Archive for the ‘Excerpt’ Category

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A pair of enchanted glass slippers.

A dark and dangerous queen.

And the fate of a kingdom hangs in the balance.

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Once Upon a Midnight Clear

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Enchanted Realms Book 1

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by Michelle Miles

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Genre: YA Fantasy

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A Christmas Cinderella Fairy Tale Retelling

 

Once Upon a Time… in the holiday land of Rovenheim

 

A pair of
enchanted glass slippers. A dark and dangerous queen. And the fate of
a kingdom hangs in the balance.

 

Ella Rose Tremaine lives a life of drudgery as a servant in her own home, catering to
the whims of her stepmother and stepsisters. All she wants is a life
to call her own, but with no way out, she’s trapped. Even when the
royal ball is announced, she is forbidden to attend.
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Left alone on the night of the ball, a mysterious package arrives
addressed to her. Inside, a pair of beautiful glass slippers. When
she puts them on, she’s transformed and whisked off to the ball by
none other than her fairy godmother—but with a warning. Remove the
slippers before the last stroke of midnight to break the spell and
all will be as it was before.
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Lost in the magic of the evening while dancing with a handsome stranger, she is heedless of
her fairy godmother’s warning. With the last strike of midnight,
she is transported to the Christmas realm of Rovenheim.
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Her arrival garners the attention of a dangerous queen determined to have
the slippers for herself. She’ll stop at nothing to get them by
issuing an ultimatum—bring her the slippers or she’ll destroy the
enchanted realm and the Spirit of Christmas itself.
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With time running out, Ella embarks on a perilous journey through the
mystical realm on a quest to save it. She must embrace her destiny
and discover the power of love and magic. But will it be enough to
overcome the darkness that threatens to consume them all?

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The chiming of the clock tower in Whitebridge clanged the early morning hour. It was a faint bong, bong, bong that Ella counted as she laid awake in her narrow, lumpy bed under the thin blanket dreading the coming day. Dread was part of her morning routine now.

Sunlight peeked through the shabby draperies at her window as dawn arrived. Even as another day of labor loomed, nothing killed the spirit of the season inside her. Not even her stepmother and stepsisters. Not even their nasty dispositions or the fact that her stepmother, Lillian, refused to decorate for Christmas.

Except for a sad looking tree in the foyer with a few decorations.

But Ella was not to be dissuaded. She dragged out all her mother’s favorite decorations and placed them around her shabby third-floor bedroom, trying to make the drab appearance a bit more cheerful. She placed her favorite decoration on the top of the tree—a beautiful gold star.

She loved Christmas.

She shoved the blanket aside and walked to the window, pushing open the curtain to peer down at the estate that had fallen into disrepair. Since her father’s disappearance on a merchant trip several years ago, Lillian squandered what was left of the estate’s money on satin and lace, shoes and parasols for her two spoiled daughters. Meanwhile, the small manor they lived in needed many repairs.

In the distance, the offending clock tower stood tall and proud and ruled her day. From her window, the peak of it was clear as well as the high turrets and heraldry of Whitebridge Palace. What was it like living in a castle? Would she be a maid as she was here? Or would she find herself as one of the noble ladies wearing beautiful gowns and having her every whim attended?

She sighed when the rooster crowed. It was time to start the day. She looked out as the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the outline of the castle beyond and the dusting of snow on the cold ground.

“One day, Papa,” she whispered, “I will find my way out of here.”

She often spoke to her father, even though he’d been gone all these long years.

She dressed, tied her long dark hair back with a blue ribbon, and headed down to the kitchen for the day. She put a tea kettle on to boil. Outside, she fed the chickens and gathered eggs, petted the dog, and gave the cat his breakfast. In the distance, at the pond, geese honked their arrival. She smiled. Later she would walk out to the edge of the pond and feed them, too.

The servant’s bell rang. Her stepmother. She poured hot water into the tea kettle, made a breakfast of porridge, eggs, and toast, and then carried it up to the woman’s room. At the top of the stairs, she turned right and headed down the hall to the largest bedroom. She rapped twice and waited.

“Enter,” came the abrupt, muffled response.

Ella pushed open the door. Just as she did, the cat sprinted past her and hopped onto the oversized bed where her stepmother sat waiting for her breakfast. The woman’s salt-and-pepper hair was tucked under her nightcap. Crinkles were at the corners of each eye and her mouth was drawn down into a permanent grimace. No doubt due to being unhappy for so many years. Her thin lips were a deep red, high severe cheekbones and a chin that ended in a point. She petted the cat, her long slender fingers ruffling the fur between his shoulders. Loud purrs emanated from the small feline.

“Good morning, Stepmother,” she greeted in her best pleasant voice.

“Where is my newspaper?” her stepmother asked.

“I’ll fetch it for you.” Ella placed the tray with the breakfast on the woman’s lap. She did a quick curtsy then dashed from the room.

She hurried down the stairs to the front door and pulled it open. The rolled-up paper was on the doorstep as usual. But even so, Ella saw the hint of the headline. Something about a royal decree. As she snatched it off the stoop, she heard Lucinda shouting her name.

“Ella! Where is my breakfast?”

Ella hurried back up the stairs to her stepmother’s room, her chest heaving a bit and her legs burning from her brief sprint. Jet had curled up next to her in the bed, eyeing the breakfast tray.

“Your newspaper, stepmother.”

She scowled as she snatched it from Ella’s hands, then opened it with a snap. She glowered at her over the edge of the paper.

“What are you gawking at, girl? Don’t you have chores?”

Another quick curtsy. “Yes, Stepmother.”

“ELLA!” Lucinda shouted again.

Ella hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen. As she arrived, the other two bells were ringing. One for Lucinda and one for Daniella. She quickly made their breakfast trays. It was a balancing act, but she managed to carry both at the same time back up the stairs. By the time she arrived at the landing, her legs were burning and her arms ached. She used her elbow to push open the door to Lucinda’s room.

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 MICHELLE MILES believes in fairy tales, true love, and magic. She
writes heart-stopping urban fantasy, young adult and adult fantasy,
and paranormal romance with an action/adventure twist that will leave
you breathless. She is the author of numerous series that includes
everything from angels and demons to fairies, dragons, and elves.

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She is a member of
Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Science Fiction and Fantasy
Writers Association (SFWA). A native Texan, in her spare time she
loves reading, listening to music, watching movies, hiking, and
drinking wine. She can be found online at Facebook, Instagram,
Pinterest, and more!

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for A Troubled Heart organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Tricia McGill 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.

A Troubled Heart

by Tricia McGill

 

 

Genre: Historical Romance

Synopsis

Unsure of his real past or name, Finn O’Connor thinks he was born in Ireland and taken from his mother as a baby by a gypsy woman. As a toddler, an English woman then took him to London. About ten he fled to join a gang of boys who survived by their wits on the streets. Five years later, he was arrested for a minor crime and transported to The Colony of New South Wales for a 10-year term. In 1846 as transporting of criminals neared an end in NSW, he was moved to the infamous penitentiary at Port Arthur in Van Diemen’s Land.

On the day Finn received his papers of freedom an accidental meeting brought him into contact with 20-year-old Esther Blythe. Born in Surrey, England, genteel Esther is kind and caring. As a 4-year-old her parents brought her to Van Diemen’s Land where her Papa, a doctor, took on the task of providing medical aid to the prisoners at the Port Arthur penitentiary and its surrounding area. Sadly, both parents were killed in an accident, leaving Esther with no option but to work as a governess/nursemaid.

For reasons that even she did not comprehend, Esther took ex-convict Finn under her wing when they met outside the penitentiary hospital. Could be she saw a fellow lonely soul who simply wanted someone to have faith in him. Life seems to take a turn for perhaps the better from then on, but will these two lonely people overcome many obstacles to find the happiness they seek together as they face an uncertain future.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Esther sat with her head on her bent knees, staring at the flames before her. Luckily the rain had stopped as dawn crept nearer. One of the troopers had managed to get the small fire going using the flint he carried. After the two men had rummaged about in the ruins of the kitchen they returned with the blackened kettle and a couple of tin mugs. Pike, who was the youngest and had the very small makings of a moustache, said, “We carry tea and usually have our billycan with us, but as we were only on a short survey looking for any runaways, we carried just the bare supplies.”

He now handed her a mug of the brew, which was at least hot. “Thank you, this is lovely.” Esther hoped that when someone returned with supplies, they at least carried milk and porridge and perhaps some bread and cheese.

As he walked away to join his mate who was again sorting through the rubble that had stopped smouldering, Finn sat beside her and sipped on his drink. “How do you feel?” Giving her a thoughtful glance, he rubbed at his chin. “What a mess. Can you believe the woman would do such a thing?”

“Never in my life. I knew she was desperately unhappy of course, but how she could take a blade to her husband and then take her own life is a tragedy far beyond my understanding. You have probably seen more insane people than I have.”

“A few in my time.” With a shrug, he stared into his mug. “Most go crazy after spending a time in solitary with little food and no light.”

A thought occurred to Esther as her tummy roiled at the thought of the suffering of those folk, plus what she guessed might be hunger pangs. “I guess if they do not return later with supplies, we can always go over to the farm.” She nodded in the general direction of where she knew Nellie often went to collect milk, butter, and cheese. “I expect the farmer and his wife will be wondering at the flames they must have seen rising.”

As the words left her mouth, a wagon came trundling towards them. As it neared, the driver, a man that Esther had seen a few times, waved his hat as he stared at the ruins of the cottage. “What in the Lord’s name happened?” he asked as he pulled the horse up and jumped down. “The master sent me across to see what was amiss.”

Pike came over and put a hand up before asking the man’s name and what farm he had come from. Without too many details he then explained some of the happenings of the night, leaving out the murder and suicide. “Go back and tell your master that we would be grateful if he could supply us with a few necessities like milk and bread and perhaps he might have some fresh meat. When our Lieutenant returns, he will arrange payment.”

Nodding enthusiastically the man gave the ruins another quick glance, and then shook his head in Esther and Finn’s direction before climbing aboard and urging his horse into a near gallop.

“Would you like me to heat some water for you, Miss? Perhaps you might like to wash the grime off you,” Pike said as he sent Esther a smile. “It’s good luck that the well is still in working order.”

Esther returned his smile. “That would be lovely. How very thoughtful of you. I suppose I am looking as grimy as all you men are.”

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About Author Tricia McGill:

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Award winning author Tricia McGill was born in London, England, and moved to Australia many years ago, settling near

Melbourne. Horses and dogs feature largely in her books. She’s had a succession of dogs in her lifetime and a few horses along the way.

The youngest in a large, loving family she was never lonely or alone. Surrounded by avid readers, who encouraged her to read from an early age, is it any wonder she became a writer? The local library was a treasure trove and magical world of discovery through her childhood and growing years. Tricia is a dreamerwho still dreams every night; snippets from those dreams have translated into ideas for her books.

Although her published works cross sub-genres, romance is always at their heart. Tricia finds the research entailed in writing historicals and her other great passion, time-travels, fascinating.

Author Link: Website

Purchase Link: Amazon

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Today I am excited to share the newest release in the Women of Boone County small-town romance series, TO HAVE AND TO LET GO, by Julieann Dove. Chelsea Hayes thought she left Boone County behind, but fate has other plans. Come check out an excerpt and enter a fun giveaway before grabbing your copy!

To Have and Let Go

 

Amazon* | Goodreads

Release Day July 9, 2024

Women of Boone County #2

Chelsea Hayes is no stranger to running away from her problems. That could explain why she moved six states away from Boone County. And the reason she works a second job to go talk in circles to a therapist bi-weekly, to avoid hitting the dead end and facing her demons.

Unfortunately for Chelsea, a call back from home forces her to hang up her running shoes and return to face some ghosts that never left, even if she did.

Patrick Jergan is new in town. Someone to take away some of the tension from all the things spinning out of control in Chelsea’s life. But like Chelsea, he’s fighting his own set of problems. The two might make a good match, except for one thing…or one person. He’s the topic her therapist knows nothing about. In fact, no one in town knows of their past. If they did, there would be no end to the tongues wagging.

*kindleunlimited

“If you haven’t discovered Julieann Dove’s books, start right now with Coming Home, the first book in her latest series. It’s filled with the complex characters and smalltown charm I love.” Sherryl Woods, New York Times #1 bestsellling author of The Sweet Magnolias and Chesapeake Shores series.

About Author Julieann Dove:

Julieann Dove takes great pleasure in writing about love and all the mess that goes along with it. How else does happily ever after become realized, if not for some type of hardship and journey? When she’s not writing, she loves playing with fabric at her sewing machine, baking new recipes, and playing in the dirt, trying to get things to grow. Julieann loves old movies, and never tires of listening to music—it’s where she finds most of her inspiration for her books.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

I was out of town a mile or so, and the same distance from home. The water cascaded

down the windshield in sheets. A shiver ripped down my naked, wet arms. I turned off the car’s

air conditioner and ignition. How long would it take for someone to pass by and help? Throw out

a cable, and it magically hooked where it needed and pulled me out?

Oh, cars came. And passed. Nothing that resembled a large truck with a winch or push

bars to give me the slightest nudge I needed. I sighed. More rain poured. Never the patient one, I

got out, locked the car, and began to walk home. How long could it possibly rain, anyway? This

was Texas, not Seattle, Washington.

It actually took only minutes for water to collect in the soles of my shoes as I pondered

the probability and forecast of a monsoon. And less time for the weight of the rain to form

clumps in what used to be my wispy bangs. Even my eyelashes were unable to withstand the

pelting of the rain, and my eyes strained to stay open. I was cold, wet, and looked down to find

that my shirt now clung to my skin like a cheesecloth.

A bright-orange car passed. The water from the tires sprayed mist that covered my entire

body. It was useless to try to do anything about it. I took another step, my feet sloshing with

every motion forward. Bright, appalling brake lights that glowed from the rear bumper lit the

now monochromatic scene before me. My eyes fluttered against the elements and squinted to

figure out what it was doing. Reverse lights blinked, and slowly it backed up to where I dripped

on the side of the road.

The window lowered to halfway, and I peered inside to see a man hunched forward,

speaking in elevated sound. “Need a ride?”

The question was absurd. Of course I needed a ride. The thing was, I didn’t need to be

killed by agreeing to a ride. Crime television taught me lots of things. Not getting in a car with a

stranger was one of them. Albeit, a nice-looking stranger. His smile, when he asked, was the

kind I’d get if he’d just taken my order at Starbucks. Not a leering one like the weirdo who wants

to shove you in his trunk once he’s given you a sniff of chloroform. Still, I couldn’t be sure, so I

declined.

“No thanks. My house is just up the road.”He persisted. Like a gentleman or a serial killer. It was hard to tell when buckets of water

were being poured upon you. “Really, I’m not a creep or anything. It’s pouring. I can give you

ride.”

I got close enough to smell the coconut air freshener.

Again, my lifelong training of female survivor kicked it. For all the naïve girls who just

wanted to get out of the storm. Forge ahead, stay alive. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks for the

offer.”

He hesitated. “Okay, well, I hope where it is you’re going isn’t far.”

I smiled. Water dripped from my chin. “It isn’t. Thanks for stopping.”

He shook his head and waved before moving forward.

I watched as the lights trailed out of sight. I just saved my own life. Or denied myself a

chance not to get a stupid cold. I’d never know.

I walked the rest of what felt like two miles hunched over, covering my chest with my

wet hand, in the pouring rain. Each step thinking the storm would slack off. It didn’t. I passed

houses with their inside lights on, and watched through their windows as people were going

about their time eating, watching television, or one window where a cat was watching me. He

probably was being reminded that’s why he was an inside cat.

A left turn on Miller and two more houses to go. A blister was beginning to form on my

big toe as it took the brunt of the travel, shoved forward in what used to be my favorite brown

flats. I looked down at the stained dark color and wondered whether they’d ever look the same.

When I looked up again, I noticed that bright-orange car. A spoiler on back, shiny hubcaps, and a

black line down the body of it. I looked at the house where it found itself parked in the driveway.

It was my house! What in the world was it doing parked in my driveway? Well, my mother’s

driveway. This killer was persistent and clairvoyant, it seemed.

I went around to the side door and fished for the key from underneath the mat. Mom was

a genius to leave it in the most inconspicuous place. I looked in the window before turning the

lock. Trying to see the man. At this point of being soaked to the bone, I couldn’t imagine I’d be

too tempting to murder. The bigger mystery was what he was doing here.

I shoved open the door and crossed my chest when I felt the air conditioning bite at the

water standing on my arms. Mom never ran the air conditioning. Oh my gosh. The thought

plowed me over. Maybe he was one of those types who found out someone died and he stalkedthe place for a few days, saw no one else lived there, and he moved in. I looked around for

something to defend myself. Nothing. Why was my mom such a minimalist? No iron skillet. No

rolling pin. Had I been able to get my hand in my wet pocket, I may have checked and found

nothing there too. Before I raided the fridge for a jar of pickles to club him with, he appeared in

the doorway.

“You? What…who…”

“I think I should be asking the same thing,” I said, mopping the water that still leaked

from my stringy hair. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Still with that Forest Gump look, he exclaimed,

“Chelsea! Of course it’s you. I didn’t

recognize you—

” His eyes moved down my body.

I covered my front, realizing I was a peep show in my white tee shirt.

“You look different not in pigtails and braces.”

Lord, my full-on anxiety stage of life. And Mom kept it prominently displayed on our

mantle. She had my 8×10 third-grade picture next to my cap and gown wallet-sized one.

I fidgeted with my hair. Not much better than ponytails at the present moment. “Okay.

But who are you?”

He ran and pulled a kitchen towel from a drawer. Funny he knew which one. How long

had he been squatting here? He handed it to me. “I’m Patrick.” He held out his hand for me to

possibly shake. I looked, still stuck in the moment, and continued to sop water from my skin.

“Okay, well, I’m Patrick.” He shoved his hand back in his jean pocket. “I’m the chef at your

mom’s restaurant.”

“The chef?” Mom had a chef—er, rather the main line cook, Mr. Newton. He’d

sometimes accidentally leave his teeth soaking in a cup by the employee restroom. I guess it

made sense now that he might’ve not lived long after I moved away. Mom did get him a stool to

sit on to help ease his back when he had to stand long hours.

“Yeah, I…well, she hired me about six months ago.” He went and grabbed some paper

towels and began sopping up the water that puddled around me.

“Okay, but why are you in our house?”

He looked up from where he was kneeling. “It’s a long story, actually.”

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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 The devil has eyes and ears everywhere!

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The Devil’s Spies

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by K.C. Sivils

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Genre: Historical Fiction

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 Needing to stop the flood of humanity fleeing communist oppression by
making it to the divided city of Berlin, the communist government of
East Germany took drastic measures. In August of 1961, construction
of the Berlin Wall began.

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Two young lovers, an American
refugee worker, and an East German seminary student, find themselves
separated by the wall. Desperate to be reunited and build a life
together, Angela Wettin and Michael Dieterich, with Michael’s
brother Joseph, set in motion a dangerous plan to escape by tunneling
under the Berlin Wall.

Determined to stop any hope of
gaining freedom, the East German Stasi, the dreaded secret police of
the communist state, formed Department XX/4 to infiltrate and spy on
the Church in East Germany.

Faced with betrayal, dangerous
cave-ins, and family conflict, the trio enters a life-and-death race
against the Stasi and Department XX/4.

Can they gain their
freedom before they are caught by the Devil’s Spies from the Stasi?

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“It’s after two in the afternoon,” Angela complained to the nearby soldier. The GI studiously ignored Angela. He’d learned the hard way to ignore pretty girls when on duty. Hating the fact time moved so slowly, Angela decided the best course of action was to get a cup of tea before making her crossing into East Berlin. She’d expected to at least see Michael on the other side of the checkpoint, and if not Michael, then her fiancée’s partner in crime, Werner.

Shouting, followed by the sound of gunfire, jarred Angela out of her pique. A hundred or so yards from Check Point Charlie, a young man appeared at the top of the wall, caught in the wire. Spellbound, Angela watched as the man made no effort to free himself from the wire, simply rolling off the top of the wall and falling, taking several feet of barbed wire with him.

The bark of gunfire stopped, and a West Berlin police officer pulled himself up to the top of the wall and peered over, looking down. Screams from the onlookers propelled Angela forward. Sprinting towards the chaos, she could hear the cries of a man in pain, begging for help.

Another West Berlin police officer reached the wall as the first dropped down from it. They spoke, and the second officer climbed the wall and shouted to the man on the other side. Angela watched in horror as the second officer produced bandages and dropped them over the wall.

“Murderers!”

“Criminals!”

As an angry crowd gathered, Angela took notice of the escapee who had made it over the wall. He was cut and bleeding and clearly stunned by what had happened.

“You! You’re an American!”

Turning to the voice, Angela stared at the red, angry face of a young Berliner.

“Neither side will do anything to help him! Get the American soldiers!”

The sound of tear gas canisters being launched could be heard from somewhere on the other side of the wall. In seconds, tendrils of the greyish-white gas and its pungent smell began to reach across the wall.

The Berliner covered his face and pushed Angela. Shouting, “Go! Now, while there is still a chance to help him!” Angela nodded, relieved to suddenly find herself useful. She turned and ran as fast as her feet would take her to Check Point Charlie.

“Someone’s been shot trying to escape,” Angela panted as the Lt. in command of the detail came out to meet her. He said nothing, instead looking up in the sky at the helicopters that had suddenly appeared.

“We have our orders, Ma’am.”

“Your orders?!”

“Yes, Ma’am. We contacted General Watson for instructions.”

“Good, do something.”

“Ma’am, our orders are to stand down.”

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How did you come up with name of this book? 

 

More people had died under the rule of communist governments than any other form of government or ideology in human history. Something the devil himself would be proud of.

 

Throw that in with the fact the Church in East Germany was the target of the Stasi Department XX/4, it seemed like an appropriate name for a story set in East Berlin that involved the Communists infiltrating and spying on the East German Church and Christians.

 

The exact name came about after writing down about ten combinations of the words devil, spies, and some other topics related to Cold War Berlin. Once I wrote down The Devil’s Spies the title simply made complete sense to me.

 

Perhaps it should be noted I always come up with the title of the book I am writing before starting the first chapter.

 

What is your favorite part of this book and why? 

 

The different levels of conflict found within the story. Conflict is a part of life.

 

If you could spend time with a character from The Devil’s Spies, who would it be? And what would you do during that day? 

 

Joseph Werner. I would love to sneak around with him and see how he goes about running his assorted black-market enterprises. It would be interesting to see who his customers are as well.

 

Are your characters based off real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination? 

 

In the case of The Devil’s Spies, many of the characters are fictionalized versions of real, historical figures who are well known such as President Kennedy, Vice President LBJ, and Mayor Willy Brandt. Others are obscure and sadly, often forgotten today. For example, Peter Fechter, the youth who was shot trying to climb the Berlin Wall and died in the attempt, is largely a footnote in history today.

 

The remainder are figments of my imagination who decided to take part in the telling of the story that became The Devil’s Spies.

 

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

 

My characters like to tell me their story. Especially if I know them well. Periodically, I have to set them straight and control what they say and do. But, by and large, they inspire the story. It’s just a matter of knowing and understanding your characters.

 

Convince us why you feel your book, The Devil’s Spies, is a must read. 

 

It’s a cautionary tale based on historical events. Humanity has an infinite capacity for both evil and stupidity, both of which are driven by laziness or greed of the worst kind. Despite having a historical record to show us the folly of our choices, we will repeat the same mistakes of the past over and over.

 

People seem to have this blind willingness to “let the government do it.” It’s a dangerous thing to trade freedom of choice and personal liberty for a promise of security. Small people will seek out the positions of power over others and once they have that power, they will do whatever it takes to extinguish the slightest hint resistance or individual free thinking.

 

The great lie of communism is that it promises equality. It doesn’t. Lenin believed in the need to create an elite, intellectual ruling cadre that controlled the masses, the same masses he promised to elevate and set free from the chackles of oppression.

 

How well did that turn out?

 

What’s even worse, is that if you rob one man to pay another, you make both of them poor, if not in terms of actual poverty, then in poverty of life and the ability to create and make things prosper. People don’t grasp the fact that government, any form of government, doesn’t create anything.

 

Now, people will say, “look at all the jobs the government created.” Those are government jobs, paid for by the money of the taxpayers, who happen to be the ones who take all the risks, do all the innovating, and do the real work of building an economy. Government merely acts as a conduit to transfer the wealth and economic prosperity created by others to whatever group or individual the government sees fit.

 

History shows us the Berlin Wall wasn’t built to protect East Berlin. It was built to keep the citizens of East Germany and other parts of the Eastern Bloc from fleeing communism. Economics were a consideration as well as the Soviet Union and East Germany were losing the very individuals necessary to produce economic activity so the communists could redistribute the products those with education and skill would produce.

 

The Stasi spied on everyone. The organization kept records on everyone. The driving force behind Department XX/4 was the fact the Church was the one place where people had some small degree of freedom and within the confines of the church body, people would speak freely about things they dare not whisper anywhere else.

 

Throw in the fact that communism cannot tolerate any social force that dictates what is morally right and wrong and will often protest the excesses of the government and you have an institution that must be destroyed. It was surprising the Church and Christianity was allowed to exist at all.

 

As I take in the news on a daily basis, I find it disturbing how intrusive government has become. Not just the United States government, but the so-called democracies of the West. London is the most surveilled city in the world. The FBI has gone on record, begrudgingly, as having deliberately infiltrated the Catholic Church in the United States and placing believers who attend traditional Latin mass on lists of possible domestic terrorists.

 

Each day, the government seems to be encroaching more and more into the lives of citizens. Many welcome this encroachment. They feel it makes their life safer and the government will provide for them. They don’t realize they have made a deal with the devil.

 

So, if you want to read it that way, The Devil’s Spies can be seen as a cautionary tale. That government should be kept as far away as possible from certain aspects of people’s lives. Freedom to speak what is on one’s mind as well as the choice to worship the God one believes in, or not, are fundamental human freedoms that are not granted by government.

 

Or you can simply read it as a story. A story I hope every reader finds entertaining and engaging.

 

Fun Facts/Behind the Scenes/Did You Know?’-type tidbits about the author, the book, or the writing process of the book. 

 

The Devil’s Spies was not written in chronological order. I wrote the first few chapters in order to introduce the primary characters. Then I moved on to the actual events that were included in dramatized form in the book. Once those segments were finished, I worked on different storylines that made up the story as a whole. Finally, I pieced everything together and worked to make the story an integrated whole as far as the big picture story went.

 

I have a general idea when I sit down to tell a story how I want it to start and how I want it to end. In general, I have some ideas of what goes in the middle. As the characters develop, they seem to sort of take on a life of their own and tell me the remainder of the story. Of my seventeen novels and novellas, none of them were written from start to finish in chronological order.

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 U.S.A. Today and Amazon Best-Selling author is the creator of the
scifi crime noir series of Inspector Thomas Sullivan novels as well
as the southern noir series of stories centering around the private
investigator James Benoit “Heat” Heatley.

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A longtime fan of
crime noir and science fiction, director Ridley Scott’s adaptation
of Philip K. Dick’s sci-fi classic Do Androids Dream of Electric
Sheep into the masterful Harrison Ford vehicle Bladerunner encouraged
Sivils to consume as much of both genres as possible in his younger
years.

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A fan of past noir
masters such as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, Sivils also
enjoys the current generation of storytellers like Sandra Woffington,
Tom Folwer, Jeff Edwards, Renee Pawlish, and James Scott Bell.

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In addition to his
aforementioned series, Sivils is also the creator of the Agent Nelson
Paine Historical Mystery series set during WW II and the early years
of the Cold War.

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In a previous life,
Sivils was a varsity basketball coach and high school history
teacher. He and his wife, Lisa, have three adult children, seven
grandchildren, and two four legged furry children who still live at
home, Bella and Mr. Darcy.

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Enter to win a  $10 Amazon giftcard,
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ebook of The Devil’s Spies,

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ebook of The Price of a Lie,

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ebook of Murder on the Harz Mountain Railway

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– 1 winner each!

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.

 

Hotheaded Heart

by Anna Alkire

 

(Waterfall Canyon, #1)
Publication date: June 25th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

A fun sexy story, with a dash of suspense, about not hiding from yourself and letting love in. This steamy, laugh-out-loud, enemies to lovers romance pits an annoying prankster, turned small town cop, against the woman forced to live with him.

I’m finally back in Waterfall Canyon, after leaving for a decade, when one-night changes everything. I sort of snapped and beat up my stalker with yard debris. That creep didn’t know who he was messing with. Except, I was the one put in the patrol car.

Sometimes the worst mistake of your life calls for desperate measures—like accepting help from one of the cops that arrested you.

Beau Martin is a police officer, a slob, and also a man that’s promised to never settle down. He’s my best friend’s older brother. We had a history—of him tormenting me ten years ago. Now he leaves me flirty notes, wants me to believe he’s always liked me, and thinks we should blow off some steam.

Torn between Beau and an unrequited work crush, pursued by my increasingly creepy stalker, and fighting to save my career from the fallout of my mistake, I stumble into organizing a bachelor auction for charity. Everything depends on the support of our small town—and how much I can sacrifice for my own heart.

From award winning author Anna Alkire, comes an unforgettable new series that mixes the spice of Meghan Quinn’s A Not So Meet Cute, and the unexpected fun of Lucy Score’s Things We Never Got Over. Anyone looking for banter, cuteness, and a bit of suspense will find it in this steamy contemporary romance with a romantic comedy spin. Grab your copy of Hotheaded Heart today!

Goodreads / Amazon

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

A little adrenaline set in when I thought of my underwear getting tossed around for every soul to see—Beau and Mason would be there any minute. I started stuffing garbage bags as fast as I could move in my bedroom, shuddering at how wrinkled and smashed my pretty lingerie would all be.

“Raven?” Beau called from the front door.

“Yep,” I shouted. “Be out in a sec…”

My hands moved faster but my slinky collection of undergarments kept slipping from my fingers and landing on the carpet.

“Hey,” Beau said from the door, while I frantically shoved a teddy and garter belt set into the bag. “Good news. I bribed Chuck and AJ into helping out…”

“That’s great. I owe you big time for this.”

He walked closer. I glanced over my shoulder, hunching forward to hide my naughty bag.

Beau crouched over and picked up a red lace G-string. “Dropped this,” he croaked. He bit the knuckle of his other hand.

I snatched it away from him, my ears burning. “Give me a damn minute. And scrub that out of your head.”

He punched his chest and stumbled backward. “Never.”

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About Author Anna Alkire:

Anna Alkire has been a long-term college student, a business owner, and a world traveler. Now “settled”—with a sigh and a cup of decaf—Anna lives in Washington state, where she splits her time between a husband who thinks the North Pole would be a great place to live, chasing her hurricane of a son, learning new handicrafts, and creating worlds full of the kind of romance and fun she most wants to read. Find more about her (and grab a freebie or two) at her website, annaalkire.com.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok

 

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for My Second Life organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Simon Yeats is awarding a $25 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.

My Second Life

by Simon Yeats

 

 

Genre: Memoir

Synopsis

We all have two lives. We only get to experience living in the second after we realize we only have just one.

I have my first real scare in life when I get attacked by a kangaroo when I am seven. My first brush with the cliff-face edge of death comes when I am 12. My dad drives the family down the dangerous Skipper’s Canyon dirt road in New Zealand in a rented minivan.

Including the occasion I am almost involved in two different plane flight crashes, in the same night, there have been at least a half dozen more occasions when I have been within a moment’s inattention of being killed.

However, none of those frightening incidents compare to what I experience after my son is abducted.

This memoir is the story of how I used the traumatic experiences of my life to give me strength to forge on during a 13 year fight to be a father to my son.

What did it take for me to get to my second life?
It took me to truly understand what fear is.

Enjoy this peek inside:

As I cross the hotel lobby floor towards the elevator, a man approaches me and addresses me by name.

Oh god, not again. I know what this is. Another process server who is going to hand me court documents to tell me I am now being sued for refusing to follow my ex-wife’s demands to buy my son another cell phone.

That would have been far more preferable.

The man leads me over to the couches in the hotel lobby, and we sit. He speaks only Portuguese so that I can only understand some of what he says. So, I use Google translate so I can fully understand what is going on.

His name is Michael.

The man is not from the court.

He is on the direct opposite side of the law, as it turns out.

He is a killer for hire.

My ex-wife has hired his services.

What? Right now, I know I am sitting in bizarro world.

About Author Simon Yeats:

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Simon Yeats has lived nine lives, and by all estimations, is fast running out of the number he has left. His life of globetrotting the globe was not the one he expected to lead. He grew up a quiet, shy boy teased by other kids on the playgrounds for his red hair. But he developed a keen wit and sense of humor to always see the funnier side of life.

With an overwhelming love of travel, a propensity to find trouble where there was none, and being a passionate advocate of mental health, Simon’s stories will leave a reader either rolling on the floor in tears of laughter, or breathing deeply that the adventures he has led were survived.

No author has laughed longer or cried with less restraint at the travails of life.

Author Links: Amazon / TikTok / Instagram

Buy Link: Amazon

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.

 

The Accidental Sereph

 by Maci Aurora

 

(Carran Hollow Fated Mate, #1)
Publication date: June 25th 2024
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

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When Atlas Black, a bad boy with a reputation in Carran Hollow, walks into The Hole-in-the-Wall bar investigating a demon sighting, it’s mostly business as usual until he comes face-to-face with his calix—his fated-mate. Except Ivy Day, oblivious to the world of seraphs and demons, thinks she’s stranded in Carran Hollow because a stupid bus has broken down. She just needs a ride to get to the next bus in order to get to her sister across the country. While the guy in the bar hitting on her is hotter than any human has the right to be, unless he’ll give her a lift, she doesn’t have any patience for anything else. But little does she know, Atlas is about to take her on the ride of her life—that is, as long as they can get through the demons.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

[Rome] pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at it. “Bus coming into the Hollow.”

Samson and I groan. Buses mean tourists. Obnoxious tourists drag in the demon riff-raff hiding among them, and they aren’t usually the organized kind, but rather the fledgling demons or the deserters attached to the taedae, unsighted humans.

“Not it,” Samson says.

“How’s that injury?” Rome asks me.

“Not an injury,” I repeat. “How many times do I have to say it?”

Rome looks me over, eyes narrowed, as if he can see beyond my skin and bones. “Fine,” he relents. “You go into town. Wait for the bus to roll in, see if any demons have hitched a ride.” He points at me. “But don’t engage, not without backup.”

I’m already walking over to the cabinet, pulling on my harness, sliding a sharpened dagger into a sheath, along with another into my boot. “Me? Engage?” I glance at my bow but leave it, knowing I probably won’t need it. Those off the bus are rarely difficult to dispatch. I glance at Rome with a smile. “Never.”

Samson laughs.

I shrug into my black leather jacket and grab my helmet before I’m out the door, headed for the heart of town. After driving past Lowry’s Gas and Sundries, where the bus stops, and seeing the hulking, metal can is already empty, I ride down Main. I park my bike, cross to the other side, and duck into The Hole in the Wall, a small bar sandwiched between a diner called The Getaway, and a witchy souvenir shop that sells Carran Hollow guidebooks. One of these three establishments is often the first stop for tourists, and thereby their parasitic demons, when they reach town.

My eyes adjust to the dark. There’s an older guy playing guitar near the door. The shiny wooden bar is on the left and runs the length of the room. There are a few people lined up along the counter, atop barstools. Booths—mostly empty—line the right wall, and in between is a stretch of space big enough to walk between the two. I’ve been here before. I have been in every single shop in Carran Hollow, every single home—though the owners haven’t known I was there. The Hollow is my town.

The locals glance at me then look away, giving me a wide berth. They might know me. They might know I’m a Black. If they don’t, they feel it—that sensation skittering across their skin telling them danger is near. That’s all that’s needed.

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About Author Maci Aurora:

Romance author.

Lover of stories.

Maci Aurora has been writing stories since she was a child. When she was eleven, she fell in love with reading Sunfire Historical Romances about girls who made a difference in their lives and still fell in love. In high school, a friend introduced her to Lavyrle Spencer and Judith McNaught, and from there, her writing journey was cemented in telling stories about love. Having already published many novels (all of which are threaded with romance as upper YA and New Adult titles) under the pen name, CL Walters, Maci Aurora wanted to write stories that offered the same attention to story and characters but with additional steam.

Maci writes in Hawaiʻi where she lives with her husband, their children, and their fur-babies.

Website / Instagram / Newsletter

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  Ron’s journey is met with life-affirming friendships and lessons along the way.

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Exiles

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Reflections of Michael Trilogy Book 3

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by L.J. Ambrosio

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Genre: Contemporary Fiction, Coming of Age

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 In this final book in the Reflections of Michael Trilogy, Michael’s
wish was for Ron to exile himself in the heart of Paris with its
beautiful culture and citizens as they protest and fight for the soul
of the city. Ron’s journey is met with life-affirming friendships and
lessons along the way.

A story that began with A
Reservoir Man
, and continued in Reflections on the Boulevard,
concludes with this final book, Exiles.

What readers
are saying:

 

“Each character
Ron meets during his personal journey is unique, and they all feel
like real people, something Ambrosio has proven time and again is a
strength of his. If you enjoy literary fiction with an epic personal
journey woven through the pages, then you need to read this trilogy.”
– Amazon Review

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“This book,
like the ones before it, evokes a range of emotions—laughter, fear,
excitement, wonder, and grief. Ambrosio’s ability to weave these
feelings into the narrative is what makes the trilogy so special.”
– Amazon Review

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“Exiles is a
brilliant book that will leave you spellbound with its emotional
payoff. Author Ambrosio’s finale to the Reflections of Michael
Trilogy is a must-read for anyone who appreciates literary fiction
that speaks to the soul.” – Goodreads Review

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Amazon
* Apple
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Other
Links
* Bookbub
* Goodreads

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CHAPTER ONE

 

A cool autumn breeze, in the twilight, wrapped around our exile who sat on a bench in front of a bookstore that resembled a place we might find in a Tolkien novel. On this street, rue de la Buccheri, was the bookstore Shakespeare and Company. The store itself was famous for housing the books of many great literary artists on their shelves. They also supported any young or old artistic vagabonds by allowing them to sleep in the aisles of the bookstore on makeshift beds when finding themselves homeless.

Ron, who managed the store, sat on this bench every evening thinking of Michael. Ron thought of things he remembered and how much he learnt from Michael. He felt the emptiness in his soul, yearning to have that connection just one more time. He had lived in Paris for six years now, a brief time for an exile, yet he was free from a society drowning in untruths; his refuge was the bookstore.

Just like every night, as Ron prepared to close the store, he occasionally checked the front of the store, looking for his friend. Then, he noticed another young man still looking at books on the outside shelves.

Ron moved outside to get a closer look at the late customer under the guise of moving the outdoor book bins back inside. He suddenly noticed that the young man was putting a book down his pants.

Ron raised his voice and shouted for the thief to put the book back on the shelf. The young man, caught in the act, ran away.

The young man sprinted and tripped while running past the café. In this stumble, he decided to turn the corner and make his way rapidly toward la Seine.

Ron, weak in the legs from forgetting the spirit of his youth, had been managing bookstores more than living life. His legs pumped forward. but with the awkwardness of an old man who had forgotten how to walk. In a few seconds he was up to speed and ran faster to catch the thief.

Near the corner, Ron had missed his opportunity to slow and check for other people walking, so he slammed into a group of women. He especially blasted into an old lady whose groceries flew into the sky, and a yogurt splattered against a wall and the faces of the other women. She turned to condemn her assailant, but he was already on the next block in pursuit of the thief.

He spotted the thief at the Notre Dame Hotel, out of breath, leaning against a pillar. Surprised at the thief’s choice to stop here, he slowed down and let his feet pound the street into a halt.

Ron grabbed at him but still missed his shoulder.

“Give me the book back!” he said, very loudly.

The thief just shrugged his shoulder, a mocking smile. His smile made the act of chasing him through the streets feel silly, as if this were a game that had been played and he took it too seriously.

The thief looked at Ron and asked, sarcastically, “What language are you speaking?”

“What do mean? I am speaking French!”

Our thief laughed, turned to a random man who walked down the street, and said, “This young man thinks he is speaking French Go ahead say something to this stranger; he will tell you are speaking some other language other than French!”

“I will call the police,” Ron said firmly.

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 Louis J. Ambrosio ran one of the most nurturing bi-coastal talent
agencies in Los Angeles and New York. He started his career as a
theatrical producer, running two major regional theaters for eight
seasons. Ambrosio taught at 7 Universities. Ambrosio also
distinguished himself as an award-winning film producer and novelist
over the course of his impressive career.

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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  a Dragonfly Necklace – 2 winners,

a Print Copy of Exiles – 2 winners,

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Dungeon Of Horrors organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

A randomly drawn winner will receive a $20 Amazon or B&N Gift Card. Don’t forget to enter.

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

Dungeon Of Horrors

by Hawk MacKinney

 

 

Genre: Suspense / Horror

Synopsis

The bank’s newest Trust Officer Terri Stanley prepares the requested department’s internal audit. Finding puzzling inconsistencies and a jumble of misappropriations and unexplained offshore accounts, she follows protocol and immediately punches in the listed number for the Executor-Trustee, Craige Ingram.

Wealthy land owner/parttime PI Craige Ingram reaches the file back to homicide Lt. Grayson MacGerald after finishing a quick read-through of the preliminary forensic report from Coroner Fred Dinkins on the unexpected death of bank President Royce Sedgewicke. Dinkins’ meticulous autopsy findings verify that a massive apparent heart attack was not from natural causes, confirming what these longtime SEAL buddies suspected.

When Ingram gets a call from Terri Stanley, the bank’s attractive, newly-hired Trust Officer, wanting to discuss in confidence possible account irregularities discovered during her audit, he never imagines the twisted world of money and greed that would involve a psychopath’s trail of bloody body parts strewn along Ingram’s river property, or that Terri and her son would disappear.

Confronted by a race against time, Ingram fears that Terri might become one more on the list of dead who crossed a twisted mind bent on thrill-kills and retribution.

Enjoy this peek inside:

A testy Barry Jamison Peters sat at his desk in the bank, nervously folding and refolding a once immaculate handkerchief. At forty-two, Barry looked haggard way beyond his years—the prep school and college gridiron hunk with a perpetual chip on his shoulder long gone to flabby chunkiness, a once pleasant face now drawn. Like he’d done all his life, he waited, listening as the workday ended. The ebony-glass high rise became still and quiet as the five o’clock hired help scurried to the suburban parkway. Breaking routine attracted attention, and he sure didn’t want that.

Math whiz nerd Barry liked numbers. “You can trust numbers,” he once told a new teller. Barry didn’t mind working late; the solitude was warm and familiar. He glanced at his Carrara marble clock that graced his orderly desk. “Thirty more minutes,” he murmured.

At breakfast that morning, he played with a slice of dry scorched toast. His puffy eyes in a sagging face buried in the morning paper hardly glanced in the direction of his frumpy wife when he said, “I have to work late again.”

She tugged at the waist of her soiled sloppy nightgown. In more ways than looks, she matched him dull for dull. “What’s so different?” she said grumpily. “When you’re around, we never talk.”

In that moment his look glittered into the hate-side of disgust. She’d served him divorce papers three times, stopping when her checking account bottomed out. She never paid any of her lawyers, and the last one lost the papers in the bank’s parking deck where the idle-talk crowd found them.

At the half hour, on the mark, Barry took the elevator to the main floor. His steps quickened through the red marble foyer with its malachite green columns and tall, ornate clock beneath the enormous oil painting of the Steamship Company’s first steam locomotive. The duplicate master keys seared his sweaty palm. He unlocked the steel-barred grill into the safety deposit vault, inserted both slender keys and turned them at the same time. He pulled out the long, flat box, raised the lid, pocketed the small velvet satchel from inside, replaced the box, removed the keys and made sure the grill locked behind him. His heart drubbed faster… anxious to get to Royce’s secret place and the vintage collection of Cabernets in the cellar beneath the street. He took the elevator to the fourth floor, then the parking garage connector and the fire stairs down to the street. He scuttled across McIntosh, turned down the narrow alley with its unused railroad siding, brushed beneath the tangle of overgrown Woodbine Creeper and slipped the new key into his new lock. Once inside, he made sure the door locked behind him. The stale, dank air closed in around him. He was safe. No one could find him there.

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About Author Hawk MacKinney:

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Internationally acclaimed author and public speaker, Hawk MacKinney began writing mysteries for his school newspapers. Following graduation, he served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history and has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel.

In addition to professional articles and texts on fetal and adult anatomy, Hawk has authored several novels that have received national and international recognition. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel, was nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award.

Known for his terrifying suspense and unique “Southron” dialog, Hawk has published five novels in the Moccasin Hollow Mysteries: Hidden Chamber of Death, Westobou Gold, Curse of the Ancients, Dead Gold, and Blood of the Dragonfly.

In a change of direction, Hawk has also published three books in The Cairns of Sainctuarie science fiction series: The Bleikovat Event, Volume I; The Missing Planets, Volume II; and The Inanna Phantom, Volume III.

His latest work is a series called the Moccasin Trace Mysteries. Dungeon of Horrors is the first book in the series, and the second book – Blood in the Shadows – is in development.

Website

Amazon

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Playtime Clothes organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Kim MacLean will award a randomly drawn winner a $15 Amazon or B&N gift card. Don’t forget to enter!

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

Playtime Clothes

by Kim MacLean

 

 

Genre: Children’s Book

Synopsis

The young boy’s room is an undeniable mess. Did he actually clean his room, as he is telling his mom? Or do his clothes come to life and play?! They are, after all, playtime clothes. Is he learning a lesson to tell the truth and be accountable, as we all do in life? Or is it a world of make believe? It is for you to enjoy while you decide.

Enjoy this peek inside:

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About Author Kim MacLean:

Kim MacLean was inspired to be creative while she and her little girls made their own fun inside their home on long, cold winter days. Her girls sat for hours painting and gluing crafts into works of art on paper. Oh, the rows and rows of finished masterpieces drying on the floor while Kim sat and wrote! And there were the hundreds of books that they read and enjoyed together that further inspired creativity and an adult love of children’s books!

Tia Bates is an artist, illustrator, and storyteller from London, Ontario. She is inspired by the beautiful illustrations she grew up looking at in children’s books just like Playtime Clothes, the first children’s book she has illustrated! Currently pursuing a master’s degree in fine art, Tia’s personal artwork is all about the stories we tell.

Purchase Links: Amazon / B&N / Book Depository

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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

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