BLOG TOUR STOP~JUMP by Cindy Paterson

JUMP Centuries of loyalty His code of honor was respected without question, until he consumed the blood of an enemy in exchange for a mortal woman to be set free from certain slavery. He can’t forget her Despite knowing, he will be imprisoned and put to death if caught, Balen, a fierce Senses Tracker, returns to Toronto to find the mortal woman, Danielle, he left behind two years ago. Haunted with memories of the torture they endured in the hands of a Senses enemy, Balen’s determination to see her again, drives him to risk everything. But when he does, a new enemy comes into play, one he can’t defeat. To conquer the wrath of fear Determined to find some sort of peace after her abduction, Danielle finds solace in painting a man from her nocturnal unconsciousness. When he comes knocking on her door, her world is shattered and Danielle must face her worst fears in order to survive what is coming after them. It won’t stop. It can’t. For the ancient spell has no compassion. A journey of tenacious desire that refuses to fade even though that is what will destroy them. Because—in order for Danielle to live, first she must die.

REVIEW

Wow, what an amazing paranormal story Its fresh, vibrant, its jam packed with a little bit of everything; action, suspense, heartbreak, angst, just about everything you can think of. The prologue was just mind blowing it gripes you and sucks you right in, you just have to read on and on until you get to the end.

This is an unique paranormal experience. There was something happening at every turn.

All the characters are very well developed the secondary characters are also very strong and interesting adding another layer to the overall story. I know its paranormal but its just so damn believable Cindy created something different in a real place you have many different supernatural beings but its not too far fetched Cindy made me a believer.

Excerpt #3:

She was falling into an oblivious heat of mind-numbing passion. Any common sense had been blown up with a stick of dynamite when he pulled her into his arms. Now, under his expert hands, his hard, worldly mouth, she found what she’d been missing. She craved to touch his skin, feel the muscles that were like mountains and valleys merging into one another under her fingertips.

All her senses were overflowing with him, the touch of his velvet tongue, the taste, a mixture of scotch and something sweet, the sound of his breath hard and fast to match their heartbeats. And his scent . . . it was erotic, soap and earth.

His kiss moved down to her chin, and she tilted her head back further, eyes closed, afraid to open them and discover that this was all a dream. A wine-induced dream.

“Little one,” he murmured against her ear, his tongue flickering across the lobe sending shots of desire between her legs.

Not wine-induced. It was real. He was real.

His hands gripped her on either side of her neck and his lips trailed slow warmth down the column of her throat, tongue darting out to lick and kiss her skin. She moaned as heat swept across her sensitive flesh.

It was the slightest graze of his teeth. A nip on her throat that caused the flash of horror to come barreling into her like a punch to the stomach. She cried out, scrambling from his encompassing embrace, staggering backwards, hand pressed to her throat as a familiar feeling came over her, so frightening that her legs gave out and she crashed to the floor on her backside.

He came towards her, hand outstretched, and she scuttled backwards on her palms until her back hit the door. “No, don’t.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, arm lowering. The hurt that swept across his features was unmistakable. Eyes closing for an extended second, mouth drawn, the outer corners drifting downward.

The pulse in her throat danced, a foreboding tension constricting her muscles. She kept her fingers on the spot, knowing that it meant something but unable to decipher what. She’d had strange puncture marks there when she woke in the hospital, but still she had no recollection how they came to be. And neither did the doctors.

“I apologize,” he said, hand sweeping through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Danielle was speechless. Her confusion between what was happening to her now and what had happened then meshed together to make a bewildering puzzle that refused to fit together. She didn’t want him to leave—he couldn’t leave her again.

Please end my pain.

His eyes flashed a deeper green for a split second and she saw the rage within, that single lethal expression, before he turned abruptly on his heel.

He was walking away. Leaving. No, he couldn’t do that to her. The man in the painting, the man she had grown to know, his voice, his scent. He wouldn’t walk away a second time.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Danielle shouted as she scrambled to her feet. “Don’t you do this to me, damn it.” She ran after him as he kept walking and flung herself at his back, slamming her fists into him, pounding his muscles as tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. “Two years. Two years I’ve waited for you.” She had no clue why those words came out, but it sure as hell felt like they fit.

He halted, spine stiff, hands clenched into fists at his sides, taking her assault without any attempt at stopping her. She punched his back again and again with half efforts to hurt him the way she was hurting inside, yet wanting him to turn around and take her back in his arms and hold her, protect her like he had once before.

He jerked. Muscles flexing as if he sensed what she thought.

She stopped, her hands still on his back. “Why did you come? To torment me?” Her voice was ragged. “I’m already tormented. I live in it day and night. But you can take it away, can’t you? You know what happened.”

She heard him take a breath, felt his heart beating, strong and rhythmic like a clock. The tears stopped, yet inside she continued to cry, for herself, for him—for them.

Both had suffered, she knew this like she knew her own name. He’d protected her somehow, that was how she felt whenever she looked at his picture, protected, sheltered in his embrace as if he’d done something to stop the suffering. What though? And why?

Without turning around, he spoke. “Forget me, little one.”

“No. I can’t. Tell me,” Danielle said, her voice a jagged whisper. “What happened to us?”

“You’re better off forgetting.”

Danielle’s spine stiffened. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m better off forgetting. You came here, so bloody well explain why.”

“So you’d know I was real,” he said.

“Look at me.” Danielle grabbed the back of his coat, wanting him to spin around and face her. “Damn it, look at me,” she said, her voice rising.

But he didn’t, instead he walked away.

She refused to go after him; her dignity was too great to do that again. Instead, she stood staring, her body jerking as the back door slammed and the uneasiness came swirling around her once more. It was as if this veil had been lowered over her while he was present, then it lifted and again she was immersed in her own hell. Alone. Afraid. And desperate for him to come back.

She kicked the legs of her easel and it crashed to the floor. Her scream of frustration bellowed into the air.

I am Xamien's secret lover. Well, in my head I am and since I'm single this is completely allowed. Some of you may ask, who is Xamien, don't worry you will meet him soon enough, but no falling in love with him. He is all mine. Writing books is a fantastic way to have adventures that are impossible to have otherwise. I mean do you really want to fall in love with Waleron? He is so unstable and would never pick up after your dogs or clean the litter box. Not to mention the fact that he is always out killing disgusting grave robbing bug people. Curling up with a good book and losing yourself to another time and place is the greatest reward. Being able to feel a character's emotions, their fears, pain and love. Now that is incredible. I relish in the books that stay with me long after they have ended. This is what I strive for in my writing. To give the readers, and myself, an escape into another world, my world. I have been writing since I was twelve. My parents, sorry mom and dad, would send me to my room for an hour every night to do homework, and instead I wrote stories. Oops, guess that is why i did so bad in math. I have never stopped writing since then and never will. It's like an addiction, but a good one. I adore stepping into the shoes of a character and deciding their fate. The characters are why I write. I want to fall in love with them (even the bad ones), so that I care about what happens to them in a story. If I can't care about the characters then why bother with the story. I live in Toronto with a menagerie of pets that keep me on my toes.