduces her to Hendrick, the man who claims to be her father—though he died in 1890. Ilona must discover not only what she must do to rid the city of Soll, a sadistic and powerful spirit, but also what it means to be half ghost. She proves what her mother told her—love is stronger than death.

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Author Bio:

M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at

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Sneak Peek at Awaken from Death:

The blond boy didn’t walk up to a urinal or into one of the stalls, or even up to the mirror. He stood in the middle of the room.

Invisible, Lettie watched curiously.

Something moved backward away from him. Out of him.

She recognized Archer’s shiny black hair and strong frame even before she could see his face.

She gasped. But ghosts can’t inhabit people.

The blond boy shook his head and looked around. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Archer murmured so the boy wouldn’t hear.

Lettie stared at both of them.

The blond boy turned, leaned his hands on the counter, and looked at himself in the mirror…not the way people usually looked at themselves. It was more like he was trying to see something more than was in the reflection.

Archer watched him, as if waiting for him to see something.

Then Lettie understood. Archer hadn’t merely inhabited the boy—he’d possessed him. But there were only a couple ways that’d be possible—if he were half ghost, or if he…

A memory struck Lettie like a horse galloping across a battlefield. An ancient memory. Lettie had been around since the beginning of time on Earth, but most of those thousands of years she let slink around the crevices of her mind. It was mostly just walking the bridge with the newly deceased. There were a few memories, though, that burned into her every time she let herself pull them forward. And burned was precisely the right word.

She knew—or rather, remembered—why Archer would never leave Ilona.


Follow M.S. Kaye on her blog tour!!

Haunted Blog Tour schedule:

10/1/15 – Anna Durand – haunted blog tour Hendrick

10/5/15 – Colleen Laughlin – haunted blog tour Estes

10/6/15 – JM Maurer – haunted blog tour Mary

10/8/15 – Judy Reynolds – haunted blog tour

10/9/15 – Calisa Selfridge – haunted blog tour Marwell Hall

10/14/15 – Rachael Kosinski – haunted blog tour Balete

10/16/15 – Jessica Cale – haunted blog tour Casper

10/19/15 – James DiBenedetto – haunted blog tour Turner Ingersoll

10/22/15 – Kimbra – haunted blog tour Kate Morgan

10/24/15 – Angela Scavone – haunted blog tour Dorothy Walpole

10/27/15 – Helena Fairfax – haunted blog tour Archer Lane

10/29/16 – Alisha Robinson – haunted blog tour Mr. Clifton

10/30/15 Tina Gayle – haunted blog tour non-ghost

10/31/15 – Rosanna Leo – haunted blog tour Ilona Raynham