Giveaway – Eat Drink And Get Buried by Cleo Coyle @dollycas #cleocoyle #eatdrinkandgetburied


Eat, Drink, and Get Buried (A Coffeehouse Mystery)
by Cleo Coyle

Wow, just wow! This writing team keeps bringing it, topping themselves with each new book in this series. Each new book in this series becomes my new favorite. I finish it and can’t imagine what these authors will come up with next for The Village Blend crew. Well, Eat, Drink, and Get Buried knocked my socks off. It kept me glued to my seat and up late. I truly couldn’t put it down. Well-plotted, well-written, it checks every cozy mystery box and more. It’s another Dollycas’s Best Read. I highly recommend the entire series, but new readers can jump in with this book. I promise you will want to go back and read more.
~Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book

About Eat, Drink, and Get Buried

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Eat, Drink, and Get Buried (A Coffeehouse Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
22nd in Series
Setting – New York
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Berkley
Publication date ‏ : ‎ September 22, 2026
Print length ‏ : ‎ 400 pages
Hardcover
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593642317
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593642313
Digital
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593642320
ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0GC3CJTMX
Audiobook
ASIN B0GTS1W181
MP3 CD
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8228950139

When the Village Blend caters a glittering rooftop party, their creative coffee concoctions are eclipsed by a shocking murder in this thrilling new Coffeehouse Mystery from New York Times bestselling author Cleo Coyle.

Years ago, when master roaster Clare Cosi was a newly divorced mom raising her daughter, Joy, Ava Welsh became Joy’s best friend. Now the painfully shy girl next door has grown into a successful New York businesswoman, and Clare is delighted to be catering Ava’s coffee-themed party, especially when her boyfriend, Ryan, confides his plan to propose that very night.

Then a scream shatters the celebration. A woman is thrown off the balcony to her death, and Ryan–who abruptly flees the party–is accused of murder. Clare vows to help Ava clear his name.

Her digging uncovers suspicious connections to a deadly event from which a teenaged Joy and Ava barely escaped with their lives. The stakes rise ever higher as a ruthless killer attempts to keep the ugly truth buried–even if it means sending Clare and her caffeinated crew six feet under.

About Cleo Coyle

CLEO COYLE is a pseudonym for Alice Alfonsi, writing in collaboration with her husband, Marc Cerasini. Both are New York Times bestselling authors of the long-running Coffeehouse Mysteries, now celebrating more than 20 years in print, and the national bestselling Haunted Bookshop Mysteries. With more than one million books sold, their works have been translated into Spanish, Japanese, and Czech; received multiple Best of Year selection honors from reviewers; and have been recommended by Booklist as among the best culinary mysteries for core library mystery collections. Alice and Marc are also bestselling media tie-in writers who have penned properties for Lucasfilm, NBC, Fox, Disney, Imagine, Toho, and MGM. They live and work in New York City, where they write independently and together, wrangle their rescue cats, drink a lot of java, and cook like crazy. Connect with Cleo at CoffeehouseMystery.com

Author Links

Webpage: https://www.coffeehousemystery.com/

Free Newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/cleocoylerecipes/newsletter

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CleoCoyle/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cleocoyle_author/

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BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/cleo-coyle

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/51488.Cleo_Coyle

Purchase Links:

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$25 GC – Avalon Moon by Michael Amos Cody @partnersincr1me #michaelamoscody #avalonmoon

AVALON MOON by Michael Amos Cody Banner

AVALON MOON

by Michael Amos Cody

August 24 – September 18, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

In Avalon Moon, a local man has gone missing and then is soon found dead in a highland meadow, side-by-side with an unknown woman. When another man and woman go missing and a female deputy is found murdered, Gabriel Tanner, editor of Runion’s weekly newspaper, and Plumer Reeves, a reclusive local hawkshaw working for the niece of the first dead man, suspect a monster is hunting in their western North Carolina mountains. Two extraordinary young women, the Avalon community’s Ariel Anderson and Lonesome Mountain’s Livvy Goforth, join Tanner and Reeves to lead the attempt to discover and stop the killer.

Praise for Avalon Moon:

“With wolves across the river and murder in the high meadow, Avalon Moon knows exactly how to raise the hair on your neck. Move it to the top of your book queue.”
~ BestThrillers.com

“A deliciously gothic tale stitched into a brutal murder mystery. As a serial killer stalks the mountains of North Carolina, Cody’s precise language shifts effortlessly like light through the trees – from lush gothic poetry to gritty Appalachian realism. Facing ancient gods and hungry beasts in the deep woods, the reader can’t help but dread a darker truth: evil is only ever a breath away.”
~ Andrew K. Clark, author of Where Dark Things Grow

“A crime novel featuring a new entry to the list of Most Bone-Chilling Fictional Serial Killers ever committed to paper. Or to e-book. Whatever. The influence of Poe and Hawthorne, at their bone-chilling creepiest, can be felt egging on the unfolding of the story, one eerie development after another. A taut, skillfully crafted thriller.”
~ Whiskey Leavins, author of Low Angle Shot

“Avalon Moon relies on vivid, inviting storytelling and precise language to lure you in, and once you’re caught in Cody’s prodigious literary talents, it’s hard to escape. . . . A book you’ll think about long after you’ve finished the story on the page.”
~ Bobby Mathews, author of Magic City Blues

“The Appalachian town of Runion is threatened by a serial killer, wolves, and ghosts—literal and figurative—in Michael Amos Cody’s propulsive new novel, Avalon Moon. The tension and constant sense of danger kept me turning the pages, but the heart of the book is the large cast of believable characters. All are rendered with insight, compassion, and humor, and they continued to linger in my thoughts long after the novel’s satisfying conclusion.”
~ Peter McDade, author of King Cal

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Horror, Thriller
Published by: Madville Publishing
Publication Date: May 19, 2026
Number of Pages: 340
ISBN: 9781963695670 (ISBN10: 1963695674)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Madville Publishing

Read an excerpt:

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

One

Gabriel Tanner

“Editor of and chief contributor to a country weekly” never made my top ten list of things I wanted to be when I grew up. For the longest time, I had only one item on that list—Rock Star! I toyed with adding a second item, maybe being just a hit-making songwriter, but the songwriting I did throughout the 1980s was so closely bound up with the Rock Star! idea that I couldn’t pull the two apart. If I didn’t become the next Bruce Springsteen, which I didn’t, I was unlikely to become the next Bob McDill—ditto on the didn’t.

So, with the Rock Star! phase of my life gone grumbling into my dreams, I left Nashville in the hot gut of August 1990, retreated, tail between legs, to Runion, my hometown in the North Carolina mountains, and the following January entered Runion State University, where I double-majored in English and Journalism. I took a part-time job as student reporter and all-around grunt for Sheldon Dean’s Runion Recorder. A couple years after I graduated, Sheldon decided he was tired of writing and offered me a full-time position as editor, keeping only the title of “General Manager” for himself. I accepted.

And so it came to pass that on a cold evening in early March, on the darker side of twilight, I drove toward the Lonesome Mountain end of Genesis Road, planning to swing around the back way into Runion. On regular mornings going to work, or any other time I was in a hurry, I drove down to the French Broad end of Genesis and took the river road up a short hill and onto Main Street, but I was dreading two hours minimum of sitting in a meeting at the Madison County Cooperative Extension Office complex, housed in the recently renovated Old Mill on Mill Street, and taking notes for a regular report to appear in next week’s paper. The room would be stuffy with heat and humanity, and to be honest, I was lollygagging.

This year’s March was looking like a lion-lamb version—in like a lion, out like a lamb. We expected to wake up the next morning to some serious snow and ice courtesy of Winter Storm Ulysses. The fields on my left and the woods on my right seemed to hold their breath in anticipation.

I rolled to a stop at the T-intersection where Genesis Road dead-ends at Jewel Hill Road, with Lonesome Mountain ahead and to my left, dark against the sky. My new Honda hybrid sat quietly, and still not used to its workings, I thought it might have died but relaxed when no warning lights appeared. Even though the temperature was in the upper thirties, I opened my windows and—with no other traveler sitting at my bumper and politely honking, as our mountain folk do—sat at the intersection with my eyes closed and my skin alive to the chilly air. I heard a few of last summer’s still-tethered leaves shivering in the boughs overhead and something scurrying through the underbrush in the woods off to my right. I think I could’ve engaged the emergency brake and gone to sleep, but I opened my eyes, suddenly uneasy and unsure why.

The headlights shown across Jewel Hill Road and lit the lower part of a hillside pasture beyond. A few head of cattle midway up the slope stood at the edge of the light and grazed on pale grass.

Not one to be unnerved by a bovine presence in the twilight, I strained my senses to catch and identify what raised hairs along my forearms and around the back of my neck.

To my left, a field rolled away in successive swells toward a wooded ridge standing blackly against the sky. Runion lay on the other side of that ridge, but somewhere between the town and me, yips and cries rose from the gathering dark. These joined together into an eerie howl of various voices that twisted around one another, broke apart, and swelled together again.

Coyotes.

When I was growing up in these mountains, coyotes existed only in old TV westerns. But they were voice-over actors only, strictly behind-the-scenes. They were soundtrack features. Technicians of ambiance. Nothing said a cowboy was alone in the darkening wilderness like the distant howl of a coyote. The cowboy would raise his eyes from the campfire and sit still and listen for a moment, alert to the wild. But it was never the coyote itself that frightened him. Maybe the coyote’s cry was a reminder of his loneliness and vulnerability—that if such a critter could be out there in the dark, then anything could be out there.

But in recent years, coyotes had loped out of the faded glory of Hollywood’s western and into our world, maybe crossing the Mississippi around Memphis and moving steadily east across Tennessee until they reached Appalachia and Runion. They were seen trotting along the edges of regional four-lanes or lying dead on twisting mountain highways. They stole cats and small dogs just beyond the lights of back porches. That evening at the stop sign, they yipped and yapped and cried somewhere out on the verge of a Runion farmer’s field.

Still, I thought, at least they aren’t wolves. Wolves, of course, were a different story. Send up the howl of a wolf into the night, and the cowboy would become focused on the beast, not on loneliness or vulnerability. The wolf’s howl menaced, threatened. Eyes might shine at the edge of the campfire’s light, followed by snarling close-ups. Then enter the legend of the wolf mixed with a man, and the beast achieved cinematic glory, jumping genres from westerns to horror, something coyotes could never quite pull off.

When I pressed the accelerator, the Honda whispered to life, and I turned left toward town. If I sat there much longer, I would be late for the extension meeting, during which one item on the agenda just happened to be related to the beasts of my T-intersection musing. . . .

***

Excerpt from Avalon Moon by Michael Amos Cody. Copyright 2026 by Michael Amos Cody. Reproduced with permission from Michael Amos Cody. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Michael Amos Cody

Michael Amos Cody is author of the 2017 novel GABRIEL’S SONGBOOK and the 2021 collection A TWILIGHT REEL, winner of the Short Story category in the Feathered Quill Book Awards 2022. His 2025 literary suspense novel STREETS OF NASHVILLE won the Thriller category in the 2026 Independent Press Awards. His new novel, released in May 2026, is the psychological thriller AVALON MOON. Cody lives with wife Leesa in Jonesborough, Tennessee, and teaches early American literature and creative writing in the Department of Literature and Language at East Tennessee State University.

Catch Up With Michael Amos Cody:

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$25 GC – Dragon Descending by Jennifer Allis Provost @xpressotours #jenniferallisprovost #dragondescending

Dragon Descending
Jennifer Allis Provost
(Fire and Claw, #2)
Publication date: September 1st 2026
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Dragons value family above all else—but when a dragon shifter can’t shift, how will he protect the ones he loves?

Lochlyn Blackmoor, the last dragon shifter in Alessia, has lost his ability to shift. Heartened by a prediction that he will shift again, Lochlyn retreats to Dragon Ridge with his beloved wife, Rosalie. They’re content to enjoy a quiet life, until they receive unsettling news from the capital city.

The king’s seer has been marked for death, all because she helped him free Rosalie’s sister from the king’s clutches.

Despite his current weakness, Lochlyn embarks on a mission to rescue the seer with his brother-in-law and spymaster in tow. Almost immediately, one of their few allies—Arthus Flameborn, Grand Master of the Order of the Phoenix, who also happens to be Rosalie’s grandfather—abandons them. As they run out of time and options, Lochlyn turns to a former foe for assistance: Basilisk, the same rogue shifter he freed from the Order’s dungeon, and nearly killed him.

Basilisk proves himself a worthy ally, and his vast knowledge Alessia’s royal family comes in handy more than once. As more of Basilisk’s past is revealed, Lochlyn learns Alessia’s darkest, most dangerous secret, information so deadly It could unravel everything he’s ever known. To make matters worse, the ruthless Grand Master wants to form a relationship with his granddaughter, Rosalie, and he doesn’t care who he hurts in the process—not even Rosalie.

And only a dragon can overpower the Grand Master.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

Lochlyn Blackmoor hated waiting.

Yet it was all he’d done for months—waiting for blowback from Serpens about their daring rescue of Caterina and Curran. For news of the rampaging basilisk he and Curran had freed from the palace dungeons. Or for the Grand Master to appear in the courtyard demanding to see his family.

Waiting to be able to shift again.

Nothing happened.

Lochlyn set his hands on the balcony’s railing, and watched the early morning activity in the castle’s courtyard. While he appreciated the calm days and nights they’d enjoyed at Dragon Ridge, retribution was inevitable. He’d insulted the king, committed several acts of treason, and set the palace on fire. King Olivar wasn’t a forgiving man; he was more likely to take Lochlyn’s head and mount it on his wall.

Still. Nothing.

Perhaps Olivar was taking his time so Lochlyn would slowly descend into madness.

Laughter floated toward him, a bright sound that Lochlyn would know anywhere. He turned toward the gardens, and saw Rosalie walking with her sister, Caterina. They both carried baskets of flowers, but behind Rosalie’s basket was her rounded belly, and inside her belly was their child.

Their child’s birth was something else Lochlyn was waiting for, and for that he was most impatient of all.

He and Rosalie already had three adopted children, and he loved them and his nephew, Jonathan, dearly. Somehow, he found yet another measure of love in his heart for this child he’d yet to meet, a babe who would be a dragon, like him.

As the strongest of the Otherworldly creatures, Lochlyn’s own dragon blood meant the child would definitely take after him, but they wouldn’t know if the child would be able to shift until he was around a year old. While Lochlyn could attain both dragon and warrior forms, his eldest brother could only shift to warrior, and his middle brothers couldn’t shift at all.

Whether the child could shift or not didn’t matter to Lochlyn. Either way, he couldn’t wait to meet their baby. Before Rosalie fell pregnant, Lochlyn had been the last living dragon in Alessia. Now both his kind and his name would live on, thanks to his beautiful wife.

“Lochlyn,” Rosalie called from the courtyard, waving to get his attention as if he hadn’t already been entranced by her every move. “There were some daisies in bloom, and the birds spared us some blackberries.”

“And elderberries,” Caterina added, holding up her basket. “Madchen can make more of her famous wine.”

Lochlyn laughed softly; there were enough casks of Madchen’s elderberry wine in the castle’s cellar to get half of Alessia drunk. “Are you two coming in for lunch?”

Rosalie opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she said was drowned out by the thunder of a dozen hooves. Lochlyn looked toward the gate and saw three gigantic stags enter the courtyard. The central and largest stag approached Rosalie and bowed.

“Hello, Cervus,” Rosalie said as the stag’s antlers scraped the ground near her feet. “And you really don’t need to be so dramatic. Will you join us for lunch?”

Cervus raised his head, and after he glanced at the balcony, he and his two companions went toward the stables. Lochlyn watched them depart, then he returned his gaze to his wife. His leisurely afternoon with Rosalie would have to wait. As Lochlyn’s spymaster, Cervus had been in Serpens for the past three weeks, gathering information. For him to personally return to Dragon Ridge instead of sending one of his messengers, he must have learned something especially dire.

Author Bio:

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies, too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library.) An early love of mythology and folklore led to her romantic fantasy series, Fire and Claw, and her degree in environmental science helped shape her urban fantasy, Poison Garden. When she’s not writing about murderous plants or sexy dragon shifters she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction.

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$25 GC – Hidden Currents by Claire Booth @partnersincr1me #clairebooth #hiddencurrents

Hidden Currents by Claire Booth Banner

HIDDEN CURRENTS

by Claire Booth

August 24th – September 18, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

SHERIFF HANK WORTH MYSTERY SERIES

 

Another outstanding book in an ever-evolving police procedural series perfect for fans of Terry Shames and Steven F. Havill.

When spring settles over Branson, Missouri, Sheriff Hank Worth hopes for a quiet season. Instead, the town is rocked when Gene Willard, owner of the local fishing stores, is savagely murdered. What looks like a burglary gone wrong quickly descends into something far more personal. Gene’s messy divorce, his resentful stepson, and a terrified employee with a violent ex all weave a tangle of motives. As Hank digs deeper, the investigation collides with the long‑delayed, politically explosive trial of the men charged in his chief deputy Sheila’s near‑fatal assault. Tempers run high throughout the county, stretching Hank’s department to the breaking point. With personal stakes rising and the community on edge, Hank must unravel lies, expose old betrayals, and confront a killer driven by revenge. In a place where everyone knows everyone else’s business, the hardest secrets to uncover may be the ones floating right near the surface.

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: September 1, 2026
Number of Pages: 240
ISBN: 9781448313891 (ISBN10: 1448313899)
Series: The Sheriff Hank Worth Mystery Series, Book 8
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Books-A-Million | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

The lake was calm and glassy, reflecting the bluffs on the other side. The giant bur oak rustled above them, its foliage almost fully returned after its winter shedding. The tree had stood near the White River for more than two hundred years, adding rings as settlers built Branson around it and dammed its river to create the lake. On this side, the shoreline was flat, dotted with homes, a cabin resort, the edge of downtown where Main Street met the water, and the park where Sam Karnes and Brenna Cassidy now stood.

It would make a beautiful background, Brenna said. There was no guarantee the weather would be good, Sam thought. But he looked at his fiancée’s face and kept his mouth shut. They had decided on a May wedding, before everything got too hot and sticky with summer humidity. That didn’t mean they’d be safe from the rain, though. That could come any time. He thought maybe he should suggest a contingency plan, then remembered his boss’s advice. “You can have an opinion on the food and the music. Everything else—tread carefully.”

So he stood quietly as Brenna framed potential photos with her hands. Where to take the wedding party pictures was one of the last decisions they needed to make. He hoped.

“This area looks good,” he said. “Doesn’t it? It’s not too far from the church.”

She half-nodded and moved to eye things from a different angle. “I don’t know how to avoid that darn plaque. It ruins every shot.”

He walked over to it. It was such a part of the scenery, he’d almost forgotten it was there. When some enterprising 1970s tree aficionado figured out the oak was older than the country, it became the Liberty Tree and the plaque went up in time for the bicentennial. Now the thing needed a good cleaning and, if Brenna had anything to do with it, a relocation.

“If we shoot this way, you don’t see the lake. And if you do it that direction . . .” She sighed. “Big old ugly plaque.”

It stood on a waist-high column. Sam leaned against it and watched Brenna wander around this end of the park. The darn thing was wider than he was. He thought about that and stepped away. Then did some hand measurements.

“What if we covered it up?”

Brenna walked back to him. “What do you mean?”

He moved so he stood directly in front of it. It was clearly visible behind his thin frame. “We put Roddy in front of it.” He spread his hands out a foot on either side, which was about how wide his groomsman Roddy Hale was. “He’d block the whole thing. We just have to arrange the order of everybody so he’s right here.”

Brenna considered that. “I think that could work. Don’t move. Stay right there.”

She walked fairly far away while Sam stood with his hands out as if he was illustrating the size of a particularly large trout. A mom with two young children walked by and gave him a look. He wished he had his sheriff’s deputy uniform on. Then he’d look like he was doing something important instead of just standing around like a sketchy weirdo in the park. The lady hustled her kids past and headed to the picnic area. Sam watched her go as another group came by on their way to the shoreline. By the time they noticed him, Brenna had gestured that he could put his hands down.

“Yes, that’s going to work. Good thinking, babe.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “And good thing you have a football linebacker as a friend.”

Sam laughed at that. Roddy’s size had come in handy many times growing up. He told her a few stories as they walked back to his car. By the time they got there, the group near the picnic area had equipment out, and a lady in slacks and a silk blouse was pointing them in multiple directions.

“Looks like someone else is planning an event, too,” he said, opening the passenger door of his Subaru for Brenna. “The way they’re measuring things, maybe it’s a whole wedding ceremony.”

She scoffed. “That would be way too risky. What if it rained?”

CHAPTER TWO

Sheila Turley had left him a note. And a file. It never boded well when she did this. Hank Worth sat down at his desk and cautiously slid the paperwork closer.

Gursey’s at it again. He’s all yours this time.

The Branson County sheriff opened the file and pulled out the arrest report. Sheila, his second-in-command, only printed things out when she wanted to make a point. Or wanted quick action. Because Hank wasn’t known for staying on top of his email. And she knew this particular suspect was a pet project of his. Gursey Rugg.

The young man had shoplifted again. The twenty-three-year-old was always plucking cheap items off the shelves of local retailers. If it was food, he’d eat it. If it wasn’t, he’d sell it on cheaply to friends and use the money for drugs. If the shopkeepers caught him, they’d call Hank’s deputies and Gursey would spend a while behind bars. But only rarely did people press misdemeanor charges. It wasn’t worth anybody’s time and, even if it had been, the sticky-fingered addict would still be back out on the street soon enough. So instead, he sobered up in Hank’s jail, swore he’d stay off the meth, and slouched back off into an existence where everyone involved deserved better and no one knew how to accomplish it.

But this time, Gursey overstepped. A magpie entranced by bright and shiny, he’d scooped up a handful of the wrong thing in the wrong store. Fourteen hand-tied, rare-feathered flies from Reel Life Outfitters. The owner was a newcomer. Purchased the two venerable fish and tackle stores on opposite ends of Lake Taneycomo when Lyle Boskins retired and seemed to be doing well. But it turned out he wasn’t willing to do nice. He wanted to press charges. And that meant a felony, because of the misdemeanor convictions Gursey had already accumulated. And a felony meant a stint in state prison, which wouldn’t be good for the fragile kid.

Hank re-read the narrative included in the arrest report. Then he got up and walked over from his office in the sheriff’s department Forsyth headquarters to hear from the man himself.

“Hi, Gursey. How you doing?”

“Hey, Sherf.” A disheveled scarecrow the color of a ghost rose to a seated position on the cell bunk. The jail scrubs hung off him in folds, and his dull brown hair stuck out in a dozen directions. At least it was clean. The young man blinked blearily and steadied himself on the mattress.

“What happened?” Hank leaned against the bars. “Last I heard, you were doing pretty well.”

Gursey shrugged, clavicles jutting like wings. “I was. Ask my addiction counselor. I got one of those, did you know? Nice lady. Always worried all the time, though.”

“It sounds like she was helping. When was the last time you saw her? Because right now you don’t look so hot.”

Gursey rubbed his wrists together. “Don’t feel so hot, neither.”

“You coming down off something?”

“Not really. Not like last year. At all, man, I swear. Just a little bit when Morty come to town.”

Hank had no idea who that was. He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair in frustration. “And when did Morty come?”

“’Bout two weeks ago. He brought some homemade stuff, fresh cooked. I don’t remember much after that, ’til last night—I think. There weren’t no Morty anymore and I was at some trailer someplace.” He shifted suddenly from staring at the ground to looking Hank straight in the eye. “And that sucked, man. It was gross, and I was gross, and I don’t like that anymore.”

Hank blinked in surprise. After every previous arrest, Gursey had promised to stop the drugs. But until right then, he’d never come close to saying he wanted to stop. He kept Hank’s gaze as he continued to talk. “I walked ’til I got past Honey Lane and then saw that fishing place. Figured it would have a bathroom. I went in, and bro, I just wanted money for food. Thought I could turn some stuff over for a few bucks. I—”

“Stop talking,” Hank said. “Just take a deep breath and stop talking.” The goal of keeping Gursey out of state prison would not be helped by a confession to the county sheriff. He considered the inmate. In their numerous interactions in the four years since Hank became sheriff, Gursey had never made this much eye contact. It gave Hank hope. And made him a lot more willing to do what he was going to do once he left the cell block.

***

Excerpt from Hidden Currents by Claire Booth. Copyright 2026 by Claire Booth. Reproduced with permission from Claire Booth. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Claire Booth

Claire Booth spent more than a decade as a daily newspaper reporter, working all over the country—from Washington, D.C., to South Florida, the Seattle region, and the Bay Area. She spent much of it covering crimes so convoluted and strange they seemed more like fiction than reality. Eventually, she had enough of the real world and decided to write novels instead. Her critically acclaimed Sheriff Hank Worth mystery series takes place in Branson, Missouri, where small-town Ozark politics and big-city country music tourism clash in, yes, strange and convoluted ways.

Catch Up With Claire Booth:

ClaireBooth.com
Severn House
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @claire.booth10
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Facebook – @claireboothauthor

 

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$25 GC – Uprising by J E Rizzo @xpressotours #jerizzo #uprising

Uprising
J.E. Rizzo
(Fitzjohn Duology, #1)
Publication date: September 1st 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical

England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man responsible for her neighbors’ over-taxation, but she possesses strange abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people’s emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster, Blanche’s half-brother, brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may help better the lives of Geoff and all England’s villeins.

But soon, the peasants’ discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is of the people, Blanche’s nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To save herself and Henry from the executioner’s ax, Blanche must use every power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

Goodreads / Amazon

–

EXCERPT:

Something shifts, like summer’s green leaves transforming to autumnal gold. Speaking with Geoff about my marriage hurts like I’d never expected, a deep ache. The moon thrums, and an owl, perched in a nearby tree, shifts as she searches for prey. My temples throb.

“It seemed…” he begins again. “It seemed he didn’t want to marry you, after you…” I glare and cross my arms before lifting my face. He continues: “I thought perhaps you could get out of it because…”

“Because of what?”

“Because, ye’re…”

“What, Geoff, what am I?”

His mouth opens like a fish above water, and he doesn’t bother to shut it. In the tree, the owl flaps her wings and leaps into the air.

“Ye’re…” The tips of Geoff’s fingers flutter. “Well, I don’t know what you are, Dandy. Ye’re just…yerself. And I thought-“

“You thought he wouldn’t want me?”

His face falls. “He’s not like you, Dandy. That’s all. He’s not a good man. I heard him talking, when it was just the men…”

He drops his eyes and his cheekbones redden.

Neither of us seems to know what to say next. After a full minute of silence, he lurches forward and grasps my shoulders, crushing me to his chest. “Blanche, just consider.”

I gasp and have to steady myself. But within seconds, tears come to my eyes, along with a calming release of tension. I grip his forearms, inhale his familiar scent. He’s always smelled of horses, with a hint of bread dough and sugar from the manor kitchens he’s constantly raiding. There’s something different tonight. I sniff. It’s crisp, yet soft. Evergreens in winter, covered with fresh snow.

He buries his nose in my hair. “You could refuse,” he says, voice a gentle rumble against my face, “and stay with yer mother. She’d be angry, yes, but she wouldn’t throw you out. They can’t drag you to the church. For a marriage to be real, you must consent.”

Consent. The word ripples through me. It makes me see that I want more, from Maman, from my father, but most of all from Geoff. I need something I can’t identify, something I can’t express.

“If I marry Thomas…” My muffled voice breaks. “It will make the duke happy. He’ll…” I tense, regretting my words.

“He’ll what?”

I can’t answer, can’t tell him that by marrying Sir Thomas, I hope to earn my father’s love. To replace…something.

The moon moves behind a cloud and the trees shift, branches releasing a shower of rain. Geoff drops one hand to the small of my back and lifts the other to my cheek. His palms are warm, and I slide my own to clench his upper arms. When my fingertips brush hardened muscles, I almost snatch my hands back. Before tonight, I still thought of Geoff as a child, the lanky villein who could ride any horse, no matter how fierce. Now…my mouth goes dry, but I can’t resist running my hands up the length of his arms, letting them rest on his shoulders. The skin beneath his tunic is damp with sweat.

Corded muscles tense and stretch beneath my fingers, sending little jolts through me. He stoops, chin brushing my temple.

I touch the notch of his throat with my fingertips. He freezes. Tiny curls of dark hair peek above his collar, tickling my fingers. He lets his face linger on mine, and I feel him inhale.

A pleasant warmth spreads through my belly, then down. Something’s happening, something I don’t understand. I should run, should leave. But I don’t. Another breeze drifts through the tree branches, and he pulls me closer, pressing me to him.

I feel him, all of him, from feet to chin, in a way I never have. A tingling, heavy warmth settles on me, and I feel Geoff’s own need pressing against my belly.

It should make me uncomfortable, but I find myself pressing back, wanting more. Wanting it all.

I’m not well-versed in what happens between a woman and a man-that’s one area of my education Maman neglected-but I’m not completely ignorant. I know Geoff and I stand on a cliff, gazing into a deep ravine. One more step, and we’ll both be lost.

I’m still touching his throat, suspended in our odd dance beneath the shuddering tree branches, when he bends further. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his stubbly chin against my face. He exhales, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“Dandy…” he murmurs.

The owl swoops to snatch a mouse from the forest floor in sharp talons. Her screech is like a battle horn, ricocheting with painful deliberation in my skull, joined by the mouse’s squeal. My eyelids snap open and I step out of his embrace.

Author Bio:

J.E. Rizzo is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction whose work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine. Additionally, her article, Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to Overturn Roe v. Wade, won History Inquiry’s Medieval History Writing Challenge. Rizzo’s debut novel, Uprising, Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology, is forthcoming from Literary Wanderlust, and tells the story of Blanche Fitzjohn, a fourteenth century neurodivergent woman whose perceived disabilities become superpowers during England’s peasant uprising of 1381.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources-a field offering more than ample opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing, baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies. She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants, making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X


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$15 GC – Worse Than Any Bullet by Felicia Watson @xpressotours #feliciawatson #worsethananybullet

Worse Than Any Bullet
Felicia Watson
(Fidelia Mysteries, #2)
Publication date: August 25th 2026
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Thriller

Everyone thinks their mother is murder but for mafia-family renegade Lucia Scafetti, that’s the literal truth.

When she laid her hitman father to rest, PI Lucia Scafetti thought she’d finally escaped her family’s criminal clutches. Ten years later, her estranged mom blows into Philly for a short visit and within days a friend’s dad is brutally murdered and Lucia is being menaced by her cousin and his fellow mafiosi. After her mother disappears, everyone: foes, friends, and free agents, descends upon Lucia in search of the thumb-drive her mom stole from a Caribbean drug lord. Lucia learns the hard way that the criminals besieging her will gladly kill to get their hands on that thumb-drive.
With the help of an intriguing ex-soldier, Lucia employs her skills, both detective and deadly, to solve the murder and unlock the secret of that enigmatic thumb-drive before it claims another life, be it her own – or that of her recently re-discovered son.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“Someone’s in there.”

Lucia snapped into action, ordering Robbie to stay in the car with the dogs and retrieving her Glock from the secret compartment in the back seat of the Chevelle SS 454. She shook her head, indicating to Robbie he wasn’t getting an immediate explanation about the compartment and then stealthily approached the house.

Lucia decided to go around back and enter from the kitchen. The deadbolt had been defeated and there was no sound from the alarm system. This was no ordinary burglar.

Weapon ready, she crept into the living room where she could discern the muffled footsteps of someone descending the stairs. Lucia pointed her gun at the source of the noise and at the opportune moment, flipped on the lights. A hefty, masked and armed man froze on the fourth step as he realized he was facing a cocked gun.

Lucia warned, “If you’re thinking of trying anything, you better be a better shot than I am. Which is…unlikely.”

The man held his right hand out to his side, his gun loose. In a weirdly thick voice, he rumbled, “Hey, I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Breaking into my house armed with a military-grade semi is a really strange way to prove that.”

He chuckled and moved the gun slightly in a non-threatening manner. “Military grade? Nah, this is just a—”

“A Beretta Cx4 Storm. Which means you are definitely prepared for trouble.”

Rather than refuting her point, he urged, “I just want the thumb-drive, the real one. The one your mother stole from me.”

Not recognizing the term ‘thumb-drive’, Lucia silently contemplated whether this guy could possibly be looking for a body-part from someone her mother had killed. “You worked with my mom? Who are you?”

“I’m not wearing this mask ’cause I’m ugly. Who I am is none of your business. Just hand over the drive and no one gets hurt.”

“Seeing as I have the drop on you, that’s a toothless threat,” Lucia declared. “And I don’t know what it is you’re looking for, but you’re not gonna find it here.”

“For your sake, lady, I hope you’re lying.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m not the last person who’s gonna come looking for that thumb-drive. And I’m sure as hell not the most dangerous.”

Nodding at his gun, she countered, “Hard to believe. And I don’t even know what a thumb-drive is let alone—”

“It’s a computer thing,” Robbie announced from somewhere behind her back, his presence until that moment completely undetected. “You use it to—”

“Robbie?!” Her eyes remained trained on the masked man as Lucia barked, “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you so I came to check. Don’t worry, I left the dogs in the car. You know, so they won’t get hurt.”

“But it’s okay if you get hurt?!”

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction this argument provided, the man on the stairs suddenly leapt over the banister and dashed towards the kitchen.

Lucia followed but he was too quick for her. Standing on the back deck, listening to his footsteps retreating into the darkness, Lucia briefly considered giving chase. She quickly discarded the idea. Not only was there Robbie to think of, but Lucia was loathe to incite a gunfight that might frighten Mrs. Schwartz, the elderly widow who occupied the twin house attached to her own.

When she got back in the house Robbie held up his backpack. “I got it.” He took a deep breath and then said, “Wow, that was….”

“Terrifyingly dangerous?” she offered, while surveying the wreckage around her. The intruder had obviously conducted a very thorough search.

“Nah, exciting! I knew it was safe when I heard you handling that guy like a pro. Otherwise, I would’ve stayed in the kitchen. I swear.”

Lucia sighed heavily and impulsively put her free arm around his shoulder. “Rule number one, Rob? When guns are drawn? The situation is never, ever, safe.” She pulled him to face her and stared intently into his eyes. “Capish?”

Author Bio:

Felicia Watson started writing stories as soon as they handed her a pencil in first grade. She’s especially drawn to character driven tales, where we see people we recognize, people who struggle with their mistakes and shortcomings, acknowledge them, and use that knowledge to grow into wiser human beings.

When not writing, Felicia spends her time chasing after her not-so-brilliant, but darling and beloved dogs, is chased by her truly brilliant, darling and beloved husband, is known to friends and family as an amateur pastry chef, and still finds time for swimming and her day job as a scientist.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram


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Giveaway – Reign Of Silver & Stardust by Diana A Hicks @xpressotours #dianaahicks #reignofsilverandstardust

Reign of Silver & Stardust
Diana A. Hicks
(Stardust Trilogy, #1)
Publication date: August 27th 2026
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Romance

My twin sister was murdered. To find her killer, I had to die.

CATALINA
I was never supposed to exist.
As the mortal spare to an immortal sister, I lived in the shadows
until Ry was murdered by a weapon that shouldn’t exist.
Now, justice is all I want.
To find her killer, I must take her place in the Queen’s Elite Cadre
and become the very monster everyone fears.
But becoming a weapon means losing my humanity…
and losing the one man I can’t resist.

VALOREK
The immortals bleed my world dry while my sister rots from the inside out.
I swore to burn their reign to the ground,
until I met her.
Sterling is the enemy,
a silver-blooded soldier of the regime that destroyed my family.
But the electricity between us is undeniable.
We are on opposite sides of a brewing war,
and falling for the enemy is a dangerous mistake
neither of us can afford.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

The simulation brings me back with a jolt. I land on the floor on all fours, choking on the saltwater burning my throat. Like before, once my brain catches up with reality, all the pain goes away. I hang my head and breathe easy.

If that isn’t a miserable attempt, I don’t know what is. Ry passed this level on her first try. This military stuff came naturally to her. When we were kids, the placement test put Ry and me in the Military Sector, but I never belonged or excelled the way she did.

The sleek white walls shine bright around me. Seconds later, Captain Weston’s boots come into view. When I glance up, he cocks an eyebrow at me with both hands braced on his hips. He blows out a breath, and I swear a tinge of pity flashes across his face.

“I didn’t pass your test.” I sit back on my ankles, shaking uncontrollably.

“Everyone dies in the simulation. You did better than I expected.” He scratches the stubble on his chiseled jaw. “But I do have my work cut out for me.”

“Am I in?” I meet his gaze.

“Have you talked to anyone since the accident?”

The accident? My jaw clenches.

“No.” I assume he means cadets from my unit. To Captain Weston, Valorek and his friends didn’t count.

“Good.” He clears his throat. “Because I have a proposal for you.”

When I open my mouth to speak, he brings his index finger to his lips and shakes his head once. Of course, he doesn’t want to hear about how Ry’s death wasn’t an accident. We have been doing the same song and dance for weeks. This time, I do as he asks and keep quiet, but only because it looks like I am about to get what I want—an opportunity to join the Queen’s immortal army, where I’ll have the ability to look into Ry’s murderer myself.

“You need something from me.” I meet his gaze.

“We need you to take your sister’s place as a lieutenant in the Queen’s army. You still need a lot of training before you can join Ry’s unit, but we have a bit of time.”

“Wait. What?” I gape at him as my heart thrashes in my ears. “That is not what I wanted at all.”

“I gave it some thought.” He swallows. “It’s all I can offer. It’s the only solution, really.”

“Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?” I scoff. “Ry told me everything about the QEC simulator seven years ago. This was the easy part and I still died. How am I supposed to be her when I know nothing about her world? She had her own life outside of me.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll be your guide.” His eyes soften.

“So what, Captain Weston? Do I now get to call you Cap or Eli?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” He offers a crooked, sexy smile. “In fact, I think that if you call me Eli in private, the transition will be easier for you.”

“Eli?” I meant to be sarcastic, but he is completely serious with his answer.

Author Bio:

Diana Hicks writes dark, emotional romance where obsession runs deep, secrets cut sharp, and love always comes at a price.

Her books blend steamy billionaire drama with forbidden marriages, high-stakes betrayal, and antiheroes who will burn the world to protect what’s theirs. Best known for The Empire Trilogy, Diana’s stories deliver heart-pounding romance with morally gray men, strong heroines, and just enough heat to leave you breathless.

When she’s not writing about power and passion colliding, she’s probably sipping coffee like it’s a love language, sweating off a plot twist at yoga, or posting angsty book teasers on TikTok.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok


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The Spotlight Is On This Never Happened by Kent Heckenlively @pumpupyourbook #kentheckeenlively

 Can a call girl enter politics and escape with her life and morals intact?


Heidi Scherzinger is just a typical working girl in Chicago in 1972. Well, maybe not so typical. In fact, she’s running Chicago’s most successful independent call girl outfit when she’s summoned to meet with Sonny Battaglia, the country’s most powerful Mob boss.

The other local call girl agencies are complaining about her success, so Sonny offers her a deal: either she gets whacked, or she relocates to Washington, D.C., where she’ll be working for the “Agency” under the control of the creepy Sidney Gottshalk, the resident blackmail specialist.

The Agency wants blackmail material on all the horny Democrats flooding the Capitol in the run-up to the presidential election, trying to defeat President Nicholas Dixon as he runs for a second term.

The always efficient Heidi quickly sets up a first-class operation, aided by the quietly competent Milton Greenbaum. What follows is a Florence Gump-style adventure through a 1970s Washington, D.C., that might be just a little different than the version you read about in your history books.

This Never Happened: A Call Girl in D.C. is available at Amazon.

╰┈➤Book Details 

 ↪ Title: This Never Happened: A Call Girl in D.C.

 ↪ Author: Kent Heckenlively

 ↪ Genre: Political Thriller

 ↪ Sub-genre: Romance

 ↪ Language:English

 ↪ Pages: 406

 ↪ Publisher: Manhattan Book Group

 ↪ Publication Date: June 23, 2026

 ↪ Formats: Paperback, Kindle

 ↪ Paperback ISBN: ‎978-1970844337 

 ↪ Price: Paperback $19.99, Kindle $2.99

 ↪ Watch the Book Trailer at https://f.io/rLzZemf1.

╰┈➤Excerpt

My Life Now – November 21, 2024

Most of those who’d want to kill me for telling this story are either dead or living in a nursing home.

I’m not dead, I’m not in a nursing home, but I am living in a “senior community.”

I’m the kind of woman you’ll often see is such a setting, teaching a morning and afternoon Pilates class, then checking out a lecture or play in the evening with her friends. I dress immaculately, my hair and makeup are always perfect, people often wonder if I’m in my mid-fifties or early sixties, (seventy-six, thank you very much) and truth be told, often getting propositioned by the Viagra crowd of men convinced they’ve still got it.

The truth is I’ve always loved sex and I’m pretty good at getting men and women to fall in love with me. But I’ve also mastered the art of convincing a person I’m fascinated by them, while at the same time remaining just out of reach. They know I’ll come and play for a few hours, especially if the money and conversation is good.

And there’s nobody better than me, man or woman, at listening to what the powerful are really saying while they’re trying to get me into bed, or do the commitment thing (no, thank you). That’s why I was on the payroll of the Agency for such a long time, although, truth be told, most of them are a bunch of psychotic morons.

You might call me a prostitute, call girl, hooker, or even a whore if you’re feeling particularly righteous, but I prefer the term courtesan.

Everything in life can be done poorly, or with style.

For example, President John Francis Fitzgerald did everything with a certain devil-may-care nonchalance, from bedding beautiful actresses to getting himself shot in Texas.

By contrast, President Nicholas Milhous Dixon could find the grey cloud on the

sunniest of days, and that partially explains how he went from winning the biggest landslide in American history to resigning in disgrace a year and a half later.

I say only partially, because there’s the part I played, that nobody’s ever really understood. You see, I’m the woman who’s been whispered about for years, the main player in the story you thought you knew, protected by forces more powerful than you can imagine.

But was it really my fault?

Maybe after fifty years it’s time to finally tell the story.

I’ll let you be the judge of whether I’m a hero or a villain.

– Excerpted from This Never Happened by Kent Heckenlively, Manhattan Book Group, 2026. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Kent Heckenlively is an attorney, science teacher, and two-time New York Times bestselling author. He is best known as coauthor of the Plague series – Plague, Plague of Corruption & Ending Plague) with Dr. Judy Mikovits and Dr. Francis Ruscetti, winner of the Distinguished Service Medal from the National Institutes of Health. His book, Plague of Corruption reached #2 on the New York Times Bestseller list in June of 2020, has sold more than 200,000 copies to date, and is being turned into a documentary narrated by Liam Neeson. Kent has published numerous non-fiction books, focusing on the tech sector, controversies in medicine, and media bias.

His most recent two books,Twilight of the Shadow Government and Catastrophic Disclosure, focus on government corruption.

This Never Happened is his third novel and reflects his belief that we all need a fun book for the summer. With more than 15,000 Amazon reviews, a 4.7 average ranking out of 5.0 stars, more than 750,000 of his books in print, critical praise from Kirkus Reviews, including a highly coveted, “Kirkus preferred review” for his book on interferon, as well as his books being translated into ten languages, Kent is quickly becoming a powerhouse in the literary world.

Visit his website at www.kentheckenlivelybooks.com. 

Connect with him on X at https://x.com/KentHecken.

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Giveaway – A Strange And Terrible Wonder by Nichole Louise @xpressotours #nicholelouise

A Strange & Terrible Wonder
Nichole Louise
Publication date: August 18th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical

Eleanor Dare, daughter of Roanoke’s Governor John White, has no choice but to accompany her overly ambitious husband Ananias and her idealist, yet inexperienced father to England’s new colony. Manteo of Croatoan wants nothing more than to cast off his association with the English and return home. Haunted by memories of an unexplainable event, he sets out to find the truth about what was brought to Roanoke by the English two years before as a weapon against the Spanish.

Based on real people who vanished from history, Eleanor and Manteo form a taboo friendship as they work against unseen forces to end the violent and otherworldly attacks upon the settlement. In the midst of this survival scenario, both Eleanor and Manteo—once powerless and marginalized in England, emerge as unlikely leaders of the ravaged colony.

Blending 16th century science, occult, and the impacts of early colonialism, A Strange and Terrible Wonder reimagines what became of the Lost Colony.

Goodreads / Purchase

—

EXCERPT:

Prologue

“All down the church in midst of fire, the hellish monster flew, and passing onward to the quire, he many people slew.”

– Rev. Abraham Fleming, 1577

August 4, 1577
Bungay, England

At first, the congregants believe the slight rattling is only wind insisting upon the church door. A sudden summer tempest. Rain begins to patter above the nave, the sound not altogether unpleasant—soothing, even. A woman closes her eyes and exhales the stress of the morning as she focuses on the rhythm. Her peace is soon jilted by the growing tempest above, for the rain is now a wonderful force with no less violence than abundance. Her eyes snap open and roll to the vaulted ceiling. The great, forceful torrent empties above in what she imagines as glassy sheets pouring from the eaves. A low grumble of thunder. A child presses close to his mother. The two men kneeling at the altar do not flinch in their prayer; one for an abundant harvest season to pay his debts and another for a wife ailing in childbed.

Lightning flashes in brilliant brightness through the clouded, stretching windows. Silhouettes are carved out of the pews. A gust through the crack beneath the front door snuffs out the altar candles as if the tempest is compelling the congregants to sleep. They are all at once aware of the palpable darkness, so much so that one person cannot perceive another. The only light discerned by the congregants is not from the god hanging above them, but from the intermittent great flashing of fiery bolts.

The roar of the storm is so powerful now that the congregants shift with discomfort. A chill tightens the base of their spines as sweat springs on brows with each fearful heartbeat. The men kneeling in prayer do not relinquish their positions, though they see little, and their knees begin to ache against the flagstones. Instead, they press their eyes and hands tighter and pray now for the light to return. The only answer they receive is a terrible crack of thunder with such force and might that the congregants begin to believe doomsday has come.

The doors are thrown open as if by a blast of gunpowder. Lashing wind explodes down the nave, spraying hot rain onto the necks and backs of the congregants who dare not turn from the cross. The woman who had before held a moment of peace, presuming a gentle patter could not turn tempest, winces at the scalding sensation of boiling water against her bare skin. The church seems to quake and stagger as the scent of glowing iron, not unlike a blacksmith’s shop, permeates the darkened church.

The child clutches tightly to his mother when, amid twin lightning strikes, a great shape dashes down the nave toward the altar. The drops of rainwater on the flagstones sizzle as the thing passes in a hot rush of a blacksmith’s bellows. And with another flash of fire, the child sees it—they all see it: a great black dog with one ember glowing eye running with incredible haste. The woman muffles her scream as others bend beneath the flimsy pews as if a mere board of wood will save them from this devil.

The praying men feel great heat against their backs as if a bonfire has been lit before the altar. A sacrifice. Liquid fear runs down their legs, and still they dare not open their eyes nor pry their rigid hands apart. In another crack of thunder and lightning, the great black dog wrings both men’s necks backward in one clean instant. Its movement is so violent, so swift, that the dead men still kneel in prayer.

The child gasps when the lightning illuminates the whites of dead eyes in the heads bent unnaturally back. He buries his face in his mother’s skirts as her nails dig into his narrow shoulders. The beast turns on the congregation, its low growl indistinguishable from thunder, like a thousand carts moving across cobblestones. It stalks down the aisle, its bellows as hot as the summer sun’s rays. The congregants close their eyes against the darkness, press their slick palms together, and pray for their god to save them in his very house.

The beast chooses a man who dares glance up, for he believes he can slip out the door and escape this hell. Instead, the beast’s shining obsidian claws grip the man’s back in so forceful a manner that it is as if his entire body becomes drawn together and shrunk, as if it were a piece of leather scorched by hot fire. Wordless, he topples over with limbs trailing smoke.

The beast shifts into shadow, and the woman sitting next to the burned but still living man stumbles away from the charred flesh and wheezes for help. The rector, who has finally slid out of the shadows, catches her as she falls from the pew. He prays over her—whispering first, then increasing to test the roar around them. He exhorts the terrified congregants to prayer, and in their extreme distress, do so in darkness. The hot wind and scalding rain lash them, for the tempest has now fully invaded their sanctuary. Some congregants are frozen in terror, save their lips flapping desperate prayers, while others try in vain to crawl for the door.

In a flash, the beast materializes on the main beam above the congregants. Its searing talons set the old oak to smoldering as if coaxing a fire. Its ragged back chars the angel carved into the ceiling. The demon swings down through the church. Three lightning bolts follow the dog jumping from one man to another, then a lad, killing all three instantly. The dog dashes from the crumpled boy, and a deafening crack as if the earth has split in two cleaves the roof, and with it, the steeple. The cascade of stone rumbles down the side of the church, and for one striking moment of terror, a woman cries out that hell has opened to swallow the church whole.

The dog bounds for the next man. He dives away, yet not before his hand is burned by the scalding creature’s touch. In shock, the man lifts his charred hand to the burning sensation where his ear used to be. The creature blasts through the church doors, leaving a trail of scorch marks in the wood. The mischief thus wrought, the beast flies with wonderful force out of the churchyard in a hideous and hellish likeness.

Like a decimated forest in the aftermath of a windstorm, the congregants are left quivering. It’s clear to the man with the burned hand and missing ear that there are forces at work mightier than God, who could not protect his devout followers in His own house. Dazed, the man staggers out of the ruins with his compatriots. He looks to the rapidly clearing sky and resolves to find someone with knowledge of these unseen forces—and how to master them. A conjurer with the influence to pursue the arcane unhindered. What other reason could there be for such hell if not as a path to Providence for England? He will accept no other explanation.

Author Bio:

Nichole Louise is a speculative historical fiction writer and book reviewer (NicholeLouise.com). Raven Rock (2023), a prequel to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, was recognized by Writer’s Digest, the Historical Fiction Company, and the CIBAs. Her articles and book reviews have appeared in the Journal of the American Revolution. Her second title, A Strange and Terrible Wonder (2026) is a historical folk horror tale exploring the Lost Colony of Roanoke. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, gaming, and volunteering at Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram


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$25 GC – Temperature Rising by Joel Burcat @partnersincr1me #joelburcat #temperaturerising

TEMPERATURE RISING by Joel Burcat Banner

TEMPERATURE RISING

by Joel Burcat

August 17 – September 11, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

 

A deadly secret. A dangerous game. How much is she willing to sacrifice to expose the truth?

Anna Freeman never expected a routine errand to change everything. But when the ambitious law student and environmental activist retrieves a harmless videotape on energy policy, she unknowingly steps into the heart of a ruthless conspiracy. Powerful lobbyists, corrupt politicians, and billion-dollar interests will do whatever it takes to keep their secrets buried—and now, Anna is in their crosshairs.

Before she realizes it, she’s pulled deep into the very system she once despised, embraced and seduced by those orchestrating the cover-up. They think she’s one of them. But Anna has other plans. Working undercover for The New York Times, she’s determined to expose the truth—no matter the cost. The only problem—she falls in love with the industry’s most trusted lobbyist.

With every step she takes, the danger intensifies. Lies mount. The deeper she infiltrates, the harder it becomes to save herself and her friends from the ultimate outcome. When the threats turn personal, Anna faces an impossible Will she risk everything—her career, her relationships, her friendships, even her life—to bring the truth to light? Or will she be silenced before she has the chance?

Temperature Rising is an electrifying political thriller packed with pulse-pounding suspense, forbidden romance, and high-stakes deception. As Anna races against time, one thing becomes clear—some secrets are worth killing for.

Praise for Temperature Rising:

“A timely and poignant thriller of political machinations, threats and lies. I enjoyed Temperature Rising, it heats up quickly and burns hot.”
~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times Bestselling Selling author

“Burcat’s sharp execution offers plenty of surprises. The timely boardroom intrigue offers plenty of thrills. An intriguing conspiracy tale that finds fresh energy in familiar power struggles.”
~ KIRKUS Reviews

“Original, deftly crafted, compelling, and a wild ride of a suspense thriller from start to finish.”
~ Jim Cox, Midwest Book Review

Book Details:

Genre: Political Suspense Thriller
Published by: Milford House Press
Publication Date: June 16, 2026
Number of Pages: 289
ISBN: 979-8888193587
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Sunbury Press Bookstore

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 40

A familiar sound awoke Anna.

Click-click-click.

The sound floated through her head. It stopped. Then it began again.

Click-click-click.

Anna sat up with a start.

Silence.

She went to the door and held her breath.

Nothing. Just the humming and buzzing from the electrical systems. A clock ticking down the hall.

Slowly, she tiptoed to Connor’s office. She stood behind a stack of file cabinets and looked. Dim light leaked under the door. Anna froze.

Anna wanted to run away, but she slowly walked closer.

It was dark. No steel balls clicking. The only light at this end of the floor was from the streetlights.

She calmed herself as she realized that the streetlights cast a glow into the window near Donna Russell’s desk. She hoped that was the light she saw.

“Mr. Connor?” Anna whispered.

Silence.

She lightly tapped on his door.

“Mr. Connor?” she said more loudly.

Quiet.

Slowly, Anna tried the knob.

It was locked, but not pulled shut all the way.

She was sure it had been locked tightly when she tried it before.

She pushed the door open. The room was dark, illuminated only by the streetlight from outside. The desk was empty except for Newton’s cradle.

It swayed back and forth, the way it did as it was coming to rest. Conservation of momentum. Conservation of energy.

Anna gasped. Why was it moving?

“Mr. Connor?” she said more loudly. She looked around the office.

No reply. She quickly looked behind Connor’s big leather chair. Nothing.

“Mr. Heftig?”

Silence.

Slowly, Anna turned and looked behind the door. She felt a creeping sensation on her back. The fine hair on her neck stood up straight.

Nothing.

Slowly, she continued turning to survey the entire office. Then she jumped. The air conditioner clicked on and a woosh came through the vent. A mountain range of goosebumps rose on her bare arms.

She looked at the desk. The Newton’s cradle was swaying in the breeze. She held her hand over the toy. The AC blew directly onto it. Just enough to make the balls click together quietly. They swayed in the breeze from the vent. Together. All five balls. Had this always been the case? Was the office so noisy during the day that she hadn’t noticed the quiet sound?

Anna took a deep breath, backed out of the office, and pulled the door until it clicked shut.

As she returned to her office, she glanced at the clock. It was 4:15. She was fifteen minutes late to meet Dread.

“Oh crap.”

Anna shot down the hallway to the freight elevator. It seemed to take forever to come to her floor. As the door closed she remembered something and stuck her hand into the narrow opening, pushing the rubberized safety bar and making the door open. She ran to room 2-Y and used her key to get back inside. She grabbed the beat up briefcase from the corner, the one with SOF stamped on the side, and ran back to the elevator.

The elevator slowly descended to the basement. No matter how many times she pressed the button, it went at the same annoying speed. She worked her way through the maintenance room and placed the cardboard into position at the door. She put the briefcase in the corner on the loading dock. Then she hustled to L Street and looked up and down. No Dread. No people. Not even a taxi.

The air was chilly and Anna regretted forgetting to put on her sweater, which was draped on her chair in her office. She walked up and down the street and didn’t see any sign of Dread anywhere. She looked at her watch; it was 4:20.

“Damn. Damn. Damn.”

Finally, a pair of headlights approached on L Street. The car was moving slowly. A big, dark green SUV, a Suburban with an extended back, pulled up and stopped. The driver wore a flannel shirt and had a beard. Anna thought she recognized him from the bar in New Jersey. He smiled pleasantly at her.

Anna smiled at the man.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Anna. Sorry, I was late.”

“Hey there, Anna. Call me Jack. Don’t matter to me, baby.”

“Did it take you a while to get here?”

“Hours. Been looking for you for a while.”

“Sorry. I fell asleep. Are you ready to do this?” Anna said.

“Never readier,” the man replied, smiling. He patted the passenger seat.

“You can pull into the alley over there.” Anna pointed. She started to open the door.

“Sure, if you say so.” The man craned his neck to see the alley. “Is that where it’s at?”

“Yes. That’s where it’s at. Where’s Dread?” Anna asked, looking around.

The man made a face. “I’m past dread, baby, unless you’re with the cops. What do you charge? I’m just looking for some quick head. I can give you twenty bucks. We can do it in the back of my Suburban or right here on the front seat. Whatever works for you.”

Anna recoiled from the man. “Oh God,” she said. She hopped out and retreated to the nearest doorway. The man watched her through the open window.

“Hey, come on, baby,” he called. “We can do it quick. I promise. I’ll give you twenty-five bucks.”

Finally, he slowly moved on when another vehicle pulled up behind him and flashed its lights. A pickup truck.

Anna waited in the darkened doorway until the window of the pickup opened. It was Dread.

“Hey, Anna, hon, we thought maybe you gave us the wrong info when we talked. We were here at ten of. This is the third time we’ve circled around the block.”

Anna opened the door and got inside. Her hands were shaking.

“Calm down, hon. We got this. You look sick. Here, this will help.” Dread handed her a brown paper bag.

Anna wondered what variety of alcohol Dread had in the bag. She hoped it was vodka.

“You want a cookie?” Dread asked. “They’re chocolate chip. I baked them myself.”

“You bake cookies?” Anna broke into a smile.

“You got a problem wit’ that? Camden County’s junior baking champ in twelfth grade. I’ve got the blue ribbon at home to prove it.”

Anna finally laughed and opened the bag, releasing the smell of brown sugar, vanilla, and chocolate. The cookies were huge and smelled glorious. She took a piece of cookie from the bag. In fact, it was scrumptious. “Oh God Dread, these are yummy!”

Dread smiled her smile and Anna directed her to the alley and told her to back in. Another pickup truck backed in behind them.

“That’s Max,” Dread said, keeping her hands on the wheel and pointing with one finger. “One of my boys with the Devils. I borrowed this truck from another guy, and Max agreed to come down with me. We convoyed all the way here. Did I see you talking with someone in an SUV?”

Anna nodded. “Yes. I thought it was one of your guys. It wasn’t. He thought I was a hooker.”

Dread was twisted around her seat as she backed into the alley, and she put her foot on the brake and looked at Anna. “I can see that. A little skinny, maybe, to earn a good living. Not nearly enough meat up top. But most guys aren’t picky at 4 a.m. What did he offer you?”

“Twenty bucks for a B.J.”

“Twenty? At this time of night, poor horny dude was probably desperate. You should have held out for forty.” Dread cackled, a long drawn-out laugh. After a moment, Anna laughed too.

They slowly backed into the alley, all the way to the dumpster. Anna hopped out first. As soon as her sneakers touched the ground, something didn’t seem right. She immediately went to the place where the documents had been hidden.

They were gone.

***

Excerpt from Temperature Rising by Joel Burcat. Copyright 2026 by Joel Burcat. Reproduced with permission from Joel Burcat. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Joel Burcat

Joel Burcat is an award-winning novelist and retired environmental lawyer whose thrillers blend high-stakes suspense with real-world issues. He is the author of Drink to Every Beast, Amid Rage, Strange Fire, Reap the Wind, and Temperature Rising, as well as the historical novel Whiz Kid, co-written with his late father, David S. Burcat. His books have earned multiple honors, including Readers’ Favorite Gold and Silver Medals, a Kindle Book Reviews Semi-Finalist award, and recognition from PennWriters and the Next Generation Indie Book Awards (Finalist). Drawing on more than forty years of environmental law practice, Burcat now writes full-time from central Pennsylvania.

Catch Up With Joel Burcat:

JoelBurcat.com
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Instagram – @joelburcattheauthor
Threads – @joelburcattheauthor
X – @JoelBurcat
Facebook – @JoelBurcatAuthor

 

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