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Giveaway – Death At The Manor by Katharine Schellman @partnersincr1me @katharinewrites

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Death at the Manor

by Katharine Schellman

August 8 – September 2nd, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Death at the Manor (Lily Adler Mystery, #3)

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Synopsis:

The tortured spirits of the dead haunt a Regency-era English manor—but the true danger lies in the land of the living in the third installment in the Lily Adler mysteries, perfect for fans of Deanna Raybourn.

Regency widow Lily Adler is looking forward to spending the autumn away from the social whirl of London. When she arrives in Hampshire with her friends, the Carroways, she doesn’t expect much more than a quiet country visit and the chance to spend time with her charming new acquaintance, Matthew Spencer.

But something odd is afoot in the small country village. A ghost has taken up residence in the Belleford manor, a lady in grey who wanders the halls at night, weeping and wailing. Half the servants have left in terror, but the family seems delighted with the notoriety that their ghost provides. Intrigued by this spectral guest, Lily and her party immediately make plans to visit Belleford.

They arrive at the manor the next morning ready to be entertained—only to find that tragedy has struck. The matriarch of the family has just been found killed in her bed.

The dead woman’s family is convinced that the ghost is responsible. Lily is determined to learn the truth before another victim turns up—but could she be next in line for the Great Beyond?

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Publication Date: August 9th 2022
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 1639100784 (ISBN13: 9781639100781)
Series: Lily Adler Mystery #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | Bookshop.org

Read an excerpt:

As they walked, Mr. Wright fell in step next to Ofelia. “Have you ever seen a ghost before, Lady Carroway?”

“I have not,” she replied, as polite as ever in spite of the hint of skepticism in her voice. “Pray, what does it look like?”

“Like a lady in white and gray,” he said, and Lily was surprised to see how serious his expression was. His frivolous, unctuous manner had dropped away, and he shivered a little as he gestured toward the windows. “No one has seen her face. The first time I saw her she was standing right there, bathed in moonlight, when I was returning from a late night in the village. And my sister saw her in the early morning only two days ago. Some nights, we have heard her wails echoing through the halls, even when she is nowhere to be seen.”

Lily exchanged a look with her aunt, who seemed surprised by the detail in Thomas Wright’s story and the quaver in his voice. Either he believed wholeheartedly in his ghost, or he was putting on a very convincing performance for his audience.

“And what does she do?” Ofelia asked, sounding a little more somber now, as they drew

to a halt in front of the windows. The small party looked around the corner of the hall. It was unremarkable enough, with several large paintings, and a tall, handsome curio cabinet standing in an alcove. An old-fashioned tapestry hung across one wall, though it was worn and faded enough that it was hard to tell exactly what picture it had originally presented.

“Nothing, so far,” Mr. Wright said, a sort of forced theatricality in his voice that left Lily puzzled.

She had expected, based on what Mr. Spencer had said the night before, to find an eager showman in Thomas Wright, ready to bask in the attention of curious neighbors, not a true believer in the supernatural. Glancing at Mr. Spencer out of the corner of her eye, she thought he looked equally puzzled.

“She stands and weeps, or floats around the hall and wails. Usually, if someone tries to draw close, she vanishes. But last month—” Mr. Wright’s voice dropped a little. He still glanced

uneasily toward the other end of the hall, as if momentarily distracted or looking for someone, before quickly returning his attention to his audience. “Last month she became angry when one of our housemaids came upon her unexpectedly. The lady in gray pursued her down the hall, wailing. Poor Etta was so scared that she fell down the stairs in her haste to get away. That

was when our servants started leaving.”

“I trust the housemaid has recovered?” Mr. Spencer asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“She has,” Mr. Wright replied. “But no one has tried to approach the lady in gray again. We think she wishes to be left alone.”

“Well,” Lily said, attempting a return to lightness, “as far as ghosts go, that sounds reasonable enough. I confess I feel that way often enough myself, especially after too many busy nights in a row.”

Ofelia, who had been looking a little wide-eyed, giggled, and Mr. Spencer quickly covered a cough that might have been a chuckle.

Mr. Wright scowled, his expression halfway between unease and displeasure. “I take it you are not a woman who believes in ghosts, Mrs. Adler?”

“I have never had the opportunity to find out whether or not I am,” Lily replied. “The homes I have lived in have all been stubbornly unhaunted.”

“For your sake, madam, I hope they remain that way,” Mr. Wright said. There was an unexpected note of resignation in his voice as he added, “It is not a comfortable thing to live with.”

“I would have thought you to be fond of yours, sir,” Lily said. “If you dislike her so, why go to the trouble of showing visitors around and telling them the story?”

Mr. Wright smiled, some of the showman creeping back into his manner. “Because you are here, dear ladies. And how could I resist such a beautiful audience?”

“Tell me, has your family any idea who this lady in gray might be?” Lily’s aunt asked politely.

He nodded, his voice dropping even further, and they all reflexively drew closer to hear what he was saying. “We each have our own theory, of course,” he said. “I believe it is my father’s great-aunt, Tabitha, whose bedroom was just this way. If you would care to see the spot?” He held out his arm to Ofelia, who took it. Mr. Wright, engrossed in his story once more, turned to lead them down the closest passage. “Tabitha died there some fifty years ago, of a broken heart, they say, after news arrived of the death of her betrothed in the colonies—”

His story was suddenly cut off by screaming. Not a single shriek of surprise or dismay, but a cry that seemed to go on without ceasing. Thomas Wright froze, the genial smile dropping from his face in shock. “Selina?” he called.

The screaming continued, growing more hysterical. Dropping Ofelia’s arm, he ran toward the sound, which was coming from the far hallway, past the stairs. The others, stunned into stillness, stared at each other, unsure what to do.

“I think it’s Miss Wright,” Mr. Spencer said, all traces of merriment gone from his face. “Wait here—I shall see if they need any assistance.” He made to go after, but Thomas Wright was already returning, rushing down the hall next to another man, who was carrying the screaming woman.

“The parlor, just next to you, Spencer!” Mr. Wright called. “Open the door!”

Mr. Spencer, the closest to the door, flung it open, and the hysterical woman was carried in. She was laid on a chaise longue in the middle of the dim little room, Mr. Spencer stepping forward to help settle her as the man who had carried her stepped back. Lily, glancing

around as she and the other ladies crowded through the door, thought it looked like a space reserved for the family’s private use, which made sense on an upper floor. Thomas Wright knelt next to the hysterical woman for a moment, clasping her hands.

“Selina?” he said loudly. But she kept screaming, her eyes wide and darting about the room without seeing anything. Judging by the round cheeks and dark hair they both shared, Lily thought she must be his sister. Whether they had other features in common was hard to tell when Selina Wright was in the middle of hysterics.

“Miss Wright?” Matthew Spencer tried giving her shoulders a shake. “You must stop this at once!”

But she clearly could not hear either of them. Thomas Wright took a deep breath and looked grim as, with a surprising degree of practicality, he slapped her across the face.

The screams stopped abruptly, her blank expression resolving into one of terror before her eyes latched on her brother. Her face crumpled in misery. “Oh, Thomas!” she sobbed, gasping for breath.

He gave her shoulders a little shake. “Selina, stop this—you must tell me what happened.” But she only shook her head, clutching at his coat with desperate fists and dropping her head against his shoulder, her weeping shaking them both. Mr. Wright turned to the servant who had carried his sister. “Isaiah, what happened to her?”

Isaiah was a young Black man with very short, curly hair and broad shoulders. His plain, dark clothing marked him clearly as a servant, though it was nothing so formal as the livery that

would have been worn in a great house. His wide stance spoke of confidence, and the easy way that Thomas Wright addressed him indicated long service and familiarity.

But there was no confidence on the manservant’s face as he hesitated, gulping visibly and shaking his head. His eyes were wide, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to answer, either unsure how to respond or not wanting to. “It’s . . . it’s Mrs. Wright, sir. She didn’t open her door when we knocked, and Miss Wright . . . she asked me to open it, since no one has the key . . . and she was there, sir—Mrs. Wright. She was there but she wasn’t moving. There was nothing we could do, but there was no one else there what could have done it. She’s dead, sir,” he finished in a rush. “Mrs. Wright is dead. She was killed in the night.”

Beside her, Lily heard Ofelia gasp, though she didn’t turn to look at her friend. Mr. Spencer looked up, his dark eyes wide as he met Lily’s from across the room. She stared back at him, frozen in shock, unable to believe what she had just heard.

“Killed?” Thomas Wright demanded, his voice rising with his own disbelief and his arms tightening around his sister.

“It killed her, Thomas,” Selina Wright said, raising her head at last. Now that her hysterics had faded, her cheeks had gone ashen with fear. “There was no one else who could have entered that room. The lady in gray killed our mother.”

***

Excerpt from Death at the Manor by Katharine Schellman. Copyright 2022 by Katharine Schellman. Reproduced with permission from Katharine Schellman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Katharine Schellman

Katharine Schellman is a former actor, one-time political consultant, and now the author of the Lily Adler Mysteries and the Nightingale Mysteries. Her debut novel, The Body in the Garden, was one of Suspense Magazine’s Best Books of 2020 and led to her being named one of BookPage’s 16 Women to Watch in 2020. Her second novel, Silence in the Library, was praised as “worthy of Agatha Christie or Rex Stout.” (Library Journal, starred review) Katharine lives and writes in the mountains of Virginia in the company of her husband, children, and the many houseplants she keeps accidentally murdering.

Catch Up With Katharine Schellman:
KatharineSchellman.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @katharineschellman
Instagram – @katharinewrites
Twitter – @katharinewrites
Facebook – @katharineschellman

 

 

Tour Participants:

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GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Katharine Schellman. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – Jester by Brielle D Porter @XpressoTours @briellums

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Jester
Brielle D. Porter
Publication date: August 9th 2022
Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult

What happens in Oasis, stays in Oasis.

Lisette’s father killed the King. His execution leaves Lisette alone, disgraced, and without the magic he intended to pass on to her. In Oasis, that’s a problem. Glutted with enchanted performers, Oasis is a sin city where courtiers pay in gold to drink, gamble, and above all, be entertained. To survive on its competitive streets, Lisette peddles paltry illusions in place of magic.

Desperate to prove herself, Lisette enters into a deadly competition to be chosen as the highest-ranked magician in the world, the Queen’s Jester. But her rival, the irritatingly handsome Luc, possesses the one thing Lisette does not—real magic. Lisette will do anything to win, but when evidence implicating the Queen in her husband’s murder surfaces, Lisette must choose between redeeming her family name, or seizing the fame she’s hungered for her entire life.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

A group of tourists has gathered to watch me throw knives at a shopboy. They’ve come here for magic; I’ve kept them here with misdirection and lies. Maybe it’s not magic exactly, but it is undeniably entertaining watching my unwilling assistant flinch every time the knife point gets too close to his groin.

I hold the knife steady, aiming, watching his limp hair flop as the wooden wheel he’s strapped to slowly rotates.

Stefan lets out a whimper, and I toss him a smile. He was a lot braver in the shop where I’d found him, flirting as he bagged my books. It hadn’t been hard to trick him into volunteering.

The crowd jeers.

“Aim lower!”

“Aim higher! Maim his ugly face!”

“Throw three at once!”

“Mirage, don’t you dare!” Stefan shouts.

The nighttime crowd is always hungrier for violence. I hold up my hands placatingly.

“Obviously, I can’t throw three knives at once. That would be dangerous and highly irresponsible…”

There are a couple of groans, but my reputation must precede me, because there are a few whoops and chuckles thrown in as well. With a sweep, I pull my deadliest knife from my belt, the one with the wicked serrated edge, brandishing it for the crowd.

“But I think we can spice things up a bit!”

I stab the knife into a vat of oil, the shimmering liquid sliding down the tang of the blade. Then, with a flourish, I sweep it through a nearby torch. Flame devours the knife. The crowd roars its approval. Stefan pales.

The hilt burns in my hand, throwing off sparks, as I wonder if perhaps I’ve gone too far. I’ve only tried this a few times. And the jackrabbit I had caught to practice with wasn’t even good to eat after, blackened to an inedible crisp.

Either way, I’ll give them a show.

Author Bio:

Brielle D. Porter decided to become a writer after a well-meaning elementary school teacher told her she had a gift for it. Stolen moments under the covers reading anything from Harry Potter to William Goldman solidified the desire to tell stories herself one day. Jester is her debut novel.

Brielle lives with her husband and three sons on a lavender farm in Northern Idaho. When she’s not writing, she can be found running and beekeeping. Only ask her about her hobbies if you have plenty of time to spare.

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Giveaway – The Final Crossing by Vince Santoro @GoddessFish @vsantoro14

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I love to give authors a podium and the freedom to share whatever they like. I found Vince’s Guest Post to be interesting and it got me thinking….

Guest Blog Post

Which two authors would I have dinner with?

Ernest Hemingway and Taylor Caldwell have been known for their inspiring and exceptional writing. So, what would it be like to have dinner with them?

Let the fantasy begin …

As we waited for our drinks, I leaned over to Ernest. “Put that cigar away,” I whispered, to avoid embarrassment.

“It’s Papa,” he replied in his usual charismatic tone. “I told you many times, call me Papa. And this is no ordinary cigar. It’s a Cuban puro.”

“I know what it is,” I said as my eyes followed the waft of smoke charging towards me like one of the bulls from his book, The Sun Also Rises. I moved my head to the side and added, “This is not El Floridity and it’s not 1952. It’s 2022 in Sotto Sotto, Toronto. You remember Toronto, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” Ernest said as he extinguished his cigar. “The Toronto Star. I started there as a freelancer and eventually worked as a foreign correspondent in Europe writing stories about post-WWI conditions.”

I looked over to Taylor. She wasn’t a bit annoyed. The curl of her lip suggested she rather enjoyed the exchange and would have also enjoyed a Cuban cigar.

Our server came with our drinks. “Two daquiris,” he said. Ernest smiled and tapped his finger on a space on the table in front of him. “Martini for you, madam. And Negroni for you, sir.” We toasted to friendship and writing and as the food and drinks came in plenty, so did the conversation.

“Congratulations,” Taylor said, raising her glass to me. “I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Final Crossing. Well done.”

“As did I,” Ernest said. I thanked them, smiled, and took a sip of my Negroni.

Then Taylor turned to Ernest. “Papa, you should have added more religious themes in your books.”

“You mean like your stories?”

“You know very well I have written on a broad range of subjects, not just stories related to real historical events or persons. I do not need to defend my work.”

Ernest smiled and raised his glass in tribute of her accomplishments. It was probably more in his appreciation of a woman who exemplified his own persona – strong-minded, adventurous, and passionate about her craft. The wise fisherman was no match for this marlin, at least not this time.

“And don’t forget,” I said. “While you published The Old Man and The Sea in 1952, for which you later won the Nobel Prize, Taylor had written The Devil’s Advocate, set in a dystopia where North America came under Communist rule.”

Ernest leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his drink. Then he began to talk about his time in Cuba and in Paris and in Spain. Taylor raised her hand. Ernest stopped and remained quiet. She then leaned forward towards him and said, “Don’t let the past steal your present.”

The place fell in deafening silence as if everyone had heard our conversation. I broke the stillness with my own curiosity about their work.

“Papa, did writing come easy for you?” He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat as if ready to respond in an interview with a seasoned journalist.

“Writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done,” he said. “It is a perpetual challenge, and it is more difficult than anything else that I have ever done—so I do it. And it makes me happy when I do it well.”

Then I turned to Taylor. “You have always been outspoken which is reflected in your intricately plotted, suspenseful stories depicting family tensions. Much of this stemmed from your childhood. Would you agree?”

“To some extent,” she replied. “As you know, I emigrated to the U.S. with my parents and younger brother in 1907. Shortly after my father died and the family struggled. I think I tapped into those experiences and wrote them in my stories.”

“I believe you started to write at the age of eight and wrote your first novel when you were twelve.”

She smiled. Then, as if the memories surfaced, her smile faded. “My ill health prevented me from doing many things, except writing of course. I buried myself in writing and the world knew little about me. Many presumed I or rather the author, was a man. That was my first editor’s doing, giving me a pen name. When my identity was eventually made known there was even some public fuss over it.”

“Did that experience change how you thought about people?”

“The nature of human beings never changes. Political fads come and go; theories rise and fall; the scientific truth of today becomes the discarded error of tomorrow. Man’s ideas change, but not his inherent nature. That remains.”

My eyes darted towards Ernest who sat with his hand on his chin, and I could tell he learned something new about Taylor.

“OK, now please humour me,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three pens, one for each of us. I then took out a piece of paper, ripped it in three and distributed them. I had obviously planned for this moment.

I continued. “If we were stranded on an island and brought with us only one book, what would it be? Write it down, fold the paper and pass it to me.”

They were pensive at first. But then, in unison, they wrote down their answer and handed it to me. I also wrote mine. I unfolded each one and placed them on the table for us to see which book we would have had brought with us.

Taylor wrote, The Old Man and The Sea. Ernest wrote, The Devil’s Advocate. I wrote, The Final Crossing.

We laughed and laughed. We ate and drank. We savoured the evening until the place had emptied, except for three revelling authors.

And the fantasy ended.

What a fun post. I know I have read The Old Man and The Sea, but the others….I’ll be checking. I loved the post and you made it so enjoyable, Vince. Thank you very much.

The Final Crossing: A Tale of Self-Discovery and Adventure by Vince Santoro

GENRE:   Historical Fiction

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In this tale of self-discovery and adventure, we are connected with a history we’ve come to know as the cradle of civilization.

Nenshi, an Egyptian house servant, raised in nobility, is well-schooled, a master huntsman and hungers to be free. His master agrees to grant his freedom but while the petition is set to be heard, Nenshi’s indiscretion gets in the way. He is caught in a secret love affair with a woman above his social status.

As punishment, he is exiled to labour in the Nubian gold mines. His life turns upside down as he is thrust into a world for which he had been ill prepared. He escapes from the mines and vows to return to Thebes, but his attempts push him farther and farther away on a journey that redefines him – a journey mired with cruelty, bloodshed, and the discovery of a new deity.

In the end Nenshi learns his freedom has been granted and must decide whether to return to his homeland or start a new life.


“I greatly enjoyed this well written story by Vince Santoro. He takes us across the Ancient World
through the protagonist, Nenshi, an exiled Egyptian servant who struggles with class structure, both around and within himself. Santoro weaves a story of ideas – a sense of belonging, monotheism, and the human soul – told through Nenshi’s rite of passage through to his final crossing. The setting is visually evocative of “spirit of place” as the novelist and travel writer Lawrence Durrell called it. It’s a story worth reading.” – Terry Stanfill
Award winning historical fiction author of The Gift from Fortuny, Realms of Gold, The Blood Remembers and other works.

“Vince Santoro is a gifted storyteller. I found The Final Crossing difficult to put down because it is
well written. As an historian and author of non-fiction books, I am impressed with the amount of research that Santoro has done to prepare this story of adventure and romance set in the ancient Middle East. The customs, the beliefs and even the character names are all authentic to that region and era. With so many plot twists and turns, Santoro will keep you guessing about what might happen next to the protagonist until the very end!” – John Charles Corrigan
Author of The Red Knight and “Love Always”

EXCERPT

Twilight was fast approaching, and they returned to the trail. From a distance they saw an abundance of trees and vegetation that sprung from the hard soil. Moments later, they heard rushing water. A twisting river murmured. It called out and invited them to consume its wealth. Nenshi and Aziza went to explore it.

Aziza stopped and kneeled to examine small flowers in bloom. On the river’s edge Nenshi bent over and splashed water on his face. He cupped his hands and drank its cool refreshing offering. Rocks jutted out from the shallow water. He heard footsteps and threw a glance behind him. Aziza, ran towards him, as free as the wind blew, eager to jump into the river. Nenshi screamed from the top of his lungs to warn her.

“Aziza … Aziza … be careful, the water is shallow! There are rocks!”

Her excitement muffled his warning. Nenshi then stood, flapped his arms to get her attention. She pushed her legs hard against the water to run faster until it was just deep enough to jump in.

“Aziza …. Aziza … stop …” Nenshi cried. Aziza took another step but this time slipped and almost fell. She tried to regain balance and continued moving forward. Nenshi gasped hoping she realized the danger and would stop. But she didn’t and it was too late. She slipped again, fell and hit a rock. Nenshi immediately ran to her, stepping and slipping on rocks that almost caused him to lose balance. Babak who had heard Nenshi’s cries dashed to the river. Nenshi crouched over the wet and motionless body.

“Help me get her out,” Nenshi cried out as he lifted her, propped her head and shoulders in his arms. Blood, washed by the water, dripped from her head.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Vince is an Italian-born Canadian who grew up in Toronto, Canada, and now lives in Pickering, a suburb of Toronto.

In his youth, education and sports became a priority. A private boys’ school, St. Michael’s College in Toronto, provided the opportunity for both. He graduated from York University, Toronto, with a degree in history and a minor in behavioural science.

Vince was always up for new challenges. After completing his studies, he set his eyes on Europe and played professional basketball in Italy. When he returned home, he shifted gears and worked in the aerospace industry in several capacities. The most rewarding was managing internal communications for a large aircraft manufacturer. It was during this time he decided to hone his writing skills by studying journalism at Ryerson University, Toronto, and he had several articles published.

His career in communications along with studies in history and journalism prepared him to take on his next challenge: to write a book. His debut novel, The Final Crossing, has been a labour of love, one he worked on for many years. It reflects life experiences, woven into a story that inspires and entertains, and perhaps even show the world in a different way.

CONNECT WITH VINCE SANTORO

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Giveaway – Last Star Standing by Spaulding Taylor @GoddessFish @astmcveigh1

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Last Star Standing by Spaulding Taylor

GENRE: Thriller (speculative)

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Aiden has always felt like an outsider. After the rebel assassin is captured and imprisoned by the world’s galactic overlords, he awaits execution. Then a mole working for the occupying regime alerts him to a plot that could destroy the entire resistance…

Engineering a daring escape, Aiden’s growing feud with the new rebel leader leaves him out in the cold and smouldering with resentment. Faced with deceit and betrayals on every side, he recruits a group of overlooked outcasts and stakes everything on one last mission.

Can the restless, reckless Aiden take a stand long enough to save humanity from enslavement?

EXCERPT

Nothing. Clean as a whistle. Until my massive hand grasped hold of something, something which must have blended into its background so perfectly that I hadn’t even spotted it. Something alive, nestling under the co-pilot’s seat. I couldn’t believe it. A live gromeline. Trembling, possibly with fury, and trying in vain to squeeze back. Grabbing my trophy – I could feel its hot little heart throbbing like an injury against my palm – I hopped out of the plane so fast that my wound protested.

‘Bully!’

Bully raised one eyebrow. Two would have been overkill.

‘Bully, you are not going to believe this. I found a gromeline!’ The gromeline – only about fifteen centimetres – bit my finger, hard, even though I could have easily crushed its entire body with my fist – and probably would have, had I been a tester, and not merely disguised as one.

Feisty little gromeline. I flicked it lightly with my sausage-sized finger. When it protested, I growled, ‘Cheese it, munchkin,’ though I could feel it struggling obstreperously against my palm.

Bully was intrigued. ‘Is it genuine?’ ‘Of course it’s genuine. It just bit me, didn’t it?’

Bully probably considered this no proof. But they’re rarer than clean air these days and his fascination was obvious. Now gromelines come from the farthest galaxy so far discovered, can speak any tongue and own enviable mental powers. They are also brave to the point of stupidity and ludicrously small. This one was mouse-coloured – they can be spectacular – with tiny red eyes. Few humans have ever seen one.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Alice (Spaulding Taylor) McVeigh has been published by Orion/Hachette in contemporary fiction, by Unbound Publishing in action/adventure and by Warleigh Hall Press in Austenesque fiction. Her novels have won Gold Medal/First Place is the Global, eLit and Pencraft Book Awards, been runner-up in the Independent Press Awards, finalists in the Eric Hoffer, Rone and Wishing Shelf Book Awards and selected by Shelf Unbound as one of the “top indies” of 2021. Two of her novels are currently finalists in the CIBA Book Awards (the Cygnus and Goethe Awards). Her most recent novel (Harriet: A Jane Austen Variation) was just selected as Editors’ Pick “outstanding” on Publishers Weekly.

A professional London cellist, Alice lives in London and Crete with her professor husband: their only child is completing her Masters in Chinese Literature. They also share two miniature long-haired dachshunds and an incurable addiction to tennis.

Links

  • Website: https://linktr.ee/ASTMcVeigh
  • Facebook: (me) https://www.facebook.com/alice.mcveigh.5/
  •                   (author me) https://www.facebook.com/alicemcveighauthor
  • Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mcveigh.alice/
  • Twitter: https://twitter.com/astmcveigh1
  • Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Alice-Mcveigh/e/B07TDKZPVT/ref=aufs_dp_fta_dsk   OR
  • Amazon.co.uk: www.amazon.co.uk/Alice-Mcveigh/e/B07TDKZPVT?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1610184384&sr=1-1
  • Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1108881.Alice_McVeigh
  • Linked in: https://www.linkedin.com/in/alice-mcveigh-59ab1718/
  • pinterest https://www.pinterest.co.uk/astmcveigh/_saved/
  • tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@alicemcveigh0?lang=en

Video for Last Star Standing

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Giveaway & Review – River Of Ashes by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor @partnersincr1me

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River of Ashes

by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor

August 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Amazon

MY REVIEW

First off, I love the cover. It makes me think fantasy, but I guess psychopaths hide behind a mask of their own making, so it fits the story. I love psychological thrillers and find psychopaths fascinating. Because of the very effective blurb, a sense of menace lingers on every page and I am waiting and eager for the bad to begin.

River of Ashes by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor is told from the psychopath’s point of view, at least some of the time. Oh yeah. I love seeing the world through his twisted eyes.

Beau is rich, a psychopath and he wants Leslie, though, for the moment, he’s settled for her sister, Dawn, while Leslie find Derek perfect and wants nothing to do with the ‘off’ Beau. Her intuition is spot on.

Beau hides his anger. His motto: Never lose control. One slip…Once the genie is out of the bottle…All his life, his dad had told him, “Don’t let them see who you really are.”

WOW. So much heartache and evil, twists and turns. I love books that get my emotions bubbling, gripping me, making me read until the wee hours of the morning, having to know…I couldn’t stop.

I always try and figure things out, but it didn’t happen here. I was surprised at the very end and that rarely happens. I can hardly wait to see what’s in store for Book II, River Of Wrath, and I plan to be around for it.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of River Of Ashes by Alexandrea Weiss & Lucas Astor.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

*Apple’s Most Anticipated Books for Summer in Mysteries & Thrillers*

SOME TRUTHS ARE BETTER KEPT SECRET. SOME SECRETS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD.

Along the banks of the Bogue Falaya River, sits the abandoned St. Francis Seminary. Beneath a canopy of oaks, blocked from prying eyes, the teens of St. Benedict High gather here on Fridays. The rest of the week belongs to school and family—but weekends belong to the river. And the river belongs to Beau Devereaux. The only child of a powerful family, Beau can do no wrong. Star quarterback. Handsome. Charming. The “prince” of St. Benedict is the ultimate catch. He is also a psychopath.

A dirty family secret buried for years, Beau’s evil grows unchecked. In the shadows of the haunted abbey, he commits unspeakable acts on his victims and ensures their silence with threats and intimidation. Senior year, Beau sets his sights on his girlfriend’s headstrong twin sister, Leslie, who hates him. Everything he wants but cannot have, she will be his ultimate prize. As the victim toll mounts, it becomes clear that someone must stop Beau Devereaux. And that someone will pay with their life.

River of Ashes is a Southern Gothic, Psychological Thriller inspired by true events in the vein of V.C. Andrews with elements of Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn and You by Caroline Kepnes. River of Ashes addresses social issues including sexual violence and bullying.

Praise for River of Ashes:

“River of Ashes offers an inside look into the mind of a psychopath—a cautionary tale that the scariest monsters are the ones you know but never suspect.”

Pearry Teo, PhD; Award-Winning Director of The Assent, Executive Producer of Cloud Atlas

“A psychological portrait akin to Lord of the Flies.”

Midwest Book Review

“If Gillian Flynn and Bret Easton Ellis had a book baby, it would be River of Ashes.”

~Booktrib

Book Details:

Genre: Southern Gothic / Psychological Thriller / Coming-of-Age
Published by: Vesuvian Books
Publication Date: August 2nd 2022
Number of Pages: 284
ISBN: 1645480984 (ISBN13: 9781645480983)
Series: St. Benedict #1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound

Read an excerpt:

Leslie turned off Main Street and headed along the single-lane road. The storefronts gave way to homes with colorful gardens and oaks draped with tendrils of Spanish moss. Then the houses grew sparse and disappeared as greenery hugged the side of the road. Leslie slowed to avoid a pothole and heard the rush of the Bogue Falaya River through the open windows.

The trees thinned, revealing the two stone spires of The Abbey. Apprehension snaked through her as she pictured Beau, her sister, and all the unsettling things she associated with the derelict church.

A wall of dense red buckeye bushes swaying in the breeze shrouded the road. Leslie drove through an opening someone carved out long ago. A cleared lot lay hidden beyond the dense hedge, surrounded by thick pines and oaks, with paths leading down a steep embankment to the river’s edge.

Leslie got out of the car, listening to the sweet refrain of birds in the trees. “No one’s here today.”

“It’s still too early. Everybody from school likes to come after dark.” Derek led her to a pine-straw-covered path and to the shore of the rushing river.

Something moved in the dense underbrush. Leslie walked ahead, trying to get a better look. “What’s that?”

She crossed several broken branches until she stumbled on something nestled in the foliage. The stench of rotting flesh hit her nose. She gagged and slowed to a stop.

“Wait, be careful.” Derek swept aside a few leafy twigs to get a better look.

Flies covered the bloated belly of a white-tailed deer. Deep grooves slashed into what remained of the deer’s neck. The poor animal’s hindquarters appeared torn away.

Leslie crept closer. “What could do such a thing?”

Derek took her hand and backed out of the brush. “I bet it was the wild dogs.”

Leslie let him lead her away from the stench. “What wild dogs?”

He stopped outside of the brush. “They’re around here. A couple of weeks ago, Mom said some hunters came in the diner and reported seeing them.”

“Where did they come from?” Leslie’s voice shook.

Derek guided her to a path curving down a long slope. The roar of the river grew louder.

“There are lots of stories. I heard they were left behind when the monks abandoned the place. Legend has it that when they appear, death is near.”

A shudder ran through her.

Derek tugged Leslie’s hand. “Come on.”

The path widened, and a beach came into view. The outcropping of white sand had a collection of green picnic tables, red barrel trash cans, and fire pits along the river’s edge. Around the beach, thick brush covered the shore with limbs from pine trees dipping into the water. The sun sparkled on the gentle waves.

Leslie followed him along the shoreline until they came to a rusted iron gate with a No Trespassing sign secured to it. The sign, decorated with crosses and swirls, marked the entrance to The Abbey grounds. Stepping through the open gate, she peered up at the imposing structure.

Two spires of white limestone, shaped like the tip of a sword, cut into the blue sky. A structure of red brick and limestone, the front windows and doors secured with loose scraps of plywood, sat in the middle of a field of high grass. The squat stone building of cloisters behind The Abbey remained intact. The Benedictine monks, who had run the seminary and were responsible for the preparation of future priests, demolished the dormitories, refectory, and library after they abandoned the site. The rest remained because, in the South, it was considered bad luck to tear down churches.

“Some place, huh?” Derek let go of her hand and ventured across the high grass.

A wave of panic shot through Leslie.

The grounds, unkempt after years of neglect, were a hodgepodge of weeds, overgrown trees, and vines.

Why would people come here at night?

“You ever wonder why those monks just up and left?” Leslie was uncomfortable with the eerie quiet. Even the birds had stopped singing. “Everyone says they got a better offer from the seminary in New Orleans, but it seems funny a bunch of people abandoned the place for no reason.”

Derek parted a thick pile of tall grass with his shoe. “My mom told me it was falling apart when she was a kid, and the Archdiocese didn’t have the money to fix it. So, they packed up the school and sent the monks and all the staff to New Orleans.”

“I read once that the structure dates back to the early 1800s, when the Devereaux family built it as a private church.” Leslie eyed the empty belfry atop one of the square-shaped towers. “You’d think they’d want to save it.”

Derek nudged her with his elbow. “Maybe the ghost drove them away.”

Beau’s tale had been in the back of her mind the whole time, but Derek’s comment spooked the crap out of her. “By ghost, do you mean the lady in white?”

“Yep.” He scanned the land around them. “They say she appears when the moon is full or during storms.”

The thought of being alone in such a disturbing place terrified her. “Have you ever seen the ghost?”

Derek searched the thick foliage ahead of them. “Nah. I’ve never seen anything.”

Granite steps appeared as they drew near the entrance.

Leslie kicked herself for letting him talk her into coming to this place. “What about the wild dogs? Have you seen them around The Abbey?”

“Not to worry, love, I’ll protect you from ghosts, wild dogs, and Beau Devereaux.” He climbed the steps, encouraging her to join him. “But I have to draw the line at your mother. There’s no way I’m taking her on in a fight.”

On the porch, beneath the cracked and chipped stone arch above the doors, she waited while Derek wrestled with the plywood covering the entrance. Despite the creep factor, the lush green trees surrounding them had a soothing effect. Leslie breathed in the fresh pine scent and mossy aroma of the tall grass. Then a fly zipped past her face.

Thud.

She turned and discovered Derek had pushed a large piece of plywood securing the door out of the way, leaving a nice-sized gap to crawl through.

“How did you do that?”

Derek held the plywood to the side for her. “The loose boards have been rigged to open easily.”

Leslie dipped her head and looked through the doorway. “You sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t bring you here if it wasn’t, love.”

His smile won over her fears.

Once inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Pinpoints of light shone on a floor covered with clumps of debris. In the roof, thousands of holes, some big and some small, littered the space between the bare beams where parts of plaster had fallen away. Birds’ nests of light-colored hay and twigs nestled against blackish beams and shadowy eaves, creating a patchwork design on the ceiling. It reminded Leslie of the quilt her grandmother had made for her as a child.

Derek appeared, shining a beam of light on the floor.

She pointed at the flashlight. “Where did you get that?”

“Me and the guys have been here a few times. We’ve stashed stuff around the place. We even have sleeping bags and water bottles socked away.”

Here she was a nervous wreck while his friends had turned it into their personal campground. Leslie’s skin crawled at the idea of spending the night in such a place. “I don’t know why you guys come here.”

He took her hand, and the beam bounced on the dusty floor. “I don’t get why you’re so freaked out. It’s just an old building. There’s nothing sinister about it.”

Beau’s words about taking her to The Abbey sent a shiver down her spine. Any girl would be at his mercy in such a place. She questioned her sister’s choices, knowing she’d been there with Beau.

Derek swung the light across the floor, shining it on dozens of rotted pews, leaves, twigs, crumbled plaster pieces from the ceiling, and skeletons of dead birds. “Lots of animals use this place as shelter. I’ve seen possums, raccoons, deer, and once, I swear I saw a black leopard running out the back.”

Leslie became even more uneasy about being in the building. “You wouldn’t happen to have a shotgun in your stash.”

“The animals don’t bother me, just the people.”

Their footfalls echoed through the vast structure as they ventured farther. Leslie kept expecting someone or something to jump out from the shadows. Her only distraction was the intricate carvings atop the arches and the paintings on the walls. Men and angels exchanged timid glances as rays of light from parting clouds shined down.

Paintings of Noah and the flood, Adam and Eve, and other Genesis stories were barely visible on the white plaster covering the arches along the central aisle. In one spot, where the roof remained intact, she could make out the image of Moses holding the Ten Commandments. His eyes stood out the most. It was like they carried the burning wrath of God.

Shivering, Leslie looked ahead to a white archway marking the entrance to the altar. The gleam of the limestone appeared pristine. She got closer to the most sacred part of the old church, and her sense of dread rose. She spun around to face the scattered, rotting pews behind them.

“What is it?” Derek asked, taking her hand.

His voice rattled inside the hollows of the church, adding to her anxiety. They stood under the circular dome where the altar had once been, and then a low growl came from a shadowy corner.

The air left her lungs. Her senses heightened. Seconds ticked by while she listened for other sounds. “Tell me you heard that.”

Derek raised his finger to his lips and nodded to a door on his left.

***

Excerpt from River of Ashes by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Copyright 2022 by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor. Reproduced with permission from Vesuvian Books. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet Our Authors:

Alexandrea Weis

Alexandrea Weis

Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an IPPY Award-Winning author, advanced practice registered nurse, and wildlife rehabber who was born and raised in the French Quarter. She has taught at major universities and worked with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at many New Orleans area hospitals. She is a member of the International Thriller Writers Organization and Horror Writers Association. The Strand Magazine said, “Alexandrea Weis is one of the most talented authors around, and in a short time her novels are destined to stand along with authors such as Stephen King, Gillian Flynn, Joyce Carol Oates, and Jeffery Deaver.”

Catch Up With Alexandrea Weis:
AlexandreaWeis.com
StBenedictSeries.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @AlexandreaWeis
Instagram – @AlexandreaWeis
Twitter – @AlexandreaWeis
Facebook – @AuthorAlexandreaWeis

 

Lucas Astor

Author Lucas Astor is an award-winning author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but next door behind a smiling face. Astor currently lives outside of Nashville, TN.

Catch Up With Lucas Astor:
LucasAstor.com
Instagram – @lucasastorauthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

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Giveaway – The Light After The Orange by Beverley J Hall @XpressoTours

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The Light After the Orange
Beverley J. Hall
(The Tundra Stone Series, #1)
Publication date: July 18th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Post-Apocalyptic

EVEN IN A DYING WORLD, IS SURVIVAL ENOUGH?

After the Orange and the catastrophic devastation of Earth, magic began to seep in—but will it help Alex Chegasa survive?

Hidden and protected by magic, she grew up embracing her gifts. After witnessing the only people she can call family being murdered, eighteen-year-old Alex must choose between her head and her heart in her search for a place to belong. But, her hunt for a home means having to hide her magic.

All the while, in the shadows, eight-hundred-year-old Fae Billey NicNevin, suffering from amnesia, is rediscovering her magic.

Are their fates intertwined?

What if the fantastical stories Alex’s mother told her as a child were true?

ALL MYTHS ARE BASED ON TRUTH

Sales Copy: Eighteen-year-old Alex Chegasa, one of the first generation to be raised on post-apocalyptic Earth, was taught to embrace her magical gifts.

After the Orange, as the planet burned, magic trickled in. The bombs that had wiped out most life ripped open the barrier between worlds. Can the next generation, connected to the magic, be the solution to mankind’s problems or are they destined to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors?

Did the Orange, the very thing that ravaged the planet, also provide the solution? Or is magic more than a coincidence?

While Alex searches for somewhere to belong, in Massachusetts, she questions if survival is enough when she comes to understand that magic, used by the wrong people, could be more dangerous than the power of the generations before her.

Meanwhile, in a parallel story, we meet eight-hundred-year-old Fae, Billey NicNevin. With a past she doesn’t remember, she struggles to fit into Nuadh Caled (New Scotland) as it rebuilds itself. When she meets a woman whose soul calls to her, will she find her missing piece or tumble into insanity?

Are their destinies connected?

WHAT IF THE FANTASTICAL STORIES FROM ALEX’S CHILDHOOD WERE TRUE?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play

—

EXCERPT:

Loneliness ate me up from the inside, nibbling away at me and leaving an aching emptiness. I didn.t know what I missed or who I missed but knew, deep in the part of my soul that holds my intuition, there was a person-size hole nobody could fix, except for the one.

The person we all hunt for but so rarely find.
The person we were made to fit with.
The one imperfect, perfect, mismatch our soul longs for. *

The trees gathered around me and protected me from the breeze that grew and took on a new life. I rested against the rough bark of the largest tree, my rear now sitting into the roots that formed a seat in the ground. The tree, I almost believed, was shaped for me. Its branches wrapped around my tiny form as I snuggled among the roots. The wind grazed my cheek and I pulled my scarf around my face, desperate to stay here for every second possible.

The sound of the wind howling through the branches vibrated the leaves and created a voice I longed to understand. I closed my eyes, listening, imagining I could hear the voices of the trees. I felt my soul combine with the tree, and contentment that existed nowhere else in my life melted my anguish and pain.

My eyes shot open and I stared at where Geilis had been moments earlier. Empty space filled my view.
I was, again, alone.

Author Bio:

Beverley J. Hall was born in Kent, England, and raised in Scotland. Most of her childhood was spent with her nose in a book, and her love of stories was born.

While studying Art and Design, she discovered her love of storytelling, whether with paint, sculpture, fabric, or words.

After completing an MA in Creative Writing, she is now living her best life, writing stories at the seaside with her son, her granddaughter, and her cat Bertie.

Head over to TikTok, Instagram, or Twitter to join her overthinking and daydreaming (she’s still hoping for a pet dragon).

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok


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Giveaway – Peaches And Cream by S London @XpressoTours @siera_london

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Peaches and Cream
S. London
Publication date: August 3rd 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Gabriel Abruzzo
Soft.
Ripe.
Juicy.
Her name is Empress. I asked, she didn’t tell. The new masseuse at The Governor is quiet and delicate. Delicate things get broken in the underworld, but Empress is on edge, those dark eyes harboring a thousand nightmares. Edgy gets my attention. And drawing my attention means trouble is coming. I should send her packing, but she clings to me, a man without a soul. One touch and all I think about is the taste of sweet nectar on my tongue. I know she has secrets but I’ll protect my little peach from bruises…at all costs.

Empress Reign
Dark.
Lethal.
Haunted.
I ran from a dangerous man. Now, I’m attracted to one with a darkness that frightens even my demons. Distractions, in the form of my new client, Gabriel could prove deadly. Touching him, stroking my fingers over all his sinewy muscle makes my mouth water for a taste. Getting involved would mean trusting him with my secret. Gabriel’s no angel, yet being close to him transforms my living hell into heaven. Maybe I’m biting off more than I can swallow, or am I?

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“Bill ain’t here, lady. Now get out.”

Bill? Now I’m for real confused. “I don’t know Bill.”

He twists those gorgeous full lips into a lopsided smirk. “With the road dust on you, thought you were here for a kill.”

I can’t help the eye roll at the movie reference. “Haha. You made a funny.”

“I don’t joke,” he rasps. “Who are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Answer my question. A name.”

“I would like to see The Doctor,” I repeat, lifting my chin, staring him in those dark pits that are swallowing me up like shadow giving way to darkness.

“No. Leave,” he says.

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t belong here.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. No. But it’s a free country.”

“Not in these walls. Management reserves the right to say leave… while you can.” He smiles, flashing me one gold canine.

My heart slams in my chest. What the fuck? I will myself not to take a step back. He’s trying to intimidate you, Empress. Inhaling, I slow my rapid breathing. Who in the hell on the management team thought a bully with a double flare plug in each earlobe and a polished fang should greet the guests? Not that it’s my business, but I ain’t scared… that much.

“He’s expecting me. You can do your job and tell him that his guest has arrived. I will wait right here.”

He narrows dark eyes on me. The broad muscles across his chest bunch in agitation. I can see it even through his suit jacket, that looks so out of place on a man built like a mountain. Images of him shirtless, no, naked and alone on a mountain peak, the world perfectly poised on his broad shoulders, have me sucking in a breath. He-man tattoos all across his chest proclaiming him the biggest and the baddest of them all.

I forget that Jada is on speaker until she says, “Tell that asshole that you have an appointment with The Doctor, don’t let him stop you.”

He looks to the phone I’m still holding in my hand. I tuck it behind my back as if he might take it from me. Like I’m a child who’s touched something that daddy says I can’t have.

“Yeah, what she said. Go get The Doctor, now.”

“Why do you need his help?” The way he asks the question gives me pause. Like he’s trying to decipher an agenda beyond medical necessity.

“That’s none of your business. Why don’t you just do your job, you glorified jackass. And go get The Damn Doctor like I asked.”

“Not wise to call me names, pretty girl.”

“Woman,” I correct. “And, normally I don’t, but when the ass fits, wear it. You’re giving me a hard time. So, I do what I have to do.” It’s true. I’ve always done what I had to do. It may have taken me a little bit longer to get away from Rafa, but I did it. I’m not going back.

No one is gonna stop me. Not even this asshole who’s trying to play gatekeeper in this fancy hotel. No one gives shit about women like me. Those who choose the wrong men. Who are stalked and hunted by men with money, power, or both.

I don’t give a shit what this man thinks of me. I have responsibilities. Jada is depending on me to protect her. And Alfie… I have to figure a way out of this.

“You know what? Never mind. I don’t need your help. I’ll find The Damn Doctor myself.”

I pivot on one soggy sneaker, a deliberate drag of my feet to scuff the clean tiles. Looking from left to right for something that hints at where a doctor’s corner would be in a palatial hotel.

There’s this club to my right. Al Di La is elegantly carved into the sign above double paned doors. It looks like some type of lounge. Inside, people are huddled in semi-circular booths chatting and laughing. Distracted by the opalescent, I missed the soft jazz accompanying a female vocalist floating through the air.

I turn to my left. There’s a bank of elevators. I’ll start with them.

Before I can take a step, Mr. No is around the counter. I see him coming towards me. I take a step back, stumbling over another guest’s personal luggage behind me.

Mr. No reaches out an arm and snakes it around my waist.

Panic. Fear. It all crushes into me.

“Let go of me. Don’t!” I scream. My arms are flailing as I curl my fingers into talons to fight off my attacker.

“Sis, what’s happening? Say something. I swear, if that jackass lays one finger on you, I’m gonna come down there and a kick his jolly green ass.”

“Whoa,” he grumbles while blocking my blows with ease. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Too late. Cramps shoot up my balled fists. Pain explodes in my shoulders. “Damn it.”

“That’s enough!” His voice rumbles over me, weighted and slow, crushing my anger. The previous agitation tumbles over at the impact. A new, more troubling sensation emerges. Attraction.

He holds me firm in his arms, but his touch is gentle. Our size difference is comedic. His big beast nostrils flare to my round-eyed dark beauty. I relax my fighting stance and cling to him. But then, like a well-trained pet, I remember. Big hands bruise. Big hands hurt. Big hands kill. Tensing, my demons break free, their defenses fighting a battle one touch from this stranger could defend.

I draw back my hand. With my open palm, I make contact, across his bearded jaw as hard as I can.

“What the fuck was that for?” he bellows, but he doesn’t release me.

“Don’t ever touch me!” I yell, shoving his hands away. “Stop being an asshole. Stop telling me no. Stop holding me.”

My breath is a choppy, high pitch. My inside voice is gone. All hope of staying invisible vanishes. The other guests watch the beginnings of what I’m sure is an emotional meltdown.

My clothes have shifted, and the scars to both wrists are on display. He looks at them, then back at me. I refuse to feel shame for surviving Rafa’s hell. Steeling my spine, I point in the direction of the lounge.

“Is The Doctor in there?”

“No,” he says, lifting one of my wrists for a closer examination. “Who hurt you?”

It comes out as a growl. His eyes darken to an obsidian I’ve only seen under museum glass. His whole body seems to grow before my eyes like the hulking beast he is. I grab the edges of my secondhand sweater, yanking the sleeves lower.

“No one,” I lie, averting my gaze.

“Hate liars, pretty woman.”

“Well, that’s all you’re gonna get from me, beast boy.”


Author Bio:

Siera writes heroines you know, heroes you love, and romance you feel.

USA Today Bestselling & Award-winning author, Siera London pens contemporary and paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and crime fiction. She crafts stories of diverse characters navigating their journeys to love with intelligence, wit, and heart-gripping emotion.

When away from the literary world, Siera lives on the east coast with Mr. Awesome and a color patch tabby named Frie. Visit her website at www.sieralondonauthor.com to subscribe to Siera London News or follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorsieralondon. Repped by Latoya Smith / ArtHouse Literary Services

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram


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Giveaway – Storm And Flame by Mallory Wanless @XpressoTours @mwanless_author

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Storm and Flame
Mallory Wanless
(Enchanted, #1)
Publication date: September 22nd 2022
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Elena has always been a disappointment. Her magic is practically non-existent and now, on her sixteenth birthday, she is expelled from magic school by the strict headmistress–also known as her mother. Cast out into the world of the magically inept with only her familiar for company, Elena feels lost and alone until she meets a strange boy in the woods.

Quinn is a thief, a hunter, and a hothead. His unexpected friendship with Elena awakens a fiery side in him–quite literally–and uncovers new and surprising magical abilities. Except men aren’t supposed to be capable of magic.

With Quinn’s help, Elena carves a safe new life as a barmaid, but when she is attacked, her powers awaken with shocking ferocity. Elena’s explosion of magic creates a power surge that attracts the attention of magical investigators, sent to uncover and contain the source of the power surge.

But the awakening of their powers kickstarts an ancient prophecy. Will they be able to escape those that hunt them? Can they fulfill the prophecy, destroy the turmio and save magic from being destroyed once and for all?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

“Come on. Just work, dammit,” Elena muttered to herself, trying for the millionth time to cast her spell.

Agon had stretched his lithe, weasel-like body across a long, skinny patch of sunlight on the floor of the testing room. He’d spent the morning basking in the warmth of the sun-drenched stone and flicking his fluffy blue-black tail back and forth. As her closest, and arguably only, friend, Agon knew nothing he could say would make her feel better. She was in a mood, and the best thing he could do was to leave her be.

Sparks flared and quickly sputtered out from Elena’s fingertips.

“Dammit. Why can’t I get this stupid spell right?” It was a rhetorical question, but Elena was so frustrated by her own ineptitude that she would have traded everything she owned to successfully complete a spell on the first try.

Elena was easily the worst enchantress in her class, probably the whole school. The other students mocked her mercilessly. It didn’t help that her mother, Madame LaBelle, was the most famous enchantress in the whole country, possibly the world, and the headmistress of their school. She could turn a seed into a centuries-old tree with the flick of her wrist. Elena could grow a seed into a sapling with twenty minutes of chanting, flicking, waving, and praying. Maybe. On a good day.

Madame LaBelle was notorious for her skills with magic as much as her beauty. Unfortunately for Elena, she inherited her looks from her father. At least, she assumed that’s where she got her flat hair and dull brown eyes. She’d never actually met him. In Waverly, as far as enchantresses were concerned, men served one purpose: impregnating women. The men were used and released of all parental rights, whether they liked it or not. Most men didn’t even know the woman they had lain with was an enchantress, much less that they had fathered a child as a result. The women opted to disguise themselves — bar wenches, visitors lost in the big city, damsels in need of aid on the side of the road, etc. — just to get what they needed and be gone before the man even knew her name.

It was crass and cowardly, but Elena had been raised to believe it was for the best. Men weren’t capable of raising children, especially magical ones, and an enchantress always gave birth to another enchantress. Never in the history of the world, had an enchantress given birth to a non-magical child. Or a boy, for that matter. Enchantress beget enchantress. End of story.

Elena dreamed of love and happy endings when she was younger. All the girls did, but their time at Harbor Ridge taught them that magic was their top priority, followed closely by their loyalty to the school and Madame LaBelle. Elena always felt that it was a tad hypocritical how often her mother preached about loyalty to their family — the school and their classmates — when she never paid any attention to her own flesh and blood. What sort of mother neglects her own child to favor those who are more adept at magic? Not a good one, Elena mused glumly.

Agon had been with her since before she was born, like all familiars. They were born together and stayed attached for an “unusually long time,” according to her mother. Typically, familiars disconnected from the baby’s umbilical cord within a few days before settling into their permanent animal form. Agon and Elena stayed connected for two weeks, all the while Agon remained a blob encased in the placenta. Her mother had many specialists, including a Therionology Enchantress, or an animal enchantress, come and inspect Agon and try to coax him into taking any form at all. Nothing worked. Baby Elena just spent her days cuddling “this disgusting blob of goo” and sleeping. Madame LaBelle often liked to remind Elena of how unusual that was, and how that should have been a sign that her daughter was going to be different, and not in a good way.

Agon did eventually develop into an animal; however, he didn’t change into anything anyone had ever seen before. When she was young, Elena overheard one of the scholars reminiscing with another about how they’d managed to identify Agon as a Raju. Madame LaBelle had tasked all of the scholars in the Therionology department to scour all the history books and tomes to identify him. Agon was the only known Raju in ages, and Madame LaBelle hated it. Rajus were blue-furred, weasel-like creatures that had lightning abilities. Another frustrating hiccup, as far as Madame LaBelle was concerned. Familiars weren’t supposed to have magic of their own; they were just meant to be guides to help the enchantress learn to control her powers.


Author Bio:

Mallory lives in Texas with her husband and their two young boys. She spends her days homeschooling and full-time parenting. Her nights, and any free time she manages to carve out during the day, are devoted to reading and writing.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok


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Giveaway – Love Is For The Dogs by Annee Jones @GoddessFish

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Love is for the Dogs by Annee Jones

GENRE:   Clean contemporary romance

BLURB

A coveted award…a missing Maltese…and a cheating ex… Can Trisha Campbell survive this year’s dog show competition in Last Chance Beach, much less walk away without a broken heart?

If there’s one thing vet tech Trisha Campbell knows, it’s dogs. Men, however, not so much. Especially ever since catching her ex-boyfriend, Miami P.D. Landon Prescott, kissing her arch-nemesis, Blythe Baker, at last year’s dog show after Blythe’s pup Princess took home the grand prize. Needless to say, Trisha’s not looking forward to seeing either of them again at this year’s competition in Last Chance Beach, even if her beloved Maltese, Chloe, is a front-runner for the coveted trophy.

Soon after arriving on the island for the week-long event, Princess goes missing and everyone fingers Trisha as the dog-napper since her pooch is Princess’ main opponent. With not only the prize money but also her reputation at stake, Trisha’s willing to join forces with none other than her cheating ex. Can she and Landon figure out a way to work together to catch the culprit and find the missing Maltese before the whole competition goes straight to the dogs? And what happens when they find themselves alone together at last?

EXCERPT

“I can’t believe this!” Trisha said as Landon steered her back toward the boardwalk. “Am I really a suspect?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I know you, Trisha. You love animals and you believe in fairness. I know you’d never steal, much less harm, Blythe’s dog. I’m sure your name will be cleared officially once Graham has a chance to touch base with Mrs. Butterworth.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “At least you believe me.”

“Of course,” he said. “Always.”

They walked a little while in silence, processing the turn of events.

“So, I guess you’ve probably figured out that Blythe and I are not together?” Landon asked, breaking the silence.

Trisha nodded. “Yes, I got that,” she said. “But I still don’t want to talk about what happened last year.”

He blew out a breath of frustration. “I really wish you’d let me explain.”

“Look, I’m suddenly being investigated as a dog-napper!” she cried, eyes filling with tears. “I’m a veterinary technician! This is my reputation! And you know the rumor mill – people are going to suspect that I had something to do with this no matter what until Princess gets found. This could jeopardize my career!”

“Okay, okay, you win,” Landon said. “I’m sorry. You’re right, finding Blythe’s dog and clearing your name is the main priority right now. Please say you’ll least let me help?” His dark eyes were pleading. How could she resist?

“I think I need all the help I can get right now,” she said. “Even from you.”

He smiled in response. “You won’t regret this,” he said.

But the pull in her heart told her she already did. 

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Author Annee Jones loves to write all things romance, fantasy, cozy mystery, & more. She is passionate about writing stories where dreams come true, and love wins in the end!

Professionally, Annee works as a disability counselor where she helps her clients navigate through complex medical and legal systems while rediscovering their wholeness in Spirit.

Subscribe to Annee’s newsletter to stay up to date on new releases, sneak peeks, author parties, and exclusive giveaways:         https://www.anneejones.com/newsletter

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Giveaway – Rebel One by J S Christine @XpressoTours @JSCbooks

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Rebel One
J.S. Christine
(Melkin Series, #1)
Publication date: May 13th 2022
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Lacey Carson dreams of experiencing the world outside of the mundane town her father limits her to. “Go big or go home”? Lacey is already wrapped up in her comforter before that question can be finished. Her fight or flight instinct falls hard in one direction only.

Insert Travis Miller. He’s a little too loud, a little too violent, a little too focused on Lacey. He only knows how to go big.

When the opportunity presents itself for more adventure, Lacey jumps in head first before Travis can say no. It may be a little more than she bargained for as she learns about the ups and downs of independence, her own strength, and the crime world she quickly becomes immersed into.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT

He took a deep breath in. “Lacey Carson,” he began, watching me as if I was about to run away at any second. Travis let out a sigh and ran his hands through his hair a few times before opening his mouth and letting the words flow effortlessly out, the boyish grin back on his face. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Will I be his…what? He had to be kidding me. Was something wrong with him? Was he crazy?

He had to be crazy and he knew my name. The delinquent knew my name.

Were you supposed to go out with someone the same time you learned — and were shocked — that they knew your name? That felt like it fell under the category of “rushing it”. I mean, this was our first actual conversation. Just a few hours ago I thought he was going to kill me. I still wasn’t completely reassured on the whole “not killing you” part. He could be buttering me up to sink the knife in my back.

Either way, this wasn’t the type of story to tell the kids fifteen years down the road. “Yes sweetie, your father and I met when I thought he was going to leave me to die in a burning building he set ablaze.” How on Earth would I be able to lecture them on right from wrong in that case?

Wait, I was thinking too far ahead. Maybe he was joking.

“Pardon?” I asked finally, looking up from my fingers that I had acquired great interest in.

Travis ran both of his hands through his hair a few times before sliding them over the front of his face, almost hiding it. He let out a loud sigh, causing me to glance around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. He pulled his hands slowly down his face until they fell into his lap. He was nervous which made me all the more anxious.

“Okay, here’s the thing. I need you…” he stopped and bunched up his face, as if he was debating with himself. “To teach me how to be normal.”

I leaned it a bit closer to him, keeping eye contact with him. “Don’t they have institutions for that?” I whispered as quietly as I could so any passerby wouldn’t overhear.

Travis let out another loud groan and smacked his forehead with one of his hands. He leaned back on the bench, lying down on his back with a leg on either side of it. His hands flopped down towards the ground and he started mumbling to himself. Maybe he really did have issues.

I crossed one leg over my other and kept my arms tight around my books, pressing them to my body and trying to take up as little space as possible while he did the opposite.

In a snap, he leaned back up into a sitting position, as if it wasn’t a trouble to him at all. My mind flashed back to the muscles I felt earlier under the staircase. His hands made a mess of his hair again and when his blue eyes found my own watching him, I looked away and down at my fingernails. Okay, no thinking about muscles.

“I need to be,” he started but then paused, “I’m not exactly…” he sighed.

I peeked up at him, his inability to say what he was thinking caught my attention.

“I come on a bit strong, as you probably might have guessed… And I need to blend in,” he said slowly, watching my face. “Does that make any more sense?” he squinted a little, as if he was thinking hard.

It did not make any sense.


Author Bio:

J.S. Christine has been writing novels since 2011 and graduated with a degree in Creative Writing. She strives to give readers worlds they can relax in with characters they can call their friends. Her novels typically travel down the obstacle-ridden roads of self-discovery with music blasting in the car’s speakers and the occasional explosion off to the side. Her first novel, Sparked, was self-published in 2016. When she isn’t writing, she can be found binge reading books, burning cookies, attempting to run, or teaching her three cats how great popcorn is.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Twitter


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