Hoy he publicado un post en inglés con un par de reseñas de libros, pero ando rezagado con mis lecturas en español así que decidí compartir una historia que escribí hace mucho, y que creo que os traerá recuerdos (a algunos. Los más jovenes igual ni sabéis de qué estoy hablando).

Espero que os guste.

Girl with magnifying glass Image courtesy of Naypong / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Girl with magnifying glass Image courtesy of Naypong / FreeDigitalPhotos.net


—¿Qué está mirando toda esa gente?


–Ahí… —le dijo la mujer alta, impaciente, a su compañera, señalando a una tienda cercana.

Podrían haber sido hermanas, aunque probablemente sólo eran amigas. Las dos tenían unos cuarenta años, llevaban gabardinas y bolsas de la compra, la única diferencia entre las dos era que una era unos centímetros más alta que la otra. El centro comercial era un buen lugar para pasar otra mañana aburrida mientras sus maridos trabajaban, sobretodo en un día lluvioso.

A unos pasos de ellas habían al menos unas veinte personas, todas mirando al escaparate de una tienda grande. Parecía que estuvieran en trance, fascinados, sin apenas moverse…

—Vamos a ver —dijo la mujer baja.

Cuando llegaron allí, empujaron a un par de jóvenes y se plantaron en primera fila, para tener mejor vista.

—Ah, es otra de esas tiendas con posters del Ojo Mágico.

Había dos enormes posters  y una pequeña nota con instrucciones.

—Yo jamás he conseguido ver nada—dijo la mujer alta—. No creo que se pueda. Creo que nos están tomando el pelo. Como en el cuento del traje nuevo del emperador.

Un niño cerca de ellos dijo que él lo podía ver.

—¡Tonterías! —dijo la mujer alta.

—¿Por qué no pruebas con las gafas? Yo me he dejado las mías en casa— le sugirió su amiga.

—De acuerdo, de acuerdo, lo intentaré.

La mujer alta se puso las gafas, y se concentró en el póster de la derecha. Bizqueó, se balanceó hacia delante y hacia atrás, y entonces…

—Ah, sí…¡Es increíble!…Hay una puerta…parece…muy real…Casi puedo tocar la empuñadura…—ella levantó la mano y…

—Bueno, pues yo sigo sin ver nad…— la mujer baja se interrumpió a media frase —¿Dónde estás? ¿A dónde has ido?”

Su amiga no estaba en ningún sitio. Miró a su alrededor, entró en la tienda… Nada. Desaparecida. Se debía haber ido mientras ella estaba entretenida con el póster.

—Es de muy mala educación dejarme tirada así— se murmuró a sí misma.

El mismo niño le susurró a su padre:

—La señora en el póster…La de la derecha…¿La ves? Está en medio de un espacio vacío y negro, y parece sorprendida…¿No crees que se parece mucho a la señora que estaba aquí al lado hace unos minutos? Creo que es ella.

—¡No digas tonterías! ¡Es solo un póster!

El niño miró a su padre, nada convencido. Detrás de ellos, la señora baja echó un último vistazo a su alrededor, miró al póster, se prometió a sí misma que la próxima vez traería las gafas, y que jamás le volvería a hablar a su amiga de compras. ¡Desparecer de esa manera no se hacía!

Gracias por leer y si os ha gustado, y sabéis, dadle al me gusta, comentad y compartid!

As you all know, I’m a writer and I’ve always loved books and reading. Unfortunately I don’t always have time to read as much as I’d like (for pleasure rather than for professional reasons, although when you’re a writer, reading other people’s books is always informative as well). Recently I’ve finished reading two book, a romantic novella with a paranormal touch, ‘Believe’ and a Young Adult story also set in the realms of fantasy (or maybe not. Bigfoot anybody?). I thoroughly enjoyed both reads and I thought I’d shared the reviews with you.

Believe by Mia Fox Cover

Believe by Mia Fox Cover

Believe (#1, Chasing Shadows Series)

Romance, Grief and a Love that Survives Everything

I came across ‘Believe’ through a sample posted in Wattpad and the beginning of the story hit me like a bomb. The different voices, the changes in rhythm and twists and surprises and the transitions form sweetness and everyday life to tragedy made me want to keep reading.
‘Believe’ is the first in the ‘Chasing Shadows Series’ but rather than starting slowly and building up the tension, we hardly have time to get to know the characters before we are thrown into emotional turmoil and deep waters.
Ella suffers a huge loss and the author shows great skill at capturing, through inner dialogue, the depth of sadness and desperation she experiences. Despite her sister’s attempts at restoring normality and comforting her, Ella wants her boyfriend, Nate, back. And it seems he does not want to leave her either.
Is this love beyond death? Or a manifestation of grief? Ethan, the therapist/resident assigned to her case when she finally collapses, has issues of his own. What will their meeting do for both of them? Is it fate?
The story is gripping and intriguing and the writing vivid, sensual and focused on the internal workings of the minds of the characters. As a reader I found it difficult not to empathise and share the feelings of the characters, their doubts and insecurities, and also their excitement.
I recommend ‘Believe’ to readers who enjoy an emotional rollercoaster and being thrown into the internal universe of the characters. Only one word of warning. The book ends up on a cliffhanger and I know some readers find that frustrating. Personally, I’m looking forward to the next book.
If you want to have a look:


Phantom Bigfoot Strikes Again by Simon Okill

Phantom Bigfoot Strikes Again by Simon Okill

‘Phantom Bigfoot Strikes Again’ by Simon Okill

Movie waiting to happen

I had read the previous incarnation and incursion of Simon Okill’s into the world of Bigfoot and Big Beaver. I saw that the author had written a young adult version of the novel and of course I had to read it. Much of my original review still stands and I’ll include the parts that are relevant, although I must admit that I prefer this version. Why? Although the story is still humorous, it has become also more complex, and the characters are more nuanced. We have added elements to the story (the aliens and the fact that Duane’s affinity for the Bigfoot is fully explained now and he even has special powers) and the characters are more fully-fledged. Although it is classed as a young adult book, I think adults will enjoy it as much, if not more, than younger readers, especially as many of the cultural references might be more familiar to people of a certain age.

I am not a genre reader. I don’t read a particular type of novel (or even only fiction, although it is my predilection) exclusively and I normally see what tickles my fancy at the time of choosing a book, although once decided I’ll usually stick to it.

I like comedies and humour but rarely buy books that are exclusively humour. I probably watch more comedy films than I read comedy novels.

One thing that struck me as soon as I started reading Simon Okill’s new novel was how much it felt like a film. From the establishing of the setting (‘Big Beaver’) and the characters (female sheriff still pining for the boyfriend who left five years ago for unknown reasons, large donut eating deputies, lascivious female bartender, young Native American chief with wise sayings, hunters and crackpots) in the first few pages you feel as if you’d walked into Big Beaver and are an observer (when not a full participant. I must say I sometimes thought I could smell the Bigfoot) in all the shenanigans taking place. It made sense when I read that Mr Okill had written a number of scripts. He has a knack for it, that’s for sure.

You have a mysteriously disappeared youth (that like Peter and the wolf had pretended to be abducted so many times that nobody believes he’s gone missing), bizarre crimes (Bigfoot breaking and entering to have a bath and leaving a variety of sweet foodstuffs there), FBI investigating team (hot female agent and the return of the Big Beaver prodigal son) and some set pieces you’ll never forget (alien abduction by Swedish-looking and lusty aliens from the planet Abba).

And of course, you have the Bigfoot. Although narrated in the third person this is an omniscient narrator who gets in the heads of all character, including the Bigfoot. If the human characters keep defeating your expectations (they’re all familiar types but keep surprising you), the Bigfoot are (at least to me) completely unexpected. Loveable and romantic, civilised and wild, they are not far from the noble savage ideal…only a bit hairier.

If you like out-of-the-ordinary comedies, have a soft-spot for lovable and unwise characters and long to submerge yourself in an unexpected world you’ll feel right at home in Phantom Bigfoot Strikes Again. Imagine ‘American Pie’ or ‘There’s something about Mary’ in a small mountain-town setting, with Bigfoot, and you might get a vague idea of what the book is about. If you fancy that image and are looking for a series that promises never ending entertainment, what are you waiting for? Go on and buy the book!

If you want to read more about it:


Thank you for reading and if you’ve enjoyed it and are interesting in the books, like, share, comment, and of course, CLICK!

Hoy os traigo a otra autora del grupo de escritores indiesm que ya nos ha visitado antes, pero nos recuerda su primera novela y nos trae la primera de su nueva serie. Raquel no solo escribe su propia ficción (que no es que sea poco) sino que es infatigable en su tesón por informar a todos sobre novedades literarias, y os recomiendo su blog ya que Raquel reseña una gran variedad de obras, y estoy segura de que descubriréis obras y autores a los que no conocéis. Pero estamos aquí para hablar de Raquel, y lo mejor es recomendaros que visitéis sus página de web, que lo tiene todo:
- Relatos Jamás Contados:

- Raquel Sánchez García:


Su primera novela fue:

Abrazando el olvido

Abrazando el olvido de Raquel Sánchez García

Abrazando el olvido de Raquel Sánchez García


¿Quién no ha querido alguna vez olvidar? Muchas veces la mayoría de nosotros hemos anhelado conseguir algo, un sueño, una persona, una cosa…, de tal manera que ponemos todo nuestro empeño por alcanzarlo, llegando a veces a engancharnos de tal forma que somos incapaces de dejar atrás esas ansías por obtener nuestro objetivo por miedo. Miedo a seguir adelante, a continuar el camino en soledad, a fijarnos otras metas. Miedo a tomar otros rumbos que nos hagan vivir otras experiencias de las cuales, iremos aprendiendo a través de nuestros errores o aciertos en la toma de las decisiones propias que vamos realizando en el destino de cada uno. Todo aquello que hacemos a lo largo de nuestra vida tiene unas consecuencias para nosotros mismos y para las personas que se cruzan en ella.

Alguna vez hemos querido olvidar, liarnos la manta a la cabeza, enfrentarnos al futuro y empezar una nueva vida en un lugar distinto, con gente diferente. ¿Cuántos se atreven a hacerlo? Pocos, pero aún hay personas valientes que corren riesgos por aquello que desean y no lo dudan, se lanzan. En “Abrazando el Olvido” comienza una novela en donde los personajes, protagonistas de nuestros relatos, pasan por distintas situaciones que reflejan lo comentado anteriormente. Les acompañaremos por diferentes lugares de Madrid y viviremos con ellos los distintos sucesos que les ocurrirán. Sin más comentarios que realizar, os dejo con:

“Abrazando el Olvido”
¡Silencio, cámaras, acción!.

Por primera vez, Alicia toma consciencia de su vida. Cansada de los celos y las peleas, se propone terminar de una vez con todo, decide entablar una batalla consigo misma: enfrentarse a su destino. Debe huir de Valencia, lugar que la vio crecer, tiene que abandonar a sus seres queridos si quiere acabar con lo que se ha convertido su actual día a día.
Acompañaremos a Alicia, una chica valenciana que, por azar, acaba viajando a Madrid donde conoce a Raúl y Toni, unos amables madrileños que pronto se hacen amigos de la muchacha y viviremos con ellos los distintos sucesos que les ocurrirán.
No te pierdas una novela cargada de emociones y sentimientos encontrados, donde el amor y la desesperanza se entremezclan con acontecimientos del pasado. Un pasado que hasta el final de la historia no dejará de atormentar a nuestra protagonista.
¿A qué esperas para leerla?.

Nota: Al igual que en el libro, la autora no recomienda la presente obra a menores de edad.

Libro sin DRM.




Y su novela más reciente:

Las brasas de una inocente Volumen 1. La Encrucijada


Las brasas de una inocente de Raquel Sánchez García

Las brasas de una inocente de Raquel Sánchez García

Ya no existía duda alguna, ya no solo una casa, también puede embrujar un pueblo entero. Hay un caso muy famoso que vale la pena conocer y que tuvo lugar en Gran Bretaña, cuando estaba a punto de terminar la Segunda Guerra Mundial.

En el momento más álgido de la guerra, la paz de Great Leighs fue interrumpida por el paso de las tropas aliadas y británicas. El tráfico militar ocasionó un verdadero destrozo en el pacífico pueblo rural. Las ventanas vibraban con el paso de los tanques y algunas calles y caminos, demasiado angostos como para permitir el paso de los vehículos de guerra, tuvieron que ser ensanchados.

Un extraño, que no conocía las tradiciones locales, mandó un grupo de bulldozer para ensanchar un camino, uno de los que formaba la encrucijada de Scapfaggot Green. El bulldozer empujó a un costado la piedra sepulcral de una tumba, en la que se rumoreaba que, había enterradas varias personas acusadas de brujería y a partir de ese momento, se inició la catástrofe. Comenzaron a suceder cosas que parecían del orden de lo fantástico, si no hubieran sido constatadas por numerosos testigos.

Las campanas de la iglesia del pueblo comenzaron a sonar a medianoche, sin que hubiera nadie tirando de las cuerdas. Un constructor local encontró sus herramientas rotas y un granjero perdió todas sus ovejas. Ejemplos como esos se multiplicaban en todos los hogares.

La prensa local se ocupó del tema. El periodista John Cooper tituló un artículo a toda página en el Sunday Pictorial: “La Bruja camina hacia Scapfaggot Green”. Cooper mismo fue testigo de un sorprendente episodio en un bar del pueblo: una enorme piedra tapó la entrada del local.

Absolutamente seguros de que los hechos estaban relacionados con el sepulcro, los habitantes del pueblo decidieron consultar con el famoso caza-fantasmas Harry Price, que aconsejó devolver la piedra al lugar original.

¿Qué turbó la calma del pueblo? ¿Sería una coincidencia o serían sucesos paranormales? ¿Harían caso al especialista los habitantes del lugar y devolverían la piedra a su emplazamiento original?

Mike, un humilde labriego de Great Leighs, sufrió un incidente una tarde cuando se dirigía a recoger unas herramientas. No tranquilo con las explicaciones de su abuelo, decide investigar los hechos, estos le llevarán a la verdad, algo que ni el mismo puede creer, algo que no entra dentro de la lógica ni de la razón, un suceso inexplicable, un Expediente X.



El trailer del libro:


Gracias a Raquel por su visita, a vosotros por leer, y ya sabéis, si os ha gustado, dadle al me gusta, compartid, comentad, y haced CLIC!


Hi all: As you know I’ve decided to bring you guest authors and their books on Fridays. Today I have Vanessa Wester, who kindly visited us in the past and has come back to updates us on her series and also on a new novel.

I leave her to explain it all herself. I couldn’t say it better or with more honesty. Make yourself at home, Vanessa!


Thank you for letting me post on your blog again, Olga.


My trilogy is finally complete and I can confirm that it is a reflection of a lot of my experiences in a paranormal/ fantasy setting. I think we all take a part of us and impose it on our writing. Our ideals, morals, expectations, dreams… in my case, I had fun. I loved making characters do things I have never had the guts to do (and can’t do since I am petrified of heights!) I did want to write about women in different settings and our attitude towards relationships. If you fall in love then you should both be prepared to make sacrifices for each other and accept the consequences of your actions.


I don’t like stories that make it all about the couple and their perfect ending… I have to admit that when I watched the Disney movie Frozen recently I cheered at the end. Not to give a spoiler but it was nice to see the main character, Anna, saved by something other than “true love” in the typical sense.


My catch phrase for the Trilogy is ‘In the game of love, destiny is the winner…


I believe this is true. Sometimes things happen in life that you do not expect or want. You fall in love, out of love, lose track of friendships, find out a loved one has passed away, are unable to fulfill a life’s dream or ambition, experience depression or feel lost – nothing is ever candy coated all the time.


Writing enabled me to put some of my thoughts and ideas down and get them out of my system via my characters. It allowed me to create a society I would want to live in, whilst appreciating that nothing is ever perfect… and it allowed me to relax!


Once you have children your life becomes secondary. My children (followed closely by my husband, who I have been with for over 18 years – he is a patient man…) are very important to me. But, truth, when I became a mum, I also became the cook, child-minder, cleaner, taxi, etc… nothing I did was just for me.


Writing was to become my escape, my sanctuary.


Honestly, since I learnt to publish my books I have lost some of the passion I initially had for writing. The focus turned too much towards marketing via Blogs, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Pinterest, etc, etc,etc… BUT, social media has allowed me to meet the most amazing people… truly inspirational writers and people, some who overcome personal issues by writing.


I also decided to publish books to raise money for charity and have now published three anthologies for all and three for adults.


So, to go back to 2013… I completed my Trilogy and published 4 anthologies! My paperbacks are on sales via the Indie Pop Up Bookshop, and most bookstores in Gibraltar and my eBooks are on sale all over the world via Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony eBooks, eDiesel, etc, etc…


Whatever happens… I tried.


Keep reading and writing,


Author Vanessa Wester

Author Vanessa Wester




Vanessa Wester is bilingual in English and Spanish, since she was born and raised in Gibraltar. With a degree in Accountancy and Law, she initially worked for two leading accountancy firms before she changed career and became a secondary school mathematics teacher.


Over the past twelve years, she has devoted her time to the upbringing of her children, whilst giving up a lot of her time to help voluntary organisations.


Vanessa developed her writing bug in 2010 and has not looked back since. She is currently an author of mainly adult and young adult fiction. HYBRID is her debut novel. You can continue The Evolution Trilogy with COMPLICATIONS and RETURN.


In addition, Vanessa has also published anthologies in aid of charity. Three adult collections, via the Short Stories Group, and three children’s collections, via kids4books.


She has also released a novelette called FIRST DATE, which is based on her true story.


Writing is one of her passions. Reading the other. The day she decided to start writing her ideas down she found another way to lose herself in a book, whilst finding an outlet for her imagination. It is the best way she can think of to escape from everyday life.


She now lives on the Isle of Wight, UK.


You can find out more about Vanessa here…


THE EVOLUTION TRILOGY http://www.theevolutiontrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/

(Links to bookstores on Blog site)


BLOG http://vanessawesterwriter.blogspot.co.uk/


GOODREADS  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6421055.Vanessa_Wester


TWITTER https://twitter.com/vanessa_wester 


FACEBOOK https://www.facebook.com/TheEvolutionSeries?ref=hl


LINKEDIN http://uk.linkedin.com/pub/vanessa-wester/67/7bb/699/


SMASHWORDS http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/islander8




Evolution Trilogy by Vanessa Wester

Evolution Trilogy by Vanessa Wester

HYBRID #FREE eBook http://bookgoodies.com/a/B0081EV8Z8 


COMPLICATIONS http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00ADAXWDY 


RETURN http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00GOQA5EU 

First Date by Vanessa Wester

First Date by Vanessa Wester


FIRST DATE http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00AC1YI0A is a collection of three short stories based on first love. 

Thanks Vanessa for being my guest again, and I could not agree more with your reflections (including the role of true love). I love writing, but sometimes it can get lost in the parafernalia around it. Although it’s true, I’ve also met great people, present company included. Do come back any time.

Thanks for reading, and if you’ve enjoyed it, don’t forget to like, comment, share, and of course, CLICK!

Hola a todos:

Os comenté hace poco que estaba trabajando en varios proyectos. Uno es una serie de novelas juveniles (he acabado el borrador de la segunda pero quiero acabar la tercera y traducirlas antes de publicarlas), también hay una novela romántica que me está dando la lata para que la escriba, pero he decidido primero publicar una novela corta que escribí hace tiempo, Familia, lujuria y cámarassobre vigilancia y grabaciones, voyeurismo y juegos psicológicos. Una amiga está atareada con la portada y yo estoy en proceso de corrección. Espero que esté lista y publicada en un par de meses, si no antes.

Ya había compartido algo de la historia hace unos meses, pero os dejo una muestra un poco más larga, para ver qué os parece.

Flying cameras. Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Flying cameras. Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net


El paquete estaba plantado en mi mesa de despacho, marrón y de apariencia inocente. Tenía mi nombre escrito, mi título (Sub-editora) y la dirección de la oficina. Lo cogí, lo sopesé, lo agité… Era demasiado grande para un CD. Mi corazón empezó a latir muy deprisa y mis manos a temblar. Lo que llevaba temiendo hacía tiempo había pasado. Herman finalmente me había encontrado.

Pegué un salto al sentir una mano en mi hombro.

—Perdona. No quería asustarte. Solo… ¿Cuál prefieres?

Matt, uno de los diseñadores gráficos, había estado preparando la portada de la antología que estábamos a punto de publicar. Estaba plantado delante de mí con una hoja de papel, una posible portada, en cada mano.

—Yo… ¿cuál te gusta más a ti?

—Las dos son mías. No sé.

Me estaba mirando. Era un hombre bajo, con una pinta algo rara, todo cabeza y ojos.

—¿Es un CD?

Todavía tenía el paquete en mi mano derecha.

—No, un DVD.

—¿Algo interesante?

—Me parece que es una grabación familiar que estaba esperando. ¿Sabes si alguna de las cabinas de visionado está libre?

—Que yo sepa no hay nadie allí esta mañana. ¿Cuál? — me preguntó, volviendo a acercarme las dos hojas.

—Oh…los diseños…Me gustan los dos. Pregúntale a Alan. O escógelo tú mismo. Siempre podemos usar el otro diseño cuando publiquemos otra antología.

—OK. Espero que disfrutes la película.


—…que no —me dije a mi misma cuando salió de la oficina. Casi corriendo me dirigí a una de las cabinas, la que estaba más lejos de la puerta en el rincón más retirado. No quería ser interrumpida ni que me viera nadie. Tenía que estar completamente segura. Una vez allí, abrí el paquete. No había ninguna nota. Solo el DVD. Cubierta en blanco. Encendí la televisión y el DVD. Contemplé como la máquina se tragaba el disco, sintiéndome como hipnotizada. Después de unos segundos con la pantalla en blanco, apareció Herman. Estaba todavía más delgado y pálido que la última vez que lo había visto, si eso era posible. Llevaba el pelo largo, grasiento, y se distinguía alguna cana. Parecía cansado pero sonrió, una sonrisa de anuncio de pasta dentífrica.

—Hola Pat…Ha pasado mucho tiempo desde la última vez que nos vimos, ¿no? Más de tres años. Por supuesto, tú me estás viendo, pero yo no te puedo ver. Aún no, vamos. ¿O crees que sí te puedo ver?… Lo que me hiciste no fue nada elegante. Hacer las maletas e irte cuando lo estábamos pasando tan bien. Y enviarme un correo electrónico. ¡Tan impersonal! “No intentes contactarme. Déjame sola o…” Me he estado preguntando “¿o qué?” todos estos años. No es justo. He estado muy aburrido todo este tiempo. Viendo nuestra última grabación. ¿Te acuerdas? Aquí te dejo una selección.

La pantalla se quedó en blanco un minuto y las imágenes siguientes eran de una pareja, desnudos los dos, en una cama estrecha, en medio de una relación sexual. Herman, el hombre en la grabación, parecía estar actuando para la cámara, intentando que la acción se viera lo más posible. Sólo cuando se aproximó al orgasmo pareció perder el control y olvidarse de la actuación. A la mujer casi no se la veía hasta el final, cuando Herman se tendió a su lado, acariciándole el abdomen y besándole los pezones. Herman pareció recordar la cámara de repente y estrujándole la cara la hizo sentarse.

—Sonríe a la cámara.

Miré la pantalla vacía. Mi imagen mirándome desde el golfo de tres años me hizo sonrojarme y sentirme humillada. Pero aún no se había acabado. Herman se paseó por delante de la cámara y se sentó.

—Espero que lo disfrutaras. Yo lo hice. De hecho, no me diste demasiada oportunidad para preguntártelo. Pero, he estado pensando sobre nuevo ángulos para la cámara. Y sería más interesante si la próxima vez tú estuvieras encima. Te llamaré esta mañana. Solo para discutir los detalles. Adiós. Estoy muy feliz de haberte encontrado finalmente.

Volví a mi despacho y me senté. Metí el DVD en el primer cajón, el único con llave. Y lo cerré. El teléfono blanco parecía inofensivo y puro. No me sentía capaz ni de pensar ni de hacer nada. Contemplé la posibilidad de dejar la oficina e irme a casa. Quizás debería emigrar. Pero me sentía exprimida de toda energía. Me dediqué a esperar que sonara el teléfono. Y lo hizo.

—Hola Pat. Soy Cal. ¿Estás ocupada esta noche?

—¿Esta noche?…No sé. Estoy esperando una llamada telefónica. No lo sé aún. ¿En qué estabas pensando?

—Cena íntima, película, sexo…Lo habitual.

—Te llamaré cuando sepa lo que voy a hacer.

—¿Estás bien? Suenas un poco…rara.

—Solo estoy un poco cansada. Estoy bien, Cal.

—De acuerdo, pero no te olvides de llamarme. Ya sabes que tengo admiradoras haciendo cola…

—Te llamo más tarde.

—Pat…solo era una broma.

—Lo sé cariño, lo sé. Perdona, no estoy muy fina hoy. Te llamo más tarde. Gracias por llamar.

Cal… era un hombre tan encantador. ¿Cómo podría explicarle Herman a él? ¿Cómo podría nadie explicarle Herman a alguien? Si desapareciera de una vez por todas…

El teléfono volvió a sonar. Lo dejé sonar unas cuantas veces, hasta que Tina, la chica en la oficina de al lado entró en mi oficina. Siempre estaba vestida a la última moda, impecable maquillaje, ni un pelo fuera de sitio… Corazón de modelo.

—O, creí que no estabas. Iba a contestar al teléfono… Por cierto, alguien llamó antes. Herman… no sé qué. Me dijo que es tu hermano adoptivo. No sabía que tuvieras familia.”

—No nos hablamos hace mucho. Te contaré la historia un día de estos.

Tina se fue y yo cogí el teléfono.

—Hola. Pat Mackenzie al habla.

—Hola Pat. Herman Stenson.

No dije nada. No había nada que decir.

—¿Cómo estás? ¿Sorprendida?

—Nada de lo que hagas me sorprende, Herman.

—Probablemente te creías que te habías librado de mí.

—No creía, rogaba y deseaba ardientemente. ¿Qué quieres?

—Vale, olvidémonos de los buenos modos, ¿no? Solo soy yo, todo queda en familia, ya entiendo. ¿Qué crees que quiero?

No le contesté. Quería colgar el teléfono, pero sabía que no cambiaría nada. Había crecido con el mal nacido.

—Quiero que vengas a verme, Pat. También vivo aquí. Me mudé cuando descubrí tu dirección. Te diré donde vivo.

—No quiero saberlo.

—Es un sitio muy majo.

—Déjame en paz.

—Anda, Pat, se justa. ¿Me he tomado todas estas molestias por encontrarte para nada? Debes venir a verme. Te enseñaré mi sistema de vigilancia y cámaras… Ahora puedo grabarlo todo.

—No quiero…

—De acuerdo, he intentado ser amable, pero ya veo que no funciona. Si eso es lo que quieres, así es como va a ser. Me vendrás a ver o le enviaré una copia del DVD a tu jefe y a tu precioso Carl Tom… como se llame.

—Cal Tomlinson. ¿Qué te hace pensar que me preocupa eso?

—La sub-editora de una revista intelectual seria, sobre Educación, estrella de una película porno. Me parece que no va muy bien con el tipo de trabajo.

—No es una película porno.

—Sé lo que es y tú también, pero nadie más lo sabe. Nadie lo entendería. Y estoy seguro de que Carl no sería diferente a los demás.


—No me importa nada como se llame. A menos que quiera ser protagonista en la película… aunque… no, dejémoslo como estás.”

—¿POR QUÉ NO TE BUSCAS A OTRA PERSONA CON QUIEN… —de repente bajé la voz cuando me di cuenta de que probablemente Tina y la mitad de la oficina me debían estar oyendo —…follar?

—Es un algo más que eso, amor. Ven a verme y hablaremos de ello.

Escribí su dirección automáticamente y colgué el teléfono.

Tina entró en mi oficina en el instante en que acabé la llamada.

—¿Estás bien? Te oí chillar.

—Solo son… Asuntos familiares.


—Mi hermanastro, Herman. Mi padre murió cuando yo era muy joven, solo tenía cinco años y mi madre se volvió a casar con un hombre cuya esposa estaba internada en un hospital psiquiátrico de por vida, tan loca estaba la pobre. Tenía un hijo, Herman. Un par de años mayor que yo. Siempre un poco extraño, nunca tuvo muchos amigos… Un rarillo. Pasaba todo el tiempo viendo la televisión, con sus cámaras de vídeo grabándolo todo y el resto del tiempo con su ordenador. Cuando dejó el instituto, donde nunca tuvo grandes notas, aparte de en informática, consiguió un trabajo de diseñador de páginas de web y de programador para compañías muy grandes. Nuestros padres murieron en un accidente de tren justo cuando yo acababa el instituto. Conseguí un trabajo y empecé a ir a la universidad pero seguíamos viviendo juntos. Se convirtió prácticamente en un recluso, trabajando desde casa, haciendo la compra por Internet o en la tele, y sin hacer ninguna vida fuera. Se volvió muy posesivo, raro y controlador y yo no lo podía soportar, así que me fui.


—Sí. Y no me mantuve en contacto, pero me ha vuelto a encontrar.

—Pues suena de lo más raro. Espero que no te traiga problemas.

—No le dejaré.

—Me voy para que puedas seguir trabajando.

—Gracias Tina. Nos vemos a la hora de comer.


Esa era una versión de la realidad muy adaptada. Si a Tina le pareció que él era raro con lo que le conté, me pregunto qué pensaría si conociera algunos de los detalles más excitantes de la historia. Como el hecho de que cuando tenía doce años consiguió grabar a nuestros padres durante el acto del sexo y se dedicó a ver el vídeo sin parar una y otra vez. De hecho me invitó a una de sus sesiones de visionado. Mi madre y su padre le animaban a que hiciera cosas fuera de casa, incluso intentaron comprarle un coche, pero lo vendió para comprarse más equipamiento electrónico. Cuando murieron nuestros padres no noté diferencia alguna en su comportamiento. Ni una demostración de pena, nada… Solamente se mudó a la habitación de nuestros padres, con todos sus televisores, monitores, ordenadores… Yo me pasé un par de meses con mi tía Rena y cuando volví a la casa la había pintado y redecorado completamente.

—Debemos seguir adelante —me dijo.

Teníamos el dinero del seguro de vida de nuestros padres y Herman ganaba mucho dinero con su trabajo, pero yo decidí trabajar en una tienda cercana. Usábamos una cuenta conjunta en el banco y jamás se quejó de mis gastos. Pero él seguía pasando la mayor parte del tiempo en casa y nunca salía. Contrató a una señora de la limpieza para que cuidase de la casa pero él era el único con permiso para entrar en su habitación.

Alan asomó la cabeza por la puerta de mi oficina.

—Eh, soñadora, tenemos que ir a la reunión sobre los proyectos para la nueva revista. Ven conmigo.

Le seguí sin pensar, feliz por tener una excusa para desconectar y dejar de pensar en Herman. Pero por supuesto Alan tenía que preguntar. Es un chismoso tremendo.

—Entonces dime, ¿a quién le estabas chillando por teléfono? Espero que no fuese uno de nuestros clientes.

—Era mi hermanastro. Herman.

—¿Tu hermanastro? ¿De dónde ha salido? Nunca habías hablado de él.

—Estaba intentando olvidarme de su existencia.

—Ya veo… Pero… ¿es atractivo?

Alan siempre estaba a la búsqueda del hombre de su vida. La idea me hizo sonreír.

—No Alan. No es el tipo de nadie.

Pasamos el resto del día en una reunión/maratón. No pudimos salir para ir a comer y nos trajeron sándwiches de la cafetería de al lado. A pesar de estar cansada hubiera preferido que la reunión durase aún más. Porque ahora no me quedaba más remedio que decidir qué iba a hacer. Encontré una nota de Tina en mi mesa al volver a mi despacho.

—Tu hermanastro llamó por teléfono un par de veces. Dijo que te estaría esperando y que iba a preparar la cena.

Cogí el teléfono para llamar a Herman, pero no lo hice. Sabía que no funcionaría. Tendría que enfrentarme a él más tarde o más temprano, aunque si esperaba lo suficiente quizás conseguiría que me destruyera la vida. En su lugar llamé a Cal.


—¡Hola Pat! ¿Cuándo vienes?

—Perdona Cal, pero no creo que pueda. Debería haberte llamado antes pero he estado atrapada en una reunión. Tengo que ir a ver a alguien.

—¿A quién?

—No lo conoces.


Oh Cal, por el amor de Dios, no empieces tú ahora.

—Herman, mi hermanastro.

—¿Tu hermanastro? No sabía…

—No nos llevamos bien. Pensé que no lo volvería a ver, pero me ha encontrado y tengo que ir a verle.

—¿Por qué?

—Tengo que ir.

—¿Y no puedes venir cuando salgas de allí?

—Lo intentaré, pero no me esperes. No te prometo nada. Cuando empieza a hablar no calla nunca.

—Inténtalo. Te quiero.

Cal era muy dulce y cariñoso, pero yo no estaba de humor.

—Hablamos luego.

Colgué el teléfono. Si me volvía  preguntar si le quería… Pobre Cal, había sufrido una niñez muy desgraciada, su padre le había abusado física y sexualmente, y era muy inseguro y necesitado. Yo le quería a mi manera, pero a veces era demasiado intenso para mi gusto.

Estaba a punto de salir por la puerta con el DVD en el bolso cuando sonó el teléfono. Lo cogí y sin escuchar contesté:

—Sí Cal. Te quiero.

—¿Ah sí? Qué tierno. ¿Qué estás haciendo aún ahí? Llevo esperándote hace horas. No te conviene que me impaciente.

—No me importa un comino, Herman. De todas formas ahora vengo.

Su casa estaba en una zona residencial, cara, exclusiva, y muy tranquila. Toqué el timbre de la casa estilo Frank Lloyd Wright. Muy hermosa.

Herman abrió la puerta y se apartó para dejarme entrar. Llevaba puesto un chándal y tenía peor aspecto que en la grabación, aunque al menos el pelo lo llevaba limpio y brillante. Cuando hubo cerrado la puerta, me dio un abrazo e intentó besarme en los labios. Yo aparté la cabeza hacia atrás. Lo intentó dos o tres veces más y al final lo dejó correr.

—Vale, vale. Todo a su debido tiempo.

—Nunca llegará ese momento.

—No seas desagradable. Ven aquí, siéntate.

La casa era realmente preciosa, pero no me interesaba nada.

—¿Qué te parece? —me preguntó después de sentarse en el sofá de blanco de piel de la sala. Hizo un gesto con la mano para que me sentara pero no lo hice. Vino a mi lado y me empujó suavemente haciéndome sentar en el sofá frente al suyo y separado de él por una mesa de cristal. Y volvió a sentarse donde estaba antes.

—¿Sobre qué?

—La casa… Yo…

—Es grande, cara, hermosa… Estoy segura de que alguien la compró para ti. Tú tienes un gusto pésimo.

—No te estás haciendo ningún favor al decir eso. No te olvides de que me gustas mucho.

Le miré fijamente y luego miré al suelo. Le quería estrangular.

—¿Te gusto? ¿Por qué no me dejas en paz si tanto te gusto y quieres que sea feliz?

—Me gusto más de lo que me gustas tú. Y te quiero…

—Tú solo quieres mi cuerpo. ¿Por qué no encuentras a otra? No se me da tan bien el sexo. ¿Por qué no pruebas con una profesional… o cualquier otra mujer? ¿Por qué yo?

—¿Cuánto tiempo nos pasamos discutiendo eso la última vez? Una eternidad. Sabes la respuesta. No es el sexo lo que me interesa. Es…

—Voyerismo. Puro y simple. Mirar. Tú quieres mirar. Mirar todo lo que hace otra persona. Pero no solo otra persona. Te quieres ver a ti mismo haciendo cosas.

—Sí. ¿Por qué te parece tan raro? ¿No hacen lo mismo los actores?

—¡Los actores tienen vida propia! ¡Tú no la tienes! ¡Ellos actúan! Y tienen vidas normales aparte de su carrera. Tú no tienes vida propia. Anda, Herman. Me dijiste que el único placer de verdad que experimentas es mirando. Aunque eso es mentira. Estaba contigo, ¿no te acuerdas? Sé que…

—Por supuesto que experimento placer físico cuando eyaculo. Soy un ser humano. Pero…—yo carraspeé y él me miró, muy serio, antes de seguir hablando— pero no es nada comparado con lo que siento cuando me veo en pantalla y veo mi actuación, y veo tu cara, y tu expresión cuando miras y…

—Ya basta. No quiero escuchar esas porquerías. Soy demasiado mayor para esas fantasías pre-pubescentes. No sé por qué no puedes crecer y comportarte como un adulto. Tú y tus fantasías masturbadoras. Es asqueroso.

Palideció y empezó a temblar. Se agitaba como una hoja y se levantó y salió de la sala. Le oí vomitar en el cuarto de baño. Fui a la cocina, bien equipada, luminosa y espaciosa, y preparé café.

Cuando volvió a la sala le había dejado una taza de café en la mesita frente a su asiento. Herman me miró y sorbió el café lentamente. Su voz sonó distinta y se convirtió en el niño triste que yo recordaba, con el que siempre se metían los niños mayores.

—¿Por qué siempre dices…? Joder, Pat… A veces hablas como si no entendieras nada. Como si tú no lo hubiera disfrutado también. Pat… ¿por qué te comportas así? Sabes perfectamente lo que necesito. Sabes que no puedo vivir sin ello. Lo intenté cuando desapareciste y me di cuenta de que no volverías. No funcionó. No quería contemplarme haciendo el amor con otras mujeres. No podía hacer el amor con otras mujeres. Joder. Lo que sea. No puedo… ¿Te cuesta tanto ayudarme un poco? Sabes que puedes hacer lo que quieras con mi dinero. No me importa. No hace falta que trabajes. Puedes…

—Pasarme todo el día en casa para que me puedas mirar. Ya me sé la historia. La he escuchado antes. No soy un pájaro en una jaula, Herman. Soy una mujer.

—Eres una zorra.

—Como quieras… ¿Por qué no vas a terapia, Herman? No estás bien.

—Estoy perfectamente bien. Puede que tenga intereses sexuales algo alternativos, pero eso no quiere decir que esté loco.

—No sales nunca de casa, Herman. No disfrutas de nada a menos que lo veas en una pantalla. Eso no es alternativo es anormal.

—No me importa lo que quieras llamarme. Soy feliz así. Pero dejemos de hablar de mí, Pat. Sé que no te interesa saber qué he estado haciendo, así que dime qué has hecho todo este tiempo.

—Creí que ya lo sabías todo. ¿No es así?

—Sí. Lo único que quiero saber es por qué me dejaste así. Te fuiste a trabajar esa mañana y nunca volviste. Me preocupé mucho. Llamé a Sue, la de tu oficina, y me dijo que había entregado la carta de renuncia y no habías ido a trabajar ese día. Pensé… no sé lo que pensé. Cuando yo… Mejor mira esto.

Lens aperture Image courtesy of suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Lens aperture Image courtesy of suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

¡Gracias por leer, y ya sabéis, si os ha gustado y os sentís intrigados, dadle al me gusta, comentad y compartid! 




Hi all:

I mentioned recently I was working on a variety of books. I’m working on my Young Adult Series (I’ve finished the draft of novel 2 but want to review and write novel 3 and translate before publishing), I have a romantic book nudging me to be written, but I’ve decided the next one should be Family, lust and cameras a novella about surveillance, voyeurism and psychological mind-games I wrote a while back. I’ve finished the translation and I’m editing at the moment and a friend is creating a cover for me. I hope it should be ready for publication within the next couple of months or so.

I’ve shared a small sample before but I thought I’d leave you something a bit more substantial. See what you think.

Flying cameras. Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Flying cameras. Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The parcel was planted on my desk, brown and seemingly innocent. It had my name on it, my job denomination (Sub-Editor) and the office’s address. I picked it up, weighted it, shook it…It was too big to be a CD. My heart started beating very fast, and my hands trembled. What I’d been fearing, had happened. Herman had finally got hold of me.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just…which one of these do you prefer?”

Matt, one of the graphic designers, had been working on the cover of the anthology we were getting ready.

“I…Which one do you prefer?”

“I’ve made them both. I don’t know.”

He looked at me. He was a short, funny looking guy, all head and eyes.

“Is that a CD?”

I was still holding the parcel in my right hand.

“No, it’s a DVD.”

“Anything nice?”

“I think it’s a family video I’ve been waiting for. Do you know if any of the viewing cabins are free?”

“I don’t think there’s anybody there at all this morning. Which one…?”

“Oh…the designs…I like them both. Ask Alan. Or choose yourself. We can always use the other design when we publish another anthology.”

“OK. I hope you enjoy the movie.”

“I’m sure I will…”

He left and I added to myself “not”. I walked fast to one of the viewing cabins, the one on the further and more retired corner. I didn’t want to get interrupted or seen. I had to be completely sure. Once there, I opened the parcel. There was no note of any kind. Only a DVD. I switched the TV on and the DVD player. I watched the disc being swallowed by the machine. And after a few blank seconds, Herman appeared on screen. He looked thinner and paler than last time I had seen him, if that was possible. His hair was long, greasy, and he’d acquired some grey hairs. He looked tired but smiled, toothpaste-ad style.

“Hi, Pat. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it? Over three years now. Of course, you’re the one seeing me though, I can’t see you. Not yet, anyhow. Or do you think I can?…It wasn’t in very good taste what you did to me. Pack your things and go when we were having such good fun. And send me an e-mail. So impersonal! ‘Don’t try to contact me. Leave me alone or…’ I’ve been wondering ‘or what?’ all these years. That’s not fair. I’ve been bored stiff all this time. Watching our last video. Do you remember it? Here is a selection.”

The screen went blank for a minute and the next images were of a couple, naked in a narrow bed, having sex. Herman, the male in the tape, seemed to be performing for the camera, trying to make the action as visible as possible. Only when approaching the climax did he seem to lose the control and forget about the performance. The woman was hardly visible until the end, when Herman just laid down next to her, caressing her abdomen and kissing her nipples. Herman seemed to suddenly remember the camera and grabbing her face made her sit.

‘Smile at the camera.’

I looked at the blank screen. My image looking at myself from the gulf of three years made me blush and feel humiliated. But it hadn’t finished yet. Herman walked in front of the camera and sat down.

“I hope you enjoyed it. I did. You didn’t give me much of a chance to ask you, actually. But, I’ve been thinking of better angles for the camera. It would be more interesting if you were on top next time. I’ll phone you this morning. Just to discuss the details. Bye. I’m happy I’ve found you finally.”

I went back to my desk and sat down. I put the DVD on the top drawer, the one I could lock. The white phone looked harmless and pure. I could not think or do anything. I contemplated the possibility of leaving the office and going home. Maybe I should have emigrated. But I felt drained of all energy. I just waited for the phone to ring. And it did.

“Hi Pat. It’s Cal here. Are you busy tonight?”

“Tonight?…I don’t know. I’m waiting for a phone-call. I can’t tell you yet. What were you thinking of?”

“Intimate dinner, movie, sex…The usual.”

“I’ll give you a call when I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you all right? You sound a bit…strange.”

“I just feel a bit tired. I’ll be all right, Cal.”

“OK. Don’t forget to phone. You know I have many admirers cueing…”

“I’ll phone you later.”

“Pat…It was only a joke.”

“I know, darling, I know. Sorry, I’m just not myself today. Speak to you later. Thanks for phoning.”

Cal…he was such a sweet guy. How could I explain Herman to him? How could anybody explain Herman to anybody else? If he would just disappear…

The phone rang again. I let it ring a few times, until Tina, the girl in the contiguous office came in. Always fashionable clothes, impeccable make-up, carefully arranged hair…Heart of model.

“Oh, I thought you weren’t in. I was going to answer it…By the way, somebody phoned earlier. Herman…somebody or other. He said he’s your stepbrother. I didn’t know you had any family.”

“We haven’t talked to each other for a long time. I’ll tell you the story some other day.”

I picked up the phone and watched Tina leave.

“Hello. Pat McKenzie here.”

“Hi Pat. Herman Stenson here.”

I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

“How are you? Surprised?”

“Nothing you do surprises me, Herman.”

“You probably thought you had got away with it by now.”

“I didn’t think, I hoped and prayed. What do you want?”

“OK, forget about niceties, hey? It’s only me, it’s all in the family, I understand. What do you think I want?”

I didn’t answer. I wanted to put the phone down on him, but I knew that wouldn’t make any difference. I’d grown up with the bastard.

“I want you to come and see me, Pat. I’m living here too. I moved once I found your address. I’ll tell you where I live.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“I have a very nice place here.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh, come on, Pat, be fair now. Have I gone to all this bother to find you for nothing? You must come and see me. I must show you my new video system, cameras…I can tape anything now.”

“I don’t want to…”

“All right, I’m not going to carry on playing Mr. Nice Guy. If that’s the way you want it that’s the way it’ll be. You will come to see me or I’ll send a copy of our tape to your boss and to your lovely Carl Tom…whatever.”

“Cal Tomlinson. What makes you think I’m bothered about that?”

“The sub-editor of a serious intellectual magazine, on educational matters, star of a porn movie. I’m not sure it quite goes with the job.”

“It isn’t a porn movie.”

“I know what it is, and you do too, but do you think anybody else knows? Nobody would understand that. And I’m sure Carl wouldn’t either.”


“I couldn’t care less what his name is. Unless he wants to star in the movie…although…no, let’s keep it as it was.”

“WHY DON’T YOU SIMPLY FIND SOMEBODY ELSE TO…” I suddenly dropped my voice because I realised that probably Tina and half of the office where hearing me by now. “…fuck?”

“It’s a little bit more than that, love. Come to see me and we’ll talk about it.”

I wrote down his address automatically and put the phone down.

Tina entered my office as soon as I finished the call.

“Are you all right? I heard you shouting.”

“I just…Family matters.”

“Tell me about it.”

“My step-brother, Herman. My dad died when I was very young, only five and my mother re-married a man whose wife was in a psychiatric hospital for life, she was so crazy. He had a son, Herman. A couple of years older than me. Always a bit weird, never socialised much or had any friends…Weirdo. He spent all his time watching the TV, with video-cameras taping everything and the rest of the time with his computer. When he left High-School, where he never did too well, apart from computer-sciences, he got a job designing web-pages and other programmes for big companies. Our parents died in a train-accident just as I was finishing High School. I got a job and went to college but I still lived in the same house with him. He became practically a recluse, doing his job from home, shopping via Internet or the TV, and having no life outside. He grew very controlling and extremely bizarre and I couldn’t take it. I left.”


“Yes. I didn’t keep contact, but he’s found me again.”

“Oh…He sounds really strange. I hope he doesn’t create any trouble for you.”

“I won’t let him.”

“I’ll leave you to your work.”

“See you for lunch.”


That was an extremely sanitised version of reality. If Tina thought he was strange she should have known some of the more exciting details. Like the fact that when he was twelve he managed to taped our parents having sex and he kept on playing the video over and over again. He invited me to a session too. My mother and his father kept encouraging him to do things outside, even tried buying him a car, but he sold it and bought more equipment. When our parents died I never noticed any difference in him. Not a demonstration of feeling, nothing…He just moved to our parents bedroom, with all his TVs, monitors, computers…I spent a couple of months with my aunt Rena and when I went back to the house he had painted and redecorated the whole place.

“We need to look forward.” He said.

We had the money from our parents’ life insurance policies, and Herman was making a lot of money with his work, but I still took a job in a nearby shop. We used the same joint account and he never had any comments to make about my expenses. But he still spent all of his time at home and never went out. He paid a cleaning lady to look after the house but he was the only one allowed to enter his room.

Alan popped his face in my office.

“Hey, dreamer, we must go to the meeting about the projects for the new magazine. Come with me.”

I followed him aimlessly, happy to have an excuse to switch off Herman. But Alan had to ask. He is a terrible gossip.

“Then, whom were you shouting at on the phone? I hope it wasn’t one of our clients.”

“My stepbrother. Herman.”

“Your stepbrother? Where did he come from? You never mentioned him.”

“I wanted to forget he existed.”

“I see…But, is he…attractive?”

Alan was always trying to find the man of his life. I smiled at the prospect.

“No Alan. He’s nobody’s type.”

We spent the rest of the day in a marathon meeting. We couldn’t leave to go for lunch and we had sandwiches brought in from the café nearby. I was tired but I felt sorry when the meeting ended. Because that meant that I’d have to decide what I was going to do. I found a note from Tina on my desk.

“Your stepbrother phoned a couple of times. He said he’d be waiting for you. He’ll cook dinner.”

I picked up the phone to dial Herman’s number, but I didn’t. I knew it wouldn’t work. I’d have to face him sooner or later, although if I waited too long he might just manage to destroy my life. I phoned Cal instead.


“Hi Pat! When are you coming?”

“Sorry Cal, I don’t think I can. I should have phoned you earlier but I’ve been trapped in a meeting. Listen, I must go to see someone.”


“You don’t know him.”


Oh Cal, for Christ’s sake, don’t start.

“Herman, my stepbrother.”

“Your stepbrother? I didn’t know…”

“I don’t get on at all well with him. I thought I’d never see him again but he’s found me and I must go and see him.”


“I must.”

“Can’t you just come over after?”

“I’ll try, but don’t wait for me. He can talk nonstop sometimes.”

“Do try to come. I love you.”

Cal could be very sweet sometimes, but I wasn’t in the mood.

“I’ll speak to you later.”

I put the phone down. If he asked me once again if I loved him…Poor Cal, he’d had a very unhappy childhood, he’d been physically and sexually abused by his father, and he was very insecure and needy. I loved him my own way, but he was too intense for me sometimes.

As I was leaving, with the DVD in my handbag, the phone rang. I picked it up and without listening I said:

“Yes Cal, I love you.”

“Do you? That’s sweet. What are you doing still there? I’ve been waiting for hours. You don’t want me to get impatient.”

“I couldn’t care less, Herman. But, I’m on my way.”

His house was on a residential area, expensive, exclusive, and very quiet. I rang the bell of the large Frank Lloyd Wright style house. Pretty.

Herman opened the door and moved to one side to let me in. He was wearing a track suit and he looked worse than in his tape, although his hair was clean and shiny. Once he locked the door, he gave me a hug and tried to kiss me on the lips. I moved my head back. He tried two or three times and finally gave up.

“All right, all right. All in its due time.”

“It will never be its due time.”

“Don’t be nasty. Just come over, have a seat.”

The house was really nice, but I didn’t care.

“What do you think?” He asked after he’d sat down on a white sofa in the living room. He made a gesture for me to sit but I didn’t. He came over to my side and pushed me onto the sofa opposite his and separated from it by a glass table.

“About what?”

“The house…me…”

“It’s big, expensive, nice…I’m sure somebody else got it for you. You don’t have any taste.”

“You aren’t doing yourself any favours by saying that. Don’t forget I like you.”

I looked at him and then at the floor. I wanted to strangle him.

“Like me? Then leave me alone.”

“I like myself more than I like you. And I want you…”

“You only want my body. Why don’t you find somebody else? I’m not that good at sex. Why don’t you try with a professional, or…anybody else? Why me?”

“How long did we spend going through that last time? An eternity. You know the answer. It’s not sex what I’m interested in. It’s…”

“Voyeurism. Pure and simple. Watch. You want to watch. Watch everything somebody else does. All. But not only somebody else. You want to watch yourself doing things.”

“Yes. What’s so strange about that? Don’t actors do the same?”

“Actors have a life! You don’t! They are performing! They have normal lives outside of their career. You don’t have a life. Come on, Herman. You told me that the only real pleasure you experience is through watching. Although that’s a lie. I was with you, don’t you remember? I know…”

“Of course I experience physical pleasure when I ejaculate. I’m human. But…” I coughed slightly and he looked at me, dead serious, before continuing. “But it’s nothing compared to how I feel when I see myself in film and I see my performance, and I see your face, and your expression when you watch and…”

“Cut it. I don’t want to listen to that. I’m too old for all those pre-adolescent fantasies. I don’t know why you can’t grow up and behave like an adult. You and your masturbatory fantasies. It’s disgusting.”

I saw him pale and shake. He was trembling like a leaf and he stood up and left the room. I heard him being sick in the toilet. I went to the kitchen, well equipped and spacious, and prepared some coffee.

When he came back to the room I had left a cup of coffee in front of his seat. Herman looked at me and sipped the coffee slowly. His voice changed and he became the sad little boy I remembered, always picked on by the older boys.

“Why do you…? My God, Pat…Sometimes you talk as if you didn’t understand anything. As if you hadn’t enjoyed it too. Pat…why are you like this? You know what I need. I really can’t live without it. I tried when you disappeared and I realised you wouldn’t come back. It didn’t work. I didn’t want to watch myself making love to other women. I couldn’t make love to other women. Fuck. Whatever. I can’t…Is it so hard to help me a little? You know you can do whatever with my money, I don’t care. You don’t need to work. You can…”

“Stay all day home so you can watch me. I know the story. I’ve heard it before. I’m not a bird in a cage, Herman. I’m a woman.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“Whatever…Why don’t you get treatment, Herman? You are not well.”

“I’m fine. I might have alternative sexual interests, but that doesn’t make me mad.”

“You never go out of the house Herman. You don’t enjoy anything unless you see it on a screen. That isn’t alternative, that’s abnormal.”

“I don’t care what you call it. I’m happy that way. Let’s stop talking about me, Pat. I know you aren’t interested in knowing what I’ve been doing, so tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“I  thought you knew everything. Don’t you?”

“Yes. The only thing I want to know is why you left me that way. You went out in the morning to work and never came back. I got worried. I phoned Sue, from your office, and she told me you’d handed your resignation in and you hadn’t been to work that day. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. When I…Better, look at this.”

Lens aperture Image courtesy of suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Lens aperture Image courtesy of suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Thanks for reading and if you’ve enjoyed it (or been intrigued by it), please like, comment, and share. Oh, and I leave you a link to a preview of my new YA novel, so you can also CLICK!




Hoy como todos los viernes os traigo una autora invitada. Carmen Villamarín pertenece al grupo de escritores indies que frecuento y tiene una obra muy interesante y original, así que me pareció que debía invitarla a que nos presentara todas sus obras, no vaya a ser que os la hayáis perdido. No son típicas novelas ni obras de ficción, son fábulas que os harán pensar, tengáis la edad que tengáis:

La montaña del rey

La montaña del rey de Carmen Villamarín

La montaña del rey de Carmen Villamarín

La montaña del Rey es un relato en el que se describe cómo el individuo sincero descubre que posee en sí mismo los instrumentos para liberarse de una realidad que va limitando progresivamente su íntimo deseo de libertad y felicidad. Un relato sobre la relación más importante del universo, la amistad. Amistad por la que los planetas giran y los universos se sostienen.

Sergio Ruano


Amantia y Fanatia


Amantia y Fanatia de Carmen Villamarín

Amantia y Fanatia de Carmen Villamarín

El tesoro de la sociedad de Humania ha perdido su valor real. La codicia, como infección, se ha extendido entre sus ciudadanos que se precipitan a la escasez en todos los ámbitos de la actividad social. Amantia vivía de dones; Fanatia vivía de afanes. Cuando Amantia decidió buscar un remedio para que su hermana encontrara el método que le permitiera abandonar sus afanes, se inició el pequeño cambio que llevaría al conde alquimista Acorde Dorado a infundir en la sociedad de Humania la substancia radiante que, cual piedra filosofal, convierte todo lo que toca en semejante a sí misma y hace retornar la abundancia dentro de las vidas de quienes acepten su acción.
Sergio Ruano


El hijo del sol

El hijo del sol de Carmen Villamarín

El hijo del sol de Carmen Villamarín

El sol había enviado su luz a la tierra a cumplir la misión de que la vida se multiplicara sobre ella. Cuando la luz blanca del sol llegaba a la atmósfera terrestre, al atravesarla, se descomponía en rayos de colores y cada uno de ellos corría a dar su matiz a valles, ríos, montañas, animales…


Un tobogán de Navidad

Un tobogán de Navidad de Carmen Villamarí

Un tobogán de Navidad de Carmen Villamarí

Cuento de Navidad
Mori, un niño de la estrella Sirio, guarda un callado deseo en su corazón: Tener un tobogán y poder viajar al planeta Tierra para lo que pide consejo al anciano sabio que vive en el corazón de su estrella.


Y por si acaso os perdéis, aquí podéis encontrar todas sus obras:


Y os dejo también el enlace al blog de la autora, para que os mantengáis al día:


Muchas gracias a Carmen por venir de invitada, a todos vosotros por leer y ya sabéis, si os ha gustado, dadle al me gusta, comentad, compartid, y haced CLIC!





Hi all:

It’s Friday and time to bring you a guest author and her books. I met Tracee Ford in Facebook. She is one of the many generous authors who are always thinking of new ways to promote the work of their colleagues and shares her ideas and promos with everyone. Not only that, but her books are sure to grip you and make you pay attention. So, today it’s time to get to know her.

Tracee Ford picture

Tracee Ford is an award-winning novelist. Her work is published by Injected Ink, an imprint of PDMI Publishing, LLC. Ford is a member of the Paranormal Romance Guild and her second novel, Idolum: Visions of the Undone, was nominated by the PRG for best paranormal romantic suspense novel of 2013, securing and winning second place. ​

Ford is a playwright, director, and puppeteer, but her life’s work has focused on child protection and family preservation. She has worked extensively with survivors of sexual abuse and has made it her mission to bring awareness to her local community through her career in child welfare.

An Ohio country girl, she is not only an author but also the founder of Dreaming Big Consulting. Her role as a marketing coach is to teach authors how to promote themselves. Dreaming Big Consulting isn’t a marketing firm, but rather a forum for authors to learn unique skills in marketing their own work.

As a paranormal investigator for The Southern Ohio Ghost Hunters, she helps families in her local area deal with paranormal phenomenon, teaching meditation, cleansing rituals, and basic blessing techniques. Her work with investigations led her to BlogTalk Radio where she is teamed up with Willow Cross as the co-host of The Paranormal Hour, produced by World of Ink Network.

Ford writes paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and crime novels. She finished her first novel at age sixteen. Early works also include poetry. Ford’s nonfictional writings focused on her areas of study as an undergraduate in social sciences and psychology at Shawnee State University. She completed more nonfictional research and writing while obtaining her master’s degree in forensic psychology at the University of North Dakota.

And now, her novels:

The Fine Line

The Fine Line. Tracee Ford

The Fine Line. Tracee Ford

Between Worlds Series (volume 1): The Fine Line


Set in Southwestern Ohio, Dr. Matthew Gregory and Robin Hillard meet, fall passionately in love, marry, and settle into their newly restored historical dream home originally constructed in the 1800’s.  However, their dreams of a happy life together are challenged by misfortune surrounding the purchase of the home.  Soon, they realize that they have stepped into another world, filled with spirits, paranormal phenomenon, and unexplainable realities.  The stark realizations as well as other traumas challenge their personal beliefs, the stability of their marriage and, most of all, their sanity.  Matt’s logical, scientific certainties are defied when his daughter, Olivia, realizes she is a psychic medium and is able to communicate with the dead.  Robin recognizes that her dreams are actually visions of the past directly associate with the previous owners of the home.

The Gregory family soon learns that there is a fine line between the world they live in and the world they can’t see.  They seek direction through organized religion as well as through unconventional methods in an effort to understand the strange world of the paranormal.  Ultimately, the family grows stronger and the relationship between Robin and Matt becomes unbreakable.  They finally realize that they can face anything as long as they are together and have faith.

Paperback of Between Worlds: The Fine Line:


Kindle of BW: TFL


Idolum (Visions of the Undone)

Idolum. Tracee Ford

Idolum. Tracee Ford

Dr. Lauren Harris, a brilliant and nationally respected forensic psychologist, is called upon by the FBI to help track down and stop The Phantom, a hedonistic serial killer. She is teamed up with Nicholas Bennette, an agent who has been promoted to the directorship of a Southwestern Ohio field office. At first, they find it difficult to work with one another, but eventually a passionate romance blooms.

Lauren has a special secret. She’s an empath and to solve the crime, she must not only rely on her training and education, but also her supernatural abilities to see through the eyes of the victims. She hopes to give a voice to the dead, peace to the families, and ultimately stop the killings. However, making sense of the visions proves to be one of her greatest challenges.

As time passes and the body count rises, Lauren fits the puzzle pieces together and discovers the identity of the killer. She soon learns she too has been targeted by The Phantom and comes face to face with him. When Lauren Harris finds herself at his mercy, she realizes she’s left much undone in her own life.

Paperback of Idolum:


Kindle of Idolum:


Tracee Ford’s Links: 



PDMI site: http://us.pdmipublishing.com/tracee-ford/

YouTube channel:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2O27s3YyDjvpVwKWE6kHJQ

Paranormal Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/TheSouthernOhioGhostHunters

Social Media connections:













Book Pages:



Thanks to Tracee for her support and for begin my guest. And thank you for reading, and if you’ve enjoyed it, like, share, comment and of course CLICK!

Una vez psiquiatra... de Olga Núñez Miret Portada de Ernesto Valdés

Una vez psiquiatra… de Olga Núñez Miret Portada de Ernesto Valdés

No hace falta que os diga que el mercado de los libros es muy competitivo. Todos hemos soñado con ver nuestros nombres en las grandes librerías (y confesadlo, también en cines y televisión: Basado en la obra de…). Hay muchas formas de promocionar nuestras obras e intentar conseguir que lleguen al mayor número de lectores posible. Una forma segura de aumentar el alcance de nuestras obras es traducirlas a otros idiomas. Yo lo he hecho con  mis propios libros que están disponibles en inglés y español y sé que muchos autores lo han pensado, pero creen que los precios son prohibitivos.

Si os interesa lo que habéis leído hasta ahora, os propongo una cosa. Ya que mis circunstancias personales han cambiado y voy a dedicarme más de lleno al negocio de los libros y la escritura, he decidido ofrecer mis servicios de traducción. Como no soy traductora profesional (llevo 22 años viviendo en Inglaterra, he trabajado aquí de psiquiatra, tengo la Licenciatura y el Doctorado de la Universidad de Sussex en Literatura Americana y un Masters en Criminología de la Universidad de Leicester, vamos, que llevo muchos años hablando y escribiendo inglés) no cobraría los mismos precios (£60 por cada 1000 palabras es lo que sugiere la sociedad de traductores británica. Yo pienso cobrar $30 o €30 por 1000 palabras) aunque os puedo asegurar que si no me veo capaz de hacer un buen trabajo con vuestro libro o historia, os lo diré y por supuesto no cobraré nada.

Como soy escritora y sé lo importante que son las promociones también incluiría en el precio la creación y difusión de un post en mi blog sobre vuestra novela u obra (cuando esté publicada) o una nota de prensa si preferís, traducción de la descripción y el blurb, y de 5 o 6 Tweets que queráis utilizar para promocionar la obra.

Y para celebrar que empiezo una nueva etapa, os ofrezco un 10% de descuento por un plazo limitado. Los primeros que lleguen se lo llevan.

¡Suerte y a expandirse, que hay mucho lector suelto por ahí!

Si queréis conectar conmigo, me podéis dejar un comentario, y también os dejo mi página de web (donde está mi correo) y mi página de autor en Facebook al final del post. (No os preocupéis si no responde enseguida que ando algo itinerante estos días.)

Gracias por leerme, y si os interesa, dadle al me gusta, comentad, compartid y poneos en contacto!

Olga Núñez Miret, writer, psychiatrist and now translator!

I don’t need to remind you that the book selling market is extremely competitive. We all dream of seeing our names in the biggest bookstores (and go on, admit it, you’ve also thought about having your names in the big and the small screen: Based on a book by…). There are many ways to promote your writing and trying to reach the highest number of readers possible. A sure way to become accessible to a larger market is to get your works translated to other languages. I have done it with my own books that are available in English and Spanish and I know many authors have thought about it, but believe the prices are unaffordable.

If you’re interested in what you’ve read so far, I have a proposal for you. My personal circumstances have changed and I’ve decided to dedicate myself fully to the business of writing and book. As part of this move I’m going to offer my services as translator. I’m not a professional translator (I’m from Barcelona, studied Medicine there and have now lived in the UK for 22 years, working as a psychiatrist and have achieved a BA in American Literature at the University of Sussex and an MSc on Criminology at the University of Leicester) and therefore would not charge the same prices (the website of the British Translators suggests £60 per 1000 words. I plan to charge $30 or €30 per 1000 words) although I can guarantee that if I don’t think I’m able to do a quality job translating your book or story I’ll tell you and of course I won’t charge.

As I’m a writer myself I know how important it is to promote your books and included in the price I would create a post about your new novel in my blog (once it’s published) or would translate a press release if you prefer, I would translate the description and blurb, and 5 or 6 Tweets that you’d like to use to promote the book.

And to celebrate the beginning of a new era, I offer you a 10% discount for a limited period only. On a first come, first served basis.

Good luck and go and expand. Don’t miss any readers!

If you want to contact with me elsewhere, this is my website:


My Facebook author page:


Thanks for reading and if you’ve found it interesting, share, comment, like and contact me! (And don’t be too worried if I don’t reply straight away. I’m going through an itinerant phase in my life, so it’s going to be catch me if you can, but I’ll be checking regularly!)

Escaping Psychiatry by Olga Núñez Miret Cover by Ernesto Valdés

Escaping Psychiatry by Olga Núñez Miret Cover by Ernesto Valdés

Today I bring you a treat. I’m taking part in a blog tour. Today I bring you Taking Back Sunday by Cristy Moran.

After five years on the run, Sunday has finally settled into a seemingly normal life in Columbia, South Carolina. What her two best friends don’t know is that Sunday has a secret past. She is the Incarnate, a conduit of mystical energy transcendent of the mundane and the divine. For most of her life, she served under Bernadette, the most powerful witch in the Northwest. Her power is terrifying, and what she remembers of her past—and what she doesn’t—haunts her. In the year that she’s been attempting to be anything but the Incarnate, Sunday has fought her abilities tooth and nail, but it’s been worth it. When Sunday joins her friends’ coven for an innocent gathering, Sunday discovers a darkness hidden beneath the blanket of the coven’s magic and she is determined to find out who is behind it and what she has planned.

For the last four years, Cyrus has been the point man on the contract to recapture the Incarnate and deliver her to the Pastophori of Iset. A gifted tracker and a fearless werewolf, he harbors a wild, inexplicable passion for the Incarnate that has driven him to hunt her. He was one of the original captors that brought her to Bernadette when his obsession with her began. Having found her, Cyrus and his pack find themselves torn between two objectives: take her by force and deliver her to yet another group of fanatics, or help her uncover the traitor among her coven.


Taking Back Sunday (Incarnate, #1

Cristy Moran


Excerpt 1 – from Chapter Four (haunted by memories of her past)

Sunday’s eyes shot open, and she jolted upright in bed. Her body was covered in sweat, and her heart was racing. Gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled fist, she scanned the room frantically to make sure that it was only a dream.

Curtains veiled the room from the early morning sun outside. When her eyes landed on the photo on the nightstand, she drew in a hard breath and slowly blew it out. She was in her room in Columbia, not a stone basement beneath Bernadette’s once-sprawling Washington estate. She ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.

“When will this be over?” she muttered to her reflection.

Black and blue bags tugged at her bloodshot eyes, and worry lined her forehead. Hair mussed and tangled from tossing relentlessly in bed stood at all ends.

Half a decade earlier, nightmares like the one last night had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. They had tipped Sunday off to the world hidden behind the veil of Bernadette’s sorcery. Until that time, Sunday couldn’t remember anything before her life at the right hand of the powerful witch. She didn’t even remember thinking that there was a time before then.

Her first real memory, at the time, had been waking as an amnesiac to the first thirteen years of her life. Through slits for eyes, Sunday made out the blurred shape of a man carrying her down a dim hallway. He radiated heat. Cradled in his arms, Sunday remembered thinking that she had never felt so warm in her life. Teeth chattering and freezing, her body shook uncontrollably against his chest. When her body jerked, he tightened his arms around her and held her closer. Her head fell against his chest, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Mind as blank as a newborn’s, Sunday had known no comfort in her life but this. As she closed her eyes again, she fell asleep.

For the first few weeks, her body healed. Open wounds turned to scabs and later scarred. Bruises turned green, and then yellow until they disappeared. During the weeks of her recovery, Bernadette visited Sunday regularly. She sat on the edge of Sunday’s bed and lay the girl’s head on her lap.

“My little girl,” she cooed as she petted Sunday’s head and caressed her gently. “I will teach you all the ways of the Incarnate, and you will shine as a star shines, only brighter. Yours will be the light of the sun, and we will be strong together.”

Under the witch’s hand, Sunday’s spirit relinquished itself and its authority to Bernadette. The witch had burned her, but the witch had saved her.

“I will show you the world that most do not see because they cannot see. I will show you of our kind’s dominion over the world of man and the world of magic. I will teach you of your power and of the power we hold over all that we can see, all that we can touch, which is so much more than that which other men can see, be they human or beast.”

As Bernadette lulled her to sleep, every cell in Sunday’s body tingled. Little by little, her life before the witch drifted further and further away until it all but disappeared. There was nothing then, nothing but Bernadette.

Purchase Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | iBooks



1.       Rebel Girl – Bikini Kill

2.       Little Lies – Fleetwood Mac

3.       Midnight Creeper – Eagles of Death Metal

4.       Devon – Grimes

5.       Burn the Witch – Queens of the Stone Age

6.       It’s a Curse – Wolf Parade

7.       Wolf Like Me – TV on the Radio

8.       Soon – My Bloody Valentine

9.       If the World Ends – Guillemots

10.   The Queen of all Returns – Dead Meadow

11.   Demons – Sleigh Bells

12.   Witchcraft – Wolfmother

13.   The Lucid Dream – The Life and Times

14.   Gold Dust Woman – Fleetwood Mac



Ten Fun Facts about Cristy Moran

1.       One time, I was offered a job at the White House. But I was in middle school then, and I couldn’t take it. True story.

2.       Neil Diamond called me on the phone one time and woke me up from a nap. Yes. That Neil Diamond. And I cried because, seriously, it was amazing and I was overwhelmed.

3.       I know all the words to Wayne’s World by memory and can recite the entire script at the drop of a hat.

4.       My favorite fictional character of all time is Dr. John “Trapper John” McIntyre from the novel and movie MASH.

5.       I am tall: 5’11”, and I’ve been this height since I was thirteen years old.

6.       I did a two-week-long Shakespeare study abroad at Stratford Upon Avon in England when I was in college.

7.       I absolutely love going to the dentist.

8.       Technically, I was once in a high-speed police car chase. I wasn’t the felon, nor was I the cop. I was somewhere in the middle when my friend who was driving at the time said, “Wanna be in a high-speed car chase?” to which I answered, “Gun it!” and we did.

9.       Of all the colors I’ve dyed my hair, I prefer washed out blue the most.

10.   My cat is named after a comic book character of a little girl who doesn’t realize that she is dead, Lenore, and my dog is named after Indiana Jones and Sherlock (Henry Holmes).

Excerpt 2 – from Chapter Seven (Sunday and Cyrus meet)

As Cyrus and Sunday’s eyes met, the world shifted. The stale stench of cigarette and pungent clove smoke lifted. The penetrating music and the muffled shouting that passed for conversation at the club quieted. In less than a second, Cyrus was utterly changed. Cyrus’ soul settled. In the place of the consuming hate he’d nursed for over a decade, he knew peace. His entire body relaxed, and his mind quieted. His heart froze. The breath caught in his chest.

Sunday’s body swayed as her friend tugged to keep her moving forward, but she stood her ground. Even after Cyrus released her arm, her eyes remained locked with his while her friend asked what the matter was. Her cheeks flushed. As soon as she smiled, her eyes followed suit shimmering like honey.

Another handful of seconds passed when she finally looked away, bent her head slightly, and lowered her chin. She was blushing. Smiling. Tilting her face up, she wrinkled her nose coyly and batted her eyelashes.

“Do I know you?” When Sunday spoke, her voice drowned out every other sound in the room. She smiled again, awaiting his response.

His chest tightened.

All those years he obsessively chased her, and she didn’t even know he existed. Now, she looked up at him sheepishly and more adorable than he ever imagined. She wasn’t rushing to leave. She wasn’t running away. Minutes ago, he was dead-set on tearing her to pieces. It had occurred to him in the past that he would be unable to turn her over to his contractors alive. He considered the very real possibility that, when he eventually found her, she would inspire such blind fury that he might unleash his wolf and tear out her throat. Now, however, confronted with her in the flesh, his anger melted.

“No,” he painfully responded. For such a small word, it took a mountain of effort to say it. It was all he could do to keep from choking on the lie. She looked at him for another long moment.

“Too bad.”

She turned and walked away. Seconds later, Cyrus remained, staring at the gaping hole left by her absence. Her words echoed as she left him standing there feeling more lost and confused than ever in his life.

“What was that about, Cy?”

Cyrus didn’t have an answer. Not allowing his thoughts to delve into their momentary encounter any longer, Cyrus focused on the task at hand. The wolf couldn’t afford to let his prey on too loose a leash. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t get away.

About the Author

Cristy Moranlives in Miami, FL. She is a college librarian some of the time, a reader and writer most of the time, and a knitter much less of the time than she was six months before she took up writing again. She’s also a nerd and a geek, and proud to be.

Cristy writes the books that she likes to read. Her women are strong and out-spoken and her men run the gamut. Love stories abound in Cristy’s work because, really, aren’t love stories the best? There’s always a killer soundtrack running in the background of her novels – all you need to do is turn to the playlist to know what’s up.

•         Facebook http://www.facebook.com/cristymoranwrites

•         Website http://www.cristymoranwrites.com

•         Goodreads http://bit.ly/1iD1Ujy

•         Amazon http://amzn.to/1g0t4kf

•         Smashwords http://bit.ly/OBKwRb


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