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Win A Free Kindle Fire 7

So what do I have for goodies?

Let’s see…. hmmm…

I just started this new game:

a new Kindle Fire 7 Rafflecopter giveaway

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‘Dark Vortex’ in Amazon top 100!

Oh my God!

I am soooo friggin’ excited and happy!

Dark Vortex is #86 in ALL of the free books offered on Amazon in the US. Me? How did that happen?

My partner, Chantel, is a GENIUS at marketing, and a wonderful writer.

To Celebrate, here is what we have for you!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Dark Vortex by Stella Marie Alden

Dark Vortex

by Stella Marie Alden

Giveaway ends July 29, 2016.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

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Sexy Witch Romance!

ON SALE!

DarkTremorP2

Chapter 1

 

Let’s see what this baby can do. Jace revved the custom engine of his new ATV and grinned. The desert whirled by at 100 mph, he caught some air, and flew.

“Fuck yeah!” What a rush. Better than winning at the tables last night.

Back teeth chomped together when all four wheels landed. He turned the wheel in the opposite direction, rotated his wrists, and his ride sped forward. Sweeeeet. Ahead lay nothing but blue sky, a couple cactus, and a lot of empty miles.

Above him a falcon circled, then swooped low. He only took his eyes off the terrain for a moment, but when he looked back, his vehicle rocketed, full speed towards a woman’s small form. With only a couple feet to spare, he cranked the wheel and held his breath.

Shit. Where the hell had she come from?

With each turn of the deathly merry-go-round, a huge boulder grew closer. Time stood still. Impact imminent. As he spun out, he swore a fissure ripped through the surface of the desert and the mammoth rock sank halfway into the riverbed.

What the fuck?

Another turn.

The blob disappeared.

His right front wheel hit something solid, and he flipped, and rolled. A sickening crunch, followed by an odd silence except for the spinning of tires.

With some effort, he unclenched his jaw and took a deep breath. The sharp edges of the harness dug into his neck and the sky stood where the ground should be. But he was alive.

Upside down, a woman, no, the woman who’d just caused this disaster, peered down, or rather up, and said, “Are you okay?”

“Hell, no. I’m not okay, lady. Look at my ATV.” What a stupid question. Adrenaline raced through his veins, needing an outlet.

Her face-load of attitude and army-surplus attire was covered in dust. “Listen to me, asshole. I don’t give a shit about your vehicle. Were you hurt?”

He wiggled his toes. Good.

Fingers. Good.

Hanging like a bat, he wedged his legs and released his harness. The world righted itself when he jumped onto all fours and crawled out of the wreckage onto the still cool sand of the morning.

“What the hell were you doing out there? I could’ve killed you.” His hand came back bloody when he rubbed above his right eye.

“Me?” Her dirty brows furrowed. Blue eyes glared, white teeth showed, and no doubt, sharp claws hid inside the oversized jacket. “Didn’t you see the no trespassing signs?”

“There weren’t any signs,” he growled, rolling his shoulders. A wave of nausea washed over him and his vision went foggy. He gripped the side of the ATV to keep from tumbling forward.

She rolled her eyes. “You are hurt. Follow me.”

A sweet little ass turned and walked towards a nearby hill.

Before following, he tried to clear his thoughts and recall the sequence of events.

Woman. Bolder. And…earthquake? Sure enough. He hadn’t imagined the two foot gash that zig-zagged across the river bed. What were the odds?

Slim to none.

Suspicious, he followed her up a steep hill, and through the glassed in front wall of some kind of cave dwelling. Figures. The badger had a burrow.

“You live in a cave?”

“Earthship. Entirely eco-friendly.” She pointed to a ladder-back chair and threw him a roll of paper towels. “Sit and try not to bleed on anything. Give me a sec’ to clean up.”

While water ran from behind the bathroom door, he pulled off a wad of paper towels, and pressed it to one eye. With the other, he made a quick assessment of her space. Cheap, but sparkling appliances lined one wall.  On the other side of the island that divided the open space, a lumpy couch faced a fourteen-inch screen.

Above, a wood railing circled a loft with a low bed.

He jumped when an orange tabby landed on the large antique table in front of the glass wall. It padded around a short wave radio, and a laptop, making a dreadful meowing sound. It sat down next to a pile of rough, blue stones.

Jace picked one up and whistled through his teeth.

Turquoise. Beautifully veined. And not from a mine he recognized. Probably worth a small fortune.

Wet-faced, she dashed out of the bathroom with a towel around her neck. “Put that down.”

The gem fell from his hand and his mouth dropped open. Holy hell.

Her newly scrubbed face revealed a pert nose and wide kissable lips, framed by long dark-blonde hair. But it was the damp, white t-shirt, worn without a bra, leaving little to the imagination that had his cock standing at attention.

When she caught him staring, she turned bright red, and grabbed a sweatshirt off a chair. It was too late. His dick knew what it saw–and it wanted it.

Bustling across the room, she struggled with her zipper while trying to balance a first aid kit under her arm.

“I said not to touch anything.” She picked up the stone and put it back in the pile.

“Sorry.” Arms raised, he stepped away, but couldn’t hide the widening smirk.

“Sit down and I’ll clean your cut.” Small palms pushed at his chest, ineffectively, but remained, as if glued. She stared, stunned.

The energy pulsing into him made his knees weak.

No. No. No. Hell, no. He’d only felt that once before in his life and he wasn’t about to do that again.

When he jumped back, she beat him to the punch line. “That is so not going to happen. Understood?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Sit, before you fall down.” Her hands trembled as she snapped open the old metal first aid kit and searched the bins.

Sitting, in one of two chairs, he noticed that there was two of everything. “So, you married?”

“None of your business. Close your eyes. This is going to sting.” She pressed an antiseptic pad against the cut on his forehead.

“Owe. Damn. Stop that.”

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and bam. There it was again. No denying it. She was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She’d probably be a perfect match for him, if he was looking for a mate. Which he damn well was not.

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Sneak Peak at ‘How To Seduce a Queen’

Prolog

Year of our Lord 1283

The castle at No-Man’s-Land, just north of Carlisle

With arrow buried deep in his shoulder, Nicholas Bruce raced between the thick black pillars of his brother-in-law’s keep while colorful pennants flapped overhead in the parapets. Cold wind off the Scottish moors chilled him to the bone and the loss of blood made him lightheaded.

Pain blinded him as he all but fell off his charger, stumbled into the main hall, and collapsed onto his side. His pool of blood widened, staining the rush mats. All he could do is pant and stare, unbelieving. She tried to kill him? After all they’d gone through?

The devil grinned, waiting at the gates of hell, until a hard palm smacked Nicholas’ cheek, bringing him back to earth.

“Christ’s blood! Just what’ve you gotten yourself into this time?” Thomas D’Agostine, his Norman features laced with concern, cut away the sodden tunic. His shouts echoed in the great room, “Anon. Awake all. We need more torches! Merry, to me.”

Still in her nightclothes, Nicholas’ twin sister fell to her knees and put a cool hand to his cheek. Merry’s voice shook as she turned to a young maid. “Wake Lady Ann and have her bring medicines and flesh needles.”

Sleepy gawkers arose from their pallets and lit torches, candles, and lamps. Nicholas moaned, shut his eyes once more, and hoped for heavenly clouds instead of the fires of hell.

His face stung once again when Merry smacked a mite too hard. “Don’t you dare die. Not on Christmastide. I won’t have it.”

His heavy eyelids refused to open and to his surprise, angels, instead of the devil, greeted him. He prayed that his grin would stick to his face, long after he was gone. It would prove to the Lady Fay that a merciful God existed and had forgiven his many sins.

 

Chapter One

Three months prior

“I won’t kidnap her. Even if deposed, Lady Fay’s still royalty.” Nicholas clenched his fists and counted to twelve as he paced the upstairs chambers. Hell’s balls, how he hated Castle Carlisle.

As usual, any time he, his father, and grandsire gathered, Nicholas was the one that paid a heavy price. All shared the same hair, same hazel eyes, and same perfected glower, but only he was bastard-born. To distance himself from the others, Nicholas tied his red hair back, shaved often, and favored a simple brown tunic.

The other two wore red striped with green, as did the wall pennants, and a rug in front of the hearth. Even the bed, hanging by iron chains from the rafters, was covered in Bruce plaid.

Nicholas snorted. What arrogance. His grandsire, the fifth Earl in Annandale, was in fact, a mere steward. The keep, the bed, and the lands, all belonged to King Edward, no matter what the colors.

Dear God, if you have any fondness for me, and for England, let the old man drop dead before he can cause more trouble. Taking a deep breath, Nicholas wandered toward a new hanging. In it, Edward battled the Welsh, surrounded by yellow lions and God’s holy light. His father, the future Earl of Annandale, battled with helm down while an angel guided his sword. What a farce. There was no holiness on that day, only the suffocating odors of the dead and dying. He pressed his palms to his eyes and shook his head.

The old Earl, his grandfather, continued, noticing nothing amiss. “If it disturbs your chivalrous nature, woo her as you see fit. What’s so difficult? An overthrown queen’s no queen a ’tall. Steal her away and put your seed in her.”

Using the perfected Bruce scowl, and knowing how much it would infuriate the other two, Nicholas approached the warm hearth. “Just what are you two plotting?”

An old knurled finger shot forth, poking Nicholas in the chest repeatedly. “You should be gladdened by my offer. In the Isle of Man, they don’t care so much about low-born bastards.”

“God’s—umph.” Nicholas inhaled, then exhaled out a thanks when his father elbowed his gut. Better a pain in the side than locked up in the dungeon again.

“We’ll not be discussing my son’s birthright. Not here. Not ever.”

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. That was new. His father seldom stood up to the great and almighty Earl of Annandale.

The two glowered, their jaws clenched, and cheeks reddened until they matched the room’s decor.  Good for them. Hoping to escape the shouting no doubt to ensue, Nicholas slipped toward the door. He cracked it open, peered down the empty hallway, and took a step toward freedom. Then, the oak slammed in his face and his ever-vigilant grandsire tugged him back by his tunic.

“You will obey.”

Wool tightened around Nicholas’ neck, reminding him of a noose. Damnation. Even the dogs in Annandale’s Castle, got better treatment.

He tried to reason with the old man one last time. “King Alexander intends for Lady Fay to marry a Scot, nay an English.”

With his palms raised to heaven, the old maggot smiled as if saying mass for God Almighty. “We’re all but pawns in the game of kings.”

Nicholas scoffed. Even the fishwife knew that his grandfather plotted only for himself.

There was no way he should even considering this, but the idea of seducing a queen held some appeal to his basest nature. “Let’s say I were to agree. ’Tis well known that Lady Fay, the former queen, shot arrows into her last two suitors. ‘Twould be easier to bed a rabid boar.”

“I thought you loved a quest.” Old eyes reflected red from the wall’s hearth fire and thin lips exposed yellowed teeth. His grandfather knew he was winning the war and grinned.

The devil walked over Nicholas’ grave and he shuddered, despite the warmth. Instead of riding straight back to Scarborough, as he should’ve, he said, “Heed me. She lives on an island, surrounded by loyal guards. None of them will allow an English knight onto of the Isle of Man. I know. I met some of them last summer.”

The former queen was beautiful, and haughty, and he a low born bastard, not even knighted. His heart raced at the audacity. The penalties of such an accomplishment were unimaginable. The rewards, beyond his wildest dreams.

“If you’d married her last summer, as I’d asked, none of this would be necessary.” The old man chuckled. “If you’re worried you’re not man enough, I’ll send you with a dowry.”

God’s Blood, how he loathed the earl. So as not to land back behind iron bars, Nicholas chose his words with care. “Very well, but when I return, I expect to be knighted.”

His father laid a hand upon his shoulder and said softly, “Do this one more deed for Edward and for England, and I will see to it, son.”

A snort of disdain sounded from his grandfather.

Biting his tongue, Nicholas turned to gaze out the window where steel clanged against steel. To where holy knights practiced swordplay in the fields just beyond the walls of the keep. How many times had his grandfather promised, and then reneged? This would be the last time he whored for clan or country.

“I swear, should you not keep your word, I will search out Edward and we will all hang together.” He shook off his father’s fondness, turned on his heel, and headed for the tavern.

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New Romance Marketing Group on Facebook

Romance Author Promo and Marketing

Feeling frustrated? Is your marketing not working?

All alone and eating Chunky Monkey Ice Cream? Wondering why your books don’t sell?

chunkymonkey

Please join me and other Romance Authors, on Facebook while we discuss this ever-changing topic. Join Best Selling Authors, Chantel Seabrook & Stella Marie Alden as we attempt to share our journey!

We just started this group, so don’t get discouraged! We have BIG plans.

 

 
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The Magic Continues on May 9th

BUY IT NOW. Before you forget!

 

I can’t even BEGIN to tell you how thrilled I am that we are releasing our next in the series almost TWO MONTHS early! Chantel and I, together, are dynamite. The synergy between the couples literally explodes off every page. You won’t believe it.

Can you take the heat?

Terra’s survival depends on avoiding other witches. That includes hot sexy flame-throwing males. When her world shifts beneath her, literally, she’s forced into the arms of a man who ignites a lust that could destroy them both. She’s kept her distance, but every time she turns, he’s there. And now her enemies know where she is and they’ll stop at nothing to reclaim her and the potent dark power she hides.

Tormented by one fatal night, Jace Fialko wants nothing to do with finding a mate. He’s trouble for anyone, especially the stubborn, sinfully tempting little witch harboring dangerous secrets of her own.

 

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How to Fix a ‘Contrived’ Plot

OMG.

What to do when you realize your book may be too contrived?

That is, for no apparent reason, your hero or heroine does something stupid, or unexplained?

Don’t freak out! It just happened to us, and the manuscript was finished. At first, I did hit the panic button, but then, we figured, hey. we can make ANYTHING happen we want. WE are the authors!

I went through the plot and IM’d Chantel with my editor’s comments.

The first time our heroine gets in trouble, she sneaks off for no apparent reason, other than to slay the bad guy. Hmmm. Okay My husband said, that seems pretty contrived. So instead, maybe she should get a call from someone she owes big time, asking her for a huge favor. Much better.

Later, our hero says ‘stay put’ and expects her to obey, even though she has shown no signs of following orders throughout the whole of the book. Damn. As my husband editor looked at it, he said our hero seemed a bit naive, here.

So, how to fix it? How about we let her come along with the hero, but insist she stay in the car.  Surely that would be reasonable. Then, if she doesn’t listen, despite the danger, it would be more believable. The husband agreed.

The last ‘fix’, Chantel and I had to discuss on IM. Because of our personal experiences, she trusted a hotel room as safe, and I did not. In the original plot, our hero leaves our heroine alone in a nice hotel, because the bad guy is presumed dead.  In the new, Chantel suggested our hero post a guard at the door, just in case. That was good because I could not think of an easy way out.

These are small changes, but we make our characters more believable!

Want to be a Beta Reader and let me know if it works? Leave a comment!

Good luck with your plot.

 

 

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How Do You Come up with Ideas for Your Novels?

Where do you come up with this stuff?

Honestly? It’s more like ‘How do I shut this stuff off.’

Can you elaborate?

Sure. I can give you a few. ‘A Witch to Die For’ started as a sexy daydream, where guy meets girl, during summer solstice. Then the ‘what-if’s’ kick in. What if he’s a witch and they need to make a witchy connection. What if she doesn’t know how? What if his family offers to train her? What if she’s really powerful and someone else wants her?

Another one?
What if…This geeky girl got this hard drive from a long lost brother who’s nothing but trouble?

Yet another?
What if…That key in my purse was really to a safety deposit box, and someone, desperate to be rid of it, dropped it there after a murder.

And so my mind goes

Wow. So how do you turn that into a novel?

At first it was pretty random. But now that I’ve studied the craft, I’ve started to formalize the process. Most important is ‘Goal, Motivation, and Conflict’. There’s a lot of really great articles out there, so if you’re interested on how-to, I might suggest to Google it.

But your first series, is medieval. Are you a history buff?

Not any more than most. What I like to do is put myself in some scene, and describe it. What if I lived in a drafty stone building? How would I warm up? What would I do to make it nicer? People are people. They want to be comfortable.

How did you figure out all the details in your book?

Google Search is an amazing thing.

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pocketa-pocketa

Today’s thoughts.

I never was much of a letter writer. I still am not. Why? Because, honestly, what goes on day to day is pretty boring. I often think of myself a lot like Walter Mitty in the original Thurber story, (not the Stiller movie). Instead of pocketa-pocketa going on in my head, there’s characters and scenes playing out. They talk, and jockey for position.

Bad guys explain why it makes perfect sense to do dastardly deeds. At some point I just have to agree. Otherwise I shall never get the laundry done, get dressed, and get to yoga.

Yesterday, while cleaning the greasy fan over the stove with a Mr. Clean eraser, I had to argue with the heroine about following the hero into battle. Honestly? I finally had to have her husband lock her in the dungeon.

Did that work? No. Because then the evil highlander, the one with schizophrenia, decides to use her and her son to discourage our hero from fighting to get his inheritance back.

I have to go to my day job now, and put them all mentally away, like the dolls I played with as a kid. But when I stop for a moment, they’re not real polite about waiting. What about the castle? What about love? What about justice? Will the head injury leave permanent damage?

QUIET!

 

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