*TWENTY COMPLETE FULL-LENGTH NOVELS AND NOVELLAS FOR $0.99! NO CLIFFHANGERS!*
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Whether you love paranormal in the form of romance, suspense, mystery, horror, or fantasy, this box set will have something to entice your preternatural sensibilities. Supernaturally thrilling and engaging, this box set has it all: ghosts, vampires, mind-readers, shape-shifters, demons, faeries, werewolves, and more.
For a limited time, you can enjoy books from today’s New York Times, USA Today, Amazon and Barnes & Noble bestselling authors and many more. We have everything from titles that are slated for the big screen to stories from Pulitzer Prize and Bram Stoker Award Nominees! When purchased separately, these books cost over $50! But they are your’s today for less than $1.
Professionally formatted, no cliffhangers, and no short stories. Every selection in this rare, limited edition paranormal box set are full-length novels and novellas! A few are “First in Series,” but we carefully selected only those which can still be enjoyed as a standalone!
Riley J Ford, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author: INTO YOU
Rebecca Hamilton, Amazon Best-Selling and Film-Optioned Novelist: HER SWEETEST DOWNFALL
Apryl Baker, Amazon Best-Selling and Film-Optioned Novelist: THE AWAKENING
Carole Lanham, Amazon Best-Selling Author and Bram Stoker Award Nominee: CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLE
Thomas Sullivan, Pulitzer Prize Nominee: THE WATER WOLF
Rainy Kaye, Amazon Best-Selling Author: SUMMONED
Laura Howard, Amazon Best-Selling Author: THE FORGOTTEN ONES
Noree Cosper, B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree: A PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIRIUM
Louise Caiola, Amazon Best-Selling Author: WHAT TRULY KNOWS
Kelley Anne Blount, Amazon Best-Selling Author: SHADE
Susan Stec, Amazon Best-Selling Author: DEAD GIRLS NEVER SHUT UP
Christi Goddard, Amazon Best-Selling Author: FOUR IN THE MORNING
Steven Katriel, Amazon Best-Selling Author: THE PORTRAIT OF ALATIEL SALAZAR
Heather Kenealy, winner of MTV’s “Stan Lee presents the Seekers” contest and Cinescape’s Short Story Contest: THE TRAITORS’ TRILOGY
Peter Dawes, Blogger Book Fair Reader’s Choice Award winner: EYES OF THE SEER
DelSheree Gladden, Amazon Best-Selling Author: INVISIBLE
Angela Fristoe: LIE TO ME
Conner Kressley: THE BREAKER’S CODE
Samantha LaFantasie: MADE TO FORGET
Rachel Walter: TRUE CONNECTION
Save over $50! This set is only available at this price for a limited time, so order your copy before it’s gone!
Ireland, Connemara – 1974
You couldn’t tell the rain from the mist. That kind of day, where the greens were black and shades of gray defined everything else between the village and the cliff which drew the land up like a bowsprit – Ireland sailing ever westward. And like a dreary ship’s crew coming forward to drop anchor and make fast, a handful of villagers accompanied the horse-drawn hearse toward the churchyard.
It was called a churchyard, but no one from Darrig could tell you why. It was rumored there had once been a church near the pond and that through the first half of the 19th century villagers had worshipped there until it was struck by lightning. One or two of the oldest families in the district held to a darker version, saying it had been burned down, and whisperers might add fanciful stories of a pagan altar on the cliff nearby. The McCabes owned the land, however – that was clear enough – and there had always been a graveyard there just as there had always been McCabes. But here was the last of them, Brone himself, about to be laid to rest. The gravediggers had joked about how deep to dig, lest they strike heathen things said to underlie the original site, and that Brone McCabe himself was closer to pagans than to the Pope.
“He’ll be the Watcher now,” said Laughlin O’Brien the young peat cutter, and he moved closer to the mourner in front of him to cover the fact that he had been thinking out loud.
The churchyard Watcher. Even the children of west County Galway knew what it meant to be the last corpse interred in a cemetery. Someone had to guard the graves. And hadn’t Laughlin’s own father, Fahey, been buried the same day as Dolan’s sister, and hadn’t the two funeral processions broken into a run and a gallop to reach the churchyard gates first so as not to be the last one buried, and hadn’t he lost? So Laughlin’s father became the restless spirit who watched over the others and couldn’t lie down proper until another body was interred. But now Brone was dead and coming to his grave . . .
The gravesite tarp was hauled back and the priest changed registers from bass to tenor as the water ran off the mound of dirt into the yawning hole. No one was sad at Brone’s passing. No one was happy to be at his funeral. It went like a speeded up film. The Holy Water sprinkled on the coffin as it was lowered roughly to the bottom of the grave was absurdly redundant. Not only was it raining, Brone had drowned. It was as if God and nature and the villagers of Darrig wanted to make sure he wouldn’t draw another breath.
His body had floated up against the pylon, or “the Pillar of Thiollaney Merriu,” as the oldest inhabitants of the village still called it. He had drowned in the pond somehow, though no one could imagine why he would have gone in unless it was to save his wife Una, who was missing. They had dragged the pond but could not locate a second body. Some thought so ill of Brone McCabe as to suggest that he had murdered Una and drowned himself in remorse. Except it was hard to imagine blustery Brone remorseful over anything, besides which, as far as anyone could tell, he had been as fanatically devoted to his wife as he was disdainful of everyone else in Connemara.
Still, Una McCabe was missing. Not a sign of her in the house (the local gardai had searched thoroughly), no blood, no overturned furniture. His Nibs, the old hound, did not scratch at a loose floorboard or dig at freshly turned earth. It disappointed more than a few. So the stalwarts of Darrig performed their duty to the deceased in cursory fashion, while the county culled through statutes and mulled over what to do with the property should Una McCabe also be declared dead.
She seemed almost to be an unnecessary detail, because few in Darrig had even seen her up close, let alone spoken to her, and when she did speak it wasn’t in their dialect. A startlingly beautiful woman, she must have been two decades younger than Brone who was forty-one. Where had she come from? In this village whose customs and celebrations were no less hallowed than its rituals and rites, there had been no courtship, no wedding. Brone had gone away and come back with a bride. “Dublin,” he grunted in the pub when pressed about her origins. Brone had a rugged masculinity and modest means, nothing to suggest a fatal potency over women. Especially this one.
It was the mourners at the foot of the grave who saw her first. A moving shape in the mist from the direction of the pond, becoming then a human figure, then a female figure – very female – because she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on to hide her comely form. If they hadn’t seen Una McCabe up close before, they got to see her now. Naked to her navel, no matter which direction your eyes started from. Rivulets running off her firm breasts, down her tapered thighs. In the achromatic light she looked almost luminous, her ash blond hair nebulous, her sea-green eyes electric out of dark hollows. And something else that the women noticed for a certainty, and that the men afterward agreed must be true. She was pregnant and beginning to show.
Scota O’Neill threw an elbow into her husband Dolan, meaning for him to take off his jacket and cover the bare naked thing, but somewhat dumbfoundedly Dolan merely jerked an umbrella over the nude woman’s head as she continued to the lip of the grave.
“He’s not dead,” Una said in an even voice.
THE FORGOTTEN ONES
by Laura Howard
We’re going to the beach tomorrow,” Nicole said.
“Have fun,” I mumbled.
She wiped her lips with a napkin and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re coming.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she held a slender finger up at me and pursed her lips. “It’s the first Saturday you’ve had off in months. School’s over, at least for the summer. You’re coming.”
I sighed and looked up at the pattern of our umbrella. “You really know how to ruin a perfectly good sundae.”
Her eyes shot daggers at me. “We’ll have a great time, Al.” Her expression changed as she seemed to change tactics. Her green eyes widened and her lip stuck out just the tiniest bit.
Cranky Nicole was a challenge, but pouting Nicole was impossible.
“Fine,” I sighed. “We’re going to the beach.” I looked at my sundae, which had made me so happy a minute earlier and a thought came to me. She hadn’t said anyone else was coming, but Nicole and her boyfriend Jeff were practically inseparable. “Wait, who else is going?”
Nicole grinned, clearly smelling her victory. “The usual crew: Jeff, Rachel, Sean and”—her eyebrows inched up—“Ethan.”
I nodded, trying to breathe evenly. I hated the way my pulse spiked at just the mention of his name. Handsome, cocky Ethan. His smile had the power to break down every one of my defenses. But, I didn’t have space in my life for that. I had a plan—to focus on taking care of my mom. My grandparents had done it by themselves for long enough. I needed to find a way to help, to unburden them. That was my priority. But Ethan…he was so hard to resist sometimes.