It’s hard to believe 2022 has come to an end! With the holidays fast approaching, and the new year, the Books+Coffee=Happiness blog will be closed from December 23rd until January 3rd.
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Happy Holidays! And may you have a wonderful new year!
Title: The Humbug Holiday
Format: Audiobook
Author: Lane Hayes
Narrator: Michael Dean
Publisher: Lane Hayes
Release Date: December 12, 2022
Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 03 Hours 50 Minutes
Genre: Romance, Holiday romance, Bisexual romance, Grumpy/Grumpy, Small Town
Two grumpy bears and a holiday season neither will forget…
Joe
So this sexy silver fox rolls into my small New England town and buys a run-down old house in need of renovation. That’s where I come in. My job is to do some basic repairs, so he can write in peace. Yep, the hotshot is a bestselling author, but that’s not why I recognize Cameron Warren.
No worries, I won’t let a one-night stand make things awkward. I could use the work, but is he seriously asking me to help him buy a Christmas tree too?
No way.
Cameron
I’m a good-natured guy all year long, but I have to admit…I hate the holidays.
There. I said it.
This season, I’m hiding away on the opposite side of the country in a picturesque village. My family isn’t excited about my decision, and the only way to assure them I’m fine is to deck the darn halls. Or hire someone else to do it.
The handyman might not be the logical choice for an elf, but his grumpy act makes me smile. Which makes me think the holidays might not be so “bah-humbug” this year after all.
The Humbug Holiday is a bisexual, age-gap romance featuring two grumpy bears who find unexpected magic and learn to embrace everyone’s favorite time of year!
“No, thanks.”
Cam narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean ‘no, thanks’?”
I set the strand of fairy lights on a green plastic bin and scowled. “Do I really look like fuckin’ Santa Claus?”
“No, but—”
“My holiday cheer begins and ends at my mom’s bingo deal. That’s it. I don’t own twenty boxes filled with useless knickknacks. I don’t put up a tree or hang lights or…any of that shit for myself. Why would I do it for you?”
“Money. I’ll pay you handsomely to deck the damn halls and take a few photos. That’s in addition to the handyman stuff.” He named an even more outlandish sum than the one he’d proposed two days ago.
I whistled as I crossed my arms. “You do realize that’s insane, right?”
He shrugged. “A little. Look, I need a few Christmassy photos for my aunts.”
“Why?”
“Because…well…it’s a family thing,” he hedged, narrowing his eyes as he cast a wary glance over the array of boxes still littering the entry hall. “And as you can see, it’s complicated.”
I peeked at Tony’s roofing truck through the lacy curtains. “I’m a carpenter or a general handyman. I can’t, in good conscience, take money for something like putting up a tree. I mean…it would be one thing if you couldn’t physically do it yourself, but you seem perfectly capable of putting up a few decorations.”
“Physically yes, mentally…no.”
I stared at him for as long as I could manage without blinking, then let out a heavy sigh. “Is there an artificial tree somewhere in those boxes, or are you going to need a real one?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t looked and I don’t want to. I want to hire you to do all of that for me. Put it up and take it all down…within forty-eight hours. It’s Tuesday. If you get a tree today, it can be gone by Thursday, and then you can concentrate on the rest of the house stuff.”
“Your priorities are kinda whack.” I snorted. “Christmas is in three weeks. Don’t you FaceTime with your family?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“They’re gonna notice the lack of cheer on the big day.”
Cameron frowned. “Oh. That’s true.”
“Look, I should probably get out there and deal with Tony,” I said, stepping toward the door. “I’m not opposed to taking your money, but I’m no designer and I don’t like the holidays any more than you do. I’ll ask in town. Janie Calhoun owns the Christmas store on First Street and she does some staging for a couple of home boutiques in the area. If you want this done right, she’s a better bet than me.”
“No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of designers.” He waved impatiently and stalked over to the bins. “How about this? Let’s buy a tree, put some lights on it, and throw on a few ornaments. Then we’ll toss the whole thing in the trash before noon on the twenty-fifth and be done with it.”
“And what about all that stuff?” I inclined my head meaningfully at the holiday shit he had yet to unpack.
“Leave the box with ornaments, and put the rest in the basement. Out of sight, out of mind. Or better yet, throw it all away.”
“Wow. You are Scrooge.”
Cameron smirked unapologetically. “I told you so. My youngest cousin is having a baby any minute now, so with any luck, my aunts will forget about me for a while. Just knowing there’s a tree up will make them happy, and that’s what matters. So…what do you think?”
I fixed him with a long, hard stare.
“I think you’re up to something.”
He widened his eyes in surprise. “Such as?”
“I dunno. People who don’t like the holidays wouldn’t go through the hassle of hiring someone unqualified to do their dirty work, even if money were no object. It would be much easier to hole up in your office and hibernate for the rest of December. What do you really want?”
“Huh?”
“Is this about sex?”
“Sex,” he repeated with a huff. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to a repeat, but I’m not in the habit of paying for a good time.”
Christ, all he had to say was “repeat” and I popped a boner.
Title: These Young Wolves
Series: Knights of Blackrabbit, Book One
Author: Glenn Quigley
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 12/20/2022
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 84900
Genre: Historical, LGBTQIA+, Cornish coast, clockpunk, spec fiction, bears, sailors, law enforcement, historical, non-explicit, enemies-to-lovers, crime, redemption, revenge, tattoos
One year ago, Vince Knight walked away from his role as crime lord of Port Knot. In his absence, the gangs he founded went to war, and frightening new factions have risen from the ashes to tear at the town’s throat like hungry wolves.
Now Vince is back and has taken command of the Watch—working side-by-side with the very people who spent years trying to put him behind bars. Unbeknownst to him, Captain James Godgrave has been given his own team to deal with crime in the town, but while he and Vince share a common goal, they are not allies.
The murder of one of James’s crew puts Vince in a delicate position. Facing pressure from the council, the townsfolk, and the Watch itself, Vince must find the killer because if he doesn’t, James will, and Vince’s tenure as Watch Commander will be the shortest in history.
As Vince and James clash in their public and private lives, Vince starts to understand the damage caused by his abdication as crime lord, James sets about putting down the gangs once and for all, and the mysterious power behind the new factions exacts a terrifying plan that will change Port Knot forever.
These Young Wolves
Glenn Quigley © 2022
All Rights Reserved
He clicked his pale, meaty fingers twice, sending Crabmeat running along the narrow Entry while he hurried up the dry, cobbled road. He readied himself at a corner and stuck out the tip of his octopus-handled cane. A young man with a thatch of blond hair slammed into the cane at full speed, turning head-over-tit onto the cobbled road. A necklace and a handful of coins spilled out of his pockets, splashing into a horse-made puddle. Crabmeat—a tubby, short-nosed little bulldog—darted after him, barking furiously.
The young thief rolled onto his back, holding his shin and crying out, before being lifted wholly off the ground and slammed against the nearest wall. Vince Knight spoke with a voice like rolling thunder, “Assume you know the way to the Watch House?”
No one in the town of Port Knot could remember a warmer October than that of 1781. As the hazy sun rose in a saffron sky, the harbour stretched its cranes like waking arms and prepared for another day. Already several tall ships had docked and become targets for hungry gulls searching for scraps.
The briny air, awash with the stench of yesterday’s catch, stung Vince’s nose in a familiar and welcoming way. With his bag over his shoulder, he took the thief by the scruff of his neck, and marched deeper into town.
The crowds of traders, dockworkers, and sailors sundered themselves before him and fell quiet when he drew near. He kept his head down and carried on walking. He no longer needed the aid of his cane but thought it added some sophistication to his appearance, especially given his newest acquisition of a patch over his left eye.
Had he not already towered over the townsfolk, his clothing would still have set him apart. Sartorially speaking, he never truly overcame his brawler beginnings. His cream-coloured top shirt had seen better days and his black trousers had long ago begun to fray their edges. Yesterday, he’d attended his brother’s handfasting on the nearby island of Merryapple, and he’d accidentally left his favourite claret overcoat behind. Not that he needed it that morning. His tricorne cap, cracked and scaly in places, covered his snowy white hair and kept the morning sun from his lone icy blue eye.
Port Knot’s sole Watch House sat at a crossroads on the west side of town. Three storeys tall, it had a low front door painted in cornflower blue and a single window set with rusted iron bars. Above these, the sand-coloured bricks rose to an arch and then to a gable, in a wholly unnecessary architectural flourish. Like most buildings in town, thin copper pipes ran across the surface like veins under sallow skin.
The bridges of Port Knot infested the town like rats. Long, short, arched, flat, and each one different from the last. Lickbeer Bridge connected the road above Vince’s head to the first floor of the Watch House and protruded from the side of it like a hernia. The arch had been carved to resemble the open mouth of a bearded man, swallowing all who travelled through.
As with the rest of the town, the Watch House had been built too close to the surrounding premises, and indeed the entire street had the appearance of an overstuffed bookshelf. Within, Vince found a grimy pit of browns and mustards. The Watch House saw hardly any sun, so a plethora of lanterns fought bravely against the gloom.
Vince all but threw the thief onto a chair. “Stay,” he said, pointing. “Or else.”
Crabmeat sat in front of the thief and growled.
Vince let his bag of clothes slump to the dusty floor. He tapped his octopus-handled cane on the knotted wooden floorboards. “Anybody in?”
A voice from a backroom called out to him and presently a slim, dark-haired woman in her early twenties greeted him. She wore oversized tan trousers held up by braces, a striped shirt splattered with oil, and a pair of goggles perched on top of her head. She gripped a hammer in one hand and scowled.
“Got you a present,” Vince said, nodding to the thief.
“Ah, sure that’s very kind of you, altogether.” She raised the hammer a little and steadied herself. “And who might you be, now?”
“Vince Knight. Watch Commander.”
Glenn Quigley is an author and artist originally from Tallaght in Dublin, Ireland, and now living in Lisburn, Northern Ireland with his partner of many years. His first novel, The Moth and Moon, was published in 2018. When not writing, he paints portraits in watercolours and tweets too many photos of lighthouses. He maintains a website of his latest work at http://www.glennquigley.com.
One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!
Rocked in Time is set in the rebellion, love, and chaos of the 1960s and ‘70s and explores a world of resistance and celebrates those who dared to buck the system in those turbulent times…
By Charles Degelman
Rocked in Time (Volume Three in
the Resistance Trilogy) slips behind the scenes of a blasphemous
theater company hell-bent on toppling America’s Vietnam-era
establishment with punch lines, pratfalls, and comic rebellion. Along
the way, our protagonist pursues a love for the stage, a passion for
resistance, and the intimate politics of sexual revolution amid the
tear-gassed campuses and burning cities of a nation at war with itself.
Release Date: October 18, 2022
Publisher: Harvard Square Editions
Soft Cover: 978-1941861882; 408 pages; $22.95
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3AhO7NW
Book Excerpt
RATMAN MEETS THE 50-FOOT HINDU
The Emeryville flats used to stink of the tide. Dead fish, drying algae, bottles and cans, old tires lay scattered over a landscape of mud and sewage. Stick figures perched on the muddy edges of the East Bay, fanciful driftwood and tin creatures standing stork-legged in the mud, stick-flapping arms, wings, feathers, broken brooms, old flags, weathervanes, hubcaps, rusted saw blades, other detritus.
Celebrating America’s junk. Resistance. We drove together, my cousin Eric and I, in a VW bus weathered to a chalky blue. Across the flats, the Bay Bridge arched toward Angel Island and beyond, to the summer fog bank of San Francisco. We bounced into the Haight-Ashbury to check out a band my cousin had written to me about the previous winter. He called them the Jefferson Airplane and they were playing at a little club called The Matrix.
We were stoned on Mexican weed. I was reciting lines from Ratman Meets the 50-Foot Hindu, a play I had recently closed back in Harvard’s experimental, black box theater. I played a 50-foot Hindu who had journeyed to America to avenge the murder of the sacred cow. This zealot took his revenge by stomping his burger-munching victims to death with a set of hooves.
I’d picked up the fake Indian accent from the cultural ether without offense. White people had begun to stir, waking to the notion that civil rights were human rights and that racism was alive and well in America. When Ratman and the 50-foot Hindu walked the earth, India still seemed like a distant, overpopulated nation, shaped by British colonialism, its independence two decades old but still imbued with the nonviolence of Gandhi and the meditative power of the spinning wheel. The Maharishi hadn’t yet hustled The Beatles, India and Pakistan hadn’t yet become nuclear powers, Bangladesh hadn’t been flooded out by cyclones, and John and Yoko’s meditations hadn’t dispatched my generation on a simpleton’s goose chase.
So, my Hindu accent was still okay and my character diabolical, a complex being who, beyond his fierce and scheming interior, presented himself as an addled older gentleman whose faith had been defiled by America’s hamburger fetish. He was a man with a mission. But the 50-foot Hindu had proven to be no match for Ratman.
In the finale, the superhero and his diabolically tragic foe squared off in a revolving restaurant high above the city.
Charles Degelman is an award-winning author, performer, and producer living in Los Angeles. After graduating Harvard, Degelman left academia to become an antiwar activist, political theater artist, musician, communard, carpenter, hard-rock miner, and itinerant gypsy trucker. When the dust settled, he returned to his first love, writing.
A Bowl Full of Nails, set in the rural counterculture of the 1970s, collected a Bronze Medal from the 2015 Independent Publishers Book Awards and Gates of Eden, set during the anti-war movement of the 1960s, won an Independent Publishers book award.
Degelman’s screenplay Fifty-Second Street garnered an award from the Diane Thomas Competition, sponsored by UCLA/Dreamworks. A second screenplay, The Red Car, reached finalist status in Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest.
In addition, Degelman has written and produced documentary and educational films for TNT, Churchill Films, Pyramid Films, and Philips Interactive Media. He co-founded Indecent Exposure, a Los Angeles-based theater company dedicated to creating original, high-quality, socially relevant work for the stage. Degelman is on the faculty of California State University where he teaches writing in the Communication Studies Department.
His latest book is the historical fiction, Rocked in Time.
Website: https://www.charlesdegelman.org/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/CDegelman
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/charlesdegelman/
Thriller / Supernatural / Romance
Date Published: 09-01-2017
Moving into a suburban, middle class, stereotypical neighborhood was never
on Julian’s to do list. When his identical twin brother inherits their
Aunt’s house in such a place, then finds a good job, Julian
reluctantly follows. He expected to feel isolated by being the only gay
person on the block, okay, more likely the zip code, but a few nosy
housewives eagerly inform him the neighbor across the street is gay, and
punned, Mr. Creepersen, due to several murders that occurred in his basement
five years ago.
AUDIOBOOK Releasing January 8th!
About the Author
Nina Schluntz is a native to rural Nebraska. In her youth, she often wrote
short stories to entertain her friends. Those ideas evolved into the novels
she creates today.
Her husband continues to ensure her stories maintain a touch of realism as
she delves into the science fiction and fantasy realm. Their three cats are
always willing to stay up late to provide inspiration, whether it is a howl
from the stray born in the backyard or an encouraging bite from the so
called “calming kitten.”
Contact Links
Purchase Link
ON SALE for $0.99 Dec 20 to Dec 23
For the Love of Brigid
Nanette Littlestone
Publication date: December 15th 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Discover an ancient legend, powerful magic, and heartwarming romance in the gentle hills of western Ireland.
Tongue-tied around men, the only place shy librarian Brigid Cleary finds love is in the books she reads. Certainly not in the novel she’s writing—as appealing as a dusty desert. Then a famous mystery writer enters her life to research an Irish legend related to her family. As their easy conversation grows, Brigid develops feelings. There’s just one large problem—he’s engaged.
With two failed books behind him, Andrew Connally is desperate for success. The Irish legend has to pull him through. When Brigid invites him to Ireland for a family celebration, in exchange for his help with writing, he jumps at the chance. But surprises emerge in this enchanted land. The flames of attraction climb, and the legend pulls them both on a powerful journey.
As the secrets of the legend come to light, Brigid and Andrew discover an unexpected path to love and the dreams they both desire.
—
EXCERPT:
Chelton, New York
Walking up the path to my house, I think about Annemarie’s love and encouragement. The best of friends, she’s always buoyed my spirit and helped me through crisis after crisis. Setting up the library after Gran’s death was a major undertaking, one I’d felt incapable of handling. There were thousands of books. Whole rooms to remodel. Furniture and lighting and wallpaper to choose. So many times I thought I’d go insane. But with Annemarie’s help, we met every obstacle with determined positivity. And now here I am with a gorgeous mansion that feels more like a home with enormous playrooms.
Smiling, I climb the stone steps to my door and reach into my pocket for the key.
“Excuse me, are you Brigid Cleary?”
My heart stutters and I whirl with a gasp. A pleasant looking man stands by the steps, slightly hunched in his winter coat. “By all the gods!” I yell. “Ye startled the crap out of me.” I wince at the hint of Irish in my voice.
“Beautiful and Irish.”
“Of course I’m Irish.”
He steps closer. “They said you were, but—”
“They? They who?”
“My publisher. Well, his assistant. So you are Brigid Cleary.”
I lean against the door to my house, my heartbeat beginning to slow. He doesn’t look like he’s going to attack. “Who wants to know?”
“Andrew. Andrew Connally.”
Not the Andrew Connally. No, it can’t be. I shiver as a gust of wind bites through my clothes. “Well, Mr. Connally, why are you here?”
“Do you suppose we can continue the Inquisition inside? It’s freezing.”
So he’s not immune to the cold. “I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into my home.”
“That’s understandable, and certainly fair, but . . .”
“But it’s freezing.” And five more seconds might turn us both into icebergs. “Go around to the library entrance.” I point to the right. “I’ll meet you there.”
When he leaves, I unlock the door and walk inside, my toes stiff and painful. What I really want is a hot drink and a warm fire, but somehow I’ve picked up a stray man. Wouldn’t it be interesting if he were the famous mystery writer? What a story I’d have for Annemarie.
With that, I hang up my coat and scarf and make my way through the library, turning on lights as I go.
Cold gusts of air follow when I let him in. He stamps his feet loudly, the heels of his shoes thudding against the thick carpet. “This is the last time I’m coming here in the winter.”
“I’ve been imagining the tropics all day. Care to go with me?” I can’t believe I’ve issued an invitation. To a complete stranger.
“I just might do that,” he says with a smile that looks so honest, so pure, and so familiar.
I stare and he matches my stare. Open. Inquisitive. And a little mischievous. I have to ask. “Are you the Andrew Connally?”
“The Andrew Connally? Well, now, I’m not sure.”
He’s playing with me. “You know, the mystery writer.”
“Ah, that Andrew Connally.”
“Yes, that one. Because you look like him. I mean, I’ve never seen him up close, just on the back of book jackets. And his smile is so . . . well, professional yet engaging. As if he’s inviting you to come closer, to get to know him better, to have a conversation. And your smile just then, it was . . .” I’m rambling. To a stranger. I never ramble. I never talk to strangers either. But now, with Andrew, my mouth is literally a fountain of words.
I shake my head to clear whatever unfortunate clutter has collected and realize we’re still standing by the entrance. Where are my manners? “I’m so sorry. Would you like to sit down?” I move through the lobby and into Hush Hush, the cozy area for adults with long couches and a wide fireplace just perfect on this frosty night. Crouching before the fake logs, I turn on the gas and watch the flames come to life.
For long moments my guest gazes into the fire. He seems softer in person than on his back cover photos, if he even is the Andrew Connally. He still hasn’t answered that question. And his wavy hair, chestnut brown with flecks of gold, hangs longer, brushing his shirt collar. Much more youthful than that stern, suit jacket look he projects. And more dashing. But does his personality match his profile? Is he staid and somber or casual and easy-going? And, more importantly, what is he doing here?
Author Bio:
Get ready for a journey of the heart! Award-winning novelist Nanette Littlestone believes in happily ever after. But most people don’t live fairy tale lives, so her stories explore the struggles and heart-wrenching decisions we make, as well as the joy, delight, and happiness when we embrace our dreams. It’s all about the love.
Her books include “The Sacred Flame” (a historical novel in ancient Rome), “Bella Toscana” (the contemporary sequel), “The Heart of Everything” (an underwater fantasy), and “For the Love of Brigid” (the Irish romance coming out Dec 2022).
She lives in Atlanta, GA but still calls California home, loves making origami butterflies, and watching romantic movies that make her cry. Her favorite quote: “Flattery will get you nowhere. Chocolate, everywhere.”
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
—
To celebrate the release of the second book in The Fires of Aileryan series, Heart of Flame, we are sharing both gorgeous books with you all! Read on for more info and treat yourself to an epic fantasy journey.
![ebook-1600x2400[972]](https://rrbooktoursblog.files.wordpress.com/2022/10/ebook-1600x2400972-1.jpg?resize=338%2C507)
Shadow of Fire
Publication Date: May 5th, 2022
Genre: Fantasy/ Multiple POV
Length: 370 pages
A potent power is about to be unleashed.
Forbidden and forged in flame.
Control over the elements is a gift from the Gods, but since the creation of the Rift, fire magic has been outlawed in Merawuld. The Rift is a source of mystery, fear, and, for some, a tempting source of power.
Ash is a fire caster who has spent years hiding her magic, but when her explosive powers reveal themselves she is imprisoned by the Mage Council. Ash’s powers are coveted by the High Mage, who seeks to use her as a pawn against not only his enemies, but his allies as well.
With the Bone Mother’s winter fast approaching, the fae Princess vows to fight against the corrupting influence of power, forming an alliance whose success rests on a human man’s desire for peace; a man who must decide if he will play the game he’s inherited or begin one of his own.
But in Aileryan, the Gods have their own plans. As the Mother of All turns the wheel of the year, the land is brought to the edge of war. Loyalty and courage will be sorely tested as paths intertwine and Fate plays her hand.
If Ash can’t learn to control her magic, the scheming of gods and mortals could spell doom for them all.
Add to Goodreads
Excerpt
Laeli jumped as the sound of steel striking steel cut through the night. She slipped into a crouch, buckling on her scabbard, sliding the twin swords against her back and crept to the opening of the cairn.
Bran shouted a single word. Run.
As wings of light fluttered across the dark pit of the sky, Laeli saw him, his lithe body ducking and weaving around a sword wielded by a tall man in a cloak of fur. Two dead men lay on the ground, Bran’s dagger protruding from a chest. As Laeli watched, Bran’s opponent crouched and swept his leg wide, catching Bran off guard. Her companion tumbled to the ground and, before he could get to his feet, a sword swung through the air in a precise arc.
Laeli stared in horror as Bran’s head was swiftly sliced from his body. Slowly, so slowly, it fell, toppling to the ground to bounce and roll away. Laeli’s dinner rose like a snake and she turned to the side and vomited.
The sky opened, and as veins of light cracked the black canvas of night, the man in furs looked up and saw her. His sword glinted as he approached, blood dripping hypnotically to the ground.
Bran’s blood; fae blood.
Without another thought, Laeli sprang from the cairn and sprinted for the safety of the forest. The trees reached for her, inviting her in; she bent her head and dove between their trunks, taking shelter in their branches, in the roots that snaked from the earth and the rocks and soft grass that spread across the forest floor. The sky ripped apart again, illuminating the trees, the forest bending and swaying in the fierce wind as the storm intensified.
She pushed on, running at a reckless pace that no human could match, until her lungs burned and she fell to her knees in a puddle of dirty water, her breath coming in pants that shook her to the bone. She was still a long way from the border, from safety.
Laeli took a deep breath, preparing to run again, but the point of a sword pressed into her spine.
‘Get up, Witch.’ The voice was low, husky, his breathing quick.
Available on Amazon
Heart of Flame
Publication Date: November 14th, 2022
Genre: Fantasy/ Multiple POV
Length: 536 pages
Fires that curse, fires that heal,
And all the while, so turns the wheel…
With the Queen of Merawuld confined to her bed and the city of Tyllcarric in the iron grasp of the High Mage, war is closing in on all horizons for Ash and Senan. Hellbent on eliminating any threats to the fae throne, Kiarda of Veshlir has raised an army to claim her prize — and she will not be stopped.
Meanwhile, across the border, change is afoot in Estilleon.
Thalion’s men are ready for rebellion, but when the first rush of power ends, he finds himself forced to toe the line between strength and brutality. By his side, Laeli is a stranger in the human world — caught between love and loyalty in a land that stifles her voice.
As conflict escalates across the land of Aileryan, those with power clash amidst a sea of ideals, dreams and greed, forcing the most battle-scarred to overcome their demons and prove they are a force to be reckoned with.
For that which has been dormant for so long is about to burst forth, and when the winter solstice arrives, all will be at the mercy of the Gods…
Add to Goodreads
Excerpt
Fires that curse, fires that heal,
And all the while, so turns the wheel…
With the Queen of Merawuld confined to her bed and the city of Tyllcarric in the iron grasp of the High Mage, war is closing in on all horizons for Ash and Senan. Hellbent on eliminating any threats to the fae throne, Kiarda of Veshlir has raised an army to claim her prize — and she will not be stopped.
Meanwhile, across the border, change is afoot in Estilleon.
Thalion’s men are ready for rebellion, but when the first rush of power ends, he finds himself forced to toe the line between strength and brutality. By his side, Laeli is a stranger in the human world — caught between love and loyalty in a land that stifles her voice.
As conflict escalates across the land of Aileryan, those with power clash amidst a sea of ideals, dreams and greed, forcing the most battle-scarred to overcome their demons and prove they are a force to be reckoned with.
For that which has been dormant for so long is about to burst forth, and when the winter solstice arrives, all will be at the mercy of the Gods…
Available on Amazon
About the Author
KATE SCHUMACHER is a writer, mother and teacher. When she isn’t writing, she is reading her way through an ever-growing TBR pile. Kate has wanted to be an author since she was a child, and finds time to write in the in-between moments of life.
Kate completed a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing and Journalism, and an Honours degree in Screenwriting, followed by a Graduate Diploma in Education.
She lives in Northern NSW, Australia, with her partner, two children and three very spoiled cats. Heart of Flame is the second book in The Fires of Aileryan series.
Follow her on Instagram and TikTok @kate.schumacher.writer or visit her website kateschumacherauthor.com
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December 14th
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December 15th
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December 16th
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Book Tour Organized By:
Book: WRAP UP MY LIFE
Author: Hayley Faiman
Release Date: December 16, 2022
About the Book
It’s the holidays in East Texas. The A/C is cranked down. The Old Ladies have decorated the clubhouse with care, hoping big bearded men will adorn them with gifts.
She never wants to celebrate Christmas again. He wants nothing more than to meet her beneath the mistletoe.
Lies don’t just hurt the liar. They destroy every life that is somehow touched by that lie. Moxie knows that more than anyone, the man she thought she loved turned out to be a lie.
Bans has always been the nerd. He’s the computer tech for the Nasty Bastards MC, but he sees something in Moxie. What he sees, he likes and wants for himself. He doesn’t just want to fix her. He wants to wrap her up and keep her.
She’s a shell. Broken beyond repair. But when Bans looks at her, she feels something that she hasn’t in far too long. Hope.
He has watched her go through hell. She has put herself through self-sabotage for far too long. The holidays are a time for renewal, rebirth, and leaving the past… in the past. But can she move forward when her entire adult life has been nothing but a lie?
Purchase Links
Amazon ➜ https://mybook.to/WrapLife1
TBR ➜ https://bit.ly/3DKPkzf
About the Author
I was born and raised in California. My husband and I met when I was just 16. We were married a few years later, we lived in Oregon while he was in the US Coast Guard.
Texas is now where we call home, where our boots rest, and where we’re raising our two little boys and a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.
Author Links
Website ➜ https://bit.ly/3pdqZLr
Newsletter ➜ https://bit.ly/32khhxU
Facebook ➜ https://bit.ly/3FjH1ZK
Instagram ➜ https://bit.ly/3IYyOMK
Twitter ➜ https://bit.ly/3GYYBTd
Amazon ➜ https://amzn.to/3qbgSpC
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A randomly drawn winner will receive a $50 Amazon/BN GC. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
When a newspaper reporter’s fiancé dies abruptly, she questions how he could just cease to be.
Dogged by unbidden thoughts, odd coincidences and unexplained phenomena, Ann Stewart becomes obsessed with finding out what really happens after we die and whether her beloved Gregory is still out there. She finds her answer, which takes her and a close-knit coterie of women to the edge of the cosmos—and the core of their own hearts.
Based on a true story.
“It was definitely Gregory,” Connie declared, forcing herself to return to the vision. “As clear as if he were standing next to me. Smiling.”
“If you saw him”—and I still wasn’t believing—“did he see you? Did he see me?”
It made no sense, but I had to know more.
“I don’t know. I tried to un-see him. I really did,” she said, turning to me, something akin to terror twisting her face. “This ‘seeing’ is a part of me that triggers so much shame—and reactivates the trauma. Like shell shock.” Red mottling crept up Connie’s neck and onto her cheeks.
She saw him. The words slid off my brain as if she were speaking in tongues. What did that mean?
“Could it have been your imagination?” I offered wanly, not wanting that to be the case.
“Yes, I suppose it could.”
Neither of us believed it.
I waited.
“What would it mean for you to ‘see’ him?” I pressed.
Tell me. Even if it makes no sense.
“That there’s something wrong with me,” came her acrid reply. “Deeply, terribly wrong. At least that’s what my father would say. And a lot of other people who make judgments about what I can do.” She slammed the car into park a little too aggressively.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I said, getting out of the car.
Connie shut down.
“I need to go home for a while,” she said.
Tell. Me. More.
About the Author: Kim Pierce is a former Dallas Morning News writer and editor who completed the Writer’s Path fiction program at Southern Methodist University. My Dead True Love is her first novel, inspired by events surrounding the death of her fiancé in 1998. She lives in Dallas, Texas, with her partner and three cats.
Buy the book at Amazon.
Supernatural Horror
Date Published: 10-30-2022
Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing
A killer hunts the humid streets of Sadie, leaving a calling card at the
scene of each crime: a black construction paper valentine. The victims, each
carefully chosen, are left the same way, broken and heartless.
Haunted by the ghosts of the dead, Rina Henley will stop at nothing for
truth and justice, but in her quest, she has brought the spotlight to her
and now plays a dangerous game of cat and mouse.
Summer Lin, Rina’s roommate, thinks of herself as the Vanishing Girl.
When things get rough, she can disappear like a ghost herself, and promises
Rina she can help her disappear, too. After all, she’s been on the
fringes for weeks now, to escape the ugliest of truths.
As the summer simmers around them and Sadie is gripped by terror and
tangled rumours, twisted love notes and secrets bring Rina and those closest
to her to the very brink of destruction.
Excerpt
Humidity sticks to Rina’s skin like melted caramel. The sun has slanted in the sky, blazing down on her with its midday intensity, encouraging sweat to roll down her neck, over her collarbone, and into the collar of her limp shirt. She ruffles the material at her waist half-heartedly. Inside is air conditioned, but she’s reluctant to go in. The house feels like a cage. She didn’t like it as a child and has even less time for it these days. The garden is the only space she can tolerate, even if that means physical discomfort.
Small stones dig into her thighs and ankles as she crosses her legs and leans over her phone. The news plays out of her speakers, and on screen, a peppy reporter gushes about a high school band winning first prize at a local competition. Rina can see her heart isn’t in it, though.
Her smile is obviously fake, breaking away between this story and the next like autumn leaves leaving their trees. The way people can turn their emotions on and off is chilling. Rina tries it herself, smiling wide and then shutting down. She wants to be just like them. Sunny, sunny, sunny, and then either a slate of impenetrable grey clouds, or a storm front. That’s power. Not money. Not words. Total control over what your face and body are doing.
“—when the body of another girl was found this morning in East Mill Park in the Greater Sadie Area,” says the reporter.
Something shifts at the edge of the garden: a glob of cold darkness, vaguely human-shaped, mostly featureless. Rina ignores it. It doesn’t help to look at it; it disappears under her attention every time.
The reporter continues. “Police have yet to release details but a person close to the victim has stepped forward and revealed their identity as twenty-three-year-old Molly Asher, a teaching assistant at Sadie University.”
Rina squints to get a better view of the crime scene over the reporter’s shoulder. The woman stands at the edge of East Mill Park, as close to the police barricade as she can get.
Around her, people crowd every inch of grass and lean against the police tape. Police urge them back to preserve the integrity of the scene.
The wind blows, throwing the reporter’s hair back over the shoulders of her smart business suit. Far behind her, a small, black blob wobbles in the thin tree branches. Rina can just barely make out the rounded curves of the top of the paper valentine. It’s black, like the one before it, neatly cut, and unadorned except for the golden letter M that will be at its centre, seen once someone secretly snaps a picture of its face and blasts it all over the internet. M for Molly.
M for a murdered girl. This is number two. The case was odd when Samantha Brown was found, a paper valentine swinging over her unseeing eyes. Now it’s turning diabolical.
A pair of detectives move beneath the valentine, one tall, blonde, and built, the other dark haired and lean. They overlook the evidence strewn on the ground. Yellow markers are placed in the dry yellow grass. Rina’s imagination tries to take a turn toward the morbid as she considers what those details are.
Inside the house, the front door opens and closes. Rina sinks in on herself, trying to be small and unobtrusive. She hates that she does this. Hates that she hopes he won’t check the backyard today. Hates that this is the place she always goes to escape.
The grey form under the lilac tree gets solid for an instant, as if puffing up. This time, it seems to say, this time I’ll be more substantial. This time, I’ll scare him away. Rina can’t help it; she looks toward it, though she knows she shouldn’t. She gets the impression of thin shoulders, thin hips, and thin hands before it disappears like fog on a lake.
“—still no evidence of forced sexual contact, leaving investigators to wonder what, exactly, is the motivation behind these killings,” the reporter still prattles on. Rina barely hears a word the woman says. She wishes the phantom would come back and really try to scare him the way they used to scare her when she was young and didn’t understand that they couldn’t hurt her.
The ghost doesn’t appear.
But he does.
The back door swings open and there he is in his blue herringbone wool peaked suit, looking immaculate despite the heat. Rina fixes the hem of her shirt around her hips as he sits down on the patio table in front of her and looks at her with eyes the exact same shade of brown as her own.
Rina silences her phone.
“You saw they found another body,” he says in greeting.
“I guess so.” She folds her phone into her palm. The screen is hot from the sun.
“Two girls were killed the same way. It’s looking like a pattern.” He acts like she hasn’t been paying attention.
“Okay.” Rina hunts for an escape route. With him blocking the way in front of her, the house behind masquerades as a sanctuary.
“He’s targeting girls just like you, Rina.”
She rolls her lips together to catch her annoyance. “He’s in the next town over.”
“There aren’t that many kilometres between us.”
He’s trying to scare her. Rina meets her father’s eyes. She doesn’t like the way they’re big, genuine, and soft. “I thought you weren’t allowed to give any details?”
“I’m not. But when my daughter is at risk, I’ll tell her what she needs to know to keep safe.” He takes her hand as he speaks and squeezes. She squeezes back because that’s what daughters are supposed to do. “Don’t go into the park by yourself or out after dark. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t wander around the city on your own.”
“So don’t live my life,” Rina says before she can stop herself.
“Not until the killer’s caught, no.” He palms her face, taking her by the chin and studies her intently. She holds her breath as he leans forward to kiss her cheek. His moustache pricks her skin. “I worry about you, Rina.”
She waits for something worse but thankfully, it doesn’t come. He stands, returning to the house.
Rina unlocks her phone again to watch the reporter for another few minutes. The story is over. Now she’s talking about a strong summer storm that might break the humidity for a day or two.
Rina sighs and faces the house. Its stone and brick exterior is modern and well-kept.
There are topiary bushes, trimmed, and expansive gardens that receive a weekly weeding. Most of the doors are French and stained glass. The whole thing is carefully cultivated to provoke awe and envy. She hates it.
Gently, she opens the door and pokes her head in. The main floor seems abandoned. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeates the house.
She closes the door quietly and tiptoes up the stairs, into her bedroom. Here, the air is icy, in direct contradiction to the storm of summer outside.
Her laptop comes alive with a whirl of its expensive fans, her printer, too, chugging and buzzing. Rina searches the internet for the article on Molly Asher and the newest screen caps of
the reporter’s initial account. Just like she thought, someone has already captured a picture of the black heart waving like a limp, ominous flag, and zoomed in on it. It looks like a homemade valentine, but where all the red is supposed to be, it’s been dipped in darkness, dark, dark, dark like the deed it represents. A calligraphy gold M shines in the centre where the killer has marked this valentine for his victim, just like Rina thought. She wonders how long he’s been studying Molly Asher; she wonders if Molly knew him. She wonders if Molly screamed, or scratched, or bit him before he wrung the life from her.
She hopes so.
Rina hits print and then uses a pair of sharp scissors to carefully cut the heart from the paper and meticulously pastes it in her little scrap book of macabre things. Some of its pages are choked in poetry, some are crowded with short stories she’s never finished. Most, though, are pictures of murdered girls and their murder sites. The very first page belongs to her mother, homage to the life that was stolen from her during a grocery store robbery that happened when Rina was just ten. All the ones that come after are victims like her, girls surprised to find themselves in dangerous situations, or tricked into their demise. Rina knows she should stop, but once you start something like this, it acts like an addiction, and is just as difficult to quit.
She clears her browser history and hides the scrapbook back beneath her mattress. She recycles the cuttings, then listens. She can hear her father on another conference call in his office down the hall. That should keep him busy for an hour, hopefully. The director for the Community and Public Affairs section of the Raker Police Department gets no rest.
Rina tiptoes to the bathroom and locks herself inside. She peels her clothes from her body and glances at herself once in the mirror. The girl staring back at her curls her nose when she looks at all her pale skin, her full body, the love handles she can’t seem to shed, the pouch of her stomach she can wiggle when she pinches it. Something anxious and displeased rears its head in her and struggles to get out.
About the Author
Kaitlin Corvus is from Ontario, Canada. The north holds the best part of
her. She writes about nobodies, monsters, and gutter glitter, loves the
stars, the deep dark sea, and a good horror mystery.
Contact Links
Purchase Link
