Saturday, October 18, 2014

Samhain is coming...the spirit world comes closer...

This book was written with those thoughts in mind...

I wrote this book four years ago this month, right after the huge October 2010 Hunter's Full Moon.  It was originally meant to be a spooky Halloween tale, but you know me...I couldn't write something without hot sex and hot guys in it. LOL! So it turned into a somewhat spooky paranormal erotic romance.

I am having a release party on Facebook for this book on October 20, 2014. Please feel free to join us. You don't need an invitation. All you need to join the party is being logged in to your FB account, and clicking on this link: 

There will be excerpts, prizes, giveaways, and chatting.  The only catch is, to win a prize, you need to get over to Amazon before release day and get your 99¢ pre-order copy of Ride the Night Winds. You don't want to wait, because this book will be priced at $2.99 after release day.

Some of the prizes will be...a one-of-a-kind autographed ceramic coffee mug (you can check out the event page for photos), a Fran Lee tote bag...and a Fran Lee T-shirt.   There will be Fran Lee back list books, signed cover flats, mini book marks, as well as fridge magnets with this beautiful cover on them.

Come on over and bring your friends...


Monday, October 13, 2014

Release day is coming your receipts!

Still only 99¢ until release day...don't miss out on this special low pre-sale price!

Theresa Winters had been alone for a long time. She'd lost her father before she was born. She'd lost her mother during childbirth. And she'd lost her Gran two years back. Gran...who had raised her...had been both father and mother to her.  

Gareth had been alone for longer than he cared to admit. He'd lost his mother centuries ago. And he couldn't stand his father. In his world, life was a cold thing. He longed to be able to feel emotions. To be able to touch...and he desperately wanted to touch Theresa Winters...

He'd been watching her since she was a child. Watching over her. Protecting her. But once he had her on his turf, who would protect her...from him?

The full moon is a powerful thing...especially the full moons after the Autumnal Equinox. It is believed that the world of man and the spirit world are closest during the festival of Samhain...and it takes only a slight push to cross between them. Time and realms flux during the full moon...and reality is often what you make it...
Get your discounted copy today on pre-order, and send me a copy of your receipt from Amazon by email to  I will be selecting random receipts for surprise gifts on release day.  One lucky person will win a beautiful ceramic coffee mug with one or more of my beautiful covers on it, or a Fran Lee tote bag or T-shirt.  Hang onto your receipt from Amazon so you can claim your prizes!

Leave me a comment here...follow this blog if you are not already a follower. Like my Facebook author page if you have not already liked it. In your comment here, tell me what number follower you are, and what number "like" you are. Everyone who does will get a surprise!


Fran Lee

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Pre-order now and get it for only 99¢

Now available for pre-order on Amazon...

Ride the Night Winds
Hunter's Moon

Excerpt copyright 2014 
Fran Lee

“Please stop. I really need some space here. Just give me a few minutes to assimilate all of this.” She pushed at his very solid, very beautiful body and he slowly stepped back, allowing her to move out of his arms. It surprised her that he was so accommodating. Most guys would have pressed their advantage and forced her to smack them upside the jaw.

Gareth felt frustrated—disturbed—and amazingly horny. He had to get her to ask for him to make love to her—and it didn't help that she was being positively jackass stubborn. He drew a deep breath and willed her to come back into his arms. To kiss him again.

“Stop doing that!” she whispered, hugging herself and shaking her head.

He was amazed that she could sense his subliminal commands. And even more amazed that she was able to resist them. Conciliation was in order. “I should apologize for wanting to see and touch your amazingly lovely body. Imagine living in a world where all you can do is look. Then imagine suddenly being able to touch. It can be pretty damned overwhelming.” He drew a deep breath. “Besides—you didn't actually ask for something to wear.” He inwardly winced with the knowledge that he was giving her way TMI.

Amazingly lovely body? He was joking! Unable to assimilate his words, Terry stared up at his face.  Then his words began to sink in. Didn't ask? So all she had to do was ask? The sneaky son of a… She'd have to remember that. Then his words fully sank in. Dear God. This was so completely amazing! The fact that he was making no bones whatever about wanting her was enough to floor her. She'd lived in a small town her entire life, and men just didn't baldly admit to things like that.  At least, not without taking a girl out for dinner and dancing. But then, he kept referring to her as a “human”, so exactly what did that make him? It was becoming very obvious that he was so not a normal type human – and yet he had all the fixtures of a human.

She swallowed hard and asked shakily, “Gareth, who—or what—are you, exactly?”

He ran both hands through that incredibly thick, long hair, dislodging the tie that had held it, and he inhaled deeply before speaking. “I am not so different from you, Theresa. My mother was human. My father—my father is our oldest wise one. We have flesh and blood like you do, but we have powers that are unimaginable to humans in your realm. Once we lived in that realm, until we were crowded out by those baser creatures which supplanted us. It was simpler to come here and leave them the other.”

She knew without bothering to ask exactly what those “baser creatures” were. They were her kind of creature. Human creatures. Humans who didn't have unimaginable powers. Normal humans. She bit her lip and stepped back. “I should think that we both came from the same breeding stock. You look pretty much like a human, except for that huge ego you just displayed.”

No part of the above excerpt may be disseminated without express permission of the copyright holder.

Join me for the Night Winds Release Party October 20, 2014. Hang onto your Amazon receipts! There will be fun stuff and prizes!


Fran Lee

Monday, October 6, 2014

Ride the Night Winds is out for pre-order tomorrow!

Get yours now!

If you pre-order this book and send me your Amazon receipt, I'll put your name into a drawing to receive a copy of one of my print books...signed by a famous author. Oh...I can't get Sherrilyn Kenyon to sign my book for you? Okay...then maybe you'll settle for my autograph. I understand it's not as famous, but maybe someday when I die my books will be worth a pile of dough. Or maybe even money... insist on a tiny little peek at what is inside? Okay...enjoy...

Excerpt Copyright 2014

Fran Lee

A stiff, icy breeze lifted the loose strands of coppery hair from the shoulders of her old woolen overcoat, whipping them across her cold cheeks to remind her that she had forgotten to put her knit cap on before leaving for work at the truck stop cafe where she had just worked the late shift. Again. Not bothering to shove the strands from her eyes, she simply turned her face into the chill wind and allowed it to do the work for her. She heaved a weary sigh and tugged her thick wool scarf closer about her chin and throat as a deep moaning sound moved off the loose shingles of the old warehouse across the street. 

The night felt…strange. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something just didn't seem right. It had been a long time since she’d had a premonition of danger.  A damn long time.

The night felt heavy with it.

God, how she hated working the late shift. Of course, it was better money and late night truckers did tip better. Well, to be honest, she didn’t really hate working late. What she really hated was walking the twenty unlit blocks from the cafe to her ramshackle little house all alone.

It wasn't so bad when Ellen worked late with her, because at least she had someone to walk most of the way home with. Ellen would split off at Connor, leaving her with just a few blocks of walking alone. But she was completely alone tonight. Ellen had called in sick. It had been busy without two waitresses, but she had managed.

She didn't mind walking. It was great exercise. But it was past midnight in a town that rolled up the sidewalks at 10:30. There wasn't even a stray dog out on this particular night. It genuinely gave her the willies, and she had never thought of herself as particularly easily frightened. She almost walked back inside to ask if anyone was headed in her direction. But then, a lot of those truckers were desperately lonely and some were even sorta scary. She might end up in a worse predicament than walking home alone on a stormy night.

You didn’t need to invite disaster.

She lifted her face to the sky and frowned at the dim outline of the full moon she could barely see through the thickening layers of black storm clouds that were blowing in, and she tugged her coat tighter across her chest with a shiver. 

She never worried about getting mugged walking home. Bullock was about the deadest place on earth when it came to muggings. But walking anywhere in the dark bothered her. Ever since she had been a child, she had hated the dark. Things went bump in the dark. Made weird, scary sounds—like the wind howling through the rotten shingles of old Robbie O'Reilly's house as she made the turn at the end of the street and started up the hill.

No, she wasn't worried about getting mugged or robbed.

There hadn't been a major crime in the little town of 2,500 souls since back in 1960, and that had been when Frank Ritter and his motorcycle gang rumbled into town like the black plague, and had terrorized the whole town for nearly five days, killing three people before the Marshals had gunned the six killers down in cold blood.  

But that had been before she had been born.

She had no first hand knowledge like Gran did, but it had become one of those urban legends you heard in small towns. Like the one about “Gentleman” Bob Mercier, who had been shot down by the Marshals in his besieged hotel room after brutally killing three Pinkertons and robbing the Railroad office back in 1910. His ghost was supposed to be walking Main Street most nights of the full moon. She shook her head and sighed.

Ghosts were more likely to get you in Bullock than some mugger. Or maybe the Marshals, if you were doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. The most interesting part of these urban legends were those strange, wraithlike Marshals who always seemed to arrive on the heels of the bad guys, and who vanished the moment the job was done.

The next four blocks were pitch black without the moon out. Street lights were non-existent in this part of town. Wrong side of the tracks. The city council paid little heed to the needs of the poorer side of town. She wished to hell she'd thought to carry her flashlight. These damn sidewalks were full of deep, uneven cracks that could trip an unwary pedestrian in the dark. The old deteriorating sidewalk curved uphill past the old Bullock Cemetery and then back down to cross over Connor Road.

When Ellen walked with her, they would laugh about silly things that had happened during their shift, and discuss the sometimes hilarious propositions they'd gotten. It helped make her forget that the old Cemetery held some of the rottenest souls to ever go to perdition, like the Falcon brothers, who had died in a shootout with —yep—Marshals back in 1860 after they tried to rob the fledgling Bullock bank. They’d killed three townspeople before the Marshals had stopped their escape. The town had talked for months afterwards about how the Marshals had ridden into Bullock right as the Falcon brothers had shot old Hal Farrell and were mounting up to ride.

The old Cemetery was the final resting place of some pretty bad dudes—sort of the “Boot Hill” of Bullock—as well as the “potter's field” of the town. The newer Bullock City Cemetery was on the far side of town, and that was where the “nice” folks were buried. Old Bullock Cemetery was for felons and outlaws and unknown drifters and old Indians who died alone and penniless in the cold.

And Bullock had had its share of very bad boys back in the glory days of the old West. Even though she wasn't exactly superstitious, everyone was damned well aware that some pretty strange things had happened in Bullock over the full moon cycle every October...and definitely every fifty years. Every single one of those scary stories had been set during an October full moon cycle. She shivered and tugged her scarf up to warm her frozen ears.

Oh...not hot enough for you? Well, come back in a day or two for another snippet...I'll heat things up for you a bit.  :)


Fran Lee