What Readers are Saying

"Warning! Do not pick up this book unless preparations have been made for the real world to stop existing for a bit, because this story grabs one by the horns from the absolute beginning and takes them on an incredible journey." ~InD'tale Magazine

"Dang this was a real eye opener for me regarding voodoo and its religion."

"Now here is a book that will take you on a wild ride!"

"Carrie Pulkinen has done her research on the voodoo culture and it is frightening and addictive to read. The depth of the plot, the difficulties they go through and the love they have will leave you breathless."

"Wow! A Deal with Death was an amazing deliciously hot book!"

Excerpt

“I wasn’t planning to use it for a spell.”

“I didn’t think you were, but…” He shrugged.

“I understand.” She lowered her gaze, trying to avoid his mesmerizing eyes. She could get lost in them if she looked too long. “I do remember you.” She’d recognized him the moment he’d introduced himself, and an undeniable spark had flared in her soul. A fire she’d been trying to extinguish since he stepped foot inside her home. She refused to fall for a man in this life…but James was one hell of a man. Tall, muscular, hotter than hellfire. Sweet Spirits, it was happening.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered, he’s the one, but she silenced it.

“What do you remember?” He smiled, and her heart melted. Warning bells went off in her mind. She needed to end this conversation now. Tell him she was late for work and walk out the door before the heat building in her core turned into an inferno.

But her feet felt glued to the floor. “After my mom died, when I came back to school, you were the only kid in class who didn’t call me…zombie girl.” She held his gaze, refusing to allow the memory to consume her. The ravings of a bloodied little girl in the middle of the street had turned into rumors that spread like a prairie fire with a tailwind. Her dad eventually stomped out the blaze, but not before the kids at school overheard their parents’ gossip.

“You looked plenty alive to me. You still do.” He stepped toward her, and she instinctively took a step back. “Although, when you disappeared in seventh grade, I did wonder… Where have you been all these years?”

“We moved to Alabama. My dad bought a company there, and he needed to be closer to it.” She did not need to get into the real reason they’d moved. That was a memory she’d rather forget.

He angled his body toward her, and though his feet didn’t move, the distance between them seemed to shrink. “No one knew what happened to you. One day you were at school, and then you were gone.”

She laughed dryly. “And I’m sure people spread all kinds of rumors, right? The devil took me back to hell?”

“I’ve never been one for rumors.” He shrugged. “Is it true, though? What happened to you when you were a baby?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and glanced at her altar. She really should get to work, and that would be the perfect reason to excuse herself from this conversation. But something about being near this man made her want to be closer. The warning bells sounding in her head turned to full-blown sirens, but she felt compelled to tell him the truth. At least a little of it. “I did die when I was born, yes. But my mom didn’t make a deal with the devil to bring me back; she prayed to Baron Samedi.” She nodded at her altar. “He’s the loa of death, and he’s in charge of the crossroads…whom he takes to the spirit realm and who gets another chance at life.”

James clutched his hands behind his back and stepped toward the altar. “I’ve heard of this guy.”

She moved next to him, close enough to invade his personal space, but not nearly as close as the fire inside her urged her to be. When he didn’t step away, the flames grew hotter. “He’s not evil or a demon or anything else people claim. He granted my mom’s wish, and he spared my life.”

He leaned in closer to the altar, examining the offerings she’d laid on it. “He’s the rum god, right? He makes good rum.” He grinned and winked.

She laughed. “He’s not a god, and he doesn’t make rum.” Taking a small bottle from the mantle, she ran a finger across the label. “I make the rum to honor him. My parents opened the distillery as an offering to Baron Samedi in exchange for my life. Now that I’m back in New Orleans, I’m running it.”

He blinked. “You’re the Baroness?”