Saturday, 6 December 2014

Blog Tour- Asylum by Lily White

AsylumAsylum by Lily White
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Being Lily White's Big fan, I knew this book would be a roller coster and full of shocking event and it was. Lily has outdone herself again with this amazingly addicting book. The story tells us about Alexandra Sutton's story. Why is she here, what has she done and the torture she sees around happening in the Asylum. The characters that are created feel like they are real and have story themselves. You get to meet people who have to stay in Asylum, why are they there and everyone is unique in there own way. you are going to love Michelle, Lesley, Sally, Erin, Terrie,Lisa and many other characters.

I kept on reading and reading holding my breath thinking when the bomb will drip, what's going to happen next. Why is the guy showing special interest in her and why is he bent on helping her.

You have to read this book. If I write anymore I will be giving away whole story :)

View all my reviews

Thursday, 4 December 2014

Blog Tour- Fealty to the King:Children to Cain by Milo Swanton

        ( 1st December to 5th december,2014)

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Author -Milo Swanton
Release Date-8th September,2014


As the fourth son of the former clanlord of the Herkt, Brutez wasn't meant to rule. But finding himself in conflict with the violent current leader over a captured enemy warrior, he challenges the clanlord for leadership, and changes his destiny.

Brutez is soon drawn into the wars among the neighboring clans and tribes. He has a vision for a unity they've never known, but peace comes at great price. Warfare is dangerous, and politics are even deadlier.

Fealty to the King is a sweeping, epic tale of warrior clans and tribes. Of discovery, knowledge, and faith. Of the founding of a nation. Of greatness.

(Add your review if reviewing or remove this)


Except 1

“We have a hundred warriors,” said Vinlon. “We’re going to Ranjin.”
“Tribemaster, we shouldn’t.”
Vinlon was angry. “Why not, Jaspich? Look what they did to your family’s house. They killed your father.”
“Nobody will stop the Herkt from reaching Fenzdiwerp if we go to Ranjin.”
“You’re like your father, not wanting to counterattack.”
Angered, Jaspich no longer withheld words. “If you had listened to my father, Habergenefinanch wouldn’t be this incinerated ruin.”
Vinlon thrust forth his chest in a challenge. “You speak bold words to your tribemaster.”
The menace in his voice chilled Jaspich, but he refused to relent. “You’re tribemaster, but you told me I’m the next one. I know you intend to treat me as a son. If you want to be my new father, you must listen to me.”
Vinlon said nothing, staring Jaspich in the eye. He looked down Jaspich’s tensed body to the young man’s feet and back to his face. “I chose well.” He allowed a smile. “You’re not intimidated against speaking your thoughts, even after I threaten you. You’re worthy to advise me, so speak, and I’ll consider.”
“I share your desire for revenge, Tribemaster. How can’t I? He was my father!” Jaspich considered that Lady Gernthol burned Habergenefinanch merely to avenge her father. How would the cycle of revenge end? “This was my town as much as for any Warnek, but we should do what’s best for the tribe. Let’s send a force back to the Pultanik River to defend Fenzdiwerp. Let’s take as many of these good people we can to Pultanik. We’re going to need the fortress we’re building there.”
“I know we should do as you say, but I want vengeance.”
Jaspich knew Vinlon needed an argument to convince his heart as well as his mind and was glad he had one. “You heard the carpenter back there, saying your lady wife wants to kill you. If we go to Ranjin, you’ll have to kill her. Do you want that?”
Vinlon didn’t need to speak his answer. It was written on his face for Jaspich to read. He still loved the woman.

Excerpt 2

Warlord Druogoin lingered before Vinlon, blocking the way to the tribemaster’s warriors. He asked, “When did you start paying ransoms, Warnek?”
Vinlon had no answer.
“A travesty you didn’t start years ago,” said Druogoin.
Not my fault, Vinlon thought, but nothing he said would convince Druogoin to relinquish his hatred, and he passed this contempt to Gernthol, his daughter who was Vinlon’s wife, and she passed it to her children.
Vinlon’s silence agitated Druogoin. “You have nothing to say, Warnek? If Hoj wasn’t my grandson, I would kill him to take away your son from you, but I’ve taken him already, haven’t I? I have your daughter and wife, too.”
Vinlon’s arms shook, ruffling his black ribbons. The man better shut up.
Druogoin didn’t. “Do you know why Gernthol allowed Thigrel to be a woman with Pokyer?”
Vinlon didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He only wanted Druogoin to shut up. He walked around him to leave. The warlord dressed in garish orange stepped sideway, and they bumped shoulders.
Druogoin sneered into Vinlon’s face. The warlord’s breath smelled like onions as he kept speaking. “She tried him first, and when he performed well, she couldn’t deny Thigrel the experience.”
Shut up!
“Don’t be shocked, Warnek. Did you expect your wife to give up pleasures when she gave up you?”
Vinlon couldn’t get away from Druogoin fast enough, and then a revelation struck him. They were alone. Their nearest warriors were no less than one hundred cubits away. This was an opportunity he might never get again.
He tossed his pennants at his antagonist. While Druogoin batted away the poles, Vinlon unsheathed his sword, the prodigy of Banshim’s anvil: sharper, lighter, and balanced—lethal. The multitudinal-honed blade shimmered glaucous blue in the sunlight. It was virgin steel, never before used against flesh because Vinlon didn’t engage in any swordplay against the Jatneryimt. His sword would know pleasure, consummated with his wedlock father’s blood.
He swung up one-handed, intending to slash off an arm, but one pole still was falling to the ground. The sword sliced through the loose wood stake as though it was a marsh reed, but the blow deflected into Druogoin’s side, and the warlord’s orange-padded gambeson absorbed most of the impact. Druogoin drew a longsword while stumbling backward.
This first parry turned them around, so Vinlon saw the Druogoinyim warriors collecting their new armaments. They noticed the combat and ran closer. The time of opportunity was getting short. He swung low. The blade was so light, sailing through the air like a bird’s wing. Druogoin met the blow with his thick heavy blade before Vinlon would have severed him at the knees. Vinlon whirled up and around. Druogoin’s sword was too sluggish to follow. Vinlon came across with a backhanded slash, and his blade gashed through Druogoin’s neck as easy as through a melon. The head lolled into the air, squirting blood from the sneering lips, and dropped to a cushioned landing on the meadow grass. It was a sight Vinlon would replay in his mind countless times with satisfaction.
The Druogoinyim warriors were almost upon him, but his warriors were closing, too. He regretted not having time to claim Druogoin’s sword or head as prizes before he ran to join his ranks, holding his bloodied bluish blade before him. Reaching his men, he turned to face the enemy. Some Druogoint stopped at the head and body of their slain warlord. The rest trailed, hauling their booty.
Radzig came to Vinlon’s side, wielding his hatchet. “I don’t think they’ll fight.”
Vinlon agreed and ordered his warriors to halt. Sure enough, Nelber retreated eastward with an armload of bows, beckoning the other Druogoint to go with him to the hill marking the border of their territory. A brawny warrior hoisted the warlord’s headless corpse over his shoulder. Blood drained from the severed neck. Another Druogoin took the warlord’s sword, impaled the head on it, and went with the others following Nelber.
Vinlon planned to lead his warriors in the opposite direction to Fenzdiwerp, but first he needed to clean his weapon, kneeling to wipe the blade on the meadow grass. He had a name for the consummated sword, a worthy name—Shut Up.

Excerpt 3

The clanlord led a mounted column of twenty warriors. They followed a hard-packed path along the northern bank, the same side as the upcoming town, never needing to cross the river since leaving Taubueth two days ago. Brutez often rode with his friends, Jonerch and Gordib, but invariably he found Larboelm nearest him, holding the staff with the iron blooddrop. He ventured to learn more about the bodyguard he inherited from Vulrath and Klinteg.
“This is the town where you were a boy?” Brutez knew the answer, but the question opened a conversation.
“Yes, Clanlord.” Larboelm spoke those words more than any others to Brutez.
“What’s its name?”
Larboelm paused before answering, “I don’t remember it having one.”
Brutez considered a nameless town and a lake referenced by a description rather than a name, yet the Taubueth River had a name, the same as his stronghold. His father once told him Taubueth was a Chizdekyim name, but didn’t know what it meant. “Do you have family there, Larboelm?”
“No, Clanlord.”
A variation of his most common words, Brutez thought.
“I have no brothers or sisters. If I had other family, I never was told about them. I left for the Blue River with my mother when she went there for a new husband.”
“What happened to your father?”
“He stuck a sword down his throat, a bloody mess.”
Brutez remembered how his mother begged for death. “Was he sick?”
“Sick of life.”
“Does your mother still live at the Blue River?”
Larboelm shook his head. “Her husband beat her to death. I killed him for that.”
Brutez couldn’t decide which disturbed him more, Larboelm’s story or how he told it without emotion.
Larboelm tapped his macabre spiked mace by his leg on the side of his mount. “I mashed his head to pulp. Clanlord Vulrath saw me.”
Brutez understood how Larboelm became Vulrath’s bodyguard, and also why he became his. I’m the man’s family, he realized. The man should have more. “Do you have a woman?”
“I never thought about having one,” said Larboelm.
“You never took chances?”
“My own, yes.”
Brutez had resorted to that for many years, but he knew the ancient words. It is not good for a man to be alone. He had a worthy question for his man. “If I find you a wife, will you take her?”
“Clanlord, I’ll do whatever you command.”

Buy Links

Author Bio

Milo Swanton started writing stories as soon as he could write (second grade). His first big purchase from his paper route money was an electric typewriter.
Milo enjoys epic stories with intricate plots and lots of characters. He wrote his first novel during college after watching the epic movie El Cid and wanting to write something like it. A rewrite of this novel, The Imperial Swords, is a possible sequel to Fealty to the King.
Milo grew up in Wisconsin and earned a bachelor's degree in computer science and mathematics. His software engineering career included work on military, medical device, and air traffic control applications. He lives with his wife and three teenage daughters in Minnesota.

Excerpt Reveal - Ripped by Katy Evans

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Sneak Peek Excerpt (Post on December 5th)
Rage bubbles up inside me full force.
“Now?” Melanie keeps asking me.
I. Loathe. Him.
“Now?” she asks again.
I loathe him. He’s the only boy I’ve ever kissed. He took kisses that meant everything to me and turned them into a joke of a fucking song. A song that turns me into some sort of Eve, torturing and teasing him to sin. He is the sin. He is the penitence, the hell, and the devil, all in one.
I reach into my bag, nicely tucked under my poncho, and grab the first thing I find.
“Now,” I whisper.
Before Mackenna knows what hit him, Melanie and I have sent three tomatoes and a couple of eggs flying through the air.
The orchestra music isn’t enough to drown out his muttered “fuck,” audible through the microphone.
His jaw clamps and he yanks the mic down over his chin as he jerks his eyes around to find the source of the attack. I feel delirious when I see the genuine anger on his face. I squeal, “The rest!” and grab the remaining things we brought and just keep throwing. Not only at him, but at anyone who tries to get in the way—like the stupid dancers who rush to protect him. One of them makes a whimpering noise as an egg hits her face, and Mackenna jerks her back by the arm so he can take the hits himself, his furious eyes trying to find us in the crowd.
Then I hear Melanie shout, “Hey! LET GO, asshole!”
My arms are yanked behind me, and I’m suddenly shoved and pulled out of my place and down the aisle.
“Let go of us!” Melanie cries, struggling as two burly guards drag us away. “If you don’t let go of me right now, my boyfriend’s going to find your home and kill you in your sleep!”
The guard yanks me back harder, and I catch my breath as pain rushes up my arm.
“Asshole,” I hiss, but I don’t even bother to struggle. Melanie’s getting nowhere and I know it.
“She knows them! She knows the band! Who do you think he was singing about just now, asshole?” Melanie kicks into the air. “She’s Pandora! Let us fucking go.”
“You know Mr. Jones?” one guard asks me.
“Mr. Jones!” I scoff. “Seriously! If Mackenna’s a mister, I’m a unicorn!”
They seem to chuckle among themselves as they lead us past more security, around the stage, and to a small room in the back. One guy starts speaking into a radio as he unlocks the door.
Melanie struggles and tries to kick out, but the enormity of what could happen starts settling on me, and I grow quiet.
Holy. Shit. What have I done?
“You don’t have to look so happy, dickface. My boyfriend will find your home too and kill you next!” she tells the other guard.
They yank a door open and shove us inside. I stumble as I take a step, fighting for some dignity as I wiggle free of his grip. “Let go,” I grit, and he finally releases me.
The radio transmitter on his hip emits a sound. A voice says something I can’t make out, but it sounds a lot like cursing.
“Remove these,” one of the guards commands, pointing at our ponchos.
I pry the plastic off my body and Melanie does the same, then we watch helplessly as they strip us of the bags we’d hidden underneath the ponchos.
Melanie groans when they set our things on a table to the side. Cell phones. Two more tomatoes. Car keys.
“Wow. You guys can’t take a little joke now, can you?” Melanie asks them with a haughty little scowl.
I close my eyes and try to quell the panic rising in me.
Fuuuuck. What was I thinking?
I haven’t done anything this reckless in years.
And it felt good.
Also wrong. Very, very wrong.
But good. Great, in fact.
Hell, I can still picture the pissed, disbelieving look on Mackenna’s face. It gave me intense pleasure. Orgasmic pleasure. But now the intense feeling I’m experiencing is more along the lines of paralyzing fear.
What if the guards call him into the room to ask if he does, indeed, know me?
What if I have to stand here in this small stuffy room and look at him from thisclose!
I feel sick to my stomach. Later, Melanie’s going to want explanations. Big-time explanations; more than what I’ve told her so far. She’s going to have to tell Greyson what happened, and he’s going to want to know everything, because these stupid security guards messed with his girl. I don’t even know if I can explain to her the kind of past Mackenna and I share. January 22: the day I unfailingly get drunk and don’t bother to even see the light of day—I’d sworn to myself I’d never discuss that day. But Melanie and Greyson? They will want me to open my box of secrets. Of me and Mackenna Jones.
Hot, wet mouths melding . . .
Him, pushing into me, stretching me, taking me, loving me . . .
The kind of hatred that’s only born of an intense, out-of-this-world love that went woefully wrong.
What am I going to say to him if I see him?
What am I going to do?
Please god, don’t punish me by making me look at him thisclose.
I pace and pray, pace and pray while Melanie studies her nails, the wall, and me, sighing with the bored confidence of someone who knows she’s getting out of here intact. If I see Mackenna, I really doubt it'll be so easy. My stomach’s already in knots, and I’m having the most awful urge to vomit right now.
The concert seems to last forever. One of the guards comes and goes while the other opts to stand a few feet behind Melanie, standing all military-like, as if waiting for something.
Oh god, please let that something not be Mackenna.
I’m wearing off a layer of my boots’ soles when, a century later, the door swings open and a chubby man in a suit and tie steps in. My blood pools in my feet from my nervousness. Lionel Palmer, the band manager, also known as “Leo.” I saw his face and interview in this morning’s paper, but I have to say he looked much happier in that picture.
He glares at us—Melanie glaring back, me standing motionless—and his hands make meaty fists at his sides.
“Have you any idea what you just did?” he grits out, chubby cheeks blazing red. “How long we could keep you two cozy in a fucking lady prison? What kind of fucking fans are you?”
“We’re not fans,” Melanie says.
The door swings open and the twins, in all their male glory, join the melee. They look intimidating all the time, but now—with their blond hair, odd-color eyes, and perfectly pissed-off scowls—they’re a force to be reckoned with.
I can’t breathe.
“Who the fuck are these bitches?” the one with the snake tattoo demands.
“I’m getting to that, Jax,” Lionel says.
So the other one must be Lexington. He charges forward and looks at me, eyebrow piercing and all, then he looks at Melanie. He points his index finger, swinging it from her to me. “I hope you two have a lot of money, because one of our dancers is injured. If she’s screwed up for Madison Square Garden—”
“Don’t worry, Pandora, Greyson will take care of this,” Melanie says easily.
“Pandora,” Lionel repeats suddenly. He grows still, his eyes sliding back to me. “Your friend called you Pandora. Why?”
“Because it’s my name? Duh.”
I’m in the middle of rolling my eyes when the door swings open and a figure fills the space. I don’t think my heart is beating anymore. I feel like someone is strangling me and punching me on the inside.
A few feet away.
In the same room as me.
Bigger and manlier than ever.
He kicks the door shut behind him. He’s wearing aviators, so I can’t see his eyes, and ohmigod, I hate him with a passion. I came here to hurt him, but I’m so overcome by my anger, I can’t seem to do anything but stand here with my breath getting trapped in my lungs, my heart squeezing in my chest, my body trembling as all my suppressed anger bubbles up inside me.
He is tall and dark, and the remains of a red gooey liquid trickle down his chest.
But what a perfect chest, with its thin trail of hair that leads the way from his navel to his dick. Tight leather pants mold to his bulging thighs. A bulging cock too. I swear girls might think he sticks a loaf of bread down his pants, but I can assure you that fucker is real. As huge as his fucking ego, and I remember it used to get as hard as his fucking head.
Not everyone can pull off a buzz cut, or a diamond stud earring, but he has a perfectly shaped head that makes you want to curl your hands around it and trace the curves with your lips. The diamond glints almost menacingly in his right ear, and when he takes off the sunglasses with an angry jerk, I see his brilliant, furious silver eyes, and I swear that it feels like coming home.
To a home that was wrecked, and burned, and there’s nothing left, but it’s still your home.
How fucked up is that?
God, please let him not be real. Let this be a nightmare. Let him be on the other corner of the world while I hate him safely from my corner in Seattle.
“She’s fucking Pandora?” Lionel asks Mackenna.
When Mackenna’s hard jaw only tightens, Lionel turns slowly around to study me. My brain is a tangle of confusion because Mackenna is staring straight at me like he can’t believe I’m standing here.
I can barely take his steely gaze. I thought this night would give me closure. That I could make him feel in front of his fans like I felt when he left: humiliated. Instead he stands there, every inch the rock god, even with tomato puree on his chest. He owns the room, carrying that unnamable X factor that nobody can pinpoint but that he has in spades, that tells you he owns this room and everyone in it.
And that fact only serves to piss me off further.
“Lionel,” he says in a low, warning tone.
Just one word makes Lionel ease back. Now nothing stops Mackenna from staring straight at me.
My face burns as I remember how I loved him. Deep, hard, completely.
Don’t think about that. You hate him now!
“Nice hair.” He shoves his glasses into the belt loops of his pants.
His voice, oh god.
His eyes run down the length of my hair, and Melanie offers, “I suggested she add a little spirit to her hair, so at least she looks happy.”
He doesn’t even look at Melanie. He looks at me in the most intense way, specifically the pink strand in my hair, waiting for me to answer. I loathe that pink strand, but not as much as I loathe him.
“Nice tights,” I return, and gesture to his leather pants. “How’d you get into them? From the top of a building and with a pound of butter?”
I refuse to let his chuckle move me, but I feel it run down my legs as he starts approaching. “No need to use butter anymore. These pants are a part of me.” He holds my gaze helplessly trapped. “Like you were a part of me once.”
He’s coming closer, and every step affects me. My cheeks burn. The gall of him to remind me. I’m so angry. Years of hurt simmer in me. Of loneliness and betrayal.
“Fuck you, Mackenna.”
“Already done, Pandora.”

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Barnes & Noble:

RELEASE DATE: December 9th
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A ripped rock star with attitude. An ex-girlfriend with a reckless plan.

Pandora assumed getting her heartbroken by her bad boy ex could only happen once--until Mackenna Jones comes back to town for the biggest concert of his career. They say girls are getting pregnant just thinking about the Crack Bikini tour and it's destined to be a huge hit.

Oh, it'll be a hit alright--when Pandora comes out swinging. She and her friend Melanie are determined to humiliate him onstage. But when they're caught by security and her ex is summoned, Mackenna decides not to press charges if she'll join him on tour and follow certain conditions--rules designed to give him the upper hand and keep her in close contact with him once again. Soon, the passion they once shared is reignited, and no matter how much Pandora wants to hate him, her hard exterior starts to crack.  

And worse: Mackenna knows it, too. But he hasn't uncovered all her secrets...
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Series Reading Order

Real (bk 1)

Barnes & Noble:

Mine (bk 2)

Barnes & Noble:

Remy (bk 3)

Barnes & Noble:

Rogue (bk 4)

Barnes & Noble:

Ripped (bk 5) 12/9

Barnes & Noble:

About the Author:
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Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!