Archive for the ‘Dark Fantasy’ Category

 

 

The Wednesday Box

By Jonathan Kieran

 

Publication date: June 18th 2026
Genres: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Horror

Some stories begin with “Once Upon a Time…”
This one begins with loneliness.

From the bestselling author of WistWood comes THE WEDNESDAY BOX, an illustrated supernatural horror novel for readers who love the haunting edge of stories like Coraline, The Thief of Always, The Graveyard Book, Neverwhere, and The Nest.

“At its heart, it’s a brilliant coming-of-age tale that isn’t afraid to get dark, showing the world through the eyes of a young girl dealing with heavy, adult-sized burdens.”

“Beneath all the strange events, this is also a story about exhaustion, poverty, protection, and the terrible compromises people make when they’re trying to survive. That emotional foundation makes the darker turns of the story hit much harder.”

May has learned to survive in a world of shrieking subway rails, soot-stained skies, and apartment hallways where silence, caution, and never asking for too much are simply facts of life.

But when a hulking stranger in a raincoat the color of broken promises begins to haunt her steps—on the train, in the tunnels, at her own door—May realizes that keeping quiet will no longer keep her safe.

Wednesday is the only day May cannot be alone.
The only night.

And when her weary mother leaves her with a new caretaker, May discovers that the tempting contents of an ancient box hold dangers far worse than anything she has ever feared

The greatest danger, however, is not what hunts her, but the impossible choice before her…
Tell the truth and risk losing the one person she cannot live without.
Or keep silent and face the darkness alone.

Because below the city, something is hunting.
And it knows her name.

“You’ll feel for May, just as I did. It’s quietly devastating in all the right ways.”

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PRAISE for The Wednesday Box

“I was absolutely gripped by how this story manages to be both terrifying and incredibly moving. At its heart, it’s a brilliant coming-of-age tale that isn’t afraid to get dark, showing the world through the eyes of a young girl dealing with heavy, adult-sized burdens. It feels like a fever dream you don’t want to wake up from—part mystery, part dark fairy tale—and the pacing is just perfect. It never rushes; instead, it lets the mystery coil around you until you’re completely pulled in. If you’re looking for a book that challenges you and lingers in your mind long after you finish reading, this is it.”

“From the very first page, The Wednesday Box pulls you into a world of creeping dread and unsettling wonder, masterfully balancing psychological darkness with raw emotional stakes. Thoughtful, tense, and hauntingly beautiful, this is a story whose rich atmosphere and emotional intensity will linger with you long after the final page is turned. You’ll feel for May, just as I did. It’s quietly devastating in all the right ways.”

“With The Wednesday Box, Jonathan Kieran delivers a striking dark fable that effortlessly bridges the gap between coming-of-age fiction and sophisticated adult fantasy. While the story centers on a young heroine navigating a perilous world, its core themes—confronting class divide, deep-seated neglect, and the sheer psychological weight of enduring hardship—track directly with mature, real-world anxieties. Kieran weaves a starkly beautiful tapestry of gothic atmosphere and fairy-tale danger, prioritizing emotional realism over easy genre tropes. It is a sharp, unsettling, and lyrical read that will deeply resonate with anyone drawn to high-stakes psychological tension and evocative, atmospheric storytelling.”

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About Author Jonathan Kieran:

Jonathan Kieran is an author and illustrator with a passion for world travel and ancient history—and an occasionally bewildered grasp of the present. He lives in a rustic house in the woodlands not far from Big Sur, California, where he awaits the future confidently with plenty of firewood, a new cat named Beezley, mercurial internet access, a magical footbridge (troll-infested and everything), and a reasonable supply of Cabernet Sauvignon. There also appears to be a significant Pinot Noir backup; viticultural shortages are not to be countenanced.

Jonathan’s interests are eclectic. He is as likely to regale you with an account of his latest misadventures in the Midi-Pyrénées as he is to ask if you happen to have any spare cookies about the house—and if so, whether you might part with five of them. Nothing piques his interest like a good old-fashioned discussion about cryptozoology, Tuscan cuisine, classical English literature, the perils of pop culture, or the harrowing details of great white shark attacks.

In addition to running up and down various mountainsides to burn off calories accrued from the wanton consumption of baked goods, Jonathan enjoys a good party with people unafraid to laugh, and he veritably lives for bedtime.

He is the author and illustrator of The Wednesday Box, WistWood and the Enchanted Heritage Chronicles, with more adventures to come.

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Makerborn

By Daymon Ashcord

 

(Maladies of Empire, #1)
Publication date: June 15th 2026
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy

The God War is over. An empire built on suffering, slavery, and betrayal remains…

In the fractured lands of the Salvian Empire, the Great Houses rule through blood and fear. For years, Alandra Phoenyka has hunted powerful Sonomancers in the empire’s name, paid in empty promises that her stolen daughter would be returned. Each step forward demands another compromise. Another betrayal. Another piece of herself lost.

When those promises turn to treachery, she is forced to take matters into her own hands and risk everything to reclaim her child.

In the empire’s mining camps, Bez Windstrider has endured years of torture and brutal experimentation. Broken but unyielding, he clings to one purpose: vengeance. The men who murdered his parents will pay, and their deaths will complete the ritual needed to free his parents’ souls from damnation.

But the deeper his grief cuts, the more he becomes something far more dangerous, for himself and for the empire.

As their paths draw closer, the buried truths of the God War begin to surface. What begins as two personal vendettas threatens to unravel something far greater than either of them can control.

Because empires do not fall quietly.

And the gods that shaped them are not as dead as they seem.

Makerborn is the first book in the Maladies of Empire series, a brutal epic dark fantasy of vengeance, sacrifice, and the cost of love.

For readers of dark, character-driven epic fantasy in the vein of Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence, R.F. Kuang, Evan Winter, and Steven Erikson.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter 2

A Son’s Vengeance

Bez woke in darkness, deep in a pit, having failed his parents yet again. The night air was heavy and damp. The acrid stench of feces had lessened, but his nose still burned with the stink of decay. He felt like he would never wash the smell from his body. What does it matter now?

The moist earth offered scant relief from the Southern Waste’s merciless heat. Sweat slicked his body. His skin felt on fire, reminding him of how the Salvians slowly roasted meat on spits. He pinched his right nostril and blew out a thick wad of phlegm.

How long? How squalling long have they left me down here to rot?

He traced fine grooves in the earthy wall of his cage with long, dirty fingernails. Twenty-seven days he’d scratched before he’d given up counting. Then the real fun began. Weeks of wading in his own shit like a rutting hog once the pit guards had stopped retrieving his privy bucket. Weeks more of starvation when the obvious solution to avoid living in a hog pen penetrated his addled mind: no food, no feces. His only companions were self-pity, nightmares, and maggots gorging on his noxious filth.

And the moans of indentured miners, likely years past their freedom date, and Collared All-Tribe—his people—drifting down in his dirt tomb.

“Water,” cried a pit prisoner.

“Bread, just a heel of bread for Seal’s sake,” whined another.

“It was Tuftson,” someone sniveled. “He made me do it. It was him. Please, let me out.”

“Shut your gobs!” bellowed a voice.

The sounds washed over him, had become part of him, familiar as his gnawing hunger or the ever-present worms wriggling against his hot skin. Even without starlight, his people’s blessed vision allowed him to penetrate the mirk. He watched his sunken stomach rise and fall. Each rib pressed against his skin. Sour spit filled his mouth.

He wasn’t surprised that an army of worms assaulted the sides of his stomach and shoulders while he dozed. The slimy little grubs coated him with a sticky sludge, but he was past caring. Hands trembling, he brushed the vanguard away that had reached his chest. His legs were a lost cause. Scores of grubs covered them so only his toes peeked out.

Bez yawned. Heat-induced spans of intermittent sleep kept him drowsy and muddled. Sometimes his parents sat beside him in the dirt, back from the dead, singing and laughing. Other times, he was in the mountains climbing crags, or swimming in crystalline lakes so clear he could see rocks at the bottom. Moments ago, he was a boy again, running barefoot with his cousins through Uncle Darian’s fields, the tall grass whipping at his legs. Then a cry from a prisoner or the damp air clogging his nose had awakened him, shattering the vision. What was real or imagined blurred. Maybe I’m with my uncle still and the pit is only a nightmare.

Hesitantly, he stretched his hands to either side, fingertips brushing the cool, root-tangled walls. Feet firmly pressed against damp earth. Not a nightmare. He moaned like a wounded animal.

“Guardian spirits above,” he wheezed, not wiping the hot tears streaking down his cheek. “There’s no way out.”

But that was a lie. There was a way. His fingers searched for the gouge in the wall, finding the sharp-edged shard of obsidian he’d hidden there. My final escape.

He pried it free, hand shaking, and pressed the jagged edge against the soft flesh of his right wrist. A bead of blood sprang from the tip.

“I’ll do it this time,” he said to the crude face carved into the wall. A pause. “I know that’s what I said last time. By the All-Spirit, I can’t—” His throat tightened. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Enjoying your new home, demon-blood?” asked an unwelcome voice from the pit’s metal cage above.

“Dorota,” he rasped, tongue clumsy from disuse. “What a pleasure.”

He hated Yan’s henchwoman, but at that moment, his life in the balance, he clung to her words like a drowning man to driftwood.

Her chuckles echoed in the earthy tomb. “Liar. Play it friendly as you like, slit-eyes, but we both know what you are.” She crouched, damp hair plastered to her face, mouth hooked in a grin that never reached her eyes. “I saw the demon in you when we caught you on that ridge. Thought you were clever, didn’t you? Thought the aqueduct workers wouldn’t notice you and your two friends? What is the count? Your third?”

It was his fourth failed attempt to escape the Makersmetal mining camp, but he didn’t bother correcting the murdering bitch. I failed them just like my parents. Tala dead. Marcel beaten or worse. Anelia missing. And Bez… well, he would die in darkness, dooming his parents’ souls to wander the Shadowlands forever, never to reunite with their ancestors. He choked down a sob, not wanting to give her any satisfaction seeing him broken.

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About Author Daymon Ashcord:

Daymon Ashcord writes dark fantasy shaped by suffering, resilience, and the brutal edges of love pushed too far.

Born in Gdańsk, Poland, and raised in New York, he grew up on science fiction, fantasy, and the stories that linger long after the final page. After studying accounting and public policy, he left a conventional path to travel the world and create a documentary, turning storytelling into something essential.

His debut novel, Makerborn (2026), reflects years of persistence, personal setbacks, and a fascination with the darker truths people endure to survive.

He lives in North Carolina, hiking mountains by day and writing by night. He is considering adopting a dog, a cat, or both, and suspects they would judge him harshly.

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The Skeleton Faerie

By A.P. Mobley

 

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(Children of the Death Gods, #1)
Publication date: November 8th 2025
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Mythology

Faerie folklore meets a nuclear postapocalypse in this dark mythological fantasy woven with secrets, treachery, and star-crossed love.

Ninety-nine years after the Nuclear War of 1989, twenty-one-year-old Gus Brandon should only be interested in the survival of humanity and the expansion of his compound. But he’s obsessed with legends from the distant past, superstitions of an expired people.

While searching forbidden ruins for the scraps of stories lost to time, he stumbles upon a mysterious young woman covered in scars. Her name is Saoirse, and their meeting sets off a bloody chain of events—one in which Gus discovers that the folklore he loves just might be real, and that it’s tied to mankind in ways he could have never imagined.

Soon the lines between myth and reality blur, as do the lines between realms.

Gus will have to rely on his knowledge—and Saoirse—to survive the horrors awaiting him… in this world and the next.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

When Gus and his teammates were a mere mile from the compound, the sun had almost finished setting, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A breeze grazed the back of his bare neck and arms, sending chills through his body. In every direction, all that was visible were trees, the only noises those of his and his companions’ boots and their animals’ hooves crunching against shriveled grass and fallen leaves. Occasionally, crows—some of them genetically altered, their feathers stained a pinkish color—flapped from branch to branch, their harsh caws piercing the quiet.

Maybe it was because of the extensive amount of folklore he’d been reading, but these days, the dark played tricks on Gus’s eyes, making him see monsters when nothing was there.

Nothing could be there, after all, as the stories he so loved weren’t real.

And even if there was a chance that they were real (and he knew there wasn’t), his compound was on the western side of a mountain range called the Black Hills, located within the fallen United States of America—far, far away from the places those magical tales took place.

Yet he still found himself imagining all manner of malevolent faeries prowling the woods at night. He saw them skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

In masses of collapsed cottonwoods, he imagined there were redcaps hiding, plotting to slaughter any stray travelers passing by.

In murders of crows, he imagined there were sluagh flying, scouring the forest floor for the next unlucky fellow whose soul they might devour.

In fast-moving streams, he imagined there were kelpies biding their time, anticipating the moment a person came close enough to drown and eat.

Thankfully, the logical side of his brain knew he had nothing to worry about—even as far as nonfictional threats went. The worst anyone on scavenge-duty had encountered in the last year was a couple of mountain lions and some rattlesnakes, and although he and his teammates had never run into anything like that, they knew how to take care of it as easily as the other people of the compound had: with bullets.

No one left the compound without a loaded gun and extra ammo.

Gus and his team were safe.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and if it weren’t for the smog blanketing the sky (a lingering effect of the Nuclear War, which the elders said should clear up any decade now), the moon and stars might have lit up the night. The temperature fell even further, clouds of breath filling the air in front of Gus’s face and fogging up his glasses.

“Guess we should have packed our coats,” Nancy remarked as she walked in front of Gus, guiding her pig along. She began to shiver. “I hate when the weather gets like this. Hot during the day, cold at night.”

Twigs cracked to the left. Hand flying to his holster, Gus looked that way, his goat bleating, Nancy’s pig squealing.

A flash of movement in the trees, there and gone in an instant.

“What the . . . ?” Oliver tossed his bundle of birds over his shoulder and retrieved his flashlight, his teeth chattering. He and Adam stood several feet to Gus’s right. “Did you guys see that?”

Adam drew his handgun. “Probably a mountain lion. We’re almost home, so just keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”

“Maybe speed it up a little too,” Gus added, and he and Nancy pulled out their handguns. The team continued toward the compound.

Not five minutes had passed before more branches snapped behind them. Again, the goat bleated, and the pig squealed.

Everyone swung around, preparing to shoot. Oliver shined his flashlight into the trees.

The glow revealed a creature that made Gus’s skin prickle with goose bumps.

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About Author A.P. Mobley:

A. P. Mobley is the Halloween-loving, rock-music-obsessed author of dark fantasy inspired by mythology. She doesn’t only write about her favorite myths, folktales, and fairy tales in books, though; she discusses them on her podcast, Myths (& Folktales & Fairy tales), as well as on her blog and newsletter. She grew up in Wyoming and Nebraska and currently lives in South Dakota, and when she’s not up to her elbows in research for her next project, she can be found consuming dangerous amounts of coffee, reading speculative fiction, or rewatching The Good Place.

Never miss an update from A. P. by signing up for her newsletter. Full list of books and Content Warnings on her website.

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“I am known to some as the Grim Reaper, or the Angel of
Death. Death is my preferred name. It’s stylish and modern, and it goes well
with my Armani suits. I don’t have a fascination with robes, scythes, or
skeletons, especially when I’m releasing souls.”

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My Name Is Death

by Laura Daleo

Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

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My Name Is Death takes the Grim Reaper concept in a creative
direction. Put aside the image of a scary, sickle-carrying, robe-clad entity.
There are no shortages of Italian suits, velvet neckties, and oxford shoes in
Death’s wardrobe.

Death encounters a terminally ill young lady, Annalise,
during a holiday in New Orleans. As she approaches the afterlife, Death wants
to ensure she makes the best of her final moments. It is not long before they
become friends.

A peaceful coexistence between angels and humans is what God
desires. This plan is contrary to one of God’s other sons’ belief that angels
are far superior to humans.

Devastation begins, and only God knows how it will end.

“Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes. I
hold this statement in high regard. Why? There are two possibilities. I could
be a tax accountant-borrrinng-or I could be Death. If you guessed the latter,
advance to go and collect $200. My name can influence anyone in a room; some
say Grim Reaper, others say Angel of Death. I like to call myself Death. It has
a pleasant ring and a powerful effect on people. The way “Death”
embodies the style and pizazz of my attire, which includes Armani suits, ties,
and shoes, influenced my decision to select it as my name. It had never
occurred to me to dress in a dark robe, to carry a scythe or an hourglass, or
to assume a skeleton physique.”

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She exited the store wearing baggy cargo jeans, a graphic retro T-shirt of butterflies, and platform sneakers. She draped the sweater coat over her arm. It seems odd that she would keep

that thing. Apparently, she has some unknown reason for remaining attached to the article of clothing.

Standing before me, she curtsied, and a big smile spread across her face. “Is that better?” she asked.

“Yes, very much. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

Putting her hand on her stomach, she stated, “I might not be able to keep the food down.”

“I see. Could we have something to drink, or is that out of the question as well?”

“Alcoholic beverages?”

“Nice try, but no. How about a soda?”

“Fine,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

I ignored the pouty performance as I rose from the bench. “Let’s take a stroll and find a soda shop.”

She giggled. “A stroll?”

In response, I balked. “What’s wrong with stroll?”

“Dude, nobody says that.”

“My name is not Dude. Stroll simply means to walk.”

She swatted my arm. “I know what it means, but the word isn’t hip. You look like you’re in your twenties, but you talk like you’re a hundred years old. By the way, what’s your name? I’m Annalise.”

I bobbed my head in acknowledgment. “Ah, got it. I’ll try to work  on my coolness.” I pursed my lips as I pondered telling her my name.

“What, you don’t have a name?”

While we zigzagged down the crowded sidewalk, I avoided eye contact with her. Instead, I gazed at the vibrant buildings and greenery spilling out from balconies. The trot of horse hooves rang in my left ear, and I glanced in their direction. The carriage was full of drunken people toasting their glasses and singing off-key. Her persistent, inquisitive gaze compelled me to respond.

“Yes, I do, but it’s complicated.” I glanced at her. “It will only lead to questions. Once we have our soda, we’ll find a place to sit and

talk.”

“Nothing like being all mysterious.”

I dismissed her sarcasm. “You’d think one of these stores would have soda.”

“I hope it isn’t far,” she said, clutching her stomach.

I studied the lines etched into her brow. “Are you in pain again?”

Rather than speaking, she nodded.

After forcing her to stop, I placed my hands on her shoulders. I lowered my head to match her eye level. “Look at me.”

She obeyed.

As I locked eyes with her, I used my gift—not enough to kill her, but enough to block her brain’s communication. In one blink, I altered her perception of pain. She swayed, and her eyes rolled back into her head for a moment before I released her. “Do you feel better now?”

A slow smile crossed her lips, and she laughed out loud. “God, yes.

What did you do? No, wait. How did you do it?” She inquired, her eyes widening and darting about in confusion.

“I will explain once we find a quiet spot to talk.” Taking my eyes off of her, I noticed the Sip A Froth sign swaying in the warm breeze.

“That might be what we’re looking for.”

She turned her head in the direction I had indicated. “Either that, or it’s a bar, and bars still serve soda.”

“Indeed, they do.”

As we entered the store, an explosion of colors greeted us. Candy, cookies, salty snacks, hats, sunglasses, mugs, postcards, and T-shirts crowded the small store. The entire back wall featured a massive soda selection, and Annalise rushed straight for it. She held up a bottle as I approached her. “Oh my God, Peanut Butter and Jelly soda!” she exclaimed.

“Sounds unpleasant.”

She laughed out loud. “How about this one? Gross Gus Pimple Pop!”

Curling my lips, I cringed. “Hideous.” I searched the shelves for something normal. “These will do.”

“Frostie Root Beer and King Kong Cola? You’re no fun.”

“Your stomach will thank me.”

She waved me away as she rummaged through the store. A highpitched squeal pierced my eardrums. She ran toward me wearing a lace cloche hat and gold flower sunglasses. She waved a fedora hat and pineapple sunglasses at me. “Oh my God, put these on.”

“What on earth for?”

“Come on. It will be fun, and the photo booth will help us capture our memories.”

“Photo booth?”

“Yes, it’s at the back of the store.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me forward.

My gift had adversely affected her. She was high as a kite. I removed her hand from my arm and pointed to the counter. “Let me buy these first.”

As I brought the fedora hat and pineapple monstrosities to the counter, she pointed to the hat on her head and sunglasses covering her eyes. “These too.” She said with a bounce in her step.

The female clerk announced monotonously, “That’s $83.97.”

“Oh, and do you have a seating area where we can quench our thirst?” I inquired after handing her a hundred-dollar bill.

Annalise groaned and rolled her eyes. “We need to work on your vocabulary.”

Instead, I turned my attention to the clerk behind the counter. She was clearly bored, as she twirled her finger around a strand of hair.

“We do. You go around to the back and take the stairs up to the roof.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s time to take pictures; let’s go!”

I sighed. “Very well.

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I was born and raised in sunny San Diego, California. A
creative writing class in junior high ignited my passion for storytelling;
however, it was Anne Rice who truly inspired me. Her novel, Interview With The
Vampire, has become one of the best-selling books of all time and fueled my
desire to craft my own vampire legend. In 1996, I created Immortal Kiss, which
patiently waited until 2014 for its publication.

At present, my published works include Immortal Kiss, Bound
by Blood, The Vow, The Vampire Within, The Soul Collector, The Doll, Once We
Were Witches, and My Name Is Death. My current project is an urban fantasy
titled The Wolf Experiment.

Here are some fun facts about me: I love enjoying Starbucks
coffee while I write. I’m also obsessed with shoes. I have two furry kids named
Rose and Cooper. And, of course, I’m a huge fan of all things vampire.

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The Boy Upon Death: Reaper’s Last Call

by J. Robert Adams

 

Publication date: April 5th 2025
Genres: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Supernatural, Young Adult

My existence was as cold as my birth. I was born with both knowledge and will—an inevitability for my kind. Drawn to the final moments of mortal life, we came into being. Some of us became Reapers, tasked solely with ferrying souls to their afterlife. Others craved the power of souls, calling themselves gods of Death—Shinigami. They believed that devouring or absorbing souls granted them greater might, but found that power only deepened their coldness and emptiness. Those gods of Death became husks, bored of their own immortality yet too frightened to end themselves. But being a Reaper can yield the same chill. Though I know the souls would be lost without our guidance, my own existence seems bound to a perpetual winter, drawn to the final beat of each mortal life.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Prologue: The Cold Existence

My existence is as cold as my birth. I was born with both knowledge and will—an inevitability for my kind. Drawn to the final moments of mortal life, we come into being. Some of us become Reapers, tasked solely with ferrying souls to their afterlife. Others crave the power of souls, calling themselves Gods of Death. They believe that devouring or absorbing souls grants them greater might, but such power only deepens their coldness and emptiness. The Veil—the great boundary between life and the afterlife—exists as the ultimate destination for souls. It does not judge or choose; it simply awaits those ready to cross. Souls unwilling to pass linger in the mortal world, their tether to the Veil slowly degrading. Once that connection is broken, they descend into madness, becoming fragmented and unstable, unable to find peace. For Reapers, our role is clear: guide the souls before they are lost. Yet even for us, there are choices. We are born as extensions of the Veil, tethered to it as both our origin and our end. At any time, a Reaper may choose to return to the Veil, to be reabsorbed into its vastness and find peace. But there is a second path—one far more dangerous and final. A Reaper may sever their tether to the Veil, abandoning their purpose and embracing free will. These fallen ones become what we call Gods of Death. Free from the Veil’s guidance, they face a choice: help lost souls or exploit them for power. Many succumb to the hunger, consuming souls to strengthen themselves. These beings often destroy themselves, transforming into husks—twisted, empty shells driven mad by their own excesses. I have not chosen to rejoin the Veil, though the option tempts me in moments of despair. And I have not severed my tether, though I sometimes wonder what lies beyond that severance. Instead, I remain a Reaper. But the cold emptiness of my existence grows heavier with each passing year. I guide souls to the Veil, knowing that my own tether will never allow me rest. The souls need us, but who guides the Reapers? Who saves us from the weight of eternity? Perhaps the answer lies in the unknown. In the countless eons of existence, I have never questioned my role—until now. The faint stirrings of doubt creep into my thoughts, like cracks forming in the ice. The time will come when I must choose: to remain a servant of the Veil, to seek peace within it, or to become something greater—or perhaps something worse. This is the story of how I began to question eternity. Of how I—a guide to the lost—found myself on a path to becoming something entirely new.

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About Author J. Robert Adams:

J. Robert Adams has been building worlds in his imagination for as long as he can remember. What began as a childhood escape quickly grew into a lifelong passion for storytelling. By middle school, he was already scribbling down tales of heroes, haunted places, and fantastical realms—stories that refused to stay quiet.

Today, Adams continues that journey with The Boy Upon Death, a dark fantasy exploring the tension between duty and identity, power and purpose. His work blends introspective character arcs with immersive worldbuilding, often walking the line between light and shadow.

He writes not only to entertain, but to ask the quiet questions—about who we are, what we fear, and what we choose to fight for. Whether you’re here for the eerie mystery or the emotional depth, his stories aim to stay with you long after the final page.

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Vicious And The Virile VII organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Luki Belle will award a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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The Vicious And The Virile VII

by Luki Belle

 

 

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Synopsis

A collection of short horror stories, The Vicious and The Virile VII offers a captivating combination of unique and varied short stories emblematic of the dark fantasy genre.

Karan Lloyd Hamilton: when touring a fictitious national park in India a wealthy American couple, Judas and Priscilla Hamilton are attacked by tigers and get physically separated. The mortally wounded wife, pregnant with male twin, dies giving birth in the wilderness to healthy babies. Only one twin is found and returned to Judas who survived the attack. The grieving father returns to America with his newborn and the corpse of Priscilla. The boy, Karan Lloyd Hamilton, grows up to be a Wall Street investment banker. He bears a physical scar from his traumatic birth which has transformed Karan into a predator by night in the streets of Manhattan.

Kartik Shiv Yuvarajan: the second twin boy of Judas and Priscilla Hamilton did not die but was taken by the mystical tribe of the national park. The tribe hides the baby until he is stolen and given to a tour guide of the park, Arjun. Afraid of the consequences of taking the baby to the American embassy, Arjun adopts the child, gives him the name Kartik Shiv Yuvarajan and then returns to his ancestral village. Kartik bears a similar mark upon his body like his twin Karan. This mark brings about strange physiological changes in Kartik and leads to unexpected events that threatens his life in the village. Arjun must now decide whether to let Kartik know of his identity or whether to flee once again with the teenager.

Hounds of the Monks: a warrior flees with his family to save his daughter from the lustful, cruel king of the land. When the king’s army gives chase to bring back the young girl, the warrior separates from his wife and daughter to protect them. Mother and her girl seek shelter in a monastery only to realize that the holy surroundings may be equally dangerous.

Desert Frogs: a film producer with her adolescent twin sons and a film crew travel to a fictitious nation, Gapharkh, to shoot a few scenes in the country’s legendary desert. A civil war is imminent in Gapharkh between the military regime and the nomadic tribe of the desert. Unexpected connections quickly form between the twin boys and the nomads while the war heats up in the backdrop as the film crew rushes to complete their work. Discovering that there was a dark motive behind allowing the foreign film crew to shoot in the desert, the producer desperately tries to escape Gapharkh with her sons and her crew.

Stolen Princess: Rosemarie, a young woman rescued from prostitution, finds herself alone and homeless when her husband is lost at sea and her in-laws throw her out of her husband’s home. Rosemarie’s fate momentarily worsens when she is raped and almost killed but, miraculously, she is saved by strange old women who take Rosemarie to a secluded, enchanting island. The heavenly place seems like freedom until Rosemarie realizes that there are sinister forces around her who intend to keep her captive in the isle. Rosemarie’s past may be her only salvation.

Bastard of the Mist: Angeline a young widow, arrives at a remote and beautiful rehabilitation center for veterans to work as the assistant of the institution’s co-founder. Angeline is supernaturally gifted. Her dark powers clash with evil forces that exist in the forests surrounding the institution when she discovers a sinister plot by her employer Professor Kvalish, a man with a mysterious past. An unraveling thus begins and threatens the existence of everyone at the rehabilitation center.

Nature’s Call Girl: in a futuristic Earth a global war is ongoing between humankind and nature. Here, a fictitious country Parakrytheon, has built a nation devoid of plant and animals with artificially created weather to protect its humans from natural predators. On a fictitious island Kamin, humans live harmoniously with nature and beast. This place has the resources that Parakrytheon needs to defeat its natural enemy. Twin brothers Hagaath and Laksha, and their sister Kamina, are the means to this end.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Excerpt from Story 3 – “Hounds of the Monks”

 

The doors of the monastery noisily opened as though the hinges had not been used in the longest time and lacked grease. Shamini slowly stood up and called to her daughter, but Zehera had fainted. Shamini was about to stoop down again when through the open wooden doors appeared a hooded monk in a brown garb, holding a thin candle in the grip of his bare palms, his arms cloaked under the bulky sleeves of his robe.

Shamini could not see the monk’s eyes which were covered under the garb’s hood. From the light of the candle’s flame, she saw that the person was a man, from his chiseled jawline, mouth, and chin.

“Holy monk…please help my daughter…please help us…there are hounds chasing us…please we are fleeing danger…” Shamini said frantically as she knelt beside Zehera.

“Zehera…my girl…Zehera…get up…look…we are safe…look!” Shamini nudged her daughter, gasped momentarily thinking the worst, then hastily put her ear against Zehera’s chest to listen; her daughter’s heart was still beating with life.

“She needs food and water!!” Shamini exclaimed and looked up desperately at the monk who was quietly standing by the door. She tried to lift up Zehera in her arms but lacked the strength to do so.

The door opened wider on its own and now Shamini could see a large rectangular empty room behind the monk.

The place was mostly dark except for at the far end, on the other side of the chamber, in front of an arched entrance, stood two more monks in hoods, holding tall candles in their hands.

“You may enter woman” said a deep youthful voice of the monk who stood by the monastery’s open doors.

“My daughter…” Shamini said in an exhausted tone still trying to lift up Zehera.

“Brothers!” the monk called loudly over his shoulder while placing the candle in his hands by the foot of the doors.

Quietly then the monk lifted Zehera in his arms and turned around.

“Go with my brethren” the monk said as he carried Zehera with him into the large rectangular room behind him.

“She is bleeding and badly injured! The dogs bit her…she has fainted…”Shamini said anxiously while following the monk. The other two monks were approaching her from the other direction, and they blocked her path.

“Your daughter is in holy care. Have faith” said the second monk.

“You woman must come with us” said the third monk “Your body is weak and your soul needs salvation.”

Their voices sounded almost like the first monk to Shamini, their tones were hypnotic. They stood around her,

hooded and taller than her. Their breaths smelled sweet, the fabric of their garbs exuded a flowery freshness, their lips bore faint smiles. Shamini watched as the first monk with Zehera, disappeared through the dark arched entranceway.

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About Author Luki Belle:

 Luki Belle works in the media industry. In addition to The Vicious and the Virile VII, she is the author of three other novels: The Delicate Affair of Colonel Baquiste, The Sexy Seven Supernaturals, and Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus. Storytelling has been a fixture since Luki’s childhood when she would listen to stories told by her grandparents, parents, sisters, and cousins reading to her from diverse cultural fiction books. Paranormal characters existing as and amongst humans-while exalting in their mystical powers-have always fascinated Luki. She loves to explore magical, futuristic, fantastical, and ancient realms in her stories where her human and supernatural characters are thrust together, and their conflicted and tormented natures collide.

Amazon

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

 

Remembering Demons

J. Cornelius

 

(The God Cycle, #1)
Publication date: May 9th 2024
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Paranormal, Thriller

Have you ever wondered what lurks in the mirrors?

Daryl doesn’t have to wonder… he knows.
But why do they stalk him? Why can’t he remember anything?
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy!

Meanwhile, the eerie asylum seems to know more than an old pile of rock and mortar has any right to and his therapy is uncovering a blood-stained past of pain and death, alongside something dormant within him of disturbing power. When Dr. Walker teaches him how to face his demons, the psychoses and dreams conspire to warn him of something even worse stalking him. Something ancient and evil.

To survive, Daryl must confront the repressed memories that drove him insane.

For madness—is a blunt instrument.

This dark fantasy epic and paranormal thriller with a Shutter Island’esque vibe will have you questioning what is real. The story mixes dark and traditional fantasy with horror and science fiction elements to explore mental health, guilt, and a world where the physical realm of our experience blends seamlessly with the fantastical realm of monsters and gods. Perfect for fans of The Gunslinger, The Dresden Files, and the TV series Black Mirror.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Dad,” she said imploringly, “please don’t make me show you again.”

A shiver ran down his spine. “No, of course,” Daryl said quickly. “No need for that.”

“Why did you go?”

“I . . .” he halted, unsure. “I thought I could have both.”

“And then what happened?”

“I . . .” His mind blanked, and he looked out the window, petrified.

“You have to face this, it’s not—” The pitch of her voice rose in alarm. “The butter is burning!”

Daryl whipped around, depositing the smoking skillet at the back of the stove before cranking up the extractor hood.

“Thanks,” he said, about to turn back around.

The sound of small feet pattered across the floor, coming for him.

“This is not how it happened,” she said from right next to him, the accusation in her voice like a discordant note, slashing the air. He knew what was coming, fearing it with every fiber of his being. Still, her voice ignited a deep ache to turn around and hold her, but he knew that was impossible.

The smoke from the burned butter grew in intensity, and he looked down. The tabletop was beginning to char. Wisps of smoke were gently rising from the crack where the counter met the wall. She jumped onto the tabletop, bringing herself level with him, reaching out for him with arms starting to blister from the heat.

His vision was blurring, as if sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his mind reeled. She grabbed him, causing him to stumble and seize hold of the now smoldering counter.

“Dad,” she said softly.

He tried to resist, but she forcibly turned him around, facing her. Facing those terrible eyes . . . eyes which held the truth.

“No,” he muttered.

“Listen.”

“Please no,” he repeated meekly.

She leaned in as if to speak, but instead opened her mouth wide and screamed. It tore through everything, cutting at his very soul. He knew why she screamed. He knew . . . Daryl felt a sudden sharp pain in his mouth, followed by a jolt as the dream receded. His surroundings grew foggy, her face retreating down a well. The dream dwindling, dwindling, gone.

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About Author J. Cornelius:

J. Cornelius is a medical researcher of pathogenic viruses by day and a writer of fantasy/sci-fi fiction by night. He is also: An equal responsibility father of three, a loving husband, an avid lover of many types of mountaineering, especially rock climbing and snowboarding, and a DIY maker of herb and fruit flavored spirits.

Sign up to his newsletter on his website to get a free copy of the God Cycle short story, ‘Catching Spiders’.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

 

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Enter to win a paperback copy of Remembering Demons + a short story set in the same world

Enter here!

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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 In this first-ever full-length Heroes in Hell novel by Janet and

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Chris Morris, Homer, the famous poet of ancient Greece who wrote 
The Iliad
, receives a travel pass to tour

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Hell on special assignment from Satan.

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The Little Helliad

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A Heroes in Hell Novel

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by Janet & Chris Morris

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Genre: Dark Fantasy

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 In the ninth installment of the acclaimed Heroes in
Hell 
series, The Little Helliad takes
readers on a journey through the underworld like never before. Homer,
the legendary ancient Greek poet, finds himself in Hell, tasked by
the Devil himself to chronicle the epic tales of the damned. Drawing
inspiration from the lesser-known vignettes of the Iliad, this novel
weaves a tapestry of myth, history, and fantasy.

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.As Homer  navigates the treacherous landscapes of Hell, he encounters a host of
unforgettable characters, each with their own stories of heroism,
betrayal, and redemption. With the unique perspective of the Morris
duo, this book offers a fresh and compelling take on the classic
tales of the Iliad, reimagined in the fiery depths of the afterlife.

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The Little Helliad is a must-read for fans of epic fantasy and
mythological retellings, blending rich storytelling with the dark
allure of the underworld. Join Homer on his odyssey through Hell and
discover the timeless tales that continue to captivate readers across
the ages.

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**On  Sale for Only $2.99 this month!**

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Amazon
* Bookbub
* Goodreads

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What is something unique/quirky about you?

 

We breed Morgan horses. We consult with Morgan breeders to help them choose breeding combinations to achieve a desired result.

We are also song writers; Janet plays bass guitar and Chris sings and plays guitar. We have an album on MCA records. Look for Christopher Crosby Morris on Soundcloud or N1M.com

 

Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?

 

Janet wrote her first book in 1975 and Chris was the first one to read and comment on it. Their marriage survived. A routine emerged where Chris would read aloud all the new drafts and we would make edits on the spot. After a few books Chris’ ideas became frequent enough that we agreed he should have credit for writing, whereas before we had kept separate Janet’s storytelling and Chris’ songwriting. The rest, as they say is history.

 

Who is your hero and why?

 

Heraclitus of Ephesus, a pre-socratic philosopher, whose Cosmic Fragments foreshadow our knowledge of reality and how to perceive it. Among his precepts is the statement that change alone is unchanging. We’ve worked Heraclitus’ fragments in here and there throughout our books.

 

What inspired you, to write your The Little Helliad novel?

 

Like many readers, we went through a phase of reading the Homeric works and since Homer himself spent Odysseus to Hell on his way back from Attica, his homeland. We thought it only fair to send Homer to Hell in hopes of getting a book deal from a publisher in New Hell. Instead he gets an unlimited travel pass to research a book the Devil hopes will glorify him. Guess what happens . . .

 

Convince us why you feel The Little Helliad is a must read.

 

The Little Helliad isn’t a must read, it is a fun read and one that will introduce readers to historic fictional characters. It is a full-length novel and casts present day themes in ancient Greek sensibilities. That may sound like a mouthful, but The Little Helliad evokes a collision of eras for Homer to glorify as only he can.

 

Who designs your book covers?

 

The Little Helliad’s cover was conceived by Perseid, created using AI, and realized by Roy Mauritsen, our gifted cover artist.

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Best selling author Janet Morris
began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels,
many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her
fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres,
although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has
written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of
non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons,
developmental military technology and other defense and national
security topics.

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Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and
non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and
singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris. He is a
defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2
Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but
occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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Website
* Facebook *
Twitter * Instagram
* Bookbub
* Bookbub

Amazon
* Amazon
* Goodreads
* Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Choice of print or ebook copy of The Little Helliad, 

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$10 Amazon giftcard.

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1 winner each!

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Shakti Of The Illuminated Lotus organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Luki Belle will award a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Shakti Of The Illuminated Lotus

by Luki Belle

 

 

Genre: Erotic Supernatural Dark Fantasy

Synopsis

In a fictitious, mysterious, and futuristic Earth, the Western and Eastern continents are poised to become entangled in an ancient holy rivalry and epic battle.

The enigmatic and powerful king of Asukhas rules over the technologically, scientifically, and militarily advanced Western Continent, closely guarding his blissfully ignorant population of captive humans.

The golden-haired spirit, Ahankara, is suddenly released from captivity in the void and unleashes a powerful reptile upon the world’s oceans.

Associate professor of philosophy Anjali Valpolicella seeks psychotherapy from renowned Western psychologist Dr. AlexanDRA, and their therapy sessions may reveal an important secret to possessing the much-coveted Trident of Kumarun.

In Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus: A Dark, Erotic & Futuristic Fantasy for Adults oceans roil as factions doggedly compete in a dark and erotic quest to find the Trident, hidden by the Eastern continent’s divine panthers for centuries. The fate of the World teeters on the brink. Who will possess the Trident? Do they want to use it to gain access to the holy realm of Juwala, or will they use the Trident to destroy the realm and take command of military forces of unimaginable power?

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Monologue Part 1

Did you know that you are a descendant of the Asukhas? You are both holy and unholy, human, and divine, gifted in profound ways that lie dormant in your being awaiting the touch of Shakti to ignite the fire of the Asukha in you! Yearn not for the blissful abode of Juwala, the place of eternal happiness, behind the deep blue sky, for in Kumarun’s realm you will revolt for what you are which is an Asukha in body, spirit, mind and in your thirst and hunger for self-enlightenment. You are beast and you are divine, never forget that!

The Rise of Asukhas

It now comes to the story of your ancestors, dear reader. You hailed from the Spirits of Illumination and from the once holy teachers of Juwala, Vrishaaktan, Balaktaan and Golikdan. After the separation from Kunjahl and Ahankara, the three teachers and seventy-seven Spirits of Illumination suffered for months, fighting their uncontrollable hunger for flesh. The impact of Trishna upon them was severe but through the unholy powers, which they had acquired in the caves of the ocean, after banishment from Juwala, these beings resisted being destroyed by Trishna’s essence. They all went into hiding, afraid of themselves and of what they were becoming. The terror of their unholy selves was fearful. The powers that they were gaining overwhelmed these once holy beings. Unable to provide solace and comfort to each other, the three teachers parted ways, seeking out dark places on earth to hide and suffer.

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About Author Luki Belle:

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Luki Belle works in the media industry. Listening avidly to stories from diverse cultural fiction books read to her by her extended family, storytelling was a fixture from early childhood. Pouring over magnificent and enchanting illustrated books in her family’s library, Luki was drawn to the mythology of South Asian Indians, Greeks, and Romans. These diverse mythologies were her strongest inspiration when, many years later, she started penning the first outline for her debut novel, Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus.

Author Links: Twitter / Instagram / YouTube / Facebook

Purchase Link: Amazon

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~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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Once upon a time, an evil faerie queen traveled through the looking-glass with the cruelest of intentions…to curse a baby.

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A Court of Broken Promises & Nightmares

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Courts & Curses Book 2

by Michelle Helen Fritz

Genre: YA Dark Fantasy Regency Romance

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Once upon a time, an evil faerie queen traveled through the looking-glass with the cruelest of intentions…to curse a baby.

When Alora meets her prince at a masquerade and shares a moonlight dance, her life is forever changed. As her heart longs for his promised return, she can’t get his amber gaze far from her mind.

The Faerie Prince of the White Kingdom doesn’t remember the night he fell in love with his true mate. Debauchery and unrest are twisting the subjects of Wonderland into sinister faeries, and the prince is suffering right alongside his people. With time ticking down to preserve the wonder of his land, he’ll need to battle his greatest foe and regain his lost memories or risk sacrificing everything.

With the help of the Resistance and a tutor with style and sass, Alora is destined to save the two kingdoms, but she’ll need to embrace the darkness in order to fulfill the prophecy. What Wonderland needs most is a savior. But she’s only ever been a simple English girl. No pressure there.

This is book two in a Regency fairytale re-telling mash-up series Courts & Curses with guaranteed happily ever afters and surprising twists to the tales you thought you knew. Adventure through the six Courts of Faerie in this shared universe as they battle the darkness that seeks to destroy their existence. Each book is written as a standalone with interconnecting characters and themes.

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Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Horrifying beasts that used to exist only in nightmares now freely roamed the dark lands. Those who were once gentle and kind had been either devoured or forced to become cruel and twisted, re-created into something sinister, something truly terrifying. A Resistance was formed to fight against the swelling tide of evil, one which would need a savior, a leader who could take all of the unrest and debauchery and vanquish the very heart of evil, making something wonderful from its ashes. One who could take the darkness and embrace it as they conquered the false queen.

 

Cheshire was in pursuit of a grimoire chasing a hobgoblin. The grimoire was spitting black, inky liquid at everything it passed by. It was a nasty, horrid little creature, as all the grimoires were.

 

The tabby ran with a delighted look upon his whiskered face. Alora caught his notice by wavering her hand in the air.

 

“Nothing to fear, Curious One! We shall soon have this all settled. There is nothing quite like a good mad dash around the library.” The feline winked at her, then took off again.

 

“Mad, you’re all raving mad,” she whispered. “Everything anyone does is mad!”

 

“Who are you?” came a raspy voice to the side of the pathway. Alora cast her gaze in the direction from where the voice had come, noting the various shapes and heights of the mushrooms standing erect just beside the pathway.

 

“I inquired who you are, you daft girl,” seethed the voice with unguarded irritation.

 

“Why is everyone so unbearably rude?” Alora had had her fill with ill-mannered faeries and took angry steps until she halted before the mushroom where the tiny creature reclined. She staked her hands onto her hips in umbrage.

 

Resting atop the largest brown and white mushroom was a tiny cyan caterpillar puffing out tiny rings of smoke. In one of his many grubby hands rested the mouthpiece of a hookah. He wasn’t wearing any practical clothing, yet there were minuscule sky-blue slippers on ten of his miniature feet.

 

“Perhaps you’re the rude one, you unwelcomed interloper!” the insect snapped before taking another drag on his instrument.

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Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author? 

I think I was always writing. I wrote my first Regency Romance when I was an early teenager. I still remember it and wish that I had held onto it. That was my first official book and Love At Last was my next. I couldn’t imagine writing another book and not publishing it.

 

What are you passionate about these days? 

Writing and reading and learning new ways to express the written word. Also, my daughter’s artistic skills have really soared! She’s surpassed everything that I ever taught her and that is such an awe inspiring moment when you watch your little one take flight. I love watching her paint. It’s the coolest thing to express yourself on a canvas. There’s a piece of beauty in each brushstroke. And painting beside my daughter is faetastic. I love that we can be so creative and just have such a marvelous time together.

 

What do you do to unwind and relax? 

Read! I really do enjoy books. I want to be whisked away and surprised and fall in love.

 

What inspired you to write this book? 

The idea of a Wonderland where the heroine chooses Hatter and he falls for her, deliciously. I wanted one that was gruesome with battles but also with such a sweet wholesome romance. I think the idea of the Regency era where manners mattered and mayhem ruled was fascinating. And the young adult genre has my heart. Fairytales were my first love, what better way to honor that then to create my own worlds?

 

Where did you come up with the names in the story? 

Alora is our heroine. When I considered Alice from Alice in Wonderland and Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, I merged them together and Alora was born. I think it’s the perfect way to mash-up my heroines, and I enjoy taking the fairytales and creating these names. The other names were seamless. These characters appeared on the pages and there was never a doubt as to who they were.

 

Did you learn anything during the writing of your recent book? 

I certainly did. So much of the Regency genre is telling, not showing. With the first book in this series, I didn’t show enough and some readers pointed out that they would have enjoyed it more if I had shown more things. My editor was meticulous in pointing out when I needed to show more. I’m a very descriptive writer, so I loved having things be noted that I could bring to life in a different way. I think it’s so much more magical than my first book and I really hope that it presents well to the young adult audience. This book owns my heart.

 

How did you come up with the name of this book?

Well, the Lunar Court is a wondrous place filled with nightmares as it’s heavily tied to dreaming and curses. The idea of our hero making a promise that he couldn’t keep intrigued me. So I knew that nightmares and promises had to be in my title.

 

 

If you could spend time with a character from your book whom would it be? And what would you do during that day? 

That’s very easy to answer. Cheshire of course would be my choice. He’s so funny and says things that others might not, he just doesn’t have a filter and I love that most about him. He’s honest and raw and doesn’t apologize for being himself one bit. I would love to sit down over a tea table and hear the gossipy tales from all the Courts. Mostly, I dream of the idea of giving him a hug. Can you imagine how soft his fur would be!?

 

Do your characters seem to hijack the story or do you feel like you have the reigns of the story? 

Before I even began writing this book, Femfaeascent was fuming with formidable rage, pacing back and forth in my mind. She was quite irate with her son and wanted to make sure that her vengeance was legend. Once the prologue was written, she calmed down. But I usually have characters talk to me and Alora was also very vocal. I had an idea of where we were going and reached chapter three and she was like, nope. We’re redoing this because this isn’t how this is suppressed to go. I was so upset because I didn’t want to lose my words but you know what? She was absolutely right, the book is better because she was so insistent.

 

If your book had a candle, what scent would it be?

It would be a mix of Hatter’s and Remius’s scents. Wonder what those are? Read their story.

 

Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write? Obviously I had a pretty good handle on the main characters. Usually when I’m writing things are happening and bam, there’s a new character. Sometimes it’s surprising and other times it’s a good compromise to making a scene or a book flow better. Usually I won’t know who they really are until there is dialogue happening. That’s when any character really comes to life. I never imagined that Fleur, who was in the first book, would be such a huge part of the second book. But she showed up in a big way and stole it away.

 

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why? 

Always in silence or as much as I can manage! I want to be in the moment with my characters and not miss any of what’s taking place on the page. I often will read lines aloud when it’s dialogue to hear how it sounds, what I could add more to, or what could be tweaked.

 

Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?

Usually it’s two at a time. One to be working on full-time and one to slip into when I need a change or to let one rest to come back to it in a few days.

 

Pen or type writer or computer?

Computer. I need to see the words flowing on the screen. I would never accomplish much if I was concentrating on my handwriting and whether it was legible enough to read later.

 

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

Several very wise persons have said to write for yourself the stories that you want to read. And that’s exactly what I do. I really hope others enjoy my words, and if not excuse me while I weep away. Kidding…mostly. Most authors want their books to resonate with their readers. That’s the ultimate goal.

 

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

It really varies. My second book was a co-write with the amazing E.A. Shanniak. We wrote that book in three weeks because it just flowed. It was an amazing experience. Other times it’s taken longer. I think the longest was a year, but I wasn’t consistently writing it. Usually if given the proper time, three months is my time-frame.

 

Do you believe in writer’s block?

I do! Sometimes the muse just isn’t there. That’s when you need to take a step back and just do something else that inspires you. Go to a museum. Go for a walk. If you’re crafty, create something. Paint, listen to music or spend time with your family. When your mind resets, the muse will begin to whisper in your ear. It’s magical when suddenly those words start to flow.

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Michelle Helen Fritz began her literary career as a personal assistant to Indie authors. She enjoys being immersed in the process of turning an idea into a complete and published book. Michelle loves to write about dashing heroes and the compelling women that tempt them with a bit of intrigue and an abundance of romance, creating swoon-worthy characters and stories for her readers to enjoy. Occasionally, her characters talk to her and change the entire plot. Maryland is where her humble abode resides, housing her four home-schooled children along with her jaunty hero-husband who makes all her dreams come true. Michelle fully believes in happily-ever-afters and wishing upon stars.

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Signed Paperback (US only),

$10 Amazon giftcard (WW)

– 1 winner each!

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