I’m featuring a book by a CMP author today, Goddess on the Run by Marne Ann Kirk! Love the cover and she has a fun excerpt to share. And I’m partial to the Tuatha de Danaan so I will have to check this one out.
Goddess On The Run
A Tale of the Holy Water Warriors, Book 1
Available now on Amazon, B&N, and at your local bookstore!
Crescent Moon Press
ISBN: 978-1-937254-59-9
E-ISBN: 978-1-937254-60-5
www.marneannkirk.com
marne@marneannkirk.com
All Fomorian Hells are about to break loose on earth, making human souls the daily special, if the Tuatha de Danaan can’t stop it.
Teagan, a Celtic demi-goddess hiding from her destiny in small-town Colorado, wants nothing to do with her mother’s forgotten realm or the drama of a battle of the gods. And Merric is forbidden fruit she’s too smart to taste.
Merric, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan warriors, has other plans. Teagan holds the key to salvation, for both him and their worlds, whether she wants to or not. He’ll do whatever it takes to convince her of her duty.
But can he find the key to her heart?
Reviews:
“Goddess On the Run has everything a reader could ask for—Teagan, a heroine gutsy yet vulnerable, Merric, a hero willing to die for his soulmate and their child, and a High Deamon threatening to destroy the thing they hold most dear. Kirk has fashioned a story both action-packed and romantic with characters that will stay with you long after their adventure is over.” Jeanne Stein, Best-Selling Author of the Anna Strong Chronicles
Excerpt to Goddess on the Run:
Chapter One
Great. Just fan-friggen-tabulous. Not even halfway through her shift and Teagan had an ass-grabber.
Another one.
Of course, this moron’s lack of respect for personal boundaries was why she’d gotten this table of five. The girls had named her The Enforcer for a reason.
She’d let him play for a moment. He wasn’t hurting her, after all. But soon he’d pay, and she’d make certain it did hurt him.
Yep, a little public humiliation, and he’d never touch another lady without her permission again.
But first, money. A girl had to have her priorities.
“Can I get you boys anything else?” she asked, setting a Corona in front of each of them.
The Friday night band sang their standard classic, “Friends in Low Places,” and several patrons whooped or sang along. Lively crowd tonight–at least a couple hundred cowboys, college kids, tourists, and locals were bound to mean good tips. Everyone was lookin’ for love.
Blondie, the man sitting across the table from where she stood, smiled and tossed down a hundred dollar bill. “Tequila shots?”
Mr. Hands, on her left, inched his grope further up the back of her inner thigh. If he went any higher, he’d be fondling parts of her only seen by her doctor and her vibrator.
She snapped her teeth into a grin, ignoring Mr. Hands, as she pulled the Jose Gold from one holster on her costume’s gun-slinger’s belt and six shot glasses from the cartridge loops on the other hip. Between the rowdy saloon atmosphere and the waitressing costumes–leather vest, gunfighter’s belt over short-shorts, Stetson cowboy hat and boots–it was no surprise Tommie’s Knockers drew the largest crowd in the Canyon.
Someone cursed a stream of words his mama would’ve washed his mouth out for, on the other side of the main stage. Chaos exploded in the far section of the bar as a chair shattered and a beer bottle exploded–probably on some poor fool’s head. A girl screamed and Teagan straightened up, glancing over. The bouncers didn’t need her help, though. Six were already hustling over and stepping in, pulling two men apart and bringing things back to order. It was under control.
So why did she feel on edge tonight? Like all hells were about to break loose.
“If you’re buying one for me too, sugar,” she said, shaking it off and bringing her attention back to Blondie.
When he nodded, she twisted the cap off the bottle, pouring tequila into each glass before sliding them around. The shot glass she slid to Mr. Hands barely stayed on the table. Damn. She’d hoped to distract him from his blind-man’s examination of her butt–no such luck.
Nope. Yesteryear’s Quarterback just kept on going with one hand, like her backside was his winning season’s playbook.
She lifted her shot, saluted the men, and tossed it back. Oh, it burned good. Too bad her kind couldn’t get drunk on human alcohol. She could use a little something right now. Something to dull the sudden itch along her spine, urging her to run without motive. She wasn’t fooled. Whenever she had that itch, there was a reason.
She forced herself to smile at Blondie as she set her shooter back on the table, then tipped her head so she could surreptitiously study the bar through the shield of her bangs.
Several men milled about the dance floor, looking uncomfortable and awkward, while couples danced the two-step around them. Nothing out of place about that in a bar.
Blondie slid the Franklin across the table and tapped her hand. “Keep the change.”
“Why thanks, baby. If you need anything at all, raise your hand. See the brunette, Kelly, over by the bar? She’ll see to your every need.” Teagan slipped the bill into a pocket inside her vest.
Time to play enforcer, and just in time. She needed to clean this mess up and go on break, if for no other reason than to unwind and figure out why she felt this strung out. If she were human, she’d worry she’d been slipped something, she was so twitchy.
Was it a full moon tonight?
She turned to face Mr. Hands, leaning down slow and low, until his eyes were level with her cleavage.
He grabbed the sides of his chair, leaning closer to her.
Right where she wanted his hands–off her body.
She let her hair fall over one shoulder. “Sweetie, sometimes a little naughty is nice, but every so often, naughty goes, well, too far. Then it’s time for a little lesson in manners. Are you up for a–” She licked her upper lip, sliding her hand up his thigh until she almost brushed the bulge in his jeans. “Lesson?”
He flushed, throwing a victorious grin at his friends. “With a body as hot as you? Hell, you can teach me manners any time.”
She brought her mouth to his ear as the band finished their song. Perfect timing.
“Then here’s lesson one, hon,” she said in a stage whisper all his buddies would hear. She wrapped his package in her palm and squeezed her hand into a fist around it–hard.
“Touch me or one of the other girls again–,” she tightened her grip even more.
His eyes bulged in pain, but he sat frozen in place. Men tended to do that when you had them by the baby brains.
“One more time, and I’ll tear your nut sack from your body and feed it to an alley cat.”
Such language, but some jerks were also stupid and only understood crass.
Keeping him firmly in hand, she looked at his friends and tilted her head. “I’d feed it to the dog, but she’d barely notice the swallow.”
Cindy Young-Turner 