Wizard War is the story of Maxwell, who discovers he has magical powers. He is trained by the council of wizards who provide Maxwell with his introduction to magic and the wizarding world while teaching him about the perils of dark magic.
EXCERPT
Maxwell’s room was quaint. All the essentials he needed were there, but the room lacked any personality. Maxwell was tired from the day’s adventures. He saw that his shopping from earlier—a selection of robes—had arrived. Tomorrow he would dress like a real wizard. He flipped through his fundamentals book. It was lonely being a wizard. While everything was new and exciting to him, everyone else around him had experienced magic to the point that it was commonplace. He had learned more about war in one day then he would ever have imagined.
In the corner of the room sat a curious contraption with a letter on it from Calvin Copperpot “to help you sleep.” The device was a phonograph. Not any normal phonograph, of course—this one only played the music needed to make someone sleepy. Indeed, it worked wonderfully as Maxwell climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep thanks to the lullaby.
In the morning he got himself dressed in his wizarding robes. He at least looked the part. He found a section in his fundamentals textbook that taught him how to conjure breakfast. It was a basic meal: eggs, some ham and a bit of cheese. But it was food and made by magic.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Paul Smith is an author who was born and raised in British Columbia and now lives in Newfoundland and Labrador. He is an avid dog lover and former nurse who now lives with PTSD.
Power Zones Bronwyn Judde Publication date: April 4th 2023 Genres: Adult, Romance
I was discovered by a modeling agency in New York City and my life abruptly changed from one of poverty and self-doubt to where I was the one in control. Yes, men used me for sex but I used them too; seizing power to get what I wanted: sex and pain, preferably together.
But no one owns me, and definitely no one possesses my heart.
Money and fame are mine for the taking and I take them greedily as I put my miserable childhood behind me and find power, particularly over men.
But I have an elusive feeling that something is missing from my life. Is it possible to find a person who could love me enough to overcome the need to protect my heart? I doubt it.
Errol called me every day, and I met him for dinner or drinks almost every night. I felt safe to try more daring things with him than I had with Pete. I never really trusted Pete, but I’d liked his preference for rough sex. Errol was keen to show me all manner of debauchery, but he always gave me choices.
His apartment had a special room that he referred to as his ‘Pleasure Room.’ It had almost as many toys as Salacity, and a platform bed that had restraints and straps and a waterproof cover. He tried out a number of sex toys on me while I was strapped down, totally immobilized, and brought me to orgasm so many times it was painful.
I shrieked and screamed, but I never said “yellow,” let alone “red!”
One evening, after dinner at a crazy expensive restaurant, he sat me on his knee. “Tonight, we’re going to try a crop, but only if you want to. It will hurt, Danica. I’ll start light, but unless I hear you say “yellow,” it’s going to get harder. I know you have a lingerie show in a week, so I won’t do anything that won’t fade by then.”
“I want this. I’m sure I will like it.”
“I’d be surprised if you like it at first. The pain will change into pleasure at some point, but you may not be able to get there yet. Promise you’ll be honest with me?”
“I promise, Errol. I trust you. I kinda need pain sometimes. Will you tie me up?” He had already tied me a couple of times, using soft, red ropes.
“No Baby. Not until I know your tolerances.”
He had me lie on a leather bench that was designed for spanking. It curved high up under my hips, displaying my ass, and had two leather horns at the front for me to hold onto. We had used it a couple of times for floggings. I loved to be flogged. Even when the falls caught my nipples or my clit. Actually, particularly then.
I settled myself on the bench with my breasts hanging over the end and my hands clutching the leather horns.
Errol spread my legs, so my pussy was exposed, and my ass was tilted up. He went to a large closet where he kept his toys and came out with a riding crop, about two feet long. It had a leather flap at the end. He caressed my back with it, dipping it down between my legs and covering it with my arousal, then he teased my asshole with the handle, rubbing it around my hole until I was thrusting at him.
The crop came down on my ass and I flinched. It stung.
“Color, Danica?”
“Green Sir. Don’t stop, please!”
Another strike, then a pause. I wiggled, wanting more.
Errol seemed to be comfortable with my reactions, so he began laying down strikes on my ass and my upper thighs. One ripped across my sit-spot, and I screamed.
It felt as though I had been sliced open, flesh laid bare to the bone. The pain grew hotter and hotter. I was moaning and sobbing and then suddenly, I was floating. I felt the crop striking me, but it became part of the floating. My body convulsed as Errol threw down the crop and buried his cock in my ass.
I was hooked. I wanted that floating feeling to last forever. My body craved it; my mind became obsessed with it.
Errol seemed to know what he had released in me, and it worried him. The next time I was in his apartment, he refused to cause me any pain. Instead, he laid me on the bed and ate my pussy for a solid hour. His tongue was an impresario, and my cunt was a musical instrument of such rarity it had to be worshiped as it was played. He licked lightly between my folds, teasing the inner lips apart, then moving away from the core of me along my taint.
I writhed in ecstasy.
His long, talented tongue pierced my vagina and licked the inside of it, rubbing and flicking the walls in a way that made me gasp. He made it rasp against my anus, bringing all the anal nerves to life, then pierced that forbidden place. But best of all was how his soft lips surrounded my clit and sucked it with a fervor that had me losing my mind.
I clenched so hard with the resulting orgasm, that I thought my bones would shatter. It was more than enough. He was more than enough. For now…
Author Bio:
Hello. I started writing erotic romances at the beginning of the pandemic, and found writing made me happy. Honestly, I wish I had started years ago. Erotic Romances are so much fun to write!
In my life I’ve run a tiny weaving company on a Greek Island, starred in a movie that never got released (just as well!) worked in a head shop, prepared taxes, and been a stay-at-home mom. My two adult children are my finest accomplishments.
It’s the perfect score—stealing valuable data from a VIP in cryo-freeze midway through a decades-long interstellar crossing. If it works, Kara will have enough money to buy what she’s always wanted—a Captaincy.
But with the rest of the crew and the cargo of one hundred thousand colonists still frozen, Kara and her accomplice, Zed, realize they’re not the only ones awake. The murdered woman they find is only the first victim of whoever or whatever has woken from Cold Sleep.
EXCERPT
Stretching out the stiffness, my joints pop and crackle. One of the problems with lying in cold-sleep: you wake up feeling like arthritis has set in. With the synthetic dopamine and endorphins fading, I’d probably just want to curl up somewhere but good old synthphenethylamine’s still getting me going. A few seconds more for the upload of the quasi-intelligent virus to the ship’s system to finish.
Speaking of risks, getting caught with QI tech would see me court-martialed and spaced before any appeal notice could reach Earth. But this gig is worth it; it’s not for the thrill, it’s for what the payoff will get me.
Upload complete. And the ship’s systems stop registering our unscheduled revival.
A quick check back through the records shows all evidence of disruption to the normal cold-sleep routine has been erased. My little QI viral hitchhiker is back safe in the link-key, its work done for now.
Of course, a full virtual forensic check, stripping away every level of the programming and examining the source code, will make my tampering as obvious as a cometary impact. But the QI virus has laid the same evidence trail to each of the eighteen crew, four officers, and one hundred thousand passengers on board.
If you can’t hide your crime, make sure the evidence points to someone else. Better yet, everyone else.
For now, we’re ghosts aboard a sleeping ship.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
A Brit now living in the Scandinavian wilds of Denmark with his wife and half-Viking kids, Luke worked as a Criminal Barrister in and around London for over a decade dealing with everything from minor theft cases to a real life axe murder and everything in between. Thanks to parents in the military he grew up being dragged around the world–while living in the Far East he picked up a love for the martial arts which continues to this day, as he passes on what he’s learned to a select dojo of students. Cold Sleep is his third novel. His first was Amazon cyberpunk bestseller Mercury’s Son, his second a UK set supernatural suspense novel 3:33 AM.
Aligning Science and Spirit to Overcome Depression
by Debra Holz
March 27 – April 21, 2023 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
One woman’s courageous journey from the darkness of depression to the light of awakening, healing, joy, and peace.
For 50 years, depression was an insidious tormentor that dictated what Debra Holz believed not only about herself but also the meaning and purpose of life, faith, love and death. Raised by a troubled mother and abusive father, she endured crippling emotional trauma that led her down a dark path of addiction and self-loathing. Decades of talk therapy and psychotropic drugs did little to abate her symptoms.
Determined to end her life, everything changed in 2013 when an internal voice whispered: What if there’s another way to heal depression beyond traditional medical and psychiatric treatments? What unfolded was a way forward that revolutionized her thoughts, reframed her childhood events, and transformed her life. Holz candidly shares the step-by-step approach that she discovered and developed to rewire her brain and, thereby, her neurochemistry-ultimately leading to a deep joy and peace she had never known.
Out of the Darkness is for anyone who suffers with debilitating depression and is open to exploring the cutting-edge science of neuroplasticity. With an estimated 10 percent of Americans struggling with this condition, her book sheds valuable light on why the merging of science and spirit is critically important in overcoming depression. Holz is living proof that it’s possible to triumph over it and emerge out of the darkness.
Praise for Out of the Darkness:
“Debra, you tell the truth and hold the darkness of shame up to the light, and that darkness just disappears. You are brave and courageous—not only for capturing your story but also for persevering and striving to be and do better and maybe to love and be loved. I am honored to know you and see a miracle right before my very eyes.” ~ Carolyn L, Licensed Therapist
“Debra has a gift for knowing what readers want to read with her compelling writing style.” ~ Roger Stuart, Editor
“While Debra’s book did tell a very sad story, in the end, there was healing and recovery. I enjoyed reading that it is possible to overcome trauma.” ~ C. Losey
“I thoroughly enjoyed reading Debra’s book on overcoming obstacles. She is a warrior! Debra mentions many resources she used to overcome her depression, and her autobiography is compelling.” ~ Tammy A.
“Debra Holz takes us through the often horrifying journey of depression. She lays out the challenges she faced over a 50-year window. This book is a must-read for everyone and their loved ones struggling with depression. Debra gives us all hope.” ~ Davis
Listen in as Debra shares some of her story:
Book Details:
Genre: Mental Health, Transformation, Neurolinguistics, Depression Published by: Indie Publication Date: December 2022 Number of Pages: 193 ISBN: 979-8351544625 Book Links:Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
INTRODUCTION
As my eyes slowly flutter open, the blinding glare from the light on the sterile white ceiling causes me to wince. An I.V. bag dangles at the end of a silver pole, its line connected to a needle in my arm. I feel numb yet overwhelmed with despair. My mind is too groggy to comprehend what’s going on.
“Debra, do you know where you are?” a woman asks authoritatively.
I don’t. Wherever I am, the last thing I want is to be there, or anywhere.
“You’re in the emergency room at Western Psychiatric Hospital,” she explains, a bit more gently. I can see through dim eyesight that she appears to be a nurse. “Do you know why you’re here?”
I’m too sleepy to be concerned with her question. She pinches my arm hard to awaken me. I can see through the window that it’s dark, so it must be nighttime. Gradually, the fog clears as the nurse waits for me to respond. Obviously, my plan to kill myself had failed.
The impulse to end my life had consumed me since age 17, and it nearly did win the night before. My plan was firm: Drink enough wine to douse my fear, grab one of the loaded guns that my criminal defense attorney husband, Harrison, kept in our house, and shoot a bullet through my temple. For a decade leading up to this evening, I was too afraid to directly commit suicide, not knowing the possible spiritual consequences (if there is such a thing) in the afterlife. So, I routinely played an alcohol-and-sleeping-pill bedtime roulette, hoping that with the right spin of the sedative wheel, I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.
That fateful night, my drinking binge led to a blackout, which preempted my attempt to finish what I’d started. After I came to in the early morning hours, I told Harrison about my death intention. With a shrug of disgust, he walked into the other room, turned on the television, and proceeded to watch some sporting event. About six hours later, he drove me to Western Psychiatric Institute and Clinic.
The nurse pinches my arm once more, and that’s when I come to my senses and realize that, somehow, I’m still alive. I am deeply and acutely disappointed by this awareness.
What preceded this incident was fifty years of depression, an illness that told me what to think not only about myself but also the meaning of life, death, and the elusive truth about personal value and purpose. It dictated who I was, what to believe and how to feel. A faithful tormentor, depression refused to leave me alone no matter how much I pleaded and sometimes prayed to a deity whose existence I doubted. A merciless opponent, this illness was determined to enslave me with its chronic emotional and mental floggings. All those years, it never ceased and had no regard for how weary I had become.
My brain began wiring itself for depression from the early years of my childhood. Being in its clutches dominated my life by regulating how my brain functioned and allowed despair to overtake my other emotions. Through my teen years and well into adulthood, depression didn’t care about my positive experiences, accomplishments, and other things that should have made me happy. It marred and even ruined what should have been joyous occurrences and events such as my advanced education, career success, dream house with my new husband, and my children’s births.
If you suffer from depression, which I assume you might since you’re reading this book, you may feel as I did that there’s no escape from the misery. But there is. In fact, healing is possible. After a lifetime of suffering, I finally healed my depression outside of traditional medical methods. I reveal on these pages how I step-by-step revolutionized my beliefs, rewired my brain—thereby changing my neurochemistry—and created methods and habits to secure the longevity of my newfound joy and peace. Since 2014, I haven’t had an episode of depression! Hard to believe, isn’t it? I no longer doubt that it’s true and doable.
Healing through depression was, for sure, a spiritual awakening. As I grew through my healing process, my perception of the God I was introduced to as a child changed and expanded my consciousness. For clarification, when I use the word “God” within these chapters, it isn’t quite an accurate noun for what I consider “source, divine awareness, the creator.” So, for the sake of simplicity and since for many it’s common usage, I will say “God” interchangeably with these other terms.
My healing journey was a deep dive into the realms of science, as well. I share how quantum physics is relevant to healing depression, as well as how the brain works and how to rewire it away from depression. I also share emotional, spiritual, and behavioral exercises that, little by little, you’ll be able to integrate into your own life. As you take tiny then small steps at first, you’ll discover an increase in your life force energy. Eventually, you will be able to work on bigger and bigger tasks towards full healing.
First, let’s review a definition of depression and its ramifications. The Mayo Clinic describes depression as “a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness … [that] affects how you feel, think, and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems.” According to the World Health Organization, depression is a leading cause of disability; worldwide, it’s estimated that 264 million people suffer from it. Interestingly, more women experience depression and suicidal ideations than men, but men have higher rates of successful suicides. And the United States ranks as one of five countries with the highest numbers of depression sufferers. Though there may be other causes of depression, it is typically attributed to factors such as the brain’s faulty neurological mood regulation, genetics, emotional and physical trauma, childhood neglect and abuse, and major life stressors, including serious medical issues. What’s more, the National Institutes of Health reports that depression is associated with a higher risk of early mortality, and approximately 7.9 fewer years of life expectancy.
Unfortunately, those who haven’t suffered from depression sometimes expect a depressed person to just “snap out of it . . . stop the self-pity . . . think positive.” But when a person is clinically depressed, it’s typically impossible to “snap out of it” or simply solve the issue by thinking positively. While it may appear that a depressed person is self-pitying, they are usually filled with self-contempt and shame about their condition, as I was. And “recovering” without guidance and other forms of help is unlikely.
When I attempted to feel better, a haunting sadness assured me that I couldn’t escape the darkness and pain. As the years passed with no relief, the belief that something was intrinsically wrong with me and that I would never get better gained momentum. At the same time, I couldn’t shake the sensation that disaster was right around the corner. I harbored the continuous terrorizing sense that I was in ocean-deep water with my chin just above the surface, dogpaddling like crazy so I wouldn’t go under. I knew that if I did, it would be the end of me.
I got plenty of traditional counseling over the decades, starting with my first therapist at age 17. I accepted what she and all my subsequent mental health professionals told me about my biologically based, supposedly incurable illness. For over three decades, the psychiatrists and therapists who considered me their patient insisted that only therapy and psychiatric drugs would help me gain power over my depression. Looking back, I believe that they truly wanted to help me. Yet, despite their efforts and my earnest attempts to feel better, I remained powerless. Though I functioned—at times scarcely or not at all—I passed through the decades barely engaged in life. For those who didn’t know me well, most of the time, I appeared to be functional and, well, “normal.” I completed my bachelor’s degree by age 21 and began my professional life, at which I succeeded, eventually owning my own company at age 29. At times, I appeared happy, I even had a sense of humor, and was talkative and outgoing; this was all a façade. From my outward appearance, I may have seemed fine; but inside, I was tormented. Only those closest to me knew.
By my late forties, the pain of depression and all the meds I was taking were not only emotionally but also physically debilitating. It occupied my mind and body. I could focus on nothing else. I dreaded the future and saw no possibility of relief ahead. It all culminated in 2007, when I intentionally drank too much wine and located Harrison’s gun. If he hadn’t taken me to Western Psych, I most probably wouldn’t have made it—which wouldn’t have been the worst-case scenario. In fact, despite my desire to be free from pain, I felt paralyzed and suffered terribly from my inability to follow through with suicide. Besides dooming my children, I envisioned that the horror of a failed attempt might render me conscious yet stuck in a useless, wordless body—and more disconsolate than ever. Being trapped with emotional and mental torment forever, unable to communicate or move—still not knowing what will happen when I die—would be, I imagined, the most inescapable torture of all.
This is what struck me as I slowly awakened in the emergency room at Western Psych and what eventually gave me the courage to find a better way, beyond traditional therapy and pharmaceuticals, to finally take control of my health, my mind, my life. It was, essentially, a turning point from dark to light.
That is why I’ve titled this book Out of the Darkness: Aligning Science and Spirit to Overcome Depression. Not only have I healed my depression through means outside of traditional mental health treatment, I’ve also been lovingly led into the light—a persistent, impenetrable condition of joy, contentment, and peace. For that, I am abundantly and endlessly thankful. It is nothing short of a transformation into a way of being that I had never dreamed was possible. Every morning, I awake joyful and grateful to have been gifted another depression-free day. As of this writing, I am eight years without depression’s malevolence. I still can hardly believe it. I marvel when life continues to throw difficult challenges my way, but I remain mostly unfazed.
I fear not because I know that I am beyond the risk of descending back into the darkness. Finally living fully and embracing life consciously, I now feel a sense of responsibility and purpose to share my experience with those who suffer with this dreadful/deplorable condition. My mission is to shed light on effective alternative ways to heal, so that others may emerge out of the darkness and enjoy lives of joy, health, and peace.
***
Excerpt from Out of the Darkness: Aligning Science and Spirit to Overcome Depression by Debra Holz. Copyright 2022 by Debra Holz. Reproduced with permission from Debra Holz. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Debra Holz is the author of Out of the Darkness: Aligning Science and Spirit to Overcome Depression, which won The Authors’ Zone (TAZ) national award in the non-fiction category and achieved bestseller status on Amazon.
A natural storyteller, her book chronicles her 50-year struggle with major clinical depression and ultimately, how she healed her brain and balanced her neurochemistry beyond traditional psychiatric treatment. Using neuroplasticity techniques she developed and a major change in her underlying beliefs, she rewired and healed her brain and has been depression free since 2014.
It is her passionate mission to share her story with as many depression sufferers as possible so they too may heal themselves.
Debra has been a successful freelance writer and journalist since 1985. Besides her talent for direct response creativity, she is known for her expertise in legal content for major law firms as well as the technology and computer industry, banks, and investment corporations. She also has written for many major city newspapers.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Alexa Sullivan will be awarding a $50 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Ro Baird can’t cast a spell without setting her own pants on fire—until she kisses her hot new boss, Alex. Suddenly, she’s able to access her magic…sort of…and she now has a familiar, who may be more trouble than she is helpful.
Alex Kouris happens to be a soul-stealing demigod of the Underworld. He claims he’s trying to leave the life, but can she really trust a man whose magical talents are manipulation and charm? When Alex enlists a shady ex to help him, Ro must risk her heart and her life to save him and humanity from Hades’s evil scheme.
Can she harness her true power to set Alex and herself free?
Read an Excerpt
I turned from side to side in front of the mirror, examining my half French braid. My dark-brown hair wound across the top of my head, like a crown. I tucked the end under the rest of my hair and twisted it into a side ponytail, tying it off with a clear elastic.
“Pretty.” Tabitha stood in my bathroom doorway. With her flat tone of voice, she might as well have been describing broccoli or glue.
I plucked a beaded fringe earring off the counter and slipped it through the hole in my right earlobe.
Lenti, who sat on the counter, trilled and swiped the earring with her paw.
“Nope.” I jerked my head away. “I got these at a craft fair, and you’re not destroying them.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind.” Should’ve known this was going to happen. Gritting my teeth, I removed the earring and tucked it into a drawer. I tugged the neckline of my clingy black dress a little lower, then turned to Tabitha. “Is it too much? Should I wear my strappy sandals or my ankle boots?”
She crossed her arms. “Explain to me how this happened. You were supposed to talk to him, not go out with him.”
About the Author:
Alexa Sullivan writes humorous, contemporary paranormal romance. She imagines a world where the mundane meets magic — and where vampires, werewolves and witches have normal jobs. Oh, and there are cats, too. She sets all her books in the beautiful state of Oregon. When not writing, she can be found walking her cat on a leash, hanging out with her husband, and watching far too much Bravo reality TV.
Stars on Fire Sky Gold (The Sable Riders, #1) Publication date: February 26th 2023 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Science Fiction
The thing is, Selene, I don’t do forever. It’s not what this is.’ – Kainan Sable.
He’s lethal, wraith-like, a warrior who lives in the twilight, the hidden inferno amongst the stars.
She’s driven, ambitious, and unrelenting, with an allure that forces him from the shadows.
He needs to control the intensity of his reaction to her.
She fights the temptation glinting in his sapphire wildfire eyes.
He wants revenge.
She wants forever.
But he can’t give her ‘forever’.
Or can he?
War is stirring in the skies and stars above Eden II. Between empires in ascension and realms in decline. Kainan and Selene find themselves caught up in the maelstrom. Together they’ll light the stars on fire, even as darkness beyond their control seeks to turn their destiny – and their forever – to ashes.
__________________________
If you’re in the mood for:
A strong, smart heroine AND a sexy, badass anti-hero
Unrequited love and a personal growth saga that spans a universe
Steamy, hot epic jolts!
Paranormal action
All the feels AND heartfelt escapism
Then take to the Skies Above Eden II. A whole new world awaits you.
Kainan’s voice rumbled behind her. ‘Selene Munene, meet the Sable Riders, also known in our official capacity as The Sable Group.’
She stepped closer to the table and gazed at her new acquaintances as calmly as she could manage.
The one closest to her was just as significant in size as Kainan, a hulking figure with a mass of short jet-black hair with blue streaks, a bushy black beard and silver grey eyes, with a stubborn jaw and a swathe of jagged scars down one side of his face. His massive feet were slung up and crossed on top of the table.
The man beside him was also tall, with angular, dark features, a roughly shaven jaw, a beard and penetrating eyes with hazel irises ringed with glowing sapphire flecks. He leaned back in his oversized chair to study her unhurriedly.
Kainan pointed to the scar-faced man. ‘This is Kage, call name Shadow. He’s our ship designer, tech head and all-around maestro. He also runs our mini armada. Next to him is Xion, call name Phoenix – head of internal security on Eden II, privately overseeing law and order on the rock.’
Two other men glanced at her from the other side of the room.
One sported a magnificent sheathe of dead straight white and silver hair that fell to his back in a long, smooth sheet with a braid to one side. His skin was pale, and so were his white irised eyes that he seemed a ghoul, albeit a very handsome one. He wore a close-fitted black jumpsuit with the same crest on his shoulder as Kainan. She assumed this was The Sable Group’s insignia.
He jerked his chin to her, his pale eyes keenly raking her face.
Next to him was a lean, long, striking, powerfully built man in a beautifully cut suit with dark thick hair, a neat moustache and a beard with piercing blue eyes. His elegant presence contrasted sharply with his more casually dressed companions. He nodded to her cordially.
‘At the far back is Riv, call name Wraith. He runs our armouries. He occasionally moonlights as the head of our private surveillance ops and militia, and on his off days, he dallies as a bounty hunter. With him is Zane, call name Phantom. Our business and financial controller. He runs our sales, logistics, private equity and finance division.’
Selene nodded her head formally in acknowledgement, momentarily unable to speak. As it were, her breath had been snatched from her lungs by the presence of these five devastatingly powerful creatures. She saw sleek blasters strapped to their powerful thighs and hips and imagined the various other weapons tucked in places unseen. These were no boy scouts she was dealing with.
‘You remember Mirage,’ Kainan added drily, gesturing toward the gyrfalcon with silver wings and feet.
Selene’s eyebrow rose. ‘Really?’
‘It is indeed, Selene,’ said the gyrfalcon in the AI’s harmonious tone. ‘As a nano-engineered AI, I can take various forms, but this is the one I tend to prefer when I’m off Kainan’s ship. But, of course, I’m also still on the ship due to my split consciousness and various remote capabilities.’
‘Mirage is our eyes and ears across the rock, and she oversees all AI on all our ships and holdings,’ Kainan explained.
‘I’m also taking an encrypted recording of these proceedings,’ Mirage piped up. ‘Which will be shared to all your comm tabs after the meeting and only accessible with your bio authentication.’
Kainan inclined his head. ‘As you can see, she’s a very valued member of The Sable Riders.’
The gyrfalcon bent her sleek silver head in a bow.
‘Sit,’ Kainan ordered Selene, pulling out a plush chair.
‘What’s your call name?’ she managed to ask him softly as she sat down.
He paused for a moment.
‘Chimera,’ he said quietly.
Fitting, she thought, given the strange ability he had to switch her feelings, from hot to cold, in seconds.
Author Bio:
Sky Gold is a best selling author, writer and lover of all things delicious, fun and courageously life affirming. She imagines herself a warrior for the people she loves and values she stands for! She looks to her gorgeous husband, her whimsical kids, her loyal friends, her sweet Russian Blue Cat, and the stars themselves for her heavenly inspiration.
Ed Earl Burch, a cashiered Dallas murder cop, is a private detective facing the relentless onslaught of age, bad choices, guilt and regret. Smart, tough, profane and reckless, he’s a survivor who relies on his own guts and savvy and expects no help or salvation from anybody.
But he’s also a man who longs for the sense of higher calling he felt when he carried a homicide detective’s gold shield. He seeks redemption and a chance to make amends to a dying old woman he abandoned decades ago when she needed him most.
When he sees her again, she has the same request — save her granddaughter from the vicious outlaws on her trail and bring her home for a final goodbye. Easier said than done because the granddaughter is a hardened hustler and gunrunner, hellbent on avenging a lover who got chopped up and stuffed into a barbecue smoker by cartel gunsels and a rival smuggler.
To fulfill the old woman’s last request, Burch heads back to the borderlands of West Texas on a mercy mission that plunges him into a violent world of smugglers, cartel killers, crooked lawmen, Bible-thumping hucksters, anti-government extremists and an old nemesis who wants to see him dead.
The odds are long and Burch has his doubts — about himself, the granddaughter, old friends and the elusive nature of grace from guilt. Truth be told, doubt is the only thing he’s dead certain of.
Grace Or A Desert Grave?
Praise for The Dead Certain Doubt:
“Gritty and tough with enough despicable West Texas hombres to fill a tour bus.” ~ Bruce Robert Coffin, award-winning author of the Detective Byron mysteries
“Rough days and harsh nights seem like paradise before it’s all over….” ~ Rod Davis, author of the Southern noir novels, South, America and East of Texas, West of Hell
“A no-holds-barred mission of revenge, redemption and righting wrong from the past….” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mysteries
“The pace is swift, the action is raw and the characters are intense and visual.” ~ Carmen Amato, author of the Emilia Cruz and Galliano Club mystery series
“Ed Earl Burch will guide you through the last arroyo with wit, truly memorable dialogue and locations you’d like to visit…with a gun.” ~ John William Davis, author of Rainy Street Stories and Around the Corner
“The Dead Certain Doubt is a thrilling, lightning-paced, ferocious crime novel. Highly recommended!” ~ Rich Zahradnik, author of The Bone Records and Lights Out Summer, winner of the 2018 Shamus Award for Best Paperback Private Eye Novel
Book Details:
Genre: Hard-Boiled Crime Thriller Published by: Spotted Mule Press Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 260 ISBN: 978-0-9983294-5-1 Book Links:Amazon
Read an excerpt:
Seven
Watch your six, Sport Model.
A dead partner’s whispered warning. A triggered twitch of muscle memory and street cop reflexes. The split-second dive to the right. The graceless tuck and shoulder roll that slams and skids your ass across the greasy linoleum floor of a roadside tienda.
Left hand full of a Colt’s cold comfort. Hammer back. Eight Fat Boys in the mag. One in the pipe. Hardball .45 ACP and Flying Ashtrays. Find the source of that buckshot blast meant to blow your head into red mist, skull fragments, hair and brain matter.
Ignore the screams, shouts, clumping footfalls and Dios Mios of customers and clerks exiting rapido to safety. Smell the cordite but pay it no mind.
Ignore all that shattered bottle glass and the ketchup, mustard, mayo, salsa picante and salsa verde splattered across the floor, your jeans, your belt buckle and your best Nocona boots. A swirling mess of red, green, white and yellow that just doesn’t matter.
Find that shooter. Listen for the telltale shing-shing pumping more buckshot into the chamber. Pray he’s old school. Pray the shotgun isn’t a semi-automatic with the next round already in the pipe.
Shing-shing.
Answered prayer. The sound rises from the next aisle to his front left. The Colt tracks the echo, sights panning across the shelves facing him. Jarritos, Jumex, Sidral Mundet, Big Red, 7 Up. Spam, Underwood Deviled Ham, Starkist. Valvoline, Havoline, Pennzoil.<
A boot sole scrapes the linoleum. Front corner of the next aisle. Right behind the 10W30. Colt centers on the sound. Front blade splits a quart of Havoline. Blast five shots. A grunt, a groan and the clatter of dropped gun metal. Ears ring.
Quick crab crawl to the opposite corner.
Sneak a peek. Shooter on his knees. One hand covers his bloody gut. The other reaches for his pump shotgun.
Fuck you, old school. Three more blasts from the Colt. Squeeze the trigger like a lover until the slide locks back and smoke curls from the breech. One round cores a Third Eye in the shooter’s forehead.
Quema tu culo en el infierno, pendejo. No last rites. No absolution. Straight to the flames. Spit a sour green ball of phlegm on the floor.
Shuck the empty mag. Slap home a fresh one. Trip the slide. Shake out a Lucky and stick it on a dry lip.
Light the nail with a Zippo and a shaky hand. Drag the smoke down deep to smother the stench of gunsmoke and blood. Dial 911 on the black rotary phone next to the cash register and wait for the gaudy post-mortem show to start. No popcorn.
Give thanks to the whiskey gods you survived another gunfight. Thank those old reflexes, too. They’re the second cousins of doubt — the only thing you’re dead certain of.
*** *** *** ***
Dealer’s choice. Jacks or better to open. Check, raise, bluff or call in a round of liar’s poker with a lawdog Burch knew but hadn’t seen in almost a decade. Didn’t know if he could trust the man who held all the high cards. And the badge. Best to play it close to the vest.
“I see you still worship at the Church of John Browning. Bet you still follow the lessons they taught you at the Hollow-Point Charm School.”
Raise with a bluff and smartass bluster.
“Dance with who brung ya, Sheriff. And not much charm to this deal. Just a shitload of lead. Muchacho there tried to make me a headless horseman with some double-ought. I begged to differ and let Brother John’s best do my talking for me.”
“Old gun.” Call.
“Old man shootin’ it. Only gun I can hit anything with.” Re-raise.
“And you had to come all the way out to my county to prove you still could. Why the hell is that?”
Burch smiled but didn’t answer. A quiet fold. The sheriff was deeply annoyed but wasn’t ready to throw him in a jail cell. Yet.
Burch stood about five feet away from the shooter’s corpse, dripping ketchup, mustard and salsa on the tienda linoleum. Half-assed trying not to fuck up the sheriff’s crime scene while smoking another Lucky pacifier.
His eyes scanned the body, sprawled face first in a dark, spreading pool, left arm flexed out like it was plowing a path for a body that would never follow.
His brain automatically picked out and filed the details. Once a murder cop, always a murder cop. Gold badge or not.
Detail: The last hollow-point he fired blew out the back of the man’s skull. Filed.
Detail: A scorpion tattoo on the left forearm. Black ink only. Lines still sharp. Filed.
Detail: Shooter’s gun a Remington 870 pump. Twelve gauge with a sawed-off barrel. Common as rocks and sand in West Texas. Filed.
He studied the left side of the man’s face, the side that wasn’t marinating in blood and brain pulp.
Detail: Smooth bronze skin, left eye showing the eight-ball bulge. Detail: Lips locked back over a pearly white grimace. Silver cuff on the left earlobe. Maricón? Maybe.
Details and question filed. Nothing rose from his memory banks. Noted and filed.
His eyes returned to the gaping hole in the back of the man’s skull.
Gotta love them Flying Ashtrays. Did damage to a man. Hardball knocked him down and hollow-point chewed up his innards and cored out his skull. The Big Adios. One-way ticket. Paid in full.
The sheriff squatted on his boot heels near the dead man’s right hip, using the eraser end of a pencil to lift the bloody tail of a denim shirt to study an exit wound. A muttered oath. English or Spanish. Burch couldn’t tell.
More muttering. A wallet fished out of a back pocket with a hand gloved in latex. A glance at the driver’s license. A quick riffle through a thick sheaf of greenbacks.
Detail: Helluva lot of lettuce in that wallet. More than your average greaseball carries. Noted and filed.
Sheriff Sudden Doggett gave one shake of the head then pinned Burch with dark, angry eyes framed by the underside of a faded, stained and dented Resistol that might have been dark gray in its younger days.
“Why the fuck is it every time you cross the Cuervo County line you have to announce your presence by painting the walls red?”
“Only the second time I’ve visited your fair jurisdiction, Sheriff. And the first time was a few years back. Seven or was it eight?”
“Not long enough if you ask me. Why can’t you be like every other tourist passing through and keep trucking over the river for some bad tequila and cheap pussy?”
“Because I’m on a job. Was on my way to see you when this happened.”
“Well, fuck me runnin’. Worst news I’ve had all day. Fuckin’ angel of death is what you are. And my morgue’s already full. Last thing I need is another gun hand racking up body count.”
“Startin’ to sound like your old boss.”
“You can just take that talk and jam it straight up your ass, pendejo. Go clean yourself up some. You look like Ronald McDonald with that shit smeared all over you.”
“Good to see you again, too, Sheriff.”
“Bite my ass, Burch.”
Risky to poke a stick at Doggett with the thin hand he held. Might wind up in a jail cell for his trouble. But the reaction he got was worth it – genuine pissoff with no hesitation or trace of guilt. Told him he just might be dealing with a straight shooter. Hope so. We’ll see.
The lawman kept his eyes locked on Burch as he barked an order.
“Get this fuckhead out of my face before I run him in lookin’ just like the clown he is. Take him out back. Ruby’s got a garden hose out there. Let him use it and get cleaned up while I check out this mess. Leave his Colt on the counter.”
A blade-faced deputy with acne scars and the flattened nose of a bad boxer stepped up and grabbed him by the elbow. Burch shook his arm free, gave him a glare and walked toward the back door of the store.
Anger flushed out the shakes. He felt better, but not great. As good as it gets after killing a man.
***
Excerpt from The Dead Certain Doubt by Jim Nesbitt. Copyright 2023 by Jim Nesbitt. Reproduced with permission from Jim Nesbitt. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Jim Nesbitt is the award-winning author of four hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but relentless Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, a Silver Falchion finalist; THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, an Underground Book Reviews “Top Pick”; and, his latest, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE, winner of the best crime fiction category of the 2020 Independent Press Book Awards, the 2020 Silver Falchion award for best action and adventure novel from the Killer Nashville crime fiction conference and bronze medal winner in the best mystery/thriller e-book category of the 2020 Independent Publisher Book Awards. His latest book is THE DEAD CERTAIN DOUBT, which was released in early March. Nesbitt was a journalist for more than 30 years, serving as a reporter, editor and roving national correspondent for newspapers and wire services in Alabama, Florida, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina and Washington, D.C. He chased hurricanes, earthquakes, plane wrecks, presidential candidates, wildfires, rodeo cowboys, migrant field hands, neo-Nazis and nuns with an eye for the telling detail and an ear for the voice of the people who give life to a story. His stories have appeared in newspapers across the country and in magazines such as Cigar Aficionado and American Cowboy. He is a lapsed horseman, pilot, hunter and saloon sport with a keen appreciation for old guns, vintage cars and trucks, good cigars, aged whiskey and a well-told story. Nesbitt regularly reviews crime fiction and history on his blog, The Spotted Mule, and his author web site, as well as Facebook, Amazon and Goodreads. He now lives in Athens, Alabama.
PI Steve Rockfish’s morning meeting was supposed to focus on a case of straightforward harassment. Two clients had purchased a miniature golf course and instantly became victims of vandalism and projected intolerance.
But as the team investigates, a neighborhood’s bigoted knee jerk reaction to a new sapphic-owned business, is in fact a laser focused plan of intimidation. Before anyone can yell FORE!, violence litters the front nine after Rockfish uncovers the real perpetrator, their actual motive, and dangerous accomplices.
Soon, an old nemesis returns to raise the stakes with plans of revenge and domination. Now facing a battle on two fronts, Rockfish finds his allies thinning at the worst possible time, and recklessly goes on the offensive.
The back nine takes Rockfish and McGee on a frenetic ride from a corporate boardroom, across cyberspace, and to the 19th hole where a long overdue showdown will change everything for the partners, for better and worse.
Book Details:
Genre: Crime Fiction Published by: Black Rose Writing Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 356 ISBN: 1685131530 (ISBN-13 978-1685131531) Series: The Case Files of Steve Rockfish – 3 Book Links:Amazon | BLACK ROSE WRITING
Read an excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips:
CHAPTER ONE
You’ve reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you. [Beep]
Jawnie stared down at her phone, annoyed. She hung up the call after the office’s message ended and slid the phone into her messenger bag. With a proper receptionist comes a proper voicemail message. It’s about time. Where the heck is everyone? Rockfish could be out doing God knows what, but what about Lynn? Maybe she’s in the can after an extra spicy lunch? Jawnie laughed to herself. There were a thousand and one reasons Lynn couldn’t get to the phone. Don’t go all Rockfish at once.
The sun had slipped behind the clouds on a mid-Thursday afternoon when Jawnie walked down the endless row of marble steps in front of the Baltimore County Government building. She had submitted her final report regarding former county employee Harvey Henderson, who had been sitting at home on disability from a leg injury suffered while on the job. Henderson ran a bulldozer at the county landfill. That was until he fell off the equipment and reportedly injured his leg.
Jawnie loved this type of case. She conducted a couple of surveillances to find out Henderson’s daily schedule and then one final, quick outing to snap a few pictures from a safe distance. Jawnie followed Harvey and his mistress down to the town of Laurel and out on the Rocky Gorge Reservoir, where the couple spent the day attempting to wake-board. The day served as a twofer and the future ex-Mrs. Henderson would gain the information needed to win her freedom without spending a dime.
At the bottom of the steps, she pulled her phone back out, and double checked the time. Five after two and still no notifications. Apparently, nothing of importance had transpired while she was in the meeting with the County Commissioners. Her car was across the street in the paid lot, and she glanced up from the screen. Jawnie felt flush and concern filled her brain. The green Kia Soul remained parked at the corner, blocking a hydrant. Her heart kicked it up a notch.
The damn thing hadn’t moved in the hour and a half while I was inside. Jesus Christ, I don’t need this shit today. Or any day. Fuck.
Three times today since leaving her condo, the Kia coincidently found itself parked nearby, always within eyesight. The odd shaped vehicle and the color stood out. Amateur hour or someone who clearly wants me to notice. Jawnie gritted her teeth, glanced both ways, and then kept her head down as she jogged across the street. She walked through the small lot until she found her Subaru and slid behind the wheel. She pulled around to the exit gate and paid the attendant. A second later, the arm rose, but the car didn’t move. Thoughts of the Kia had Jawnie lost deep in her mind.
What Would Rockfish Do? Probably tell me to go on the offensive, concern be damned. Well, I’m definitely not going to pull sideways in front of this guy, jump out and confront him, that’s for sure. People are crazy these days and with my luck I’d end up TikTok famous #KarensGoneWild. Okay, let’s see if I’m imagining things. Maybe give him a little I see you action instead.
Jawnie turned left onto Pennsylvania Ave and sped up. At the end of the block, when she was right alongside the Kia, she held her breath and cut the wheel. The Subaru hung a hard right onto Baltimore Ave and missed the Kia’s left front fender by only a foot. Enough to make him take notice. She straightened the wheel and exhaled. Her eyes shot to the rearview mirror. The Kia followed suit but was losing ground as she pressed down on the accelerator. The car remained a block back when Jawnie turned right again. Her eyes flickered from the front windshield to the rearview, expecting to see the Kia at any second, but it never appeared. Or at least that she noticed. Her grip on the steering wheel grew tighter.
Did I lose him? Was he some civilian who flew into road rage when I almost hit him and then gave up once his blood pressure came down? No. I definitely saw that car multiple times today.
Half an hour later and back in Anne Arundel County, Jawnie received an answer to her question. She spotted the Kia two cars back at a traffic light. Alright McGee, you aren’t imagining things. Let’s figure out who this driver is.
“Hey Siri. New note.”
“What do you want it to say?”
“Dark green Kia Soul Maryland Plate 555-RJ4K.”
“Ok, I’ve created your note. It’s called Dark green Kia Soul Maryland plate 555-RJ4K.”
I’ll call Michelle at DMV to run it as soon as I get back to the office. The favor may cost me a drink or an actual date, but it will be worth it to know who he is. Hopefully, the name will ring a bell. The last thing I need is a fresh surprise.
Jawnie was only a mile from the office but took the Kia on a short sight-seeing tour of Linthicum Heights. See exactly how dedicated the driver was to their mission. First stop was Fairway Car Wash. Jawnie got in line behind the others and when it was her turn, she lined up the front left tire to the guide and selected the Supreme.
A tapping on the driver’s side glass caught her attention. “Hands off the wheel, ma’am.”
Jawnie looked down. White knuckles. Her hands slid off the wheel and fell to her lap as the car jerked forward. She tried to relax and think calmly as the conveyor pulled her forward. Each stage coated the windshield with a different chemical and blocked the view. Because you don’t see him, it doesn’t mean he’s gone. Maybe he’s hiding behind that iHop, but with a simple line of sight as you exit the car wash? What’s next? Mario’s? She had dry cleaning that was overdue to be picked up. Big ass empty lot there, nowhere to hide and nowhere to street park. As she exited the car wash, the track gave way. Her hands returned to the wheel. Jawnie waved off the man, wanting to finish drying the Subaru with an armful of hand towels. I’m good, no thank you, she mouthed as she cracked the window and slid out a five-dollar bill.
Mario’s was four lights further down the road and by the third red light, the Kia emerged from the background. Jawnie could feel the sweat building on her lower back. A single drop formed on the side of her face. She lifted her arm and wiped away the drop with her sleeve. Mario’s came up on the left and Jawnie put on her blinker. No need to attempt some big ruse at this point.
Five minutes later, she exited Mario’s with her dry cleaning hung over her left shoulder and iPhone held in her right, ready to capture the moment for posterity’s sake. Jawnie took the picture before the guy could raise his newspaper in a piss poor effort to hide his identity. She unlocked the Subaru and hung her clothes on the back hook. She got in and slammed the door. A combination of the force and noise caused her to jump.
Goddamnit! WWRD? I should have done something proactive after the meeting back at the county building. Jawnie reached into the center console. She chose her weapon of choice and speed walked to the Kia. Deep breath, deep breath. Look and act like you belong here.
The man was blond, with very short hair. Maybe balding. She couldn’t tell with the slight window tint. When he spotted her approaching, the newspaper went back up. Jawnie snapped another picture before sliding the phone into her back pocket. She tapped on the window. The early edition of the Baltimore Sun didn’t move.
She rapped her knuckles a second time. Harder, louder. This time the paper came down and the man’s eyebrows went up. He reached over and lowered the window, roughly two inches, before speaking.
“Can I help—”
The mace streamed through the opening as if she was an Olympic crack shot. The creeper didn’t see it coming and Jawnie didn’t stick around to see the after-effects. She could hear his screams, interlaced with every curse word in the book by the time she slid behind the wheel. Her death grip returned, and she rocketed out of Mario’s parking lot without a clear destination in mind and a little less rubber on her tires.
The Subaru ended up in the parking lot of a Wawa, a good half mile down the road. Jawnie parked behind the convenience store. She pulled up the note she made earlier with the Kia’s license plate and added the photos. At the bottom of the note, she dictated the man’s description in two sentences and returned her phone to the cup holder.
Jawnie exhaled and didn’t move. How long had it been? Three months? Maybe a little longer. Well, kid, it was an enjoyable ride. I look forward to the next extended period of calm. Maybe today showed I’m not built for this line of work. Her mind went back to the night on Rockfish’s front lawn. Porbeagle’s gun. The sound of the shot. The smell of burning cotton as the bullet passed through the material of her oversized sweatshirt. Fixing middle school laptops out of my garage doesn’t sound so bad now. Granted, no one’s launching a streaming network based on that show, but then again, I don’t have to look over my shoulder every time I leave the goddamn house. Jawnie stopped rubbing her hands and dropped her head into them. The tears flowed freely.
She didn’t remember how long she remained parked next to the dumpster, but when she felt she could make it back to the office without having a complete emotional meltdown, she shifted into drive.
***
Excerpt from A Bad Bout of the Yips by Ken Harris. Copyright 2023 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.
Thorns at Sunrise (Janeen Ippolito) Publication date: March 23rd 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
A young queen. Her imaginary friend. A kingdom on the verge of death.
She believes she’s crazy.
Queen Usilea has a secret–and he lives in her mind. Ever since she was six years old, her imaginary friend has been her closest companion, and her arranged marriage has been a great dread. When she learns her betrothed and the royal family have suddenly died, she feels obligated to attend the funeral in the foreign land of Absteph–and perhaps learn more behind their mysterious passing.
He only wants the truth.
Petar endures great pain to protect those he does not remember. His only solace is a shadowy woman who he loves–even though she denies that he exists. When a terrible tragedy occurs in his kingdom, that mysterious woman is his only hope of bringing justice to light. For the cage that imprisons him grows harsher every day, and he is losing the fight.
But there are thorns at sunrise.
Brought together on the barest thread of reality, Usilea and Petar must discover what really happened to the royal family. But Petar’s time is running out. Soon not even a Mender like Usilea will be able to save him.
This YA romance features a gender-swapped Sleeping Beauty in an original fantasy world on the brink of doom.
Her imaginary friend was playing a new trick on her. This time, she would discern his meaning.
Usilea set down the quill on the paper, frowning at the words mocking her from the page. She pressed her lips together in thought. Thorns at sunrise? What could it mean? What was her mind trying to tell her?
“What do you think of my riddle?”
As usual, the voice didn’t come from within her mind directly, but somewhere outside. Yet were she to glance around, all she would perceive is the vaguest sensation of shadow and soul in the periphery of her vision.
And so, she refrained from looking. Instead, she focused on the words she had written, words he had spoken into her mind at some point in the night.
I think … you’re afraid.
“And what am I afraid of, goldenbird?” Amusement teased the edges of his words. She had known her friend was a male since the first time they had met, whenever that had been. Sometime after her sixth year. “Tell me, you who know me so well.”
I know you as well as I might any figment of my imagination.
“Likewise. That is not the answer to the riddle.”
A sigh escaped her. Usilea leaned back in her cushioned chair and rubbed the tense area around her eyes. You are afraid of being lost. You are afraid of being found. You are afraid of darkness, and you are afraid of light.
No answer came from the voice in her mind. A faint smile curved her lips. He only withdrew like that when she was right and he was bewildered. She had learned that pattern over the years as they had conversed. He liked keeping his mysteries, while he equally delighted in unveiling the mysteries of others. A curious behavior for her imaginary friend.
A strange, stabbing sensation pierced through her musing.
What did it imply about her that her closest friend wasn’t real?
Author Bio:
Janeen Ippolito writes about misfits who defy expectations, whether in fairy tale, steampunk fantasy, urban fantasy, humorous paranormal romance, or poetry. She also spreads wordtastic joy in her work as a fearless book strategist, nonfiction author, and coach. In her spare time, she swordfights and posts cute animal memes.
We’re so excited to share the release of Nicole Sanchez’s THE QUEEN’S GAMBLE! Check out the gorgeous series and get your copy today!
Title: The Queen’s Gamble
Author: Nicole Sanchez
Genre: Romantic Fantasy
About The Queen’s Gamble:
No matter what move she makes, there will be consequences.Daphne Hale has transformed from pawn to queen. Or has she?Daphne’s caught once more between the man she loves and the man who seeks to own her. Estranged from Essos and forced to cater to Galen, Daphne fights to navigate the dangerous waters of the Trials as she moves closer to the seemingly inevitable endgame – marriage to the man who murdered her.As the Underworld itself trembles with unstable power and Daphne’s own magic weakens daily, every move could be her undoing. To protect those she loves, Daphne must go along with the charade. But no one ever won a game of chess by resigning.This reborn goddess may be in check, but it’s her move.
“Don’t pull this shit. You know why I locked you morons in that cabin a million years ago? It’s because I knew that, when it came down to it, you were meant to be. There is no one in all of Solarem or on the face of Earth or in the Underworld that can bring my brother to life the way you can, same as he’s the only person who can possibly have the patience for you. You bring out the best in each other. Your journey together has been long and hard, but it’s not over. So don’t you dare give up on him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Because when it came to you, he never gave up. He pushed and pushed and pushed to get you back, so push for him. Fight for him.”
About the Author:
Nicole Sanchez has been writing stories on any scrap of paper she could get her hands since before middle school. She lives in New Jersey with her high school sweetheart and love of her life along with their two quirky cats. When she isn’t writing or wielding the Force, she can be found traveling the world with her husband or training for her next RunDisney Event.
