Robyn & Dakota are still having fun at the
12 Shades Shindig-o-rama. There’s still time to get in on the prizes.
Dakota: My witch Winnie’s inspiration came from a combination of two
things—every crazy Hollywood trope you can think of for a witch (magic wands,
levitation, a snap of a finger), and a whole lotta crazy J
*
12 SHADES OF MIDNIGHT * 12 authors *
*
12 unforgettable, never-before-released stories *
The stroke of midnight ushers in many things. From hijinks and mischief
to danger and evil, romance is the magic that binds these paranormal novellas
together. Join 12 bestselling and award winning authors as they explore the
different shades of midnight in exclusive, never-before-released stories.
Liliana Hart - THE
WITCH NEXT DOOR
Darynda Jones - A LOVELY DROP
Shea Berkley - DARK
SECRETS: STONE COLD DEAD
Dakota Cassidy - WITCHED AT BIRTH
Claire Cavanaugh - MIDNIGHT RENEGADE
Rachel Grant -
MIDNIGHT SUN
Trish McCallan— SPIRIT WOODS
Angi Morgan -
BODYGUARDS IN HEELS: HIT & RUN HALLIE
Robin Perini -
NIGHT OF THE JAGUAR
Robyn Peterman -SWITCHING HOUR
Ann Voss Peterson - THE SCHOOL
Jenn Stark -
GETTING WILDE
~ ~ ~
ABOUT Robyn Peterman’s WITCHING HOUR
Released from the pokey and paroled
with limited magic is enough to make any witch grumpy. However, if you throw in
a recently resurrected cat, a lime green Kia and a sexy egotistical werewolf,
it’s enough to make a gal fly off the edge.
Not to mention a mission…with no
directions.
So here I sit in Asscrack, West
Virginia trying to figure out how to complete my mysterious mission before
Halloween or get turned into a mortal.
The animals in the area are convinced
I’m the Shifter Whisperer (whatever the hell that is) and the hotter-then-Satan’s-underpants
werewolf thinks I’m his mate.
My biggest challenge up until now was
wondering if I could get away with last season’s Prada purse and shoes…Now
apparently I was slated to save my people?
Deny, deny, deny. That was my new
motto. Falling for the sexiest werewolf alive? Nope. Starting to care about the
fur balls who needed my help? Nope. Wondering if there was more to life than
next year’s Fashion Week? Nope. Nope. Nope.
Sadly no one seems to believe me.
If they think I’m the right witch,
they’ve swallowed some bad brew.
CHECK OUT THE BEGINNING:
“If you say or do
anything that sends our asses back to the magic pokey, I will zap you bald and
give you a cold sore that makes you look like you were born with three lips.”
I tried to snatch the scissors from my best friend’s hand,
but I might as well have been trying to catch a greased cat.
“Look at my hair,”
she hissed, holding up her bangs. “They’re touching my nose—my fucking nose,
Zelda. I can’t be seen like this when we get out. I swear I’ll just do it a
little.”
“Winnifred, you
have never done anything just a little. What happened the last time you cut
your own bangs?”
She winced and
mumbled her shame into her collarbone. “That was years ago. They rebuilt the
building and no one was killed.”
“Fine,” I snapped.
“Cut your bangs, but don’t come crying to me when you look like the dude from
Dumb and Dumber.”
“You know what?”
she shouted, brandishing the shears entirely too close to my head for comfort,
“we’re here because of you, asshead.”
That stopped me
dead in my pursuit of saving her from herself. What the hell did I care? Let
her cut her bangs up to her hairline and suffer the humiliation of looking
five. Maybe I wasn’t completely
innocent here, but I bore far less of the blame than she did.
“No. We’re in here
because of you, Winnifred.”
She rolled her eyes.
“No. It was definitely you, Zelda.”
“You.”
“Nope—you.”
Winnie’s selective
memory was messing with my need to protect my ass. “Oh my Goddess,” I yelled.
“I didn’t sleep with Baba Yaga’s precious nephew—you did.”
ABOUT Dakota Cassidy’s WITCHED AT BIRTH
Freshly sprung from witch jail, Winnie
Foster just has to fulfill the conditions of her parole and she's home free.
Too bad that parole takes place in Paris. (Texas!) Where she'll work at a
school for the magically inclined. (KIDS!) And be forced to endure the ex who's
one of the very reasons she landed in the pokey to begin with. (GAH!!) Bratty
tots, sexy ex, timed showers, creepy dolls, magic restrictions and a GPS with
an attitude, all wrapped in a Texas town hotter than the surface of the sun? Oh
yeah. No way this could go wrong.
CHECK OUT THE BEGINNING:
“I’m warning you,
Winnifred Foster. If you say or do anything today that sends our asses back to
the pokey, I’ll zap you bald and give you a cold sore that makes you look like
you have three lips,” her best friend Zelda groused as she futilely tried to
snatch a pair of scissors from Winnie’s hand to prevent her from giving herself
bangs.
Winnie hopped on
the sagging mattress of her cot, looking down at her partner in crimes of
abusive witch magic and current cellmate in witch jail with an accusatory
glance.
She held the
scissors up in the air. “I’m sorry, me? As in moi? If I say anything? Er,
wasn’t it you who told Baba Blah-Blah she was wearing the wrong color leg
warmers for that wart on her nose? Or was I just imagining things?”
Zelda swiped for
the scissors again. “It’s Baba Yaga,” she corrected, reminding Winnie she’d
purposely twisted their jailor’s name out of spite, and it was one of the
reasons they were in magic jail to begin with. “You’d better get that right at
Council so we appear respectful.”
“Call her whatever
you like, Z, but you insulted her, not me. I love you, and while I totally
agreed with your fashion assessment, and she did look hideous, I bet pointing
out Baba DooDah’s flaws aren’t going to win us favor at Council today. She’s an
elephant, my friend. She remembers everything.”
She hopped back off
the cot when Zelda stopped trying to make a grab for the scissors. She was worried. They were up for review for
parole today and she didn’t want anything screwing that up. She wanted out of
this rank-smelling cell with its gray concrete walls and equally gray sheets.
She wanted to go to
parties and laugh and drink champagne like they used to.
Drown herself in
luxury and forget Ben…
Their cell was
barren of any modern conveniences, especially those they could perform magic
with—like mirrors. Locked up in Salem, Massachusetts, like serial killers in an
old hotel built in the early 1900s that had been converted to a jail for
witches.
~ ~ ~
Robyn Peterman writes
because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them
life on paper. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes
(the expensive kind), Target, Coke Zero Cherry with extra ice in a styrofoam
cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting
stray animals. A former professional actress, with Broadway, film and T.V.
credits, she now lives in the south with her family and too many animals to
count. Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where you
can work in your underpants works really well for her. You can leave Robyn a
message via the Contact Page and she’ll get back to you as soon as her bizarre
life permits! She loves to hear from her fans!
Dakota Cassidy lives
for a good laugh in life and in her writing. In fact, she almost loves a good
giggle as much as she loves hair products and that's saying something.
Her goals in life are simple, (like
really simple): banish the color yellow forever, create world peace via hot rollers
and Aqua Net; and finally, nab every tiara in the land by competing in the Miss
USA, Miss Universe, and Miss World pageants, then sweeping them in a stunning
trifecta of much duct tape and Vaseline usage, all in just under one week. Oh,
and write really fun books!
Dakota lives in Oregon with her
dogs and has a husband who puts the
heroes in her books to shame.
~ ~ ~
Don’t forget to enter the Midnight week-long Rafflecopter giveaway where the grand prize is a $100 gift card.
Who’s your favorite witch? Real or fictional… Leave
your comment for a chance to enter.
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