Today on Thursday Threads is Brenda Stinnett again talking about The King’s Vampire. Thanks again for those who picked it up on sale last week!


Welcome today to Thursday Threads! Today’s author is Brenda Stinnett, oh yeah, it’s me again!

TheKingsVampire_850 The King’s Vampire


Historical Paranormal set in London, England, after the Restoration of Charles II.

Heat Scale : Sizzling (This book does contain some scenes with descriptive sexual content.)

Darius Einhard, demon slayer, will stop at nothing to help Elizabeth Curran, immortal vampire, break the bonds of vampirism, even while helping her protect Charles Stuart II, who’s in danger of being entrapped into becoming an immortal vampire and leading his people into the abyss of hell by the psychic vampire demons. 


A heavy mist swirled from the cold river, and the melancholy sound of the horns of ships and the mournful cry of gulls drifted into the room. A huge, black raven landed on the windowsill, a messenger who had come, but too late to be of use to Charles.

The priest pulled up a small Venetian table inlaid in gold, and covered it with a snowy white linen cloth before placing a silver candlestick on it. The crisp, cold sea breeze blew in from the Thames, causing the candle to flicker. He placed a jeweled rosary between Charles’s long fingers. Then put a bottle of holy water, a silver salver of oil, and a silver-plated bowl on the table next to a well-worn wooden crucifix.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Charles said. “I loved many women and committed much adultery, but the one woman I truly loved was my darling Elizabeth. Never would I have taken another woman if she were mine. The story I beg you to share with others is not my story, but rather hers, for she was the king’s own vampire.”

The priest paled and stroked Charles’s cheek. “There, Your Majesty, you are feverish. Don’t speak of this thing right now.”

Charles drew in a painful breath. He had to make the priest understand before he grew any weaker. “My Nelly told me the parts of the story I didn’t already know, and as for the rest, well, I was there. It’s a story that may frighten you, but it’s a warning to all–because it could happen again.”

That’s my snippet from The King’s Vampire, and I hope you liked it. Thanks for stopping by for SMP’s Thursday Threads.


Buy link

Amazon:      http://amzn.to/12HHQ7e

Facebook:   https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBrendaStinnett

Web Page:  http://brendastinnett.com

Twitter:       https://twitter.com/brendastinnett

Thanks for stopping by for Thursday Threads! And thanks to those who bought The King’s Vampire on its sale days!


I never felt fatherless as long as I had my grandpa . . .


s9Today I’m sharing  from Steve Stinnett’s book, The Life of a Baby Boomer. It is filled with positive faith beliefs, as well as heartbreaking childhood experiences and I thought I’d like to share some of those memories today using excerpts, but remember these are Steve’s words and not mine.

By the time I was three, I’d already begun to wonder why the man my mother told me was my father never spoke to me. He’d come to my grandparents’ house every weekend, but he’d only pick up my brother and never acknowledged my presence. I learned to hide in the bedroom when he came, pretending I didn’t care that he didn’t want or need me.

I felt safe in that corner house with my grandparents. The faith I’d developed with my grandparents was preparing me for a life of greater faith and purpose. I felt secure when I heard the lonely whistle of the trains roaring by or the shouts of the iceman delivering giant blocks of ice to my grandparents’ house. Right next door, two huge rustling pine trees grew, and I loved the scent and sound of them. It was 1951, and World War II had just been fought and won, but what had any of that to do with me and my world?

My mother officially divorced her husband when I was two years old, although we never lived together in the same house. I was too young to feel a sense of shame, but my brother, at age six, felt humiliated by the fact. My father had never been a part of my life, a fact I always wondered about, and my brother seemed to miss him.

My grandpa seemed magical, like my own personal wise man, a person who had the answers to all my questions.

When my grandpa called me on a hot summer’s day, I knew to come in a hurry. He handed me a kite he’d made with an old newspaper. He’d used a hankie as a parachute to tie onto the string with one of my toy soldiers attached. I watched his freckled hands tie the soldier with a solid knot. I always loved those gnarled old hands that could make anything from wood or paper.

Grandpa watched as I ran and ran; shouting, “Run, Stevie, Run,” and I’d make the kite soar higher into the air.

The higher the homemade kite flew, the closer the soldier with his parachute climbed. I’d hold my breath, stopping to watch the toy touch the kite, and then stared hard as the hankie parachute released, causing my soldier to drift to the ground.

I’d race to the shrubs and pick up my soldier, but as I brushed off the dirt from the soldier’s face, somehow I knew my grandfather was telling me it was okay to soar and take a chance, and it didn’t matter if I didn’t know where I might land. I didn’t realize then that my grandpa was showing me God’s power and greatness that was inside me.

Thank you for sharing some excerpts from your book, Steve. I know the story quite well, but it still touches my heart to hear some of the difficulties you had growing up, and yet how you still managed to persevere. I find it uplifting and I hope others do too. Where could people find your book?

You’re welcome. Here are my links: http://www.amazon.com/THE-LIFE-BABY-BOOMER-ebook/dp/B00CMTCGT0/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1381682701&sr=8-3&keywords=the+life+of+a+baby+boomer


Thanks for stopping by.




So excited to have Becky Lower, author, on SMP Thursday Threads giving a snippet about Blame It on the Brontes!


BlameItBrontes__850            THURSDAY_THREADS2



Genre Contemporary Romance


Heat Level: Sensual


Three separate love stories intertwine around a central theme, as fractious sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronson, each in her forties, are in Puffin Bay, ME for their mother’s funeral. Each is ready to sink their claws into the fortune their mother left behind. But their mother has other plans. Her substantial fortune won’t be divided until the trio return to their childhood home and live together for a year. It’s a request that pits sister against sister but could unite them in a common goal to find the friendship they shared as children, to create a family jewelry business and to win over the men of Puffin Bay. They have a year to figure it all out.



Anne Bronson pressed her foot on the gas pedal, trying to ignore the little red light on the dashboard—the one highlighting the E on her gas gauge. She willed the rental moving truck to make it up the next hill, hunching over the steering wheel to help with the climb. No good gas-guzzling piece of crap. Anne directed the truck to the side of the road. There should have been plenty of fuel to get to the house.

If she hadn’t already maxed out her credit card, she would have gladly paid professionals to move her from New York to Maine. But here she was, driving her own belongings north, and out of gas. Her stomach knotted even tighter. She had an inheritance at stake. Eighteen minutes till midnight. Damn.

Hauling her purse behind her, she climbed out of the truck. She kicked a tire and let out a half-hearted scream at the damage her instinctive motion caused her black leather Manolo Blahniks. Tapping her fingernails against her teeth, she peered up and down the dark road. No headlights. No life. No sound.

She fished into her purse for her cell phone and stared at it. No signal, of course. With a deep sigh, she wrestled with her old suitcase with its wonky wheel and strapped her oversized purse across her body as she began to climb the rest of the way up the incline. Two miles to the house. She had eighteen minutes to get there. In six-inch heels.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/beckylowerauthor

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Website: http://www.beckylowerauthor.com

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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Blame-Brontes-ebook/dp/B00CLVACYA


Soul Mate: http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/blame-it-on-the-brontes/

Who’s the glue that keeps cousins connected?


z3 z

My dad and my aunt  were a major factor in keeping our families together when we were growing up and even after we were grown and had kids of our own.

I can remember my mom helping me get ready on a hot summer day, making sure my face was scrubbed and my sundress freshly ironed for a Sunday family outing with the cousins. Of course, the aunts and uncles were there as well, but I always felt like one of Charlie Brown’s group and we kids were on our own. On this particular summer Sunday, we packed up our picnic and went to Riverside, CA, to see a Faron Young concert. I had no idea Faron Young was a country singer and I barely knew what a concert was, but I was excited as only a kid can be to know I was going to see my cousins.

Above is a picture of us at our picnic after the concert. I have no recollection of the concert, but this picnic I remember vividly.

z20              z33z32z19   z21I’ve grouped the cousins according to family, and unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of all the cousins–and technically I cheated and slipped in one picture of a second cousin who always makes a huge effort to research the family history. I find when I wade through family albums, I come face-to-face with old memories and emotions that I thought I’d forgotten, but come flooding back when I look at those faded old sepia photos. I find the story of my childhood tells me who I am and who I want to be. I stare hungrily, trying to remember where I’ve been and where I’m going. Through Facebook I do manage to stay connected with some cousins, but many have slipped away and all that is left are the memories.

It’s a lot of work keeping families in touch, especially when the elders pass on, because quite frankly, the younger generations often get too busy to keep it together. But in fairness to our family, my cousin Peg from the West Coast, and my cousin Jackie from the South have made an effort every year to reconnect the families as much as possible. They are having a birthday party for one of my aunt’s who will be celebrating her ninetieth birthday in March. I’ll be on a Marion pilgrimage with my daughter at that time, but hopefully, I can vicariously share their time together through Facebook pictures. But I have to say kudos to these cousins who are still making the effort to keep the family connected.

Families are precious and we should take the time to nurture and cherish those close to us, and not forget those who are far away. Whether we see one another or not, we still share some of the same genes and the same memories who make us who we are and we should love and bless each other no matter where we are. And we should thank our parents who took the time to give us those opportunities to know and love one another.


Thank you for being a part of my family!

Thanks for stopping by.


Thursday Threads


 HighlandHomecoming hi res (399x640)

So excited to have B.J. Scott here today on Thursday Threads sharing her latest release from Soul Mate Publishing!

Highland Homecoming, Book 3 in the Fraser Brothers Trilogy

Written by B.J. Scott

Historical Romance set in northern Scotland, 1308.

Heat Scale :  Sizzling (While not considered Erotica, it does contain scenes with some descriptive sexual content.)


When Highland patriot, Alasdair Fraser, offers aid to an unconscious lass he finds on the beach, will he drop the shield that guards his heart or will the secrets she fails to reveal and his own stubbornness drive an impenetrable wedge between them?




Northern Coast of Scotland. Summer 1308

Hooves pounded against rocks, surf, and sand as Alasdair Fraser pushed his mount beyond reasonable limits. Few things rivaled the thrill and exhilarating rush of mastering the powerful destrier between his thighs, controlling the magnificent beast with reins and will. The wind whipped through unbound hair and the tangy scent of the salty sea air filled Alasdair’s nostrils.

He’d ridden hard all afternoon, hoping to reach the stronghold of his friend, Jayden Sinclair. But the sun had slipped below the horizon, the twilight sky ablaze with orange, red, and purple hues. Darkness would soon be upon him and he’d be forced to make camp for the night. He licked his parched lips and his stomach rumbled. Many hours had passed since he’d last eaten, but a hot meal and a tankard of ale would have to wait. Water, oatcakes, and a bit of dried venison would suffice until he reached his destination.

He dug in his heels, and the steed surged forward. The more distance they covered before nightfall, the shorter the journey would be on the morrow. But as they rounded a bend in the shoreline, Odin faltered, reared up on his hind legs, then began to dance nervously from side-to-side. The battle-hardened warhorse didn’t spook easily so Alasdair took heed of the animal’s uneasiness.

With one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other fisting the reins, he carefully surveyed the immediate area. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, yet the niggling of trepidation gnawing at his gut led him to believe there was something amiss. He nudged the horse’s flank and the pair advanced with caution.

They’d only traveled a short distance up the beach when the sight of something a few yards ahead at the water’s edge brought them to an abrupt halt. With his heart hammering in his chest, Alasdair cupped his hand over his brow and narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. The image came into focus and he could make out the unmistakable outline of a person sprawled out on the shore.

“What is it, Odin? Or, should I say, who is it?”

While this could be someone in need, it might also be a trap, an enemy or bandit lying in wait. Without hesitation, Alasdair slid from the saddle, pulled a claymore from the baldric slung on his back, and raced down the beach on foot. Stopping a few feet away, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Mo chreach!”

He sheathed his weapon and took a step closer. A young woman, wearing nothing more than a thin nightrail, lay motionless in the sand, the waves of the incoming tide lapping at her bare feet.


Buy links

Highland Homecoming ( book 3 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)



Highland Quest (book 2 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)



Highland Legacy: (book 1 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)



web www.authorbjscott.com

blog:  http://authorbjscott.wordpress.com/  

facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-BJ-Scott/308663055834706


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