On 19 June 15, the Ancient Origins website published an article by Mark Miller entitled "Ancient Greeks apparently feared zombies so much they weighed down the dead".  In his article, Miller says ancient inhabitants of the island of Sicily feared zombies so much they used large boulders to weigh down the bodies of the newly buried dead. This, apparently, was the result of the fear of revenants held by the Ancient Greeks. Miller defines revenants as existing in a state between life and death, in which the undead would be able to "ris[e] from their graves to haunt the living."

Both Miller and an article published by Richard Gray on Mail Online quote heavily from a Popular Archaeology article which confirms that "necrophobia, or fear of the dead…has been present in Greek culture from the Neolithic period to the present."   These articles are the result of the excavation of a site in Sicily yielding close to 3,000 bodies. Two of the burials found were covered with heavy amphora fragments and rocks, presumably "to trap [the bodies] in the grave."

To read the full article, please visit http://eliseabram.com/revenants-are-real/

**image from: http://goo.gl/OW5oPG

PROLOGUE 

The crescendo of his heartbeat rose in his ears. It began as a low, deep sound of a bass drum accelerating to the medium tone of the tom-tom. It drowned out all other sounds of that glorious day, like the cheerful song of the spring robin. His ears turned deaf to every audible vibration, including the wind rustling through the branches of the willow tree.

Why couldn’t he hear the wind? He could feel each gust tussling his hair. How a few dark strands caught on his stubbled jaw. He would brush it away if he could move. Right now, he didn’t want to move. Nothing mattered. Not the wind or his hair. Not even the birds or the tree. All that mattered stood before him. God help him. Nothing could deter him from his fascination…with her.

His eyes coursed over her delicate features. Chestnut curls. High cheekbones. Full, voluptuous lips…

Calling her beautiful would be unjust. A sin even. Lust came natural to anyone. But with her, it went deeper. She radiated like an angel. Soft. Sweet. Heavenly. It drew him in. Yet her presence, the way it made him shake inside, kept him wanting more.

The breeze blew her ringlets from the nape of her neck. Each swaying lock carried a hint of sandalwood. The same scent rushing through his nose. One more breath and he’d be intoxicated.

Her skin, a soft shade of peaches-and-cream, glistened every time gilded sunrays broke through the swaying branches of the weeping willow.

When he gazed down into her eyes, his breath caught. He tried swallowing the lump in his throat, but his constricted chest held it in place. Her warm, inviting eyes were a rich shade of gold woven with flecks of olive green. She was looking past him to the broken, shale wall surrounding the estate.

Something about the lush green grass and the smell of roses tugged at him. Wasn’t I about to… God, she’s beautiful.

He ignored his duties. Why shouldn’t he? Nothing could be more important than this moment under the willow tree with her, his golden-eyed angel.

His eyes searched hers for proof that she sensed the same magnetic force drawing them together. A force so powerful it was irrefutable as it called to his soul.

He waited for her to meet his gaze, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. The motion captured her attention. Her mesmerizing eyes focused back on his face. He released his breath, exhaling a slow sigh as he watched a smile spread across her lips.

Those lips…

He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. It made his heart hasten when he imagined them pressed to his, allowing him to taste their sweetness.

She stepped in, closing the distance between them. Her eyes descended from his, lingering on his shoulders. He watched in silent awe as her arm stretched toward him. When gentle fingers touched his arm, a line of fire coursed through every nerve, wrapping him in a cloud of desire. He fought against the groan creeping up from his lungs as her fingertips stroked his skin.

Her eyes wandered further down his body, causing his muscles to flinch.

In the passing breaths, his eyes fell to her tiny waist and well-curved hips.

Every single inch—a masterpiece.

He could no longer withhold his desire to touch perfection. Reaching out to her, he hesitated for a heartbeat, but pushed his fears aside. His hand caressed her neck, sweeping slowly up skin as soft as rose petals. Then he cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes, her breath releasing a gentle sigh.

Her subtle reactions affected his soul. He knew women, but not like this. They’d never found the secret chamber that held his heart. Had never come close to touching it. But this beautiful angel in front of him—she knew. She’d not only found his heart, she’d brought it to life, made it race like a river rushing through a canyon. He wanted her more than a rose wanted sunlight. Needed her more than the air he breathed.

A smile played at the corner of her lips. She leaned her cheek against the warmth of his hand, her breath tickling his palm. “Can you feel it?”

Her voice was like a whisper from heaven. He reveled in it. Wanted to bottle it up and keep the sweet sound with him wherever he went.

“Yes,” he breathed out.

She opened her eyes and ran her hands up his arms as he enveloped her in an embrace. Her fingers continued until they met at the back of his neck, interlacing at the nape. The look in her eyes tugged his heartstrings. His hands met at the small of her back, where they stopped and gathered her dress.

Say it. Tell me what your heart wants. I need to hear you say it.

Her lips parted, the words playing there as she stared into his eyes. He braced himself, waiting for those words he wanted to hear. His heart no longer raced. It pounded so fiercely, he thought it would beat out of his chest.

But she didn’t speak.

Let me know those lips.

She leaned closer.

Yes.

His beautiful angel stood on her toes, her lips brushing his in a soft, sweeping motion.

God, yes!

To his dismay, the ecstasy that enveloped them ended. Their sweet moment stolen like a priceless jewel. The heat of her body, of their passion, tore from his soul as she pulled away.

His disappointment consumed him.

Not again.

The tears forming in her eyes glistened as a sunray filtered through the dangling branches. Her bottom lip quivered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice cracking between words as he brushed a tear from her cheek. He feared that he already knew the answer, yet was still desperate for her to prove him wrong.

“You have to wake up, my sweet,” she said, her voice urgent, desperate.

“I’m not asleep. How can I wake up if I’m not sleeping?” He reached for her, wanting to pull her against him, to bask in the warmth of her touch.

She took a step back, tears sliding down her face, lips turning down in a frown. “You must.”

“No,” he begged. “Don’t go. Stay here with me.” Moisture stung his eyes as he pleaded with her to remain.

His voice betrayed him when nothing more than a whisper passed over his lips. “Stay.”

He reached out to her. This time, when he touched her skin, or what should have been her skin, the warmth was gone. There was nothing.

No!

His heart squeezed. He tried again, reaching for her, but his fingers caressed nothing but air. His eyes widened.

God, no…

Her image weakened. She reached her hand toward his face, as though to stroke it. He couldn’t feel the warmth, just a gentle breeze blowing through his hair.

Though her silhouette faded, her voice carried once more to his ears. “Wake up. Please, wake up…”

His heart grew strained with disappointment as the scenery slowly blurred and vanished. He kicked his legs, trying to ground himself as he tumbled into an abyss of darkness. He searched for something to catch him, to stop his descent into black. Nothing was there.

Suddenly, his body jerked into a sitting position as he gasped. His eyes burned. Bright light reflected off the walls surrounding him.

My angel.

He gazed around the room with desperate eyes.

Where is she?

His heart pounded fiercely as he searched the room.

She has to be here.

He wanted to scream her name, wanted to beg her to return, but couldn’t. He didn’t know her name.

The room spun, or at least he thought it did. Maybe it was his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabbed his head, holding it with both hands as he tried focusing again. A deep inhale brought the sweet scent of sandalwood to his nose.

Where the hell…

He opened his eyes, again, taking in beige-colored walls, an oak chest of drawers, clothes strewn across the floor. When his eyes settled on a pair of black, snakeskin boots, his heart panged.

Of course. I’m here. But that means—

He was home, in his bedroom, alone.

Falling back into the bed, realization burned his stomach. Another dream…it was just another dream.

There was no golden-eyed angel.

The only thing that remained from the dream was the wicked headache. As much as he wanted to cover his head and never leave the bed, the aspirin in the bathroom called to him.

As he stood, his foot crunched a can that lay on the carpet. His eyes passed over a shimmering blue and white beer can. An empty liquor bottle lay on its side, just two feet away.

No wonder my head is pounding. A hangover. I have a damn hangover.

He laughed, thinking about why he began drinking in the first place. To forget her.

What a joke. Not all the liquor in the world could erase her image from his mind.

Staring aimlessly, his heart grew weary, knowing he would never truly feel skin as soft as satin, never look into eyes as rich as marmalade. His soul grew restless.

She would never be his salvation. Only his tormentor.

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**Posted under the pseudonym, "Tom Spencer."

When I was a boy, we lived in Idaho.  I'm not going to say exactly where in Idaho. I have my reasons. This state is known for it's tough, scraggly wilderness areas.  There is much to do and see in Idaho.  From raging white water rafting to scenic beauty to camping, many tourists are attracted to my home state.  My father's boss, Mr. Johnson, had a cabin near what is now known as The Frank Church—River of No Return Wilderness Area.  It consists  of parts of several mountain ranges, including the Salmon River Mountains, the Clearwater Mountains, and the Bighorn Crags. The ranges are split by steep canyons of the Middle and Main forks of the Salmon River.  The Salmon River is known as "The River of No Return."  There's a good reason for that.  It has extremely swift currents that can drag you under.  Many have died on this river.  Certain scenes of the movie "River of No Return," with Marilyn Monroe and Robert Mitchum, were shot on this river. As I said, Mr. Johnson had a cabin near this area (it was known as the Salmon River Breaks Primitive area in the 60s. It was renamed in Senator Frank Church's honor in 1984) that myself, my dad and grandpa camped out at Mr. Johnson's cabin many a summer night.

It was in August of 1965 when I heard the first scream at the Johnson cabin.  I was a shy, awkward 14-year old boy who felt more at ease in the wilderness than I did around people.  It had been a fruitful day of fishing for trout.  The deal was whoever caught the first fish of the day had to clean all the fish.  It never failed I always caught the first fish of the day for reasons I still can't understand.  Usually, about 3PM, we would call it a day and head back to the cabin.   I would finish up the fish cleaning, grandpa would coat them with his favorite flour and seasonings. Grandpa would have made a killing selling his fried fish if he had ever decided to do so.  But, back to that scream...we had finished up eating, and grandpa decided to open the windows to let a little air in the cabin.  We didn't want the place stinking when Mr. Johnson would visit it after we would leave.  Right after grandpa started opening the windows, the first scream of that awful night occurred.  It's a scream that is, to this day, hard to describe verbally.  It is even more difficult to explain in the printed word.  It was the combination of a woman and lion screaming.  I know that is a difficult to imagine.  But, that's the best way I could describe it   Aaaaooooooooooyyyyyy.......AAAAAAOOOOOOOYYYYYY is as best as I can put it in print.  It was incredibly loud.  We had glasses on the edge of the sink that literally vibrated right off and broke on the floor.  Yes, they were not only loud, but the screams originated within 100 feet or so from the cabin.

My dad and grandpa grabbed their .12 gauge shotguns which they always carried with them when we went camping.  Grandpa took the old kerosine lantern with him outside to get a better view of whatever it was out there.  That kerosine lantern was not very bright.  But, we could see movement in the dense bushes behind grandpa's old Chevy truck.  I said, "Dad, behind grandpa's truck....LOOK!!!"  It was visible for the briefest of times....maybe as long as one heartbeat.   My dad said later he did not see anything when he fired that shot of buckshot.  But, he hit something.  We then heard the mother of all screams.  It was a deep, guttural scream not unlike that of mountain lions I have shot in California poaching on my property.  It was definitely a scream of pain this time though.  Whatever it was, it took off at an inhuman speed.  As I said, I did see it.  It had human form.  But, it was not human.  It was approximately 6 ft tall and maybe 140lbs at most.  I saw it for only a second that particular moment.  But, I would see it again.  

We all went back inside since whatever it was had taken off.  My grandpa was a tough, no-nonsense type of man.  I never saw him upset or scared....until that night.  Grandpa was shaking like a leaf.  He was so nervous he couldn't light his own cigarette.  He finally asked me to light it for him.  Dad was white as...well, a ghost.  I wasn't any better.  I felt sick to my stomach and was nauseated.  I looked at both my dad and grandpa and asked, "What was that thing?  I think you got a piece of it, dad."  My dad looked at me and said he thinks he winged it also.  "Whatever the hell it was, I got a feeling we ain't seen the last of it," grandpa correctly predicted.  Indeed, it was only the first encounter with "The Thing in the Wilderness" that particular night. 

As we had finally gotten our wits about us, we again heard the unholy scream.  This time, it was closer.  Grandpa quickly grabbed his shotgun. "Whatever that damn thing is, he's pissed off now.  Get your shotgun, son. This might be a long night," said grandpa.  My dad grabbed his shotgun and they both looked out the window.  Dad told me to go hide under the bed.  There was no way I was going into that bedroom by myself.  I wasn't leaving.  There were four windows from the kitchen back toward the sparse living room. Dad then told me to keep a look out the windows in the living room....it was only one big picture window.

 Again this thing screamed!!!  It was incredibly loud.  I can't stress enough how loud it was.  In some respects, it sounded like T-rex on the "Jurassic Park" movie.  It doesn't seem possible something this small (relatively speaking) could scream this loud.  It just seemed impossible. Grandpa, who was momentarily taken aback and shaken, had regained his composure. "I'm going out there to give this damn thing something to scream about!!!" grandpa exclaimed.  My dad said he wasn't letting him step out that door.  "We don't know what this is.  Until we do, none of us are leaving this cabin," Dad told us. He didn't have to worry about me.  Nothing could have forced me out that door now.  We all fearfully waited to see what would happen next.  It had been at least an hour since that last scream.  BAM!!!!!  Something had slammed against the living room door!!  The front door hinges had come loose from the impact.  My dad told grandpa to stay at the kitchen door, he was going to the living room door.  My dad grabbed me and told me to stay behind him.  Again, silence for an hour and then two hours.  Nothing.  It was now about 1AM.  Nobody was sleepy.  We were too scared to sleep. 

It was now closing in on 3AM.  Grandpa had his head on the kitchen table with the shotgun resting near his head.  Dad was alternately waking and then snoozing.  I was doing neither.  I was still petrified by the night's events.  I was looking back and forth at both doors, at the windows and shaking with fright.  I then just casually glanced toward the big picture window in the living room where I was sitting with my now snoozing dad.  THERE IT WAS AGAIN!!!  This time, I got a very good look at it.  It had a grayish, milky skin layering.  It had deep sunken eyes that were blacker than the night sky. It was thin and tall.  It looked right at me.  I was too shocked to even move, much less scream.  BAM!!!!! Another huge impact on the living room door!  This time, the top hinge flew completely off.  The living room door was still shut.  But, it was only hanging in by the bottom hinge.  One more hit and the door is coming down.  My dad and grandpa jumped up immediately with this latest attempt to knock down the door.  My dad tried opening the door.  But, it was jammed.  Again, the unearthly scream pierced the night air.  "OOOOOOAAAAAYYYY.....OOOOOAAAAYYYY!!!!!!"  Grandpa opened the kitchen door, my dad screamed at him to close the damn door!  Grandpa did, but not before he got off a shot from his shotgun.  Grandpa later said he didn't see anything when he fired.  But, he wanted "The Thing" (as I still call it) to know they were armed and could inflict considerable pain.  After he fired off that shot, grandpa closed the door and propped a chair up against it.  Dad did the same thing to the now unstable living room door.  We all sat back down....and waited.

As it turned out, that was the last time "The Thing" attempted to get inside the cabin.  I think it was like grandpa had said, it was pissed off and was wanting a piece of each of us.  Dad had clearly winged it with some buckshot. The next morning, as we slowly awoke, dad went outside (with his shotgun, of course) to inspect any other damage to the cabin.  The living room door was smashed inward.  It would have to be replaced.  But, the damage was not limited to the cabin.  The rear bumper of grandpa's Chevy truck had been completely ripped off!  I don't even like to think about the strength of something that could have done that.  Dad looked at the bushes where he had fired his shot that night.  There was a chalky substance in the bushes similar to blood splatter.  We figured it must have come from that creature.  We immediately gathered up all our equipment, supplies and headed out from there.  When we got home, my dad called Mr. Johnson to tell him a bear had attacked the cabin.  Mr. Johnson said he has lived here 35 years and never seen any bear.  But, that was our story and we decided it best we stick to it or else wind up in the state mental institution.

We never went back to Mr. Johnson's cabin for reasons I am sure you can now understand.  We never told Mr. Johnson the truth.  My dad told Mama about what happened.  But, she never believed it.  Few people ever believed us. Most people think grandpa and dad had too much whiskey and gave me some also.  Grandpa and my dad are gone now.  They were both avid hunters.  But, after that night at the cabin, they never went hunting again in the wild, to my knowledge.  I still have both of those shotguns used that night in my dining room closet.  Just in case.  As for "The Thing," your guess is as good as mine as to what it was or is.   It did not look anything like the many instances of "Big Foot" that you have read about or seen pics of on TV and the internet.  Personally, I think there are many things in nature that can't be explained away by science.  Science is not the definitive answer to everything on earth.  That night at Mr. Johnson's cabin convinced me of that.  Like my grandpa and dad, I never ventured back into the wilderness of Idaho again.  I was and still am too damn scared.  Whatever it was that night, might still be looking for a bit of revenge from the only surviving member, that scary night in August, at Mr. Johnson's cabin.

White Magic is almost ready! Can't wait! Here's what will be on the back cover. I think.

Fifteen year old Lily has a secret, has kept it hidden for as long as she can remember.

*Not for the faint of heart*

4  out of 5 stars

What is it about you stranger?

This is a love story with a mystery at the heart of it, a paranormal mystery.  Why can Ashley Easton speak French so well?  Why can she ride a horse so well, after only riding for just a few weeks?  Who is the mysterious young man she meets in the dressage competition, and why is he so alluring?  A 3rd Time to Die by George A. Bernstein is a love story and a mystery, rolled into one.  It uses the concept of reincarnation as an interesting plot device.

Our first glimpse of Ashley Easton is of a woman rescuing a horse:

"Hey quit that!"  Her shout raspy, she banged the gate with the side of the pitchfork. (p. 25)

The horse has always represented passion and desire in literature, and A 3rd Time to Die is no exception.  Ashley's new horse brings her excitement and energy into her life and allows a new relationship to flourish.  Ashley is revitalised and energised by rescuing the horse; it also brings into sharp relief the way her life has changed. Ashley is an engaging character who knows her own mind and who is financially independent.  She feels a great deal, but takes a long time to act on these feelings: this is Ashley Easton's challenge.  The reader feels the occasional sense of frustration, and is delighted she finally gets herself going.

Ashley’s lover, Craig Thornton is lovely and is everything that Ashley needs and wants: he is the polar opposite to Ashley's husband Keith, and is charming, interesting, fascinated by Ashley, shares her interests, and is caring.  Their relationship changes over time, and as they learn more about each other, their characters develop in surprising and engrossing ways.  A personal fault or two, however, might have helped to make Craig more real.

Craig Thornton is also an interesting contrast to Ashley because his marriage is breaking down, but it's not his fault: his wife is the one who is cheating.  Bernstein thus sets up interesting parallels and contrasts in the relationships.  The two spouses, Keith and Toni, are not pleasant characters.  Keith is a husband totally lost from the relationship: he ignores the children and takes a mistress.  I would have preferred a little more shading to these spouses to add more real complexity of personality: Keith doesn't help with the children, doesn't like anything about his wife anymore, is nasty in his other relationships; but has no redeeming quality.  He is a little too bad to be human.  He seems to have no saving grace: I know Craig is lovely but Keith must have been OK at one  point.

The novel examines relationships. The men and women in A 3rd Time to Die are not just seeking anyone but someone special. In the opening 1895's past-life visionary flashback Charles sees in Victoria, a woman who is "passionate, sensuous and willful" (p. 6).  He loves her for these qualities, and Ashley and Craig are similarly looking for very special traits.

Soul mates are important in this novel - people click and realise they are meant to be together. The website of the Australian Psychological Society says that: "newer fields of psychology, especially transpersonal psychology and ecopsychology, are taking seriously the holistic notion of human beings as comprising mind, body, and soul. These fields propose that people are spiritual beings living a human life that extends beyond our mundane existence and skin-encapsulated ego-self to include direct experience of the environment and the cosmos.  They recognise the importance of integrating spiritual with physical and mental reality, that spirituality is but one part of the whole.” (http://www.groups.psychology.org.au/tpig/)  The complications of the soul mates and reincarnation that have to be overcome make a really interesting plot device in this novel.  The question of whether Ashley and Craig will survive their love, and who is against them and intends them harm is a gripping question.

 
The last main character is the psychologist Dr Feldman.  He is an interesting character: he's helpful, but indecisive and his eventual insights and understandings moved the plot along.  Feldman is one of Joseph Campbell's helpers. In Monomyth, Cambell explains that:  "For those who have not refused the call, the first encounter of the hero journey is with a protective figure (often a little old crone or old man) who provides the adventurer with amulets against the dragon forces he is about to pass. What such a figure represents is the benign, protecting power of destiny.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monomyth)  Feldman helps Ashley and Craig understand what is happening.  This relationship is a satisfying aspect of the novel.

Ashley and Craig share a love of horse riding. As has been noted, the horse has always represented strong emotions and passionate desires in literature and this is also true in A 3rd Time To Die.  Since D. H. Lawrence, the horse has been a staple representation of sexuality, freedom and power.  Ashley's horse in the novel represents all the freedom of her youth, the regained sexuality that her unfulfilled marriage has stripped from her, as well as links to the past.  A secondary meaning for the horse spirit animal is the balance between the instinctive and tamed parts of your personality.  Ashley is thus more real when she is with her horse, Injun, than when she is in her house.  She feels freer, her speech with Craig is more natural, but she also learns more about herself and the issues that are troubling her: "Jeez, that's when this started!  The sense of riding through woods and whispered thoughts in French.  Nothing as intense as now.  Why the fantasy only haunt her when jumping a horse?" (p. 87).  This is the symbolism of the nature / culture dichotomy.
 
The story’s structure is that of several parts with the first long section establishing the various different relationships.  Ashley spends a considerable amount of time analysing her (hopeless) marriage, before concluding that there is nothing to be done.  This section was long and drawn out.  I wondered why it took so long to get to a resolution of this point.  Once the relationship with Craig was established and Bernstein managed to bring the pair together, the book moved along at a great pace.
In the final section the plot lines are drawn to a satisfying conclusion and the lovers’ relationship and future, and the circumstance of the nemesis are well resolved.  A final catastrophic climax is well done and keeps the reader guessing until the last moment.

The role of money in the novel is interesting: Ashley is well off, thanks to her Father's money.  She uses the processes and systems and makes them work for her to improve her life, rather than just make more money.  This is a positive role for women.

A 3rd Time to Die's main theme is of course reincarnation.  Have these people lived other lives?  Who were they?  Who is after Ashley and Craig now?  Carl Jung believed that in a person's life, synchronicity served a role similar to that of dreams, with the purpose of shifting a person's egocentric conscious thinking to greater wholeness.  Dr. Feldman helps promote this view in the novel.  He is also a psychiatrist using various methods to assist his patients.  Transpersonal psychology is a school of psychology that studies the transpersonal, self-transcendent or spiritual aspects of the human experience.  Transpersonal experiences may be defined as "experiences in which the sense of identity or self extends beyond (trans) the individual or personal to encompass wider aspects of humankind, life, psyche or cosmos."  Issues considered in transpersonal psychology include spiritual self-development, self beyond the ego, peak experiences, mystical experiences, systemic trance and other sublime and/or unusually expanded experiences of living. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transpersonal_psychology)  Dr. Feldman moves from a more reductionist view of the mind to a more spiritual, Transpersonal approach and indeed the question of this new ideology and philosophy become central to the book.

A 3rd Time to Die is a love story with a twist, a paranormal mystery with an engaging heroine and plot surprises and developments which were very satisfying.  The characters develop in interesting ways through time and as the novel progresses.  The relationships were interesting and well-drawn.  The plot lines are drawn to a satisfying conclusion, and the lover relationship and mystery of foreboding doom are well resolved.  The conclusion is gripping and the answer is unexpected and pleasingly surprising.  I am happy to rate this book as 4 stars out of 5.

http://goo.gl/Jg40jh  A 3rd Time To Die (Book ed.)

http://goo.gl/eg6sE5  A 3rd Time To Die (Kindle ed.)

http://goo.gl/uTOJg9  George Bernstein (Facebook page)

http://goo.gl/xp0Wvc  George Bernstein (Goodreads page)

After losing her job at the local newspaper, Rayanne Bradley finally had the time to reach for one of her dreams—writing a book. What should have been an easy task end’s up getting off to a slow start, until the day her muse shows up. Now, whenever the masculine scent of musk mysteriously fills the air, her thoughts flow freely as she types them into what will become her book. As the manuscript unfolds, the mystery deepens and becomes entangled with coincidences. Could this be real? Had she met the long haired, sexy, man of her dreams? Could she believe and trust the words of an angel?

Excerpt:

“Rayanne, I really want to thank you for this evening. I haven’t had such a wonderful night since I moved here,” he said after the waitress left their table.

“I have to agree with you, I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.” She took another sip from her glass, then placed it back on the table. She was totally surprised when Caliban reached for her hand once it was free from holding the steam-ware. Shivers shot through her as she felt the warmth of his fingers on top of hers, his thumb lightly caressing the crease of her palm.

“There’s just one more thing I want to do before we call it a night,” he said with his deep, masculine voice.

Rayanne tilted her head to the side and looked at him quizzically. “And what would that be, Mr. Tempest?” She watched as he rose from his seat and stood at the side of the table, never letting go of her hand.

“I want to dance with you. Please, would you do me the honor?”

Rayanne couldn’t help but softly chuckle. “Are you serious? Here…now?” She’d never seen anyone ever get up and dance in the restaurant any of the times she’d been there. It just wasn’t that kind of place.

“I’m very serious,” he replied as he lifted her hand, gently tugging, persuading her to her feet. Still holding on to her hand, not giving her a chance to say no, he guided her a few feet away from their table where there was a small clearing. He turned and winked at her, pulling her closer into his embrace so they could dance.

Rayanne didn’t protest. She looked around and saw that the restaurant was practically empty, but saw that the few remaining customers and staff were all now watching them. She could only assume that they had to be thinking they were crazy. She looked up at her partner feeling slightly embarrassed, but the uneasy feeling was quickly replaced as her attention was drawn to the wonderful feeling of Caliban’s warm hand on her lower back as he moved her to the music’s beat.

“I think we’re being watched,” he chuckled, trying to get her to relax when he felt the tension in her body.

“Ya think?”

“Just pretend no one else is in the room except for you and me,” he spoke softly. He let go of her right hand and smoothly wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her just a little closer. He could feel the tension ease from her body as she relaxed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He looked down at her then murmured, “Trust me.”

Rayanne looked up into his dark eyes.  She did trust him that much was certain. With his arms wrapped around her she felt safe; that he wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt her. Without saying a word she inched closer, until their bodies were completely touching as they swayed to the melody. Her left cheek rested on his shoulder, his long dark hair mixing with her own. She closed her eyes and breathed in his sensual, manly scent as the fingers of her right hand involuntarily began to rub his neck at the hair line. The corners of her mouth lifted when she heard the faintest gasp emanate from him. Then she felt his fingers move in a gentle, circular motion on her lower back, rousing an aching need at the very core of her womanhood, a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“See, now this isn’t so bad, is it?” Caliban asked.

“Mmmm, no it isn’t,” Rayanne sighed. She was lost in the moment and no longer cared what anyone thought of them. The wonderful feelings at that instant far outweighed any criticism from on looking strangers. She turned her head, nuzzling her forehead into his neck. She felt his hold on her tighten slightly, as he brought his cheek down to touch hers. A gesture so normal, yet felt as if she was experiencing the intimacy of dancing for the very first time. She could feel his warm breath brush against her face each time he exhaled, stirring the need—and want, to experience more of his touch.

Available at...

Amazon.com

Mystical, Magical or Reality? New Caitlin Diggs reviewed!

When I began writing Caitlin Diggs's fourth novel, 9 Incarnate, I was fascinated with the idea of gods and aliens. Many who are familiar with Ancient Aliens are aware of the theories which propose aliens were mistaken by primitive cultures to be gods. Could this be the case with ancient Egypt? It would seem some kind of divine intervention or magic was cultivated to bring about one of the wonders of the world, the pyramids.

Could these magestic structures be the work of sole humans without the aid of precision capable tool making to not only cut the blocks perfectly but lift what appears to have been blocks of stone weighing megatons into place?

The answer may be contained in the pages of 9 INCARNATE when Agent Caitlin Diggs explores the mystery of the ancient world via the arrival of the Ennead, a group of gods claiming to be the ancient divine nine of Egypt. Well, except of course for Isis, who appears to have been residing within Caitlin due to a strange incident with a crystal.

The Wiccan FBI Agent Briana McFadden and fringe scientist Claude Brahms often spar in this book, each arguing for magic and science. McFadden believes nature was manipulated by the gods whereas Brahms believes the manipulation is only possible because of physics. In other words, blocks of stone didn't float into place by magical spells but because someone manipulated gravity via vibration.

I hope you'll come along for this crazy ride into Earth's past, present and probable future in 9 INCARNATE. See the first review below.

5 stars A very original fun read January 8, 2014 By Sheri A. Wilkinson

'Very original story line, I loved it! Caitlin Diggs is a preternatural investigator. She is investigating a murder and hears a voice in her head. She finds that she is one with the Goddess Isis. With the help of her friend Briana they set out to solve the crime and the mystery the Egyptian pyramids hold.

A fun read. I loved the blend of Egyptian Gods/Goddesses with the mortal world. Also the mystery and the originality of the story line. Caitlin was very likable, the situation she was put in, and the way she handled it was fascinating to watch unfold. A well written story I find all will enjoy.'

http://www.amazon.com/9-Incarnate-Gary-Starta-ebook/dp/B00HMZRU4A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1389052608&sr=1-1&keywords=9+Incarnate

Waking Up Dead is a paranormal mystery novel that follows the quest of a ghost to solve the crime of another murder victim.

LOUISVILLE, KY., Oct. 9, 2013 -- Author Margo Bond Collins is proud to announce the recent release of her novel Waking Up Dead. Waking Up Dead is a paranormal mystery novel that follows the quest of a ghost to solve the crime of another murder victim. The compelling book trailer for Waking Up Dead was revealed today on DGT Book Promotion news. In addition, Margo Bond Collins shared an insightful interview this week on the Reading and Writing Addiction blog about herself and the release of Waking Up Dead. Margo’s interview can be read at www.readinwritin.blogspot.com and the official Waking Up Dead trailer can be viewed on YouTube.

About The Book

When Dallas resident Callie Taylor died young, she expected to go to Heaven, or maybe Hell. Instead, she met her fate early thanks to a creep with a knife and a mommy complex. Now she's witnessed another murder, and she's not about to let this one go. She's determined to help solve it before an innocent man goes to prison. And to answer the biggest question of all: why the hell did she wake up in Alabama?

Praise for Waking Up Dead

Waking Up Dead is “A definite winner! One of the best paranormal mysteries I’ve read! ” – A readers review.

About the Author

Margo Bond Collins lives in Texas with her husband, their daughter and several spoiled cats. She teaches college-level English courses online, though writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about vampires, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, and other monsters. The paranormal mystery Waking Up Dead is her first novel; her second, Legally Undead, is an urban fantasy due out from World Weaver Press in 2014.

Waking Up Dead is available at Amazon.com. To learn more about Margo Bond Collins and Waking Up Dead, visit www.MargoBondCollins.com.

Affordable book promotion for authors with DGT Book Promotions

Thank you Judd Miller for this:

"Today we give a special thanks to Author Jodine Turner. Please show her your support and welcome her to our community by visiting by going here; http://lnkd.in/ntW9-d. Her e-Book 'Carry On The Flames: Destiny's Call' can now be downloaded for $0.00. Let us all show her our community love by leaving her wonderful reviews on amazon.com so that one day the favor may be returned back to You when it is your turn."

USA Today's Robin Covington~ evokes the adventure and pace of the big movie thrillers