novel Archives | Staci Troilo

Ghost Hunting and Haunted Houses

I am absolutely thrilled to introduce today’s guest to you. She and I bonded online through several common interests (sadly the Steelers are not one of them, as she’s a Ravens fan 🙁 ) but for some reason I only recently read one of her books. And now I’m hooked! So today I’m going to turn the reins over to paranormal enthusiast and uber-talented author, Mae Clair. Take it away, Mae…

Can you spot the ghost in this photo? by Mae Clair

A huge thank you to Staci, for hosting me today. Staci and I originally “met” through Triberr and Twitter, and I’m delighted we connected. I’m a PA girl with an Italian family background, so we have a lot in common. 🙂

Today, I’ve brought two treats to share —MYTH AND MAGIC, a novel of mystery and romantic suspense set during Halloween (on sale now for just $.99) and…a ghost.

Recently, my husband and I took a trip to Point Pleasant, West Virginia so I could conduct research for an upcoming series of novels I’ve set in the area. We stayed at the Historic Lowe Hotel. This is a very old four-story behemoth built in 1904.

I can’t begin to relay the mammoth scope of this place. With its long halls, old stairways, elaborate moldings and woodwork, there were times I felt like I stepped into the Overlook hotel in The Shining. Everything was furnished with antiques, and I do mean antiques. I opened the top drawer of the dresser and discovered a songbook from the 1920s, the pages yellowed and tattered. The second-floor landing had a huge parlor with a piano, parlor benches, and chairs—this even before we ventured down the hallway to our room.

So where does the ghost fit in?

When I inquired why the hotel was billed as haunted (something I didn’t realize until our last night there), our host told us a phantom had been spotted occasionally on the third floor. Nothing much appeared to be known about this ghost, but there was a photograph someone had snapped hanging in the second-floor hallway.

Our host told us the spirit was visible in the photo, so my husband and I checked it out. I wasn’t expecting a lot, but was surprised to see the image of a woman in the bottom right-hand corner. I tried to grab a shot of it with my cell phone. Are you able to see the ghost?

I posted this same photo on my blog in July and it was amazed at the number of different entities people saw in this picture. Clearly there is a lot going on in the photograph. I’d love to know what you see.

But before you start contemplating apparitions, I’d like to take a moment to tell you about my Halloween-themed novel, MYTH AND MAGIC. It’s filled with Halloween happenings, pumpkins, hayrides, a mysterious house with an infamous past, and rumors of hauntings.

Here’s the blurb:

AS CHILDREN THEY PLAYED GAMES OF MYTH AND MAGIC…

Veronica Kent fell in love with Caith Breckwood when they were children. As a teenager, she was certain he was the man she was destined to marry. But a traumatic event from Caith’s past led him to fear a future together. He left Veronica, hoping to save her from a terrible fate. Twelve years later, Caith, now a P.I., is hired to investigate bizarre incidents at the secluded retreat Veronica manages. Returning to his hometown, Caith is forced to face his nightmares—and his feelings for the woman he’s always loved.

THEN ONE DAY THE MONSTERS BECAME REAL.

After the callous way Caith broke her heart, Veronica isn’t thrilled to see him again. But strange occurrences have taken a dangerous toll on business at Stone Willow Lodge. Forced to work together, Veronica discovers it isn’t ghostly apparitions that frighten her, but her passion for a man she has never forgotten. Or forgiven. Can two people with a tarnished past unearth a magical future?

~ooOOoo~

And a short excerpt for your reading pleasure:

Veronica’s stomach clenched as a mixture of fear and dread skittered through her. The expression in her eyes must have betrayed her unease because Morgana took her by the arm and drew her aside. Across the hall, the caterer and florist were busily consulting with the head of Morgana’s household staff. Three workers wearing black shirts that proclaimed Ghosts & Ghouls, Inc. wheeled a life-sized coffin through the front door. Having attended a number of Morgana’s Halloween parties, Veronica knew trays would be fitted inside the open lid, bearing all manner of delectable treats.

“I know my son,” Morgana said, cutting through the noise and activity. “He’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. He isn’t going anywhere, Veronica. He may not be willing to admit it, but he’s in love with you.”

“No.” She tried to draw away. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

She shook her head. “Caith’s terrified of love.”

“He’s terrified of loss.”

Veronica clamped her mouth shut. Morgana was right. Even if Caith wouldn’t admit it, she knew it was the defining emotion that had driven him all of his life. The reason he’d chosen a career designed to keep others safe, the reason he’d given his son another name, the reason he still couldn’t bring himself to visit Trask’s grave.

She wet her lips. “I have to see him.”

“Give him time first,” Morgana suggested. “Stuart said he was up all night working on the case. He’s barely slept and probably isn’t thinking clearly.” She smiled encouragingly, hooking her arm through Veronica’s. “You can stay and help me decide where the band should go. And the goblins. Did I mention we’re having roving goblins?”

Veronica managed a small smile. The Ghosts & Ghouls people were pushing a series of crates through the door. Tall ones, large ones, squat ones.

“Mrs. Breckwood,” a sandy-haired worker called. “Where would you like us to put the trolls?”

~ooOOoo~

E-copies of MYTH AND MAGIC are on sale now for $.99 for a limited time across all major online booksellers:

Mae Clair opened a Pandora’s Box of characters when she was a child and never looked back. Her father, an artist who tinkered with writing, encouraged her to create make-believe worlds by spinning tales of far-off places on summer nights beneath the stars.

Mae loves creating character-driven fiction in settings that vary from contemporary to mythical. Wherever her pen takes her, she flavors her stories with mystery and romance. Married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in Pennsylvania and is passionate about cryptozoology, old photographs, a good Maine lobster tail, and cats.

You can find Mae Clair at the following haunts:

Alchemy, the Forbidden Magic of the Renaissance

alchemy We are a society of science and technology. It’s been centuries since we’ve believed in magic and mysticism. At least, that’s the trend. Some people believe to this day.

What if they’re correct?

That’s one of the theories posited in my latest release, paranormal romance Bleeding Heart, Book One of the Medici Protectorate Series.

If you read paranormal fiction, you go into it knowing societal norms will be challenged. There may be ghosts, witches, werebeasts, the undead… any manner of supernatural aspects. In my novel, a main character uses alchemy to imbue handcrafted marble daggers with magical powers—powers which affect the warriors who use them in fascinating ways.

As early as the 1300s and well into the Renaissance, alchemy was forbidden by the Church for several reasons. The uneducated considered it an occult practice, which was a danger to organized religion. The devout felt alchemists dabbled in God’s realm, which was sacrilegious. Also, many alchemists were scam artists who used deception to “prove” their abilities. By 1404 in England, those who worked in alchemy could be punished by death. Due to these facts, many alchemists hid their interest in the pursuit.

That didn’t stop people from practicing alchemy, though.

Famous practitioners include Roger Bacon, Nicholas Flamel, John Dee, Isaac Newton, Paracelsus, and even Pope John XXII.

In my novel, I’ve taken liberties with history and made Michelangelo an alchemist. He uses his skills to help the Medici secure their destinies… and in the process, he sets in motion a series of events in modern day Pennsylvania which places one Italian-American family in mortal danger.

In Bleeding Heart, the dagger wielded by the warrior is crafted from red marble. The properties of red stones strengthen the body, add vitality to life, and represents passion and lust. This warrior contends with the positive and negative aspects of these traits, and his primary element is fire.

If you like romances and love the potential alchemy brings to a story, I think you’ll enjoy Bleeding Heart, available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and iBooks.

Visiting Friends and Sharing Food

Hi, guys. I’m happy to announce that today I’m “visiting” my friend and fellow writer, Joan Hall, over at her website. We discuss writing, Bleeding Heart, and every Italian’s favorite subject—food. I hope you take a moment and come see what’s going on.

Click here to see the post at Joan Hall Writes.

An Author’s Embarrassment of Riches

The author community has to be one of the best, if not the best, community to be a part of. I’m truly blessed and even more grateful that so many of my writer friends have been supporting me and the new release of my novel, Bleeding Heart.

Once again, today, I’d like to invite you to visit a fellow author’s blog and show her the same support she’s given me. I’m at Kate Hill’s site today, discussing my new novel. Please click on the link and stop by for a visit.

Sex, Secrets, and Destiny… A Novel Approach to Romance

If you’re a frequent reader of mine, you know I have a novel coming out. Bleeding Heart, Book One of the Medici Protectorate Series, releases August 11.

I’m so excited!

It’s available now for preorder on Amazon and iTunes.

If you still aren’t sure what it’s about, let me give you a brief description:

Warrior Gianni protects Franki, secret legacy of the Medici, from prophesied assassins. (You can tweet this, if you’d like, by clicking here.)

For a better description, here’s what you need to know:

After her father’s murder, Franki is targeted for assassination by an unknown enemy. She finds her safety depends on the Medici Protectorate, the warriors who guarded her bloodline and their secret for centuries.

Gianni, Franki’s protector, struggles to garner her trust. As he assumes his new role, he also undergoes inexplicable, explosive changes… transformations he can’t control.

Their worlds collide in passion and violence, and Franki struggles to trust Gianni. When her life is on the line, Gianni will have to conquer both her fears and his own personal demons to rescue her in time.

If that interests you, here are a few teasers from inside the book. I hope you enjoy the writing and love the design work as much as I do. (I think my designer, Casey W. Cowan, did a phenomenal job on them.)

I hope you enjoy these. Let me know what you think.

Five Reasons Authors Abhor Publishing

I love this photo. It reminds me of the days when authors bled ink and angst onto parchment pages, when printers painstakingly placed each letter and line of type until an entire tome took shape.

When readers took the time to hold books in their hands, smell the aroma of the ink and paper, immerse themselves in knowledge and verse.

Now, I’m old, but I’m not that old. I wasn’t REALLY there. And this photo doesn’t quite capture the essence of Gutenberg’s press. (I swear, I’m really not that old.)

But I can picture it. I feel the texture of the vellum, smell the tang of the ink. (Probably not as good as those purple dittoed pages we used to get in school—you know, the ones that were warm from hand-cranking and smelled sweet from the alcohols in the ink—but I bet it was a close second.)

But this photo evokes something in me. Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

Publishing.

I’ve been thinking about it because my next novel, Bleeding Heart, the first in the Medici Protectorate Series, is about to be released. August 11, 2015, to be precise. But I’m not talking about the publishing industry—or rather, I’m not talking only about the publishing industry—I’m talking about a writer sending her work out into the world.

The Briefest History of Publishing

Ages past, a writer had things to say and either he or a scribe recorded these messages. While cave paintings and hieroglyphs aren’t considered “literature” in the conventional sense, people have been recording stories for centuries. Tales exist from as early as the Sumerian version of Gilgamesh before 2000 BC, and there are reports of innumerable texts lost to us forever, like those of the Library at Alexandria. Traditionally, however, fictional tales were dispersed to the people through oral traditions. Many people couldn’t read, nor did “books” exist. And if they did, the majority of people wouldn’t have been able to afford them, anyway.

Enter Gutenberg and the printing press. First used for the Bible, the printing press is still used today to distribute messages to the masses. Not the same technology, of course, but the end result is the same. Just on a faster, cheaper, and more massive scale.

Oral traditions held favor for quite a while, though. Shakespeare had his work performed live on stage. Dickens read his work to audiences. Even today, audiobooks have become a viable option for people who want to hear the stories without sitting and scanning text. Authors sometimes give readings when they release a new work.

Printing/publishing wasn’t for fiction in the beginning. You see, as early as 1472, publishing houses were popping up in Europe. At first, they were basically printing companies, doing nothing more than reproducing work. Nonfiction work. The Church, however, was the head of the publishing company. They controlled the messages being distributed, making them the first gatekeepers of literature. (It’s a safe bet to assume Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey wouldn’t have made the cut back then.) And controlling gatekeepers still stand today. Although, with the advent of eBooks and self-publishing, those gatekeepers have lost much of their say regarding the works people publish. Now, anyone can publish a book. The gatekeepers now only have their reputation behind their works. Kind of a “we’re the experts and we vetted this content for you” kind of thing. But that doesn’t keep readers searching for only vetted material, which seriously hampers the power of those Powers That Be.

Reasons Authors Abhor Publishing

Every author will tell you that writing is both fun and difficult. And every author will have a different reason for feeling each way. But one thing is certain—the act of writing and the act of publishing are two very different things.

[tweetthis twitter_handles=”@stacitroilo”]Blog post, a short story, or an epic saga… doesn’t matter. #Publishing is scary. [/tweetthis]

It doesn’t matter if you’re publishing a blog post, a short story, or an epic saga. Publishing is scary. Often exhilarating, but scary.

Why? Well, readers, let me let you in on a few secrets. Five, to be exact.

Writers Have Feelings.
We have feelings. I know when you finish reading a novel and proceed to make fun of it with your friends, you’re just having a laugh. But someone worked hard on that. If a writer is worth her salt, she’s written and rewritten, revised and edited, designed and labored for longer than you’d guess. Some people take more than a decade to get their work in shape for the world. We hate publishing because we put so much in only to (sometimes) be ignored or panned. And I don’t know which is worse, really.
Writers Work Hard.
It doesn’t matter if an author is self-published or traditionally published, he or she has a lot of time and effort invested. Not just the actual book, but all the marketing that’s involved. How much is enough? How much is too much? We don’t want to spam, but we don’t want to get lost in the shuffle. Our words and stories matter to us, we want to share them, not scare folks away. For every person with a book to sell, there are millions more competing for the same audience. It’s daunting. Almost crippling.
Writers Fear Rejection.

Enlarge

Never having shared a story is easy. You can tell yourself people would love it if they heard it, but you don’t have to face reality. Once you’ve published something, it’s out there. Receiving no comments at all or negative comments hurts. Completely pierces your heart. You doubt your message, you doubt your calling, you doubt your worth. It’s crucial to get positive feedback. Let me back-track a bit. Maybe I should say constructive feedback. I’m not advocating trading favorable reviews with other authors or buying reviews. But I am saying reviews—good reviews—are necessary. They help get your work in front of other readers, and they help validate your efforts. But only honest good reviews will make a difference. And figuring out how to get them is really hard. Even if people love your writing, they have no real motivation to tell you or others. If they hate it, they might want to rant about it, though. That’s why negative reviews are more powerful than positive ones. And that’s why writers fret over it.
Writers Aren’t Business Experts.
Well, let me amend that. Successful writers have to learn to become business experts. But chances are, if you write fiction, you’re a creative-type. And, being one myself, I know that creatives aren’t necessarily the best at corporate minutiae. But these days, writers have to be. Writers write because they want to share stories with the world. But writers have to learn marketing, merchandising, distribution, bookkeeping… and every task on the business end takes them away from what they really want to do. Write. It’s a demand on the time and resources that no writer wants to sacrifice but every writer must endure.
Writers Aren’t Patient.
This last one deals with the traditional definition of publishing. Not hitting “post” on a blog article, but actually working with a publishing house to get a book released. Did you know it can take two years from when you submit your work to when it actually hits the shelves? Then you’re supposed to develop an audience for it, market it (even though you don’t have it yet), and all the while you should be creating new content. If you miss a deadline, your work can be delayed. If the publisher misses a deadline, your work will be delayed. The next time you’re complaining about an author not releasing book 12 in her series exactly nine months after book 11, remember it might not be her fault. That book was probably written years ago. It just hasn’t made it through the queue yet.

So what can you, the reader, do to make your favorite authors feel better? Chances are, if you have a favorite author, it’s because he or she has delivered more than one or two good works, so you think you don’t need to show your support.

Sorry, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Writers need reviews so their work has the potential to reach other readers. They need to know what you liked and what you didn’t like so they can better serve your needs/meet your expectations in the future. They need you to recommend them to friends and family… a personal recommendation goes so much further than an offhand comment from a random stranger. They need you to share their posts and Tweets. They need your help.

And what do you get out of it?

Do You Take Time to Rest and Recharge?

Things aren't this bad. Yet. — Chores. Ugh. At least things aren’t this bad. Yet.

I spend a lot of time working. A LOT. Much more than my family would like. I work more than 40 hours a week, and then I still find time to turn around and work on my fiction. And then there’s social media… I love talking with all of you. My family doesn’t always appreciate that, though. And my household chore list is woefully long because of my hours. But I digress…

After all that computer time, the eyes get tired, the body gets sore, and the mind gets muddled. At least, that’s what happens to me. And after several months of that? I’m pretty useless to anyone.

At work or at home.

Surf and sun... all to ourselves. Gorgeous! — Surf and sun… all to ourselves. Gorgeous!

That’s why I jumped at the chance to vacation at a private beach. Two weeks, surf and sand and silence. Lovely!

I didn’t expect to have no Internet or cell service, though. I admit, that gave me anxiety for a while. But then I embraced the concept. It was like my childhood again. I wasn’t attached to any tech. It was liberating.

Yeah, my kids didn’t necessarily agree, but I needed the downtime. The sunny days, the lull of the waves… how could anyone not love that? (tweet the thought if you agree)

Then Tropical Storm Bill hit. We lost power. We lost beach days. But we still had fun. Card games, jigsaw puzzles, old stories… It was wonderful. And yes, I think even the kids enjoyed it.

And then I came home, where I found over 4,000 emails had backed up, my company had reorganized, and my work had piled up. And the anxiety came right back.

But I was able to better deal with it. Because I had rested, recharged, refocused.

I’d go back to my private paradise in a heartbeat. But I’m glad to be home. Back in the familiar. Back with my characters. Back with you.

My novel Bleeding Heart will be coming out soon. And now I’m around to actually talk about it, so that’s exciting. Visit often; I’d love to talk about it with you.

What about you? What do you do to recharge? Do you have a favorite activity? Or a favorite place to visit? Tell me about it.

In the meantime, if you can’t get to the beach, maybe you’ll enjoy a few pictures from my trip.

Sammi reenacting a photo from her infant-days.

Seth and his dad posing for a picture like Corey had taken with his dad years ago.

Max had a blast... until he swam out too far and got frightened. But he rebounded soon and got back in. — Max had a blast… until he swam out too far and got frightened. But he rebounded soon and got back in.

After the storm passed, this was my view. — After the storm passed, this was our view.

What Defines Success?

The Red Vineyard---Vincent van Gogh [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons — The Red Vineyard—Vincent van Gogh [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Legend suggests Vincent van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime—The Red Vineyard. Investigation into the matter shows that it’s likely he sold two paintings, as well as some sketches.

Regardless of which story you believe, one thing is certain. Van Gogh killed himself at age 37, believing himself a failure.

Today he’s known as one of the most prolific artists of all time.

By van Gogh’s standards, I know plenty of artists who achieved more “success” than him in their lifetimes who will never be famous. I know bands that play at local establishments and sell CDs of their work. Artists who have sold work and been commissioned to do more. Authors who have sold more than one copy of their books, who have multi-book deals. Heck, I fall into that category.

I don’t know if any of us will ever be famous. And, while I can’t speak for everyone else, I don’t feel like a failure. I don’t measure my success by number of sales. Sure, I’d love that number to be in the millions, but that’s not why I write.

I write because I have stories to tell, themes to explore, concepts to share. I write because I want not to only entertain people, but to get them thinking about their lives and their roles in the world. I write not for notoriety, but for legacy. This is my skill set, and this is what I can leave to the world. Hopefully I’ll leave it a better place than I found it.

For me, success is completing the tasks I set for myself. I wanted to share my words with the world, and I have. That, to me, is success. (click to tweet)

However, if you want to encourage thousands of people to buy my work, well… that’s just icing on the cake. 🙂

I have a new novel, Bleeding Heart, releasing this month. Tuesday, May 19, to be exact. When it is published, I’ll be sharing a story that’s important to me, because it is inspired by a story of my grandfather’s heritage. Through this story, I have immortalized his legacy. And I can’t think of anything more successful than that.

John Notaro—A Prequel to Bleeding Heart

This scene is a prequel to Bleeding Heart, releasing later this month. It gives a bit of backstory concerning the heroine’s father, John Notaro.

John Notaro

7:00 pm. Foundry. Come alone. Don’t be late.

The message hardly surprised him. John had been receiving texts from an untraceable number for a while. Would have considered them pranks, but the sender knew too much. Saw too much. The pictures of his girls would have been enough to make him take the texts seriously. The threatening captions—We can get to them anywhere. Anytime.—sealed the deal for him.

He knew the cops would be useless, so he turned to Sal Trunzo. His handler. His protector. Sal did everything he could to trace the texts, but so far had no luck. He and Sal spent days in private meetings going over every contact John had, every person—no matter how innocuous their connection—John might be in contact with. It all proved futile. They had no idea who was contacting him. John knew his time was running out.

Then the last text came.

John trusted Sal and his partners with his life. He had to, and so far he hadn’t been disappointed. But something told him all that was about to change. He forwarded the text to Sal, the reply coming within seconds. I’ll handle it. We’ll be in place, just like we discussed. Don’t be early. Give us time to scout, get in place.

He sent his daughters home. Wiped his cell history. Left his wallet and wedding ring at his office. If the meeting didn’t go well, and he didn’t expect it would, he didn’t want to leave any trace of what was going on. And he really wanted to be certain his family got his belongings.

John took a look around his office. A last look? Pride and accomplishment puffed his chest out before crippling sadness deflated him. Everywhere he looked wasn’t just success. He saw family. Donni had decorated their headquarters top to bottom, from the lobby to the conference rooms to the individual cubicles and offices. Toni added all the hardscape and softscape outside, every plant, bench, and sculpture lovingly selected. Jo spearheaded the construction of this building just a year earlier, working off Franki’s creative designs.

His first building had been a place to get work done. This building was an extension of his family. Leaving it would break his heart.

Leaving his family would devastate him.

Not that he’d be around to deal with it.

John turned out the lights, ran his fingers through the cascading waterfall in the lobby, and stepped outside. When he heard the click as he locked the door, it seemed to echo through the empty parking lot.

It sounded so final.

Even in the snow, the Pittsburgh skyline stole his breath. The city was lit in the early February darkness, thousands of pinpoints of light glowing through the winter storm. He drove the icy roads from his Mt. Washington office, through the city, down the parkway and across the highways, all the way to his hometown of Vandergrift… and with hardly a slip on the snow-covered surface. Even in the blizzard, he had no trouble following the route he’d taken most of his adult life. If it weren’t for other cars on the road, he could probably drive it blindfolded. He knew the route by every twist, every turn. Every bump and tilt.

A tear rolled down his cheek when he passed the sign welcoming him to Vandergrift.

John fought the urge to drive past his house. He wanted a last look at it, but he didn’t think he’d be strong enough to avoid going in. And once he entered, his family would never let him leave again. That would put the danger on them. And he determined they’d never be affected. Never learn the truth.

Instead, he drove straight to his destination. The drive went too fast. He was early. But he trusted Sal and his group to be ready and in position. The buildings were dark, the parking lot empty. Even the foundry had apparently closed for inclement weather. Just as well. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Hopefully Sal could put an end to this tonight.

Who was he kidding? It would never truly be over. If Sal saved him tonight, there would always be another threat, another location, another night.

He climbed out of the car, held his coat together against the bracing wind. His phone beeped, and he took it out of his pocket. Maybe it was Sal.

Last chance. Will you work with us?

John sighed. Not Sal.

If only it were that simple. It wasn’t just working with an enemy, it was signing his soul over to the devil. God help him, fear washed over him and he considered it. But in the end, he knew it was wrong.

With trembling fingers, he typed his response. Never.

The response was instantaneous. And exactly what he dreaded. Wrong answer.

The shadows started moving. First, he made out one figure. Then another. And a third. He saw weapons in their hands, realized his worst fears had come to fruition, prayed Sal would intervene in time.

When the first figure stepped into the light, panic clawed at his heart.

It was so much worse than he’d imagined.

I hope you enjoyed this little bit of backstory to Bleeding Heart. If you’re interested in reading more, visit the Bleeding Heart page on this site (purchase links are available there), my Bleeding Heart Pinterest board, or a sample chapter from the sidebar.

#CoverReveal—Bleeding Heart, #PNR #Romance #Novel

At long last, several years in the making, the first book in the paranormal romance series that’s so near and dear to my heart is about to be published.

May 12, Lagan Press will release Book 1 of the Medici Protectorate Series, Bleeding Heart. The idea for the series began with my grandfather and the stories he told about our heritage. This is clearly a work of fiction, but because it came to be from stories of my Italian ancestry, it’s a project I’m really excited about.

Today, I’m pleased to share with you the first look at the cover.

Bleeding Heart takes place in my home state (parts even in my hometown of Vandergrift), and the cover prominently features what I think is the most beautiful skyline in the world—Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Here’s the back cover description:

In the heart of Pittsburgh awaits a secret nearly half a millennium in the making…

After her father’s brutal murder, Franki discovers she and her three sisters are the sole-surviving secret legacy of the Medici. The same people who brutally murdered her father now target her and her family for assassination. Unprepared to battle an unknown enemy, she finds her safety depends on the Medici Protectorate, the warriors who guarded her bloodline for centuries. The same warriors who failed to protect her father.

Gianni, Franki’s protector, blows his first meeting with her but knows he must garner the trust of not only Franki, but also her sisters. Without that, he fails, too, and that is unacceptable—not only to him but also to the Protectorate. His troubles only grow more difficult, for as he assumes his new role, he also undergoes inexplicable, explosive physical changes… transformations he can’t control. One of those is his uncontainable desire for Franki.

Their worlds collide in passion and violence, and Franki struggles to trust Gianni. When her life is on the line, he will have to conquer both her fears and his own personal demons to rescue her in time.

Here’s a brief glimpse inside:

He leaned toward her, and her breath caught. Finally, he was going to kiss her again, and put her out of her misery. Public be damned. She didn’t care if he had his way with her on the hood of her car.

They stood so close she felt his body heat through her clothes, his breath on her face. She looked up at him, and her lips parted.

And he reached behind her and opened her car door.

“Get in the car, Franki,” he said, and pushed on the top of her head.

I hope you enjoyed this sneak peak into the first installment of the Medici Protectorate Series. More is soon to follow, so stay tuned! (And if you can’t wait, go ahead and post comments below. I’ll be more than happy to talk with you about it.)