Blog Tour + Giveaway: Cash in Hand by T.A. Moore

Author T.A. Moore returns to visit on the Cash in Hand blog tour! Read more about the second chance paranormal romance, check out the exclusive short story and don't miss out at the $10 Amazon gift card giveaway! Good luck!

Title: Cash in Hand
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release: December 15th
Dreamspinner Link:

The last monster died a hundred years ago. At least, that’s what the monsters want you to think.

Half-monster Cash just wants to keep his head down and raise his daughter, Ellie, to be an upstanding member of monstrous society. Even if she’d rather spend the summer with her human friends than learn the art of man traps at Camp Dark Hollow.

So the last person Cash wants to see is her uncle Arkady Abascal, who’s also Cash’s ex-boyfriend.

Arkady has more than Ellie’s summer plans on his mind. He’s there to enlist Cash to find out who’s been selling monster secrets. Cash hasn’t gotten any better at telling Arkady no, but it’s not just his weakness for Arkady that makes him agree. The Prodigium thinks an Abascal exposed them to humans, and now the whole family is at risk—including Ellie.

Recruited to help Arkady identify the culprit—or frame a scapegoat—Cash finds the machinations of monstrous power easier to navigate than his feelings for Arkady. At least, at first. But when things get bloody, he wishes romantic disasters were all he had to worry about….



Author Visit

First of all, thank you so much for having me! I’m thrilled to be here with my new release, Cash in Hand by TA Moore. Any of you who read Bad, Dad, and Dangerous very nearly got to read this in there. Cash in Hand was the first story I wrote for the anthology, the only problem with it was that it was...a bit long. It was a novel. So I was told to write another novella immediately, and Cash in Hand became a thing in itself! Which I hope you guys check out and enjoy!

For the blog tour I’ve written a short story set in the Prodigium world. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Three 

The vellum was butter soft and the calligraphy impeccable. The gilded edges were stiff and body warm as Dim turned it in his hands. He’d seen one before. Heard about them more than once from clients eager to boast about their connections as he measured their chests. He just wasn’t sure why Kohary had given it to him.

“It’s an invitation,” Kohary said as he took his jacket off.

Dim resisted the urge to tell him not to make himself comfortable. It would be suicidal, but the idea of Kohary at ease made his head hurt like someone had closed their fist around it.

“I know that,” he said. “I don’t know why you gave it to me?”

“I showed it to you.” Kohary took the invite back, to Dim’s relief. “So you’d know I was actually invited, not here to involve you in some plot.”

Dim wiped his hands on his thighs. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

Kohary folded the invite and stuffed it in his back pocket. The careless treatment made Dim wince and bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, thin and tart and not at all human on his tongue.

“What if I wanted to kill one of the Abascals?”

“Not sure having to get a tux off the rack would stop you,” Dim said.

Amusement creased the corners of Kohary’s eyes without touching his mouth. It seemed more genuine for some reason, more trustworthy.

“Maybe I’d ask you to sew a curse into a veil,” he said. “Stitch compulsion into a pair of shoes.”

“I don’t do shoes.”

Kohary laughed. It was a surprisingly normal sound. The glass counters didn’t shatter and the rolls of brocade didn’t sprout rot and wither.

“A good thing I didn’t come for a curse then,” he said. “Thwarted because you ‘don’t do shoes’, how would I explain that to the Prodigium when they called me to task?”

He waited, like he actually expected Dim to have an answer.

“I could give you the name of a cobbler?”

Kohary raised his eyebrows. “You’d sell out a fellow craftsman, another monster?”

If it meant that Luka Kohary would take his tight jeans and broad shoulders out of Dim’s shop? Dim would give him a name, directions, and call an Uber. Maybe not the name of someone he liked, but that only thinned the herd some. Monsters, in general, were designed to be a solitary lot. They weren’t affable.

He swallowed and the spit in his throat clicked wet and noisy.

“They’d do the same for me.”

Kohary’ s eyes were very green, a glassy beer-bottle hue like a fly, as he studied Dim. Then he closed them for a second, and when he opened them again they’d faded to the dull moss colour of nature.

“Then the two of you are lucky,” he said. “I need some clothes. For the wedding.”

Dim stared at him for a second and tried to hang onto the confused tangle of doubt and fear that had ruled him so far. There was absolutely no reason for the Left Hand to travel to Roanoke except the wedding, or to turn up without appropriate clothes.

It didn’t work. The breathless, almost nausea of excitement shouldered its way on and settled down. The Left Hand of the Prodigium wanted to wear Dim’s clothes to the wedding that Belladona was throwing for her daughter?

That would make his name.

Kohary’ s smile reached his mouth again, a slant of cruelty to it as if he knew what Dim was thinking. And that he was about to punch a hole in whatever daydream he’d entertained.

“I want an insult in fabric,” he said. “Something that says exactly what I think, so that I don’t have to.”

Dim bit his tongue again, but his monster had roused under his skin. It wasn’t as scary as some. Not yet. Wait until he was Grandmother’s age. For now it was just an itch in his fingers and something cold and compelled in his brain that unfolded like a spider.

“What do you think?” he asked. He had to. If he wanted to finish the commission that was what he needed to know, and he didn’t have a choice in doing it and doing it well. Habit made him pat at his pockets for his notepad to scribble down notes. “What do you want to say?”

Kohary blinked. His eyes had darkened again, black and glossy as a beetles back. They reminded Dim of Grandmother, but the flicker of comfortable familiarity was deceptive.

“That I hate them all,” Kohary said, his voice like sand and glass in his throat. “And I think they’re all beneath me.” Something in his jacket chirped. It was oddly bizarre to see him pull out something as mundane as a mobile and check the screen. He looked annoyed for a second at what he saw and then dismissed it as he looked back up.

“Draw some ideas up,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

The protests stuck in Dim’s throat. There were just too many of them to get out all at once.

He already had a dozen commissions lined up, too many to add one more. Even if he had the time, which he didn’t, and he accepted the work, which he obviously would since no one said no to Luka Kohary, he needed measurements, direction, a clearer timeline for appointments than ‘a few days’.

Before he could sort them by order of priority, Kohary had left himself out. Dim swallowed the nest of words and made himself go over to check the door. It was already locked and he could feel Kohary’s magic on it, like worn soft leather and wire against his fingertips.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

That was a record even for him, from ambition to the gutter in under a minute. Dim raked his fingers through his hair and heaved a sigh. He should have known better. When the gods cursed someone they went all in. Too many generations to think about and his family were still getting the pride slapped out of them.


a Rafflecopter giveaway


Author Bio:


TA Moore is a Northern Irish writer of romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and contemporary romance novels. A childhood in a rural, seaside town fostered in her a suspicious nature, a love of mystery, and a streak of black humour a mile wide. As her grandmother always said, ‘she’d laugh at a bad thing that one’, mind you, that was the pot calling the kettle black. TA Moore studied History, Irish mythology, English at University, mostly because she has always loved a good story. She has worked as a journalist, a finance manager, and in the arts sectors before she finally gave in to a lifelong desire to write.

Coffee, Doc Marten boots, and good friends are the essential things in life. Spiders, mayo, and heels are to be avoided.

Twitter: @tamoorewrites

| Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads |

No comments:

Post a Comment