Archive for the ‘giveaways’ Category

Overlord By AK Nevermore ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: March 1, 2025 in Dieselpunk, Excerpt, giveaways, Romance, Science Fiction
Tags: , , ,
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Power comes with a price.

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Overlord

The Price of Talent Book 4

by AK Nevermore

Genre: Spicy Dystopian SciFi Romance

 

 
 

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of
the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical
mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining
genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the
exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…

Chaos rules the city of Glynfyls.

And all Flynn Scot can do is watch. With the hill frozen in
the shadow of the coming Incursion, and the commons giving into a bacchanal
madness, the city’s chances of survival are dire. His hands tied by mandates,
in order to do what he knows is right and give them a fighting chance, Flynn
will have to risk everything by doing wrong.

Meanwhile, Kara can’t hide her declining health.

The Triam’s location remains elusive, and the window to get
the treatment she needs is closing. Unwilling to give in, or idly await her
fate, she hatches a daring plan to help save the city, even if it ends up
destroying her politically.

Because Titus’s army is marching closer to Glynfyls, and
they’re not alone.

With them comes a monster that threatens not only the city,
but the entire Breaker hierarchy. As the world watches on tenterhooks, Flynn
and Kara race against the clock to save their people, but there’s no guarantee
they can save themselves.

Amazon
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Flynn’s bedroom door slammed open and the lights flicked on.

“Get up.”

The hell? He blinked, lifting his aching head to glare at Rogan. Man looked even more beat to shit now that the bruising from their fight had set in. One side of his jaw was twice the size it should be, and he didn’t look any happier to be standing there than Flynn was to see him.

“Fuck off,” he growled, his arms tightening around Kara. She murmured in her sleep, a “V” pinching between her brows as she snuggled against his chest.

Rogan laughed. “Wish I could, kid, but Titus’s troops are crossing the border, the city’s burning down again, cattle are running riot through the streets—” He swiped up a pair of pants from the floor and chucked them at Flynn. “—and we’re on fire brigade.”

Goddamn it.

“Are you serious?” he hissed, catching them as he pushed up to sit.

Kara huffed and curled into a little ball, out cold despite the asshole’s bullshit. Flynn frowned, but wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t slept at all the night after succumbing, and he damned well knew the toll of unmaking the damage Otto had done to her bitch mother was more than Kara was letting on.

Rogan’s gaze dropped to her bared shoulder and slid down her back to the blankets pooling around her hips. His tongue flicked over his lip. “Think I’d be in here otherwise?”

Flynn growled, ripping a blanket up to cover her. If that motherfucker even thought about—goddamn it. Man had just handed Flynn his own ass in front of the entire Breaker line. If Rogan, the Alpha fucking Prime, wanted to challenge for her, he’d win, and they both knew it.

So did the thing growling in the recesses of Flynn’s psyche, its hackles raised. Wasn’t conducive to him being in a particularly cooperative mood.

He slung his legs over the side of the mattress, talent crackling around his fingers. Goddamn it. That didn’t help either. He snuffed the sparks in his fists and pulled on his pants. Fabric was still sticky with gore. What time was it? His eyes found the clock as he zipped up. A little after two in the morning. Didn’t this fucking city sleep? “When did Titus cross the border?”

“Vanguard’s a couple hundred miles in and moving fast,” Rogan said as he reached down to scritch behind Hiss’s ears. Stupid cat let him. “Stonefist called Quorum. I was on my way to wake your ass up for that when the fire broke out. Shit’s officially hit the fan.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Flynn grabbed a shirt and kicked into his boots, still glowering at Rogan. Asshole shot another look at Kara before he flashed that goddamned grin and backed from the room. Flynn killed the lights and just stopped himself from slamming the door shut. God, he hated that prick.

“What the hell are they rioting about now?” he asked, smacking the button for the lift.

Rogan shrugged and stepped in. “They’re throwing one hell of a party on the lower rungs, but this ain’t that, far as I can tell. Heard somebody say a cow kicked over a lantern, and it’s Chicago all over again.”

“Chicago?” Flynn asked, hitting the button for the main floor.

The Breaker rolled his eyes. “You know, big fire, O’Leary’s—never mind. All you need to worry about is it putting it out.” He pushed past him as the lift door opened and stalked toward the gate.

Flynn’s temper spiked and his talent sparked with it. “Me? How am I supposed to—” He stopped to scuff out a patch of smoldering carpet. Christ, that was getting old.

“Right there all the time, isn’t it?”

Flynn scowled. “Yeah. Weren’t you gonna do something about that?” Talent flared around his fingers again, and he swore.

Rogan sighed, glancing at the gate. “Right. How do you control your Shade ability?”

Was he an idiot? “Control my—I don’t. It’s not like—I gotta pull it to use it. They call it cloaking for a reason. It’s like gathering—whatever, it doesn’t matter. I asked about this Breaker shit.”

“Everything matters. Nothing’s important.”

“Did you just quote Nietzsche?”

Breaker cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just call me out for quoting Nietzsche?”

“Christ, you’re a dick.”

“You should talk. Look, in case you haven’t figured it out, Breaker talent isn’t static. It’s tied to your emotions, just like bloodlust. The fact that you’re as moody as a teenaged girl doesn’t help.”

Flynn glared at the man, his teeth gritting together at another flare of talent. “Then what do you suggest?”

“You know anything about physics?” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and Rogan sighed. “Look, I’m not any more thrilled about this arrangement than you are, so let’s do it and have done. Easiest way for me to explain it is to equate Breaker talent to Ohm’s law—”

“Ionic flow. Got it. Energy is dissipated as heat. Then what?”

Rogan’s brow raised. “Then you reach equilibrium by dissipating it, maintaining the state by breathing the potential out, and letting talent cycle through you,” the Breaker said. “You don’t let it build until you need it.”

“How the hell do I do that?”

Rogan made a come hither motion. “Watch and learn.”

They stepped through the gate and into hell. Flynn wiped his brow, his skin abruptly too tight. Smoke seared down his throat and hung thick in the air, stinging his eyes and occluding the morass of standing water and hard baked sludge coating the street. The haze softened the edges of the blaze as a line of Fixers fought to keep it in stasis, while every Fetch able to shift an oxygen molecule battled to snuff the flames. Their crimson blue flicker and the silver and bronze glow of talent warred, filling the streets with an unearthly glow. Within the thin shell of talent, booms shook the ground. A rain of smoldering debris peppered the street, and a fucking cow ran by.

Rogan held out a hand to him, and Flynn scowled. “Thanks, Gramps, but I promise I’m big enough not to get lost.”

“Asshole. I want you to feel how I channel the fire’s potential.”

“I gotta hold your hand to do it?”

“I can put my foot up your ass if you’d prefer.”

Flynn eyed the man’s outstretched hand. Something big exploded, accompanied by a whomp of flame

“Take your time. Not like there’s any reason to hurry.”

Flynn glared at him and slapped his palm across Rogan’s. The Breaker’s halos flared and talent welled, crackling between them. Instead of something blowing up, it was a steady draw. The raging flames shuddered in response, dying back, and the ground beneath them hummed with a weird vibration. What the hell?

“Feel that?”

“Yeah, what’re you doing?”

Whatever it was, wasn’t easy. Sweat poured from the Breaker, and it wasn’t from the ungodly temperature. His halos bathed everything within a fifty-foot radius a gruesome scarlet. “Acting as a ground,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Like it’s electricity?”

“Yeah. Same principle, and you keep shorting.” He snorted at Flynn’s scowl. “Instead of letting the energy flow to heat, I’m converting the fire’s potential and acting as a conduit, redirecting it out and away. Try reaching for it. If you can call it, you can snuff it, and I could use the help. There’s some kind of accelerant in there—” The ground shook with another series of explosions and hot concrete rained down around them.

Fuck that. Flynn threw up a shield. He pushed it out and away, reinforcing the Fixer’s line. They slumped against one another as he took up the burden, the power of the battering flames sending him back a step. Christ. Yeah, there sure as hell was some kind of accelerant in there. Shit was burning like it was jet fuel. He wiped a hand across his brow, dizzy with the heat.

“Wrong talent, asshole,” Rogan gritted out.

Flynn scowled at him, trying to focus. Reach for the fire…how the fuck was he supposed to…he eased his shield and the sense of it hit him square in the chest. Flynn grunted, stumbling back again.

“Yeah, no shit. Now let it flow through you and ground it out.”

Flynn took a shaky breath; the intensity of that potential Rogan had been talking about was crushing. How the fuck was he handling all that? Man should be a blackened smear—

“Anytime now, kid.” Rogan grimaced.

Shit. Flynn’s jaw tensed, trying to take a hold—he eased his shield again and the flames surged forward. He slammed it back up and the fire’s potential bypassed him, arcing from his grip. Christ, he couldn’t—

“Kara still make that little noise when she comes?”

Flynn’s shield disintegrated as the blaze’s potential flooded into him with his rage. It built, his hair standing on end. He was gonna kill—

“Ground it!”

—that motherfucker. Flynn bellowed, channeling the fire’s potential into the ground along with what Rogan was converting. The street buckled and the surrounding buildings listed. The two men fell to their knees, the inferno sucking down like someone had pulled its string, guttering.

Rogan collapsed to sit, swiping a hand over his brow. “Not bad—”

Flynn’s fist took him in the jaw, knocking him back. “Anything about that ever comes out of your mouth again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“No promises.” Asshole chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth as he sat up. “And don’t expect it to go any better than your last attempt…but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

God, he hated him. Flynn’s brows furrowed, taking in the smoking ruins. At the far end of the block, Markham spoke to a group of Fetches. He patted one of them on the shoulder, and they staggered off, too exhausted to shift away.

Flynn knew how they felt. His insides were hollow with what’d just gone through him. His glower deepened as his eyes flicked to Rogan. Shithead had baited him, again, and he’d played right into his hands, again. Goddamn his fucking temper. That thing inside him…it was too fucking close. Flynn frowned, staring at his palms, the memory of blood staining them. No. Not here. He was safe in the city.

“When you call it, where does the fire come from?” he asked, wiping this hands on his pants and trying to distract himself. “Doesn’t the potential need a catalyst?”

“Look at you all brainy when you’re not taking potshots,” Rogan muttered, rocking his mangled jaw. “That’s a little more complicated, and I’m spent. It’ll wait.”

Flynn’s brows bunched, glaring at the man who’d claimed to be his great-grandfather. Attitude was on point, but any physical resemblance…to him, to Lot. Complexion was all wrong, but maybe something around the eyes…

The man flashed his teeth. “Yes?”

Christ, that was it. That goddamned grin. Flynn looked away. Markham was headed in their direction, albeit at a snail’s pace. “You the one that figured out how it works? The whole electricity thing?”

“A Breaker’s talent? No. Not controlling it, at least. I was pretty hell-bent on everything but. When I was ready to listen, most of the hard work had been done.”

Flynn flicked a bit of rubble away. Asphalt had caved in around them like a giant fist’d smashed into the street. “Did you want it?”

Rogan’s face went stoney. “When the Surge blasted us back to the Dark Ages, people lost their shit, turned on each other. Nobody understood it. Thought the world was coming to an end, God was punishing us…first to espouse the Sons’ ideology were Talents. Turned into a goddamned cult of suicide bombers. You could hear them imploding. See them flare up at night, taking out everything around them until the Corporation showed up with their promise of a cure. So, no. None of us wanted it, but it’s what we got. Didn’t that asshole teach you anything?”

Flynn chewed his lip. “Cal wasn’t around all that much.” Not even when he was.

“What about Lot?”

A surge of temper sent talent flickering around Flynn’s fingers. “What about him?”

“Never mind.” Rogan swore under his breath. “You’re clamping down and getting all pent up again. Breathe it through you.”

Flynn let out a slow exhale. Damn, he wanted a cigar. Thinking about his father, his Shade talent coming in… Jesus, that’d been a miserable fucking experience, but at least the only person that’d gotten hurt had been him. Accident or not, he’d killed people when Kara had been abducted. Guilt tamped down his anger, self-loathing rising up to snuff what was left of it. He needed to get a handle on this before he lost his shit again and took out any more of the city. Another incident like that, and the Pinch would be prime real estate.

Rogan’s mouth screwed up like he wanted to ask something and knew he wasn’t gonna like the answer. Goddamn it.

“Look, the less Lot and I see of each other, the better,” Flynn said, beating him to it. “Ascending to head was supposed to be the end of it. Come up here, assume the fucking position, and spend the rest of my life voting on granite curbing.” Shit, that almost sounded good. He kicked away some debris, the warmth of the ruined pavement cozy in comparison to the arctic air battering down the radiant heat.

“Funny. You don’t strike me as a white picket fence, two kids and a dog kind of guy.”

A gust of wind sent a squall thick with ash at them. Flynn put a hand up, keeping it from his eyes and spat the grit from his mouth. He’d take the fence and kids in a heartbeat right about now. The dog could go fuck itself, but the rest of it sounded like a dream come true. “Kara would’ve been happy. Safe.”

Rogan cocked an eyebrow. “Would she?”

A defeated numbness stole over Flynn. Probably not on either count. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. Didn’t want the same things. Christ, what did she want? It pissed him off that figuring it out was taking a backseat to everything else, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to change that.

He grimaced as he met Rogan’s eye. “Probably not. I just—It feels like I’m being steamrolled towards something, and no matter what I—” Flynn flushed. What the hell had possessed him to drop that nugget? He mussed ash from his hair, the reality of his goddamned existence weighing him down. The remaining flickers of talent around his fingers drained away. Damn. This shit really was tied to his emotions.

“That’s it. Low and slow. Breathe it out. You get worked up, ground what pulses through you.” Rogan leaned back on his elbows. “The universe usually pushes you for a reason. Why fight it?”

“Because I don’t trust it.”

“No, you don’t trust yourself.” Flynn scowled, and the asshole’s grin was back. “You should. That was good work just now, but it would’ve been better if you’d get over that goddamned reluctance and stop second-guessing yourself. You’re Breaker, kid. Acting on instinct is what we do. Leave the overthinking to the Binders.”

Markham huffed over, and Rogan stood. Flynn rose with him. The only thing his instincts were screaming at him to do was to bury the prick.

Except he’d tried that and failed miserably. Motherfucker. “So, what’s next?”

“Combat nap. Phyllis’s already filed the paperwork to officially step down. Between assuming First, and everything else making up this shit show, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to drink breakfast if I wanna get through the rest of the day.” Rogan frowned, scratching his stubble. “Should probably shave.”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “No, I meant talent-wise.”

“Try to not blow anything up until the Source gets here. If there’s an after…” Rogan shrugged. “We’ll work on your control. Start with little shit. Light some candles, break frozen peas.” A smile ghosted over his lips, then he pushed past Flynn with a growl. “Get a handle on your equilibrium first.”

Man stalked to the gate and was gone. What the hell had that been about?

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**FREEBIE ALERT!**
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Get a free bonus novella, Conspirator at the back of the book!

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**Don’t miss the other books in the series!**

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Breaker

The Price of Talent Book 1

Amazon * B&N * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

Binder

The Price of Talent Book 2

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* B&N
* Books2Read * Bookbub
* Goodreads

Split 

The Price of Talent Book 3

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**FREEBIE ALERT!**

**Get the Prequel Breeder FREE!!**

https://aknevermore.com/books/breaker/breeder/

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AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases
coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not
reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to
become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen
and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a
chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare
occasion, sleeps.

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bluesky *
Bookbub
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* Goodreads

 

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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.

Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ The McCullough Pack Series By Nola Li Barr

Posted: March 1, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Paranormal or fantasy, Romance
Tags: , ,
25

 

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When love walks into a family war:

Headstrong siblings, fated mates, a grandmother’s love, and enemies thirsting for revenge.

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Saved by the Wolf

The McCullough Pack Book 1

by Nola Li Barr

Genre: Sweet Paranormal Romance

A Sweet Paranormal Romance Complete Series

Fate brought us together, but the scars of our pasts threaten to tear us
apart.

Jill

The moment I hear his voice, something inside me shifts. He seems to reach
right into my soul, and suddenly, all I want is to be near him, to feel safe in
his arms. But I’ve been down this road before. My last relationship left me
broken, bruised, and wary. And the way his friends hang on his every word? It’s
too familiar—too much like my past.

Still, there’s an undeniable connection between us. My heart whispers that he’s
different, that he’s the one I’ve been waiting for. But how can I trust it when
my head is screaming to run?

Luc

She’s shy, quiet . . . human. Not someone my wolf should be drawn to, but he
is. When I’m near her, my wolf is calm, content, and all he wants is to claim
her as mine. But I’ve sworn off love. I know too well the pain of a broken
heart, and I promised myself I wouldn’t go through that again.

Yet, no matter how much I try to push her away, my wolf won’t let me. She’s the
one, and every fiber of my being knows it.

Saved by the Wolf is the first book in the McCullough Pack series—a
heart-tugging, sweet paranormal romance with all the love, none of the spice,
and a guaranteed happily ever after.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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I took a deep breath and walked to the bar, content on hearing her heartbeat and knowing she was okay. I’d catch the next dance; no need to burst her bubble just yet.

By the time I came back, though, she was already dancing with another man, and she was absolutely glowing and having the time of her life. Then the first guy came back again, and she readily let him pull her against him and dance to the next song too.

My heart couldn’t take this. I was a fool to have come here. She was perfectly fine without me. Why in the world did I let my brothers get to me? They knew nothing about love or how much it hurt to be left behind, to be discarded like you had never meant anything to that person. I’d vowed I wouldn’t let a girl do that to me ever again. Yet here I was . . . .

I turned and left. She’d be just fine. No side-stop at an ice cream parlor tonight. No chance of looking into dark warm eyes and luscious lips that had the cutest pout when she was thinking. My wolf was clawing to get out, and I would let it. There was no need for me to be here anymore—no reason for me to have ever come!

I ran toward the woods and shifted, howling a lone tune as soon as I was deep into the trees.

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Loved by the Wolf

The McCullough Pack Book 2

*Originally
published under Nola Li Gordon. The whole series is now under Nola Li Barr.

He loves me . . . He loves me not . . .

Becca

I’ve loved
him for years and thought the feeling was mutual. But when I lean in to kiss
him on our first date, he recoils, claiming he only loves me like a sister.

He breaks my
heart that night.

Every bone in
my body is telling me to leave—to start a new life in a new place. A place
without him in it.

But I must be
a masochist because no matter what I tell myself, I cannot stay away from him .
. .

Brandon

She is my
mate. My wolf knows it.

Ever since
she kissed me, my wolf has been clawing at me to claim her. It is becoming
harder and harder to control myself.

Because I
can’t claim her.

My past
haunts me with reminders of my failures. She’s better off without me. The best
I can do is be her protector—if I can even do that . . . .

Set
against a backdrop of a tight-knit family, this friends-to-lovers story is
filled with all the love without the spice, and a guaranteed happily ever
after.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Adored by the Wolf

The McCullough Pack Book 3

A Sweet Paranormal Romance

*Originally published under Nola Li Gordon. The whole series is now under
Nola Li Barr.

All is fair in love and war.

Millie

I’m the responsible sister. The one my family relies on. It’s the reason I’m
standing in for my sister, instead of going on my well-deserved vacation.

My day brightens when he walks in. I try to act professional, but he stands
close, and his eyes never leave me.

When he leaves, I tell myself he’ll soon forget about me. But on a visit to my
friend, he’s there to greet me. This time, I’m the one who can’t look away.

I’m only enjoying his company. Nothing can go wrong.

Jacob

I’m the planner of my family, and with war coming to my pack, I must prepare
for it. But my wolf is restless, wanting what my elder brothers have—a mate.

When I see her, my wolf screams she’s the one, and I feel the urge to claim
her. I push him down and manage to leave, but thoughts of her continue to
bombard me every day.

A day later, my brother pays her a visit, and on his return, he starts acting .
. . odd. Once my partner in crime, now he’s looking at me as his enemy.

Suddenly, everything goes wrong.

Enter a world where the strength of a family lies not only with its pack but
also with their soulmates. A world filled with all the love without the spice,
and a guaranteed happily ever after.

 

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

 

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**Don’t miss the rest of the series!!**

Find them on Amazon!

Or get the box sets!

Get Set 1-3 or Set 4-6 and the NEW RELEASE on March 9th – Set 7-9

 

**FREEBIE ALERT!**

Subscribe to Nola’s newsletter and get the prequel FREE!

Sign up here!

Nola Li Barr writes sweet family saga romances. Both in
contemporary and paranormal/fairy tale settings. She loves to explore family
dynamics with her characters and see them fall in love, most of the time with
someone they’d never deem possible. In the hopes of sharing her stories with
her kids sooner than later, her romances are always sweet with a happily ever
after. When she’s not writing she can be found reading, baking, and navigating
the path of motherhood. Follow her on social media @nolalibarr or visit nolalibarr.com.

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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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.

Stone Guardian By Gayle Katz ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 28, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Paranormal or fantasy, Romance
Tags: , ,
0

 

 

Stone Guardian

by Gayle Katz

 

(Masonry, Magic, and Love, #1)
Publication date: March 4th 2022
Genres: Paranormal, Romance

No Steam! No Spice! Gargoyles are immovable statues of stone. Lifeless, the librarian thought, until one of them takes flight to save her from an untimely demise.

A kindhearted but lonely librarian. Nancy is drowning under the weight of an abusive boyfriend, failing grades, and looming unemployment. While at work, she confides her deepest, darkest secrets to the gargoyle perched near her desk. But she’s unprepared when the strange stone statue comes to life.

A gentle gargoyle born under a curse. Treyton can’t believe it. In the past century that he’s been guarding the beloved Victorian library he calls home, the lonesome man never had anyone notice him until now. And he’s enchanted by the beautiful woman yearning for true love under his watchful gaze. But the witch who gave him life wants him back. And she’s willing to kill anyone who stands in her way.

As his vile witch plots against them, will Nancy and Treyton be torn apart forever, or can they overcome the evil threatening their love — and their lives?

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The Complete Series:

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Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

Get the complete series HERE!

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

It was the screams that woke Nancy.

They were bloodcurdling, gut-wrenching howls filled with nothing but pain. It was unlike anything Nancy had ever heard before.

Gasping for breath, Nancy’s eyes flew open. She pitched forward and peered around her with bleary eyes, trying to figure out which of her neighbors must have been shrieking … but instead of her ceiling and her warm blankets, she found herself lying in a heap on the side of a dirt road.

Above her, gray clouds swirled through the frigid night. Snowflakes drifted down and clung to her lashes and her hair.

Why was she outside? The last thing she remembered was diving into bed after Diana left.

Panic filled her as she rolled clumsily onto her arms and knees, finding her legs twisted and tangled in endless yards of fabric. It was only when she managed to drag herself to her feet by gripping a lantern-lit street post that she realized she was no longer in her Wonder Woman pajamas. She was dressed in a long-sleeved frock that swirled around her ankles. She grabbed at the thick fabric, tugging and pulling at it, until she realized that she was wearing some sort of antiquated dress and a petticoat.

“I must be dreaming,” Nancy whimpered, but she was hardly able to hear herself over the screams still echoing around her.

Her chest heaving, Nancy stumbled down the dirt road. She had to find someone, anyone, to tell her where she was and what was going on. This place was unrecognizable to her. There were only ten houses on this small road, as well as a building Nancy assumed was some sort of general store. There was also something almost familiar about the budding town, though Nancy could not put her finger on what it was—especially when she realized that flames licked up toward the sky from most of the buildings. Heat emanated from them, battling with the wintry chill of the air.

Nancy froze. She could only stare as the townspeople ran around wildly and begged for help. Suddenly, men on horses charged through the village, some swinging swords and guns while others aimed flaming arrows at people and homes.

“The outsiders are attacking!” someone screamed before getting cut down before Nancy’s very eyes.

“No … no!” shrieked Nancy. “Wake up, please! I don’t want to be here anymore!”

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About Author Gayle Katz:

Daring Women. Dangerous Worlds.

Gayle is a fan of zombies, sci-fi fantasy romance, and psychological horror—though not necessarily in that order. She writes the kinds of books she wants to read but often can’t find. Hoping to scare you, make you swoon, and root for her characters, her love of kick-butt heroines and sassy snark shines through in her work.

Born and raised outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Gayle lives with her husband and they are currently working on their own happily ever after.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X

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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.

Mit Out Sound By Rick Lenz ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: February 27, 2025 in giveaways, reviews
Tags: ,
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Book Details:

  MIT OUT SOUND by Rick Lenz
Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 378 pages
Genre: Hollywood Tie-in Literary Fiction
Publisher:  Chromodroid Press
Release date:   February 2025
Content Rating: PG-13 +M. My book is rated PG-13 + M for swear words, one non-explicit sex scene, adultery and references to abuse and one on page murder.

Book Description:

​”It’s time to make a mess,” said Emily.

Would-be movie producer Emily Bennett didn’t believe the legend of a lost movie, starring James Dean and John Wayne. But when she meets two uncannily talented celebrity impersonators-Jimmy Riley and Tom “Duke” Manfredo, and stumbles upon the elusive film editor who stole the master negative of Showdown, it dispels her doubts, fills her with a courage she didn’t know she had, and she sets out to complete the movie.

But as Emily and her stars prepare for day one of shooting, they find themselves entangled in a complex love triangle with Oedipal undertones, mirroring their own past lives and off-screen dynamics. As doubts about their ruthless director, Solange Borugian, surface, Jimmy’s and Duke’s friendship is turned upside down, while Emily and her brother Ben, struggle with their own unresolved issues and are forced to confront their dying father.

On location in Arizona, amidst Apache holy grounds and the magic of day-for-night shooting, the lines between past and present blur and the flawed characters’ backstories intertwine into a tumultuous finale that exposes their hidden animosities, demons, and loves.

Buy the Book:
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add to Goodreads
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MY REVIEW

When I was a little girl, I’d sit on the floor in the living room, my against the chair my father sat in, the only light illuminating the room coming from the television. The only sound, the actor’s voices. No talking during a western movie. That was when my love for western movies began. And John Wayne. The Duke, loomed larger than life. His baritone drawl. His smile that looks like he knows something you don’t. And his trademark walk. I remembered thinking, I’m gonna marry that man. LOL

Mit Out Sound. Whispers of an unfinished movie starring John Wayne and James Dean. Emily, a woman who can’t seem to let it go. Determined to track down the supposed film and finish it. But how?

Emily meets two impersonators, dead ringers for a young James Dean and John Wayne. She gets her hands on the film. She begins to make the movie. From day one, nothing goes smoothly. Will the film get finished? Should it?

This book checked so many boxes for me. An intriguing mystery. A flawed protagonist. It’s character driven. And has such an original story line. As I read the book, I easily pictured it playing on the big screen. Such fun.

5 STARS

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Meet Author Rick Lenz:

When Rick Lenz retired as a stage and film actor (playing opposite Ingrid Bergman, John
Wayne, Lauren Bacall, Walter Matthau, Peter Sellers, etc.), his passion for drama refused to retire with him. Although he was an actor most of his life, he is also a seasoned writer.

His plays have been produced Off-Broadway, on PBS television, and in regional theatres across the country. Rick’s memoir North of Hollywood was called “masterful” by Writer’s
Digest. His first novel, The Alexandrite was named “one of the best books of the year” by Kirkus Reviews. Bret Easton Ellis called it “almost impossible to put down.” Booklife calls A Town Called Why, “An absorbing tale of mystery and revenge… nuanced … powerful.” Rick’s books have won several awards, including, Readers Views (first place), the Chanticleer Somerset Grand Prize for Literary, Contemporary and Mainstream Fiction, an IPPY Award, and a Foreword Book of the Year. Most recently, his time-travel love story Hello, Rest of My Life was a 2022 Silver Nautilus Book Award winner (fiction), and Eric Hoffer Award finalist (fiction).

He lives in Los Angeles with his wife Linda and an ever-shifting array of animals.

connect with the author:  website  ~  x/twitter  ~  facebook ~ instagram ~ goodreads ~ bookbub

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MIT OUT SOUND by Rick Lenz Book Tour Giveaway

 

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Peek Inside And Giveaway ~ Red Ultimatum By Ed Fuller And Gary Grossman

Posted: February 27, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, thriller
Tags: , ,
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Red Ultimatum

by Edwin D. Fuller, Gary Grossman

 

(The Red Hotel, #4)
Publication date: February 25th 2025
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A former U.S. President’s plane is brought down in the Atlantic. Revolutionary forces attack Cairo. The U.S. Secretary of State is kidnapped in Panama. A North Korean ballistic missile submarine tracks toward America’s West Coast. A sleeper cell spy awakens in the halls of Congress. A woman assassin takes aim on the Washington Mall. Behind it all is Russian President Nicolai Gorshkov who has mastered the ability to walk between the raindrops and not get wet. Until… China determines that Gorshkov’s policies are endangering its global initiatives… until Beijing issues Gorshkov a defiant ultimatum… until Dan Reilly, hotel executive/CIA freelancer, and friend of the Secretary of State, reads the moves on the international political chessboard and picks up the pieces. The non-stop action plays out on Air, Land, and Sea. Yet, with so many geo-political threads being tugged simultaneously, will the Russian leader succeed getting another step closer to rebuilding the old Soviet Empire in his image? (https://redhotelseries.com/)

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

ATHENS, GREECE

“I saw you die!”

“You saw me fall off the building.”

“Yes, and you died! I saw it happen. The explosion from below. The fireball that swept up. Your last look. I’ve relived that moment every day since. Oh my God, Marnie, I was there. I saw it all.”

“And I’m here with you, Dan.” “You’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am and we can be together again.”

She reached out to him. Dan Reilly stepped back and stared. She was wearing the same dress, green blouse, and leather jacket she had worn that day in Stockholm; the day Marnie Babbitt returned to his hotel room seemingly regretful; wishing things were different; wanting to make them so.

“You loved me, Dan,” the brunette said softly. “You can love me again. Tonight. Here in Athens.”

Dan Reilly stopped retreating. Yes, he thought. Here. Athens.

He looked at the surroundings. Nighttime traffic was flowing along Adrianou Street. Horns honked. Couples walked arm-in-arm. Tourists window-shopped. Everything was normal until the woman he had desperately loved, the woman who had betrayed him stepped out of the shadows in front of him and into the light of a street lamp.

Dan Reilly had just concluded a successful business meeting at Kuzina, one of Athens’ most celebrated restaurants that boasted a magnificent view of The Temple of Hephaestus, the Agora, and the Acropolis. He had come to discuss the final terms for his company’s acquisition of a luxury hotel property currently owned by a Greek billionaire. It would take lawyers months to solidify the terms, but atop the restaurant’s Tarazza, with the golden glow of the Acropolis backlighting them, Reilly and the seller toasted to their relationship with a final glass of Ouzo.

It had been a good night for the International President of Kensington Royal Hotel Corporation. As he had walked along the cobblestones on Adrianou, Marnie Babbitt was not on his mind, but suddenly she was there alive and vibrant as ever. Her beauty took his breath away. Her voice was as soft and lilting as the last whispers in his ear.

Or the last lies, he thought.

“No lies, Dan,” she said as if reading his mind. “This time it will be different.”

At first, Reilly had felt immobile. Then he was drawn to her.

She reached out to him and stroked his cheek. Her touch was as present as ever. The light gave her an almost ethereal glow. She looked longingly into his eyes and proved she was alive with a lingering, deep kiss. Then she said, “Is that the kiss of a dead woman?”

Her tongue, her scent, and her breath were just as he remembered.

Just as he missed. So was the quickening of his heartbeat.

He withdrew and looked into her brown eyes. They were so bright and inviting.

“You missed me. I know you did.” She smiled and took a step back into the shadows. “Come with, Dan.”

The sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the car horns and sirens, people talking, dogs barking, car doors slamming, and footsteps on the sidewalk. Everything around him blurred. There was just Marnie and him. He felt his desire for her grow. Then he thought of Yibing Cheng, the woman now in his life.

“But—”

“It’s all right my darling. I know that there’s someone else. But I’m back. You want me.”

More thoughts from his head. How did she know? “You want us to be together again.”

“Marnie, I saw…

“You saw what we wanted you to see.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again. She felt him. He responded. “Now I’m here. To be with you.”

He withdrew.

“Don’t you want that, Dan? Don’t you want me?” “Marnie…”

“Yes.”

“Marnie,” he said again. “Yes, my love.”

“But you’re—”

She suddenly laughed. Her brown eyes went black.

Maybe it was the Ouzo, but all he initially felt was a prick in his stomach. Then he looked down. There was the hand that he had loved caressing. But now it held the black handle of a Russian Kizlyar Spetsnaz Special Forces knife.

He brought his eyes up to hers. She smiled cruelly, waited a moment, and then twisted the 6.5-inch blade and sliced upwards.

Reilly tried to speak. He couldn’t. He felt his legs crumble, but Marnie Babbitt’s grip on the knife kept him on his feet. She twisted again.

“Why?” Reilly silently gurgled.

“Because this is the way it should have ended.”

Marnie’s words confused him. He grabbed her hand with his. Blood soaked them both.

Should have ended?

Reilly tried to pull out the knife, but she was stronger. Life began to leave him.

With a sickly sweet laugh, she repeated, “This is the way it should have ended. You, not me.”

Should…have…ended. The words were familiar. He’d heard them before. Many times before.

“No!” Reilly shouted in full-throated defiance. “This is not how it should end! And…you…are… dead!”

“What?”

“You’re dead,” he shouted. “You’re dead!” “No, Dan. No! It’s all right.”

He was shaking violently. “Dan!”

Dan Reilly bolted upright. He automatically grabbed his stomach. It was wet, but from sweat, not blood. And the woman whose concerned voice was cutting through his dream belonged to Yibing Cheng.

“Dan, Dan, it’s okay. You’re here with me. Yibing.”

Reilly slowly collected his thoughts. Yibing turned on a night light and faced the man she’d been seeing for just a few months. They were in Athens, but he was not on the street bleeding. But he had had nights like this—in Paris, Washington, and where Reilly and Yibing had first met, Beijing.

“Your dream again?” she asked. He gathered his thoughts.

“Yes, except this time it was here. Outside our restaurant last night.

The street—”

“I’m so sorry,” Yibing said pulling him close to her naked body.

What did she do?”

“At least she didn’t throw me into a woodchipper this time,” Reilly replied lightly. “No plastic bag over my head. No fall from a cliff.” He rubbed his gut. “But she was pretty good with a knife, even for a dream.”

Reilly knew what was going on. Shrinks might call it PTSD. He saw it more as a combination of guilt over the fact that he failed to recognize Marnie Babbitt was a Russian plant and guilt that he couldn’t save her the moment he realized she wanted out. It was all manifesting itself in very vivid revenge dreams. But it was not paranoia.

There was more that wasn’t in his dream world. Dan Reilly had seen drones out his window after he and Yibing had returned from Beijing. He’d spotted people following them. And they were not his people. Not Yibing’s either.

For now, he viewed the tails and eavesdropping as intimidation. Russian or possibly Chinese. But it could get worse. It likely would get worse and not because he was an international hotel executive. It was his moonlighting. Dan Reilly had deep ties with officers at the CIA and even deeper ties with the United States Secretary of State.

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Author Bio:

ED FULLER is CEO of Laguna Strategic Advisors, a global consortium providing business consulting services worldwide. He has served on business and charitable boards during his 40-year career with Marriott International where he was chief marketing officer followed by 22 years as president and managing director of Marriott International. Under his management, the international division grew from 16 to 550 hotels in 73 countries with 80,000 associates and sales of $8 billion. Upon retirement, Fuller has served on five university boards and taught as adjunct professor for MBA and undergraduate students. He blogged for Forbes and other tourism and lodging industry media. His book, You Can’t Lead with Your Feet on the Desk, has been printed in English, Japanese and Chinese. Fuller served as captain in the U.S. Army, stationed in Germany and Vietnam and received the Bronze Star and the Army Commendation medals. He and Gary Grossman are co-authors of the Red Hotel series, including the 2018 thriller Red Hotel and the 2021 release, Red Deception, soon to be followed by Red Chaos.

Gary Grossman is author of the bestselling political thrillers EXECUTIVE ACTIONS,EXECUTIVE TREASON, EXECUTIVE COMMAND, and EXECUTIVE FORCE; a geological thriller that spans 4 billions years, OLD EARTH; and with co-author Ed Fuller, RED HOTEL, RED CHAOS, and RED DECEPTION. Grossman has also written two acclaimed non-fiction books covering pop culture and television history: SUPERMAN: SERIAL TO CEREAL and SATURDAY MORNING TV.

He is an Emmy Award-winning network television producer, a print and television journalist, a novelist and a film and TV historian. His career has included stints producing for NBC News, CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, PBS and 40 cable networks.

Grossman has produced more than 10,000 series episodes and specials through his TV production company Weller/Grossman Productions, and earned numerous awards including the prestigious Governor’s Emmy Award for a USA Network production and an Emmy for Best Informational series with the production of “Wolfgang Puck” for Food Network. Their documentary “Beyond the Da Vinci Code” (History Channel) earned two national Emmy nominations. In all, Grossman has received 14 Emmy nominations.

Grossman earned a Bachelors Degree in Communications from Emerson College in Boston and a Master’s Degree in Urban Affairs from Boston University.

He began his broadcasting career as a rock disc jockey at WHUC, in Hudson, New York. He worked at Boston television station, WBZ; joined The Boston Globe as a special contributor, and then became the television critic and media columnist at The Boston Herald American. His freelance articles have appeared in The New York Times and numerous magazines. He taught journalism and media at Emerson College, Boston University, USC and now Loyola Marymount University’s Graduate School of Film and Television.

Grossman helped formulate, program and launch television cable networks including HGTV, National Geographic Channel, and The Africa Channel.

Grossman has served on the Emerson College Board of Trustees where he chaired the Academic Affairs Committee. He is also a member of the Boston University Metropolitan College Advisory Board. For four years he was chair of the Government Affairs Committee for the Caucus for Television Producers, Directors & Writers, a Hollywood-based media activist group. He is member of The International Thriller Writers Association.

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The Art Of Online Dating By Fleur Lamot ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 26, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways
Tags: ,
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Welcome to my stop on thye  virtual book tour for The Art Of Online Dating organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Fleur Lamot will be awarding 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.

The Art Of Online Dating

By Fleur Lamot

 

 

Genre: Non-fiction

Synopsis

A step-by-step guide to navigating dating and finding love on the World Wide Web, written by someone with firsthand experience on the topic, and who has also tested the theory on a number of case studies and through research. Authored from a female perspective, directed to a female audience, although potentially an eye opening and helpful read for a male reader too.

This book is not about making you a better person, nor is it a self help book. It is about changing your mindset when embarking on singledom and internet dating to not fear it, by equipping you with the understanding of people’s actions and motives.

Throughout the book you will be guided in setting up your online profile, picking your match, the all important art and the do’s and don’ts through every step of courting someone, all the way to going forward with your ultimate love match!

Reading this book will bring you confidence and or at least clarity. It will make you think about your past experiences and open your eyes to see where they may have gone wrong, and more importantly to ensure the same mistakes don’t happen to you on future experiences.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Long gone are the days of meeting a potential partner in a bar or at a music festival or at parties. You might be lucky enough to do so, but as time goes on and you get older, or as you and your potentials rely more on technology to meet someone, or as you lose the skills to do so by becoming accustomed to technology, the chances are getting thinner. There will be fewer parties with fewer single people, or there will be more awkward interactions at these parties, or your friends will grow old and become tired of attending music festivals and going to bars. Also, let’s face it: as we get older, the music at venues become too loud and we simply just want to have a good conversation, good food, and good wine which brings on more occasions like dinner events and dinner parties. These are the least likely type of events to meet someone, unless you are lucky enough to be set up by a mutual friend.

So, you might find yourself single and at a loss. Maybe it simply might be that all your friends are in relationships and you have no one to go out with. This is where online dating comes into play. Online dating has such a bad stigma, but if you look at it at another way, whilst your friends are becoming old and boring or are in relationships and/or just don’t want to go out anymore for whatever reason, you have an infinite number of potential new people to meet and play with who are in the exact same boat as you.

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About Author Fleur Lamot:

I successfully found love online using historical principles, understanding people’s motives and actions, listening to the right people, as well as trusting my own instincts. I am now married and a mother. I am a business woman with a very successful business, built from extensive networking and relationship management experience. I have received professional mentoring and coaching, which has helped me achieve all of this.

INSTAGRAM / AMAZON

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Bound By Charley Black ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 26, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Paranormal or fantasy, Romance
Tags: , , ,
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Blood binds them.

Danger surrounds them.

Love could destroy them.

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Bound 

The Elite Series Book 1

by Charley Black

Genre: Dystopian Vampire Paranormal Romance

Bound by blood, Marked by
rebellion, Destined for a love that could save or destroy
them.

A forbidden
bond. A crumbling city. A choice that could change everything.

Serenity

Becoming an Elite—a blood donor for the Vampyr—was never part of the plan. But
with my family’s lives on the line, I had no choice but to step out of hiding
and into a world I barely understand. My rare blood has made me a target, and
now, I’m bound to Kane—the ruthless, untouchable head of the Vampyr Council.

The rebels want to use me. My family depends on me. And Kane… he’s the only one
who can keep me alive—but trusting him? That might be the most dangerous gamble
of all.

Kane

I never wanted an Elite. I certainly didn’t need one—especially not Serenity.
She’s everything I’ve avoided: human, stubborn, and a complication I can’t
afford. But from the moment I met her, she turned my world upside down.

Her blood sustains me, but it’s her spirit that leaves me hungry for more. As
rebellion threatens to tear the city apart, my focus should be on holding
everything together—not on the one woman who’s become my greatest weakness.

She’s more than just a distraction. She’s a risk. One I shouldn’t take.

But I can’t let her go. And if I’m not careful, she might destroy me—or save us
all.

In a world
where blood is currency and love is forbidden, Bound is a
spellbinding tale of passion, betrayal, and a bond that could shatter a city—or
bring it to its knees.

Fans of
dstopyian fantasy, forbidden romance, and slow-burn tension will devour Bound,
the first book in The Elite Series.

Amazon
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* Google
* Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub
* Goodreads

 

 

 

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CHAPTER ONE

 

Serenity

The Elite Program.

 

Every person, regardless of age or hatred for their kind, yearned to be selected. Deep down, they craved the privileges of being an Elite—the ones who willingly offered themselves to the vampyrs. But not her.

Serenity had no such desires; she refused to be a meal for anyone, no matter how tempting the rewards seemed. Yet, her personal feelings were irrelevant now. This program was her last hope, and if it didn’t work, she dreaded turning to Jax for help—something she desperately wanted to avoid.

Looking up at the clock, its hands slowly ticked as she waited for the nurse to arrive and begin the process that would, hopefully, improve her and her family’s lives.

Sighing deeply to calm her rising nerves, Serenity’s eyes wandered around the office, taking in the sterile and impersonal atmosphere. Four white walls encased a stark, bare office containing only the essentials: a simple desk, a utilitarian chair, a computer, a printer, and a cold, metal filing cabinet. There were no pictures or decorations. It was as if they intentionally designed it to be unwelcoming, discouraging any sense of comfort or happiness.

Honestly, it didn’t make any sense. One would think they would try to create a more inviting space to welcome potential Elites. The environment’s lack of warmth and care showed her what she was truly signing up for and how she’d be treated as soon as her application was approved.

And they would approve it. She did not doubt that.

Serenity had the type of blood that the vampyr wanted… and craved. At least, that was what her father told her. Only those with the rarest of blood types were selected as Elites.

Anyone whose blood type was A or B was automatically entered into the system as a donor, regardless of whether they were positive or negative. O positives were rarely chosen, and O negatives had better chances only if specifically requested. AB positives, the rarest of the rare type, were treated like gold and were consistently selected as Elites, typically matched with the wealthiest of the vampyrs. This made Serenity think despite their claims, money still talked within their society. AB negatives were a myth, according to the locals. Still, they were believed to represent a divine gift in vampiric lore, ‘ambrosia,’ so treasured that only the upper echelons in vampyr society knew of their existence.

As an AB negative, her blood was revered as the most delectable drink. She almost felt violated knowing that such an intimate part of her was seen as a commodity, something to be consumed with primal delight. It wasn’t just about her, though.

The Elite program was supposed to bring balance and peace between the two races, a part of the treaty the humans and vampyrs signed before she was born. But it seemed the vampyrs ruled their lives, despite humans sitting on the city’s governing Council. All the rules seemed to cater to the vampyrs survival, not humanity’s. It was infuriating.

When the office door opened, Serenity turned in her chair to see a petite woman in black scrubs walking through. The woman had caramel-colored skin and dark eyes. A laminated card clipped to her shirt read “Shelia” in bold capital letters.

“Can I have your name, please?” the nurse asked, sitting on the other side of the desk and placing a clipboard with an application next to the computer.

Such a simple question, but for Serenity, it was surrendering to the inevitable. Call it an innate feeling, but she had always known she would end up here signing up to be an Elite.

She couldn’t explain how, but a small part of her, deep inside, suspected it had to do with the rarity of her blood type. As if it had always known this would be her fate. But it was only a feeling and possibly the wariness of her situation.

Either way, she was here now. Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly spoke her name aloud. “Serenity.”

The words felt like a prison sentence once they left her mouth. Every inch of her screamed for her to get up and run away. They only had her first name. There was still the possibility of escape. She could get on the bus and go back home, where it was safe.

But she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to save her family. This was her choice, her sacrifice.

Her mother couldn’t become an Elite because of her sickness, and her sister was too young and sick, so it had to be her. They needed medicine, and this was the only way they could afford it.

Shelia’s kind smile and soothing voice washed over her, easing the tension in her shoulders. “What is your full name, honey? You don’t have to be nervous. You may not even get approved. This is just the application stage,” she assured her.

She was right; this was just the application process. She hadn’t even given a blood sample yet.

If Serenity was being honest with herself, she couldn’t deny the fear that gripped her. The thought of encountering a vampyr had always terrified her. She had hoped never to face one, but now, everything was about to change. She was preparing to leave behind everything she knew.

But she pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. She needed to focus on getting through this, or else her instincts would take over, and she would flee. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she forced the words out. “Serenity R. Wright.”

Shelia punched her name into the machine, attempting to assess her medical history. Her father had burned and erased every document that could identify her blood type a long time ago, insisting it was to keep her safe from them.

As Shelia stared intently at the screen, Serenity knew she was seeing the bare minimum of information. Her father had been thorough in keeping her out of the system. She had been homeschooled, never left the human districts, and always kept a low profile.

The scent of her mother’s homemade herbal concoction lingered on every piece of clothing she wore. The blend of lemon tea tree oil, activated charcoal, rosemary, and vanilla was meant to hide her natural scent.

Since she was young, she’d relied on it to cover up her unique scent. Her mother would create soap and shampoo for her to use and a specialized spray for when she ventured out into public. She always carried a small bottle of vinegar with her, a precaution in case she encountered any vampyrs.

She also wore a light brown cloak whenever she went out. But her mother believed her father’s true intentions were to hide her curly hair and honey-brown eyes, fearing they would attract unwanted attention. She never left without her cloak whenever she traveled, especially outside their district.

Except for today. She felt vulnerable without it but wouldn’t need it after this.

Shelia glanced up from the computer with curiosity evident in her eyes. “The only record we have of you in the system is your birth date. Have you never had a physical?”

It didn’t surprise Serenity that the woman was curious. If she were in her shoes, she would feel the same way. Her answer was simple: “My father was a doctor. He handled all my physicals and medical records.”

The memory of her father hung heavy in the air. He had been training her to be a nurse to help her mother and sister with their medical needs. But his life was cut short by a sudden heart attack during one of his routine trips into the city for more medicine.

With his absence, Serenity felt a part of herself missing; however, her family relied on her strength.

“He didn’t update your records.” Shelia glanced back at the screen and  asked, “What was his name?”

“Dr. Richard J. Wright.” She wouldn’t find him in the system. He never officially returned to practicing as a doctor after the war. He only worked as an informal doctor for their neighbors and friends.

The nurse’s brows scrunched in concentration as she surveyed her computer screen. “I can’t find him in the system, and your records have not been updated. We’ll need to do a physical today and draw blood to get your blood type for your application. Let me see if we can squeeze you in with Dr. Bradford.”

Serenity anticipated this; she had mentally prepared for this precise moment. But even with all her preparation, she couldn’t shake the waves of anxiety that threatened to engulf her. Soon, they would know her secret, and she would be in danger. But her family would be saved, reaping the benefits of her becoming an Elite.

She despised the crushing weight of her family’s future on her shoulders; the pressure was almost suffocating. Her palms were slick with sweat, and her chest tightened as she struggled to hold back a sob.

Needing to gather herself, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, seeking respite from the tension. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, and she was torn between the responsibility she bore and the fear of what lay ahead.

It was a delicate balancing act; her determination to be strong for her family clashing with the nagging doubt and uncertainty gnawing at her resolve. She knew she had to be here, but that didn’t make it any easier. The emotional turmoil within her was like a storm raging beneath a calm exterior.

With a quiet yet determined resolve, Serenity opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and braced herself for whatever lay beyond those cold, impersonal walls. She couldn’t let anxiety derail her; her family depended on her strength.

“Don’t worry, honey.” The sympathy in Shelia’s eyes didn’t help her worry. “The physical exam is painless, and the blood drawing is quick and painless.”

But it wasn’t the exam that made Serenity anxious. She was uncertain what would happen once her application was submitted, and there was no turning back.

Shelia typed a few more notes on her computer.

“Alright. I was able to squeeze you with Dr. Bradford. She is wonderful. This way.”

Shelia stood, grabbing a piece of paper from the printer before moving towards the door. Serenity stood to follow when suddenly Shelia stopped and turned back to her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shelia asked with a seriousness that almost made Serenity want to run. “Once we walk out the door, there is no turning back. Your name will be filed into the system forever.”

Even if she wasn’t approved by some chance of fate, her name would still be recorded in their databases, making her a potential target in a future blood drought—which meant that if they ever ran out of human recruits, they could call upon her. It was one of the risks she took by even walking into the clinic, but it was her only choice.

“I understand your concern, and thank you for it, but I have to do this.”

Shelia nodded slightly and opened the door. Her eyes, wide with uncertainty, met Serenity’s briefly before she led them into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Serenity was happy to know that at least one of the nurses here cared about the humans who signed up and ensured this was their choice. This gave her some hope that this whole process wouldn’t be as dreadful as she thought.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and followed Shelia into the hallway, heart pounding as she contemplated what lay ahead.

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Charley Black is
an up-and-coming writer and author who has been creating stories since she was
twelve years old. Her early short stories dabbled in different genres, but her
passion for romance novels — paranormal romance in particular — always shone through.
Charley currently resides in Rhode Island, with her family and works at a local
university.

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon
* Goodreads

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

$30 Amazon giftcard (WW).

Signed Copy of Bound (US only).

1 winner each.

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Fairies Don’t Forgive By TF Burke ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 26, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, YA Fantasy
Tags: , ,
9

 

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 When truths uncovered cannot be forgotten. Or forgiven.

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Faeries Don’t Forgive

Heart of the Worlds Book 2

by TF Burke

Genre: YA Epic Fantasy

 

Returning to Nonderu,
the underworld court, to rescue her dad should have been simple after the
malevolent soul-sucking Boggleman fell to his presumable demise. They just need
to find a way in. And get past the Mockmen trolls.

Instead, Aunia is attacked by a fanatical soldier cult that seeks to kill or
capture her. Plus, her unmanageable magic notifies deadly wererats of her
location. It also hurls her into an evil sorceress’ study. If all this wasn’t
enough, she’s fighting a different battle with Mathias, her pegasus-riding
love. His insistence to keep her hidden is more infuriating than any of their
enemies. It leaves her determined to kick anyone who says first love is easy.

Worst of all are the truths she’s uncovering. Truths that can’t be forgotten.
Or forgiven.

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Chapter Seventeen

Clurichauns

What makes a man something worth admiring and when will you doubt his worth? — Queen Didianne, in the reign of the mad queen

A buzzing brushed Aunia’s skin like a hive of bees as she lurched in a mad attempt to keep her footing. The smell of woods, perfumes, and herbs had disappeared and in its place was the stench of waste, unfamiliar food, and burning metal.

A village-full of voices swirled within the buzzing . . . one pulled at her plaintively, though she couldn’t make out the words. Dust skated over Aunia’s feet as she appeared in a long boxed-in area surrounded by bulging timber buildings covered in faded paint and smeared pitch. And pressed within this area were more people than she had seen in her entire life.

“I said let the child go,” a gruff voice said from behind her.

Aunia swiveled.

An older man with a broken-nose, well-muscled and tall, like Oskan from her village, stood in front of two men in red cloaks.

“We don’t take orders from you, Mason,” the shorter of the two red-cloaked men said. He yanked a small boy towards him by the arm and the child’s sandy-haired head bounced off his chest.

“He’s hungry is all,” the broken-nose man said. “I’ll pay for him.”

“Bugger off,” the red cloak said.

Aunia stepped forward. “You can’t let a child go hungry.”

Several of the people glared at her.

“Shut your mouth, rover,” said a pillar-built woman with a messy bun, brown hair streaked in gray. She stood in front of a building with large windows and a swinging sign, which read ‘Forged Tankard.’ “Ain’t no food he stole.”

“Brana,” the broken-nosed man growled.

The woman rolled her eyes and pushed past him, holding up a small ring with two finger-length keys. “Missing these?”

The larger of the two red-cloaked men reached under his cloak patted his side, and his face turned red. “It’s the stocks for ye, boy.”

The boy dropped to the cobblestones and the shorter, red-cloaked man yanked him back one-handed. Held his other hand high to strike.

“Stop it,” Aunia yelled.

The larger of the red-cloaked men turned in her direction.

“Not the stocks.” A bearded man in a long-sleeved patchwork tunic, white powder streaks along his sleeves, stepped forward. “You’ve the boy’s mother in custody already. She was an unbraceleted faeblood. He’d be the same. You know it. It’s prison he should go.”

Faces pressed against the glass windows of the Forged Tankard’s tavern. Some folk stepped forward. Others melted back, including the broken-nosed man.

Aunia shook. Taya was indeed right of cities being dangerous. If this was how they treated small children . . . but what could she do? She was only one in a crowd.

“Stop,” she slid back, beseeching the broken-nose man. “You have to help. He’s just a boy.”

But the man slid into a narrow alleyway between the tavern and another building, and past a pig rooting in a pile of broken barrels, jugs, food scraps, and rags.

“She ain’t my mom,” the child screamed. “Not my real one. She picked me out of the garbage. I was just a slave to her.”

The taller, red-cloaked man yanked the child’s sleeve up. “Unbraceleted. You. Run to the Yanna’s forge. Grab a cuff. Now.”

“Don’t be thinking of calling on any magic,” the shorter, red-cloaked man said, bending to sneer those words in the child’s face.

“I’m . . . not a faeblood.” The child stopped his struggling and with his wrist in the guard’s grip, pointed in Aunia’s direction. “That’s the one you want. A real faeblood. Didn’t you see? She just skipped out of nowhere.”

The larger man straightened. “You. Rover.”

Aunia backed away, nearly colliding with a press of people guarding her back. Rover? But of course, she was wearing their garb. And by their expression and harsh tone, they did not like rovers.

“Don’t think you’re going anywhere,” one woman in a dark gray gown said.

Faeblood . . . this is how the people saw Reina. “I’ve . . . I’m looking for flyers,” Aunia said. “I flew with them over the Grashbear. Mathias. Keston. Fallo. You’ve had to have seen them. This is Dalin, isn’t it?”

The scowls of the people deepened. They shuffled closer. People in front of her and behind her, but the alleyway . . . could she flee with that pig in the way? Pig. She blinked. It had a quilted cloth saddle fastened around its girth with knotted cloth straps. And stitched cloth saddlebags hanging along the pig’s side. Who would be riding a pig?

[for a 700+ word excerpt use the verbiage above OR include the rest of the chapter for just under 1500 words]

“Look alive,” a raspy voice sounded.

Aunia squinted. Amongst the broken wooden boxes and broken jars, two little men, shin-high, drank from a clay jar over half the size they were. Clurichauns with their rosy, weathered faces. They were solitary beings generally. The last time she saw one was in Gaitha’s basement lapping up a bit of spilled apple brandy.

Someone, the taller red-cloak, grabbed Aunia’s upper arm and a raw thrill, like a sharp nail, rose through her throat. “Leave me be.”

She yanked. He held her firm, his fingers pressing into her flesh like a vise.

The adrenaline spike landed against the pit of her stomach like a stone. Mygul. She sucked in a breath, squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to coax a pinching sensation in her temples. Nothing. Her mouth turned to dry paper. Did she even have her glowing blue globefire anymore? She hadn’t seen it since the Boggleman’s veil tendril lodged itself in her gut when she stood on Hebsolum’s palm. Did that mean Hebsolum had it? Hebsolum, the thief who took her mother’s amulet. The only good thing he had done was to help her cage the roiling blue storm cloud made of Edvaras’ magic . . . but her bit of magic . . . the one that caused mischief, made her an outcast, kept her safe. He must have taken it, too.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Prison. Was that where they were sending her? How would Mathias even find her? A soft mew escaped her and Aunia shook her head. She couldn’t show weakness. And there were clurichauns. Faeries often would help her. Would these?

She turned her head to the alleyway where the clurichauns swilled leftover booze from broken crockery. “Help me.”

One of the clurichauns looked her way, bright eyes going wide. “She sees us.” His voice, gravelly and sing-song, sounded over the clamor of human voices.

“She don’t.” The blonder of the two clapped the auburn one’s shoulder. “She do. Drat it. On our way, Sharpish.” He pointed to the pig.

“She be the one Mara made mention.”

“We can’t be making the Boggles mad now, can we, you know,” the blonde one said. “We go.”

The Boggles? Did he mean the Boggleman? Aunia struggled against her restraint. “I want to, too.”

“Want to what?” the red-cloaked man sneered.

“Want you to let go,” Aunia said between her teeth. “You’re hurting me.”

The man tightened his grip. “I’m barely holding you.”

Aunia struggled toward the alleyway. Saying please would cause possible faery aid to disappear but what poem could she utter? Aunia groaned. “Help me now it’s good folk fashion. Aid to for those who seek compassion.”

“You call that a poem,” the blonde clurichaun said. He shook his head then made a running jump onto the pig’s back. His green pants contrasted with the wine-stained saddle. “Come on, brother.”

“Brandy. I’ll bring you brandy,” Aunia yelled.

“No one bribes the guard.” The stinging heat from his slap rang into her cheekbones. “Where’s that Davis? Cuff her good and she can blubber whatever nonsense with the other lobheads.

“Don’t know,” the shorter of the red-cloaked men said. He still clutched the boy’s arm. “But that face is sweet even with your handprint.”

“Ah, that’s done it,” Sharply said. “Dismount, Gargle. Now.”

Gargle patted the saddle. “There’s another tavern were—”

“Certain things don’t get done. Now off brother, lest you go for a ride.”

The two clurichauns glared at each other while some of the townsfolk shuffled aside and a thin man with iron cuffs jogged forward.

Gargle dismounted. “It’s on you if this is a bad decision.”

“I’m always the one you blame.” Sharply scooped up the neck of a broken bottle, drew his arm back and made a mighty throw at the pig’s backside. It hit with a thunk and the pig gave a squeal. People standing at the mouth of the alleyway fell back as the pig pelted straight for Aunia and the red-cloaked man.

“Doxy-churl,” the guardsmen swore. He staggered back, pulling Aunia with him out of the way but Aunia yanked with everything she had in the other direction. The man’s fingers slid over her upper arm painfully. There was the sharp rip of fabric. And then she was free.

Aunia ran.

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Faeries Don’t Lie

Heart of the Worlds Book 1

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Can Two Worlds Survive an Augury?

Releasing a Chandarion’s god-like magic into the world isn’t what
sixteen-year-old Aunia, the village’s outcast, intends. She only wants to
impress Mathias, a visiting seventeen-year-old pegasus flyer, who fiercely
believes the choice—either Faery or Mortal world surviving—has come.

Her action calls forth the Boggleman, a soul-sucking ghoul, who abducts her
dad, eats her faery friends, and sets Dagel demons on her isolated village. And
worse.

The worlds of Ahnu-Endynia are full of faeries, pegasi flyers, myths, secrets,
and themes of belonging, despite being misunderstood. And if you don’t watch
carefully . . . You might be pulled into the Betwixt. . . the space between the
worlds.

**On Sale
for Only .99cents!**

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.
.

Explaining true love to a garden faery wasn’t easy. Aunia tapped her pitchfork against the stone-slabbed floor and wrinkled her nose against the golden dust while her faery friend, Jennium, landed between a nanny goat’s ears. The escaped animal froze in place in front of the long wooden goat pens while the faery sat cross-legged on her furry perch, folding her iridescent wings, purples, blues, and yellows.

Another of Jennium’s mind-pictures arose in Aunia’s head. This one was of the villagers, old and young, dancing arm-in-arm in twisting steps around a bonfire—fiery sparks rising to the stars.

“That’s the party afterwards. True love is how you feel. How your heart would give away every constellation to see your beloved smile.” Aunia flipped her blond braid over her shoulder and wished she could disappear into the slithering crack along the stable’s high-vaulted ceiling—or, better yet, fly away to the faery world . . .if that doorway wasn’t watched. “But like I said, there’s no one here for me.”

Unlike the two lovers exchanging mating beads this night, she would stand in the shadows as an outcast, too different to be accepted. At sixteen years of age, she needed to accept this would be her life. She scooped another pitchfork of dirty hay onto the dung heap.

Jennium propelled another image—Aunia’s father standing, back turned and shoulders slumped, at his favorite fishpond. The faery tipped her raven-haired head as if to ask, “And where’s your father’s true love?”

Aunia’s hands slid on the pitchfork. She couldn’t answer that. Her father refused to talk about her. But it was obvious he clung to her memory—whoever she was. And he had to have loved her real mom desperately. Why else would he have treated Nehla like a sister. A sister he couldn’t save from being skewered by a wild boar. An accident. An awful, terrible accident.

Stomping, Aunia passed the long pen of bleating goats and turned up the middle junction of horse stalls to the quadruple-sized hay-less stall that had been Nehla’s pottery work area. She frowned at the grain buckets lining the shoulder-high wall where clay boards used to stand. She padded to Nehla’s pottery wheel, draped with a green and yellow blanket, and pressed her knuckles against the scratchy wool. Three years later and it still hurt.

With a light jingle, Jennium landed on Aunia’s head and projected another image—a woman’s silhouette, but not Nehla.

Aunia pulled her hand away from the pottery wheel. For a moment, she made out the curve of the woman’s left cheek, so like her own. Then, the silhouette was gone.

“I don’t remember my mother,” Aunia said. “But she probably had faery sight like me. Maybe she could even see people’s glows.”

A whiny buzz brushed against Aunia’s hair and a shiny green bug dove behind the stall’s black walnut wood.

Jennium launched up, and Aunia winced at the tug, reaching to free the faery’s tiny feet from her braid. Jennium yanked through, chittering, and landed on an empty pottery shelf—one that rested on iron spikes nailed into the wall. Those spikes had been made from Nehla’s sacrificed pot hooks to keep faeries from breaking freshly made bowls.

“How are you—”

A screech from the stable’s front door sent Aunia crouching behind the pottery wheel.

“The bottle in the back ought to muffle the evening proper,” said Sigmus with his deep wheezy voice.

Aunia tensed. Her father’s closest friend would still be livid about the faeries shoving tadpoles in his boots from yesterday’s yesterday. But it had been his own fault. He had insulted the water fae.

Aunia tiptoed forward and peeked over the stall’s wall. These two were supposed to be stacking wood for the cooking fires. Her father’s head and shoulders, glowing with his usual brick-red aura, seem to float above the horse pen-wall—or did until he dodged a buzzing insect.

Sigmus swiveled, cracking his hands together, presumably squashing the bug. “Ain’t no grace-fall smushing your own pest.”

Dad jutted his jaw. “I can’t do that.”

“And you get a grumping every beading.”

Dad’s red glow dulled. “I am happy for them.”

“Sure. It makes all the sense you hankering to sneak off to the sheep cave.”

“Fish pond,” Dad clarified.

“Well, I’ve a better idea. Wait here.” Sigmus waddled up the middle aisle toward her.

Aunia ducked, pressing a hand over her mouth. Her sigh filled her palm when his footfalls veered toward the nearby tack and storage room.

Sheep-cave? No one was allowed near them. Dad himself had told her the Boggleman lived there now. She eased to a trousered knee and considered. Sigmus was probably just saying that for shock and her father was looking to wander off to be alone.

She had wanted to sneak away earlier, too. Sneak past the gate-minders to the woods for a game of tag with the moss-gnomes or maybe cajole a dryad into playing a whistle-tune. She had almost made it through the gate but got caught, so she ran and hid in the stable.

Aunia leaned against the chest-high wall. It would be better to stay with faery friends instead of being in the village.

The tack room door grumbled open, followed with chalky scuffles from dried leather and thud-clack of ceramics. Sigmus hooted. He probably stashed another bottle of the apothecary’s cider brandy.

Sigmus exited the tack room, popped the bottle, and shouted, “Figure you’ll get a fair healing, spilling out your sorrows.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” her father called back.

Stars. How long am I going to need to hide while they drink?

Sigmus pranced past her stall. Aunia inched forward. Her father stood about ten yards from her in the middle aisle and close to the dung heap.

“Ah, so you say,” Sigmus said. “But I knows these beading ceremonies remind you of yer Tamorian lady wife.”

Tamorian? Lightning crackled in Aunia’s belly and erupted against the back of her throat. “You’ll tell him about my mother but not me.”

Dad whirled in her direction, his glow retreating to a scant fingers-width around his head. She marched out of the pen while Sigmus stepped in her way.

“Move, Sigmus,” she said. “I’m talking to my father. My dad, not yours.”

Sigmus raised his hand. “You’re supposed to be stirring them stew pots.”

“Like you gathering wood?” Aunia tried sidestepping him but Sigmus’ elbow clipped the side of her head. She hunched-over, wishing she could melt Sigmus “Sourling-Beast” into pudding ash.

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TF Burke currently
works with NYT David Farland’s Apex-Writers as an admin and marketing
specialist, where she schedules industry leaders for weekly multi-Zoom calls,
provides content for social posts, and hosts several writer-focused Zooms.

Her published works includes hundreds of newspaper articles, blog posts across
various platforms, anthologies, including MURDERBUGS, the second volume of the
Unhelpful Encyclopediam a collection of short stories in WHIRL OF THE FAE, and
the first book of the Heart of the Worlds Series, FAERIES DON’T LIE.

When not writing or wearing other hats, she can be found with a sword and a
dagger in her hands for medieval-style fencing tournaments and melees,
something she’s been doing since 2010.

Website *
Facebook * Instagram
* Bluesky * Bookbub *
Amazon * Goodreads

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Signed copies of both books + Swag! (US only)

$20 Amazon gift card (WW)

-1 winner each!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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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.

The Karma Factor By Thomas Lane ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 26, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mytery/Thriller, Supernatural
Tags: , , ,
0

 

The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane Banner

THE KARMA FACTOR
by Thomas Lane
February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.

Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death. In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.

Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.

While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.

In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor

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Praise for The Karma Factor:

“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.” ~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms

“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…” ~ BOOKTRIB

“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.” ~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Thriller, Visionary Fiction, Metaphysical Thriller 

Published by: Waterside Productions Publication Date: November 1, 2022 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 1958848212 (ISBN-13: 978-1958848210)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.

But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.

Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.

“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?” She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.” He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it… Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked. “You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.” She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’” She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.” She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.” Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.” He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.” His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough. “Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—” “Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.” Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.” He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working. The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame. “It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.” “Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.” She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing. When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces… He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him. His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way. When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again. Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music. With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death. Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace. “Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.” Then two more. “For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.” Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room. Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one. “For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.” The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall. The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand. “And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.” A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality. “Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?” Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal. The knocking came again, this time louder. But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there. Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs. Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below. Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky. As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street. One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass. *** Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Thomas Lane:

Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.

In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.

Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.

Catch Up With Thomas Lane: www.ThomasLane.com Amazon Author Profile Instagram – @thomaslane494 YouTube – @thomaslane2402 Facebook – @musicwordimage

 

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A Killer Whisky By Susan Calder ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 25, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mystery
Tags: ,
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Welcome to my stop in the virtual book tour for A Killer Whisky organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Susan Calder will be awarding 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 Killer Whisky

By Susan Calder

 

 

Genre: Mystery

Synopsis

The 1918 influenza pandemic strikes Calgary, Alberta, Canada. The Great War rages overseas. While her husband fights in Europe, Katharine works in a doctor’s office to support her children and her brother, a wounded veteran. One night their neighbour suddenly takes sick and dies. The attending doctor concludes the man died from influenza, but Katharine suspects someone laced his whisky with a drug that mimics the deadly flu’s symptoms.

Katharine convinces the police to investigate. Worried about her brother’s involvement with a suspect, she delves into his secrets and comes to fear he’s connected to the murder. She grows disturbingly attracted to the investigating detective who returns her affections. He’s convinced her brother or someone else close to her is a killer and risks his career to pursue the crime. Katharine must discover the truth so she can move forward in a world that has changed forever.

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Enjoy this peek inside: 

Detective Bertram Tanner strode into Calgary Police Headquarters, his steps lighter than they’d been this morning.

“How was your walk?” Julia, the receptionist, asked.

“Reflective.”

“I often think while walking too.”

It was too soon to tell his colleagues he might be leaving the police force. “How was your lunch hour?”

“Busy,” she said. “I tracked down balloons for my son’s birthday celebration tonight.”

“Which son?”

“The oldest. He’s ten years old. We decided to limit the party to family due to the flu. He’s disappointed his friends can’t come, but it will be lively with all of us there.”

Julia, a war widow with three children, lived with her parents—the police chief and his wife.

“I phoned my mother after lunch,” Julia said. “She went to every confectionary in town and managed to find all the children’s favourite sweets despite the sugar shortage.”

The chief’s wife was a ball of energy. A leader in the local suffragette and Prohibition movements, she claimed personal credit for Alberta women gaining the vote and the province going dry in 1916.

Bertram went into his office, closed the door, and draped his coat and hat on the coat tree. What work could he do this afternoon? Reports of the Spanish flu’s arrival on a train from Eastern Canada were keeping people away from the pool rooms and dance halls. Calgary hadn’t had a brawl or knifing in a week. Even the criminals seemed to be staying home.

He took out an old file, a robbery scheduled for trial next week. A man broke into a house in the Sunalta neighbourhood and stole $2.75. Disturbed by a noise, he fled through a window but foolishly returned an hour later. Caught red-handed by three residents, the robber could be sentenced to up to a year of hard labour. Bertram tried to organize his trial notes, but his thoughts kept shifting to his plan to leave the police force when the war ended and soldiers came home to replace him on the job. After fifteen minutes, he set the robbery file aside and decided to take a methodical approach to his lunch hour reflections about leaving.

He took out a clean sheet of paper, drew a vertical line down the middle, and titled each side “pro” and “con.”

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About Author Susan Calder:

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Susan Calder lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She is the author of five novels published by BWL Publishing Inc. A Deadly Fall, Ten Days in Summer, Winter’s Rage and Spring Into Danger are part of her Paula Savard Mystery Series. The books follow the adventures of Paula, a Calgary insurance adjuster who works with the police to solve insurance-related crimes. Susan’s standalone suspense novel, To Catch a Fox takes a troubled Calgary woman to Southern California on a quest to find her missing mother. In December 2024, BWL will release Susan’s first historical novel, A Killer Whisky. The story is set in 1918 Calgary and will be the 12th and final book of the BWL Canadian Historical Mystery Series. Susan has also published non-fiction articles. Her short stories and poems have won contests and appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines. She is a member of Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, and the Writers’ Guild of Alberta.

Author Links: Website / Facebook

Purchase Link: Amazon

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

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