Love and War is Live!


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After narrowly escaping with her life, Aphrodite wakes up to find herself at the demigods’ base camp—a gorgeous tropical island. Powerless and injured, she has no choice but to glamour herself as a demigoddess in order to find out what’s really going on. Lucky for her, she’s not alone. Ares is with her, also in disguise. But she soon realizes she might be more of a liability than an asset when her panic attacks and nightmares threaten to expose them both.

Ares is as anxious as anyone to shut down the demigods’ plot. But right now, all he can think about is Aphrodite. He almost killed her, for Gods’ sake! And though the timing couldn’t be any worse, he’s falling hard and fast. He’ll do anything to protect her . . . even if it means sacrificing himself.

Still, they find allies in the most unexpected places . . .

More goddess than demigoddess, Medea is married to the rebel leader, Jason. But there’s something odd going on. Jason is acting very strange, and Medea finds herself drawn to a new demigoddess who mysteriously arrived on the island half-dead. She senses there’s more to this visitor than meets the eye. Little does she guess . . .

War is coming, there’s no doubt. But, in her weakened state, does Aphrodite have any hope of surviving it?


Love and War Out of Context Sneak Peek


ARES’S LIPS BURNED against mine as the door swung shut behind us. The heat of his hands seared my back, but I couldn’t bring myself to mind. After what felt like an eternity that didn’t last nearly long enough, he pulled away. “What were we supposed to be doing again?”

I laughed. “There’s a basement.”

He blinked. “Right. Yeah . . . that could be important.” But his body leaned toward mine, and he planted a hand on the wall beside my head.

“If we’re lucky.” I ducked under his arm.

It took us longer than I anticipated to find the stairs. Hopefully, if anyone noticed our absence from the party, they’d assume we headed home or found a quiet corner somewhere. The whole charade was probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry.

When Ares turned on the light in the basement, my heart sank in my chest. The room was tiny. My guess was this corner of the building allowed for deeper digging than the rest of the dining hall, so the resort made use of the space for storage.

“Look for shields,” Ares reminded me as we explored the small room.

Ares went left, and I went right. I ran my hand along the wall and kept my eyes locked above, looking for any places where the walls and the ceiling didn’t match up. When I met Ares in the middle, I scowled. “Nothing.”

“Still, this may be where they keep the weapons. Check the boxes.”

But our search revealed nothing but paper products, non-perishables, and other innocuous supplies stacked on open-backed, plastic shelving.

“Okay.” Ares took a regretful look around. “We should—”

Footsteps overhead sent us scrambling deeper into the storage room.

“Here,” Ares grunted, pushing one of the shelves forward just enough to make room for us.

“Light,” I whispered harshly, shoving the boxes around to make sure they’d conceal us.

Ares swore, and darted out long enough to tug on the thin, white string hanging from the low ceiling. Then he squeezed in beside me just as the door opened.

“Bring ’em down here!” someone yelled, thuds sounding on the steps. The light flickered on, and the footsteps receded back upstairs and moved above us down the hall.

“Get down,” Ares whispered, yanking me down beside him.

My knees scraped against the plastic shelving when I sat down. Ares reached forward to yank the boxes on the shelf back far enough to touch the wall. In a matter of seconds, he’d completely hemmed us in. The wall stood behind us, the shelf in front, and boxes occupied the space between, beside and above us. I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my breathing even.

Footsteps slapped against the stairs. Peering through the space between boxes, I saw two members of the kitchen staff carrying packages.

“Just stack them over there,” the one closest to the stairwell said.

Crap. They were bringing down more things from the delivery now that it was getting late enough to close up. Who knew how long it would take? More footsteps echoed through the small space as other people filed into the room, stacking more packages against the far wall, mere feet from where we sat huddled behind the shelf.

Tightness gripped my chest in an inescapable vise. Not now, I begged. But knowing this was the worst possible time to have a panic attack didn’t help me not panic.

I went rigid, squeezing my eyes shut as I fought to breathe, slowly, quietly. Ares’s arm snaked behind me, pulling me to him until I was practically in his armpit. He took an exaggerated breath that I felt through his shirt.

I tried to follow his lead, clinging to him so I could feel the pace he set, but all I could think about was that I couldn’t do this. Not right now! If I breathed too loudly, if they heard me, if they caught us, they’d report it to Jason. And then they’d ask us questions, questions we couldn’t answer. And then the non-answers to those questions would make them look back on all the gaps and half-truths. Then they’d know. They’d know we were gods, and they had Steele, and they’d kill us. Once we were dead, Persephone would never be able to broker a truce, and she’d never get Hades back, and Poseidon would sink the island, and everyone would die. All because I couldn’t catch my breath!

I sealed my lips. My cheeks puffed out with unspent air, my lungs ached, and my heart pounded as everything in my body begged me to breathe.

It’s only been seconds, I reminded myself, pressing my back against the cool cinderblock wall. I can hold my breath for a few seconds. Facts clicked into my mind, unasked. The average healthy human could hold their breath for two minutes. In a pool, relaxed. In panic situations, however, the average was thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds wasn’t long enough! If I tried to take a breath, I wouldn’t be able to control it. I’d gasp and wheeze and give us away.

Ares must have felt me go still, because he shifted. His finger tapped against my palm one-two-three times, then he squeezed my hand.

Letting out my breath, I drew in another, then held it. Ares resumed tapping my palm. When he squeezed my hand this time, I was ready. I exhaled, then inhaled, and held my breath. I lost track of how many times we repeated the drill before Ares squeezed my hand, moved it to his chest, and took a measured breath. This time, I was able to follow suit.

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Myths Featured in Love and War


Love and War is coming out on October 21st! You can pre order it here.

And here’s links for the mythological essentials for Love and War.



Jason and the Argonauts






Pandora’s Box

There are other mythological references in there, but these are the big ones featured in Love and War.


Love and War Out of Context Sneak Peek


“They wanted to call it hope.” I set down the pen, drew in a long breath, and dug my fingers into the sand beyond my beach towel. I forced myself to think back. Back to when things were actually bad, because I couldn’t afford to lose perspective now.

My pen returned to the page. Mom actually sounded offended at the ridiculous name. She just sat there at my bedside, chatting like everything was normal while I fought back tears and wondered when the next time I woke up would be.

“Hope is a thing you wish for,” she’d complained. “Something that might work. This is a sure thing.”

I’ll never forget that self-satisfied grin on her face when she told me they were going to call it the golden cure or the golden. . . . I don’t remember, something equally ridiculous. I remember wondering if she’d put more thought into naming this than me.

“We’re gonna be so rich, kiddo.” She grabbed my shoulder and gave it an excited squeeze.

And gods help me, I leaned into her touch. A nurse came in then. The redhead. They had names, but I refused to learn them. I hated this nurse the most because she was so damn peppy, but right then, I couldn’t be angry because I was too scared. The cluster surgeries were horrible. There aren’t words to describe the way I felt when I woke up.

I started crying and begging and pleading and grabbing for anyone who got close to me, sure if I just squeezed their hand hard enough, they’d take pity on me and stop. Of course, I knew better. But these moments always had a way of making me revert back to that six-year-old who was scared to go under. Mom gave me a warning look, and the nurse clucked in disapproval before saying something meaningless about how I’d sleep through the whole thing. She actually used the phrase minimum discomfort.

Minimum discomfort? When I next woke, I’d be missing parts. Oh sure, it was all internal stuff you could supposedly live without thanks to dialysis, but I was sick to death of surgeries. All I wanted was to go home. I begged them to stop, knowing that weeks, maybe even months of monitoring loomed before me while the world outside just kept on spinning. It wasn’t fair.

“Count down from ten,” the nurse instructed. Gods, I remember the exact cadence of her voice. I can hear it. This memory is so sharp, so clear, that it’s almost like a movie playing out in my head. But I don’t want to write this like a story. I’m trying to capture how I felt. What I thought. Only what happened next didn’t feel real. Maybe it was the medication, I don’t know. The whole thing felt like it happened on a screen somewhere across the room. In that moment, I was there, but I also wasn’t.

Salt stung my cheeks as I began the countdown. “Ten.”

The door burst open.

“Nine.” The word was out of my mouth before I could process what I was seeing— three strange men with a gun to my doctor’s head.

The one in the middle, Jason of course, not that I knew that at the time, was handsome. It was weird of me to notice that given the circumstances, but I blamed the drugs. They all looked a lot like my parents. Their hair, eyes, skin, everything about them practically glittered gold. I didn’t know what that meant then. But I remember glancing at my IV, wondering if maybe the nurse had mixed up my pain medication. I could feel them kicking in, but waking illusions were new, even for me.

“Eight,” I whispered, my mind hell-bent on following instructions, no matter how illogical.

Jason pushed the doctor forward. “Go on, get the rest of it.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” my mother demanded, moving protectively in front of the bed.

I’d love to think she was protecting me, but I knew all she cared about was her product.

“We’re here for the cure.” Jason thrust a white cooler with a red insignia on it toward the nurse. When his eyes landed on me, he hesitated.

I stopped counting, sensing my chance. “Cure.” The word fell clumsily from my lips. “Me.”

My mother shushed me, but Jason’s eyes softened in sympathy. “How much does she need?”

The doctor exchanged a wide-eyed look with my mother.

“It’s—” I tried again, my fingers biting into the fabric of my blanket. “. . . me. The cure is me.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“She’s delirious,” my mother protested. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” She kept babbling, gesturing at the IV drip and demanding the doctor back her up, but Jason’s eyes never left mine.

I focused intently on forming the right words with my mouth. “Don’t . . . let them . . . cut me open again.”

His eyes widened, then darted to my mother who immediately objected, using her politician voice.

I fought to stay conscious through the screams and gunshots, but the cocktail they used to knock me out was too good at its job. My eyelids flagged. Mom’s body hit the floor with a loud thud, but I couldn’t drag myself out of my stupor long enough to process what that meant before consciousness completely slipped away.

I’m better off, I’m better off, I’m better off. If I wrote it enough times, maybe it would feel real. I’m better off. I’m better off, I’m better off, I’m better off. I’m better off.

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