Posts Tagged ‘YA’

Immortal Dark By Shermon Kodi ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: March 5, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, YA Fantasy
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Immortal Dark

by Shermon Kodi

 

Publication date: March 10th 2025
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

The shadows awaken as darkness falls. And these shadows have fangs.

Seventeen-year-old Bexis has survived the frozen streets of Coppejj by trusting no one but herself. With her shadow magic, she’s scraped by as a freelance thief, working for local gang lords and politicians.

But when a routine heist goes horribly wrong, Bexis is branded with ancient magic, making her the target of a bloodthirsty spirit.

Desperate for answers, she turns to an eccentric demon hunter. Together, they uncover a deadly plot by a sinister cabal, threatening to plunge the world into eternal night. As Bexis confronts her haunted past, she faces a grim choice: Embrace the shadows within, or lose everything she holds dear.

To destroy the darkness, she must first become it.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

The job is simple.

Enter the room unseen. Wait for Ajjan to distract the mark—a foreign dignitary from the south. Then acquire her handbag and deliver it to the other side of town.

No blood. No trace.

My employer was very specific about that last bit. It’s common protocol in my line of work, along with an understanding that pay will be docked by half if I’m spotted. If there’s blood, I might not get paid at all. My mark must never know I was here. Personally, I thought I’d outgrown grabbing purses in the night. But it’s an easy job, and I can use the money.

The red night moon casts the world in crimson light as I pull myself onto the third-story balcony of a slummy brothel in the west end. The window is webbed with ice, obscuring my view inside—I can only make out pale blotches of yellow light. There doesn’t seem to be any movement, but I can’t be sure the room is empty. I just have to hope the Blackbones did their job and set everything up.

I give the windowpane a shove, but it doesn’t budge. Damn. The thing hasn’t been opened in months, and it’s frozen shut. For a common thief, a frozen window stymies a job. But I’m no common thief.

I take out my trapper tone pipe, a metal cylinder with a single reed, tuned to one specific note. The reflective surface catches light from the lanterns below, illuminating my name inscribed along the side in big bold letters: BEXIS. It was a gift from my deadbeat father right before he abandoned me. It’s the last thing I have from him, and if it weren’t so damn useful, I’d have tossed it years ago.

I bring the pipe to my lips and blow. The note is inaudible, like a dog whistle, too high for the human ear to hear. But the vibration weaves through the air and seeps into my skin, where it sparks like flint on steel, and a sonorous ember catches deep in my chest. Resonance hums through my body. The ambient darkness around me shimmers with feathered lines of silver that only I can see.

A burst of power shudders through me, and I hold it within my realm of focus, like cupping a candle against a sea wind.

This is resonance trapping—the first step in performing harmonic magic. Mine is the harmony of shadow. Sparking the ember is the easy part. Trapping it is more difficult, but holding it once it’s been trapped? Well, that’s like riding an angry wolverine. If I’m not careful, I might lose control, and people could get hurt. It’s been months since that’s happened, but there’s always a chance the resonance will lash out, sending me into an episode of uncontrollable power.

Resonance quivers through my veins. I reach my hand to the glass, willing the vibration into my fingertips, and the shadows obey. Tendrils of silver swirl across my wrist and through my palm. I touch the windowpane, and the shadows run through it, seeping like oil into the hinges.

The window squeals as ice crumbles around the edges.

I shift my awareness to the space above my head. Resonance purrs in my chest as I weave gossamer strands of silver around me like a cloak. This is my greatest trick. So long as I can hold the resonance and have enough ambient shadow to work with, I can conceal myself from prying eyes. But I can’t maintain it for long; already, I can feel my energy beginning to drain as heaviness settles behind my eyes.

Best be quick now.

I heave the window open and squeeze inside.

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About Author Shermon Kodi:

Shermon Kodi is a legally blind author who finds inspiration in the quiet knolls of Chittenden County, Vermont, where the long snowy winters drive one to pair wool socks with moccasin slippers and curl up by the furnace with a pot of chamomile tea and a book about monsters in dark places doing dark things. Through his writing, Shermon seeks to explore the resilience of the human spirit, the tenacity of good people faced with hard times, and the relationships that light us up, make our hearts smile, and carry us through every storm.

When he’s not writing, Shermon spends his time thinking about writing.

He knows this is a problem— although, he contends, it’s a good kind of problem to have. Occasionally, he’ll break from his routines and really let go— sleep in till 7 AM, drink tea instead of coffee, read in the mornings, or plug in the ’07 Strat and reminisce about the days when he dreamed of being a rockstar instead of an author.

He’ll be the first to tell you: “No regrets!”

Life is funny like that.

Shermon is the author of Heart of the Valley and Songs of the Rhor, both available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. Stay connected on TikTok and Instagram for updates on his latest books, behind-the-scenes insights, and creative content.

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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: , ,
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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 *
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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.

Would You Rather By Kimberly Baer ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 23, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, Paranormal or fantasy, YA
Tags: , ,
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The luck of the draw has never been riskier.

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Would You Rather…

part of The Haunting of Pinedale High Series

by Kimberly Baer

Genre: YA Paranormal

Pick a card, any
card…

Would you rather be an amazing artist or a brilliant mathematician?

Would you rather lose your mother or your father?

Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?

It’s a silly game hosted by a substitute teacher, an exercise in exploring the
workings of the teenage mind. Twenty-three students make their choices, and the
game is forgotten—until the chosen scenarios start coming true. Classmates Ava,
Blake, and Charlie are determined to track down the mysterious teacher and
persuade him to end the curse. But the clock is ticking, lives hang in the
balance, and the foe they seek is more menacing than they could imagine.

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Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Deej stared at his card for a long time. Then he shot Mr. Trinkley a dark look. “This is effed up.”

Mr. Trinkley said, “Read the card aloud, Mr. Nolty.”

Deej’s mouth twisted like he was chewing something nasty. He read, “ ‘Would you rather die of cancer or be killed in a vehicular collision?’ ”

A horrified silence followed. Jared mumbled, “That’s harsh.”

Deej said flatly, “So either way I’m screwed.”

“Some may see it that way,” said Mr. Trinkley. “Regardless, you must choose. Surely one scenario is preferable to the other.”

Deej shook his head, his lips pressed together. Mr. Trinkley glanced around the classroom. “Thoughts, anyone?”

For the longest time no one spoke. Finally, Charlie said, “If you die fast, you don’t suffer. Dying slow gives you time to reflect back on your life.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” said Mr. Trinkley.

“Fine,” said Deej. “Then kill me in an accident. I’ve only lived for sixteen years. I don’t have much to reflect back on.”

Blake wondered if everyone else was as eager for class to end as he was. He glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to go. He wished the bell would ring before his turn came up, but that was unlikely. There were only six people between him and would you rather.

His heart thudded sickly, a fight-or-flight response with no rational basis. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. Everything is fine. It’s just a silly game.

But was it? His gut insisted something was very wrong.

Mr. Trinkley moved to the next desk and then the next. Blake felt like a fly caught in a web, waiting for the spider to scuttle over and devour him. Would you rather scenarios flowed into his ears and took root in his imagination, like horror-movie shorts.

Would you rather live in a house infested by bedbugs or by spiders?

Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?

Would you rather have a grotesque rash or chronic diarrhea?

The room blurred and shimmied around him, and he clutched the edges of his desk to steady himself. This whole situation seemed surreal, like a dream. A nightmare, actually. Why were so many of the scenarios bad? Nobody’d had a good one since Jared.

A shape materialized at Blake’s side, dark as a shadow. “Your turn, Mr. Pedley.”

Blake wondered suddenly how Mr. Trinkley knew everybody’s name. Had he memorized the seating chart before class started? That didn’t seem possible unless the guy had a photographic memory.

Blake eyed the tray apprehensively. The cards were no longer lined up neatly but had gotten jumbled, like objects jostled around by an earthquake. The card backs were ivory in color, though it was possible they’d started out bright white and had yellowed over the course of many years. Each one featured a dark blue star with a staring eye in the middle of it. A fancy curlicue design danced around the border.

Blake reached for a card near the middle of the pile but then withdrew his hand. He almost chose a card that was half hidden under several others but changed his mind. He finally selected a card that was off by itself in a corner of the tray.

He winced as he turned it over.

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Kimberly Baer is an author
and professional editor who was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a
town marginally famous for having endured three major floods. She even lived
there during one of them. She enjoys power-walking on days when it’s not too
hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, or too windy. On indoor days, you’re
likely to find her hard at work on her next novel or binge-watching old
episodes of Survivor, her favorite guilty pleasure.

 Kim has had her nose in a
book practically since birth. Her first story, written at age six, was about a
baby chick that hatched out of a little girl’s Easter egg after somehow
surviving the hard-boiling process. These days she writes in a variety of genres,
including young adult, middle-grade, and adult romantic suspense. Her books are
published by The Wild Rose Press and have won several awards.

Website * Facebook
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* Bluesky * Bookbub *
Amazon * Goodreads

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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GIa 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.

Sins Of The Fire By Phoenix Ward ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: February 5, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, New Adult, YA Fantasy
Tags: , , ,
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Sins of the Fire
by Phoenix Ward

 

(Sins of the Fire, #1)
Publication date: September 13th 2024
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Young Adult

No one knows dragons coexisted with humans.

Ancient times long past, we shared magic, weapons and even our very souls with these creatures. Society’s connection between them spanned the test of time, through art, stories, and spoken word. Yet though depictions remain, they no longer exist.

Christian armies, believing these creatures to be devils, laid siege to end their species in a wild pursuit of their Promised Land. Bloodshed for nearly two centuries suddenly came to an end. Concurrently, those winged beasts, admired and feared, were extinguished without a trace.

It’s 2028, and the Crusades are talked about in my college classes. One dragon was able to escape it all by sealing itself in a blade. If such a blade existed, and anyone were to lift it today, they’d reignite the war long dormant—An affront on God himself.

I’m Kane, by the way. Kane Wynde. And this is Mysherra, the affront to God.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“You shall be tied to the blade, for as long as your mind and spirit remain. Is this acceptable?”

The earth shook, and the rumble of fire howled from outside of the cave. An ultimatum laid before me. To bind myself within the blade would mean giving up my freedom for eternity. To fight a war that threatened to burn the earth to its core would mean my death. The Gods have brought upon us a calamity no mortal could ever hope to quell. Humans who were once close to us rallied for our demise. Our kind torched them, their lands, and their ilk in sport. Whichever side won, there would be no true victor. Only ash.

Would it be acceptable to live the rest of my life as a weapon? Would it be better if I died fighting a lost cause?

Imprisonment or death; my options were narrow.

Looking down at the human, dressed in burns, I pondered what he thought. He bore no hatred. He held no contempt for my kind after what happened. He agreed to fight alongside me with eyes ablaze with passion. I wondered why. What would make someone turn a blind eye to the wounds inflicted by a beast of my caliber? What allowed him to grace my hand, still slick with the residue of death, and find camaraderie in the midst of devastation?

The silence of the cave was beginning to draw on my senses, my own thoughts starting to cloud the noise of the carnage.

We agreed to fight together, but fear was a wise and stringent guide. Regardless of it, I had to make a choice.

“This is acceptable.”

“In doing this, you will relinquish your body. Your essence shall be ripped completely from within. Your magic, your strength and your flames will be in the hands of your wielder. Is this acceptable?”

My heart shuddered. It would hurt. I would die, yet I would live. What would happen to my body? Would my heart sit in silence, left to rot in its empty temple? Would my flesh be torn away with my spirit? Again, I looked towards the human. His gaze held mine. Though twisted and bloated, he held me in their comfort. He smiled. He did not need to reassure me with words nor tender touch.

“This is acceptable.”

“The process shall span the turn of the moon. With the dawn, you shall awaken in your new form. Do you accept the terms  of the pact?”

“I accept.”

The dragon’ s eyes flashed. “The terms have been set, and the pact is complete. May fortune favor you, Mysherra.”

As the sword began to gleam, I closed my eyes.

Tingling spread across my body as the sensation of my insides were pulled from within me. And thus, through a pain that transcended anything inflicted upon my hide of scales, I accepted my fate.

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About Author Phoenix Ward:

Phoenix Ward is an indie black writer, and educator from Philadelphia. He has worked in the field of education for over five years, teaching all grades Mathematics and English. When he’s not writing, he is composing music using Logic Pro X, or tutoring children on subjects they struggle in. Currently, he lives in Philadelphia with his dog and cat.

An avid world-builder, Phoenix has created many stories from youth to adulthood, but none have captivated him as much as his latest work Sins of the Fire, which combines his passion for storytelling with his deep understanding of human nature. He draws inspiration from the vibrant city life of Philadelphia and his own experiences as an educator, infusing his narratives with authenticity and depth.

In addition to his work as a writer and educator, Phoenix is committed to supporting young creatives in their journeys. He actively encourages students and adults alike to seek a way to create their own stories. Everyone has a message to share, and doing so in story is the best way to do so.

Website / Goodreads

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The Harlequin’s Legacy By Andres Rosas Hott ~ Spotlight And Giveaway

Posted: February 4, 2025 in giveaways, YA Fantasy
Tags: , ,
7

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Dare to dream. Dare to believe. Dare to embrace your
legacy.

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Orphan Pascal and his friends Paloma and Pierrot dive into
the mystery of children disappearing in the enchanting land of The Vale.

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The Harlequin’s Legacy

Book 1

by Andrés Rosas Hott

Genre: YA Fantasy

Dare to dream. Dare to believe. Dare to embrace your
legacy.

In the enchanting land of The Vale, the grand city of Pivot
stands as a beacon of innovation where scientific progress clashes with the
now-dwindling beliefs in magic that the place once held.

Just outside of Pivot, 17-year-old Pascal has spent his life
at The Skystead Home for Orphaned Children. Life outside the orphanage seems
ceaselessly interesting, and shielded from the rest of the world, he wants
nothing more than to explore. Already puzzled by unanswered questions about his
past, Pascal’s concern deepens as he learns about a grim mystery of local
children’s disappearances.

In pursuit of finding his place in life, Pascal is joined by
Paloma—a street-savvy girl and former gang leader with a tragic past—and
Pierrot—a silent, enigmatic companion. Together, the unlikely trio begins to
sneak out of the orphanage to experience the one place that still embraces
magic: the welcoming carnival.

As secrets begin to unravel, the truth unveils hidden powers
within each of these three young adventurers. Their friendships are challenged
as they overcome demons, both inside and outside themselves. Yet, each step
brings them closer to the truth: a sinister plot that threatens the very fabric
of their world.

Before they know it, the fate of the missing children has
become inextricably intertwined with their own.

The Harlequin’s Legacy is a gripping tale
of adventure, friendship, and self-discovery. Pascal, Paloma, and Pierrot trust
in their inner courage and resilience to reach their true potential despite
trials and tribulations. This story encourages everyone to dare to dream, to
believe in themselves, and embrace the legacy that awaits them.

Adventure, magic, and self-discovery await! Are
you ready to join Pascal and his friends as they uncover hidden secrets and
embrace a timeless legacy? Witness the journey firsthand—grab your copy
of The Harlequin’s Legacy today and become part of the story!

Amazon
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Meet Andrés Rosas Hott, an emerging voice in literature and
the author of The Harlequin’s Legacy. With a master’s in Graphic
Design and Illustration from Konstfack University and a background as a
commercial director, Andrés blends creativity and storytelling in captivating
ways.

His debut novel, inspired by his favorite character, The
Harlequin, combines fantasy with themes of courage, identity, and personal
growth. Based in Stockholm, Sweden, Andrés balances his creative pursuits with
family life, finding inspiration in both the imagination and his loved
ones. The Harlequin’s Legacy is just the beginning of an
exciting journey into fantasy and self-discovery.

Website
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Tale Of The Seasons’ Weaver By D. Wallace Peach ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: January 11, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, YA Fantasy
Tags: , ,
6

 

Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver

by D. Wallace Peach

 

 

Publication date: January 9th 2024
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

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“Already the animals starve. Soon the bonemen will follow, the Moss Folk and woodlings, the watermaids and humans. Then the charmed will fade. And all who will roam a dead world are dead things. Until they too vanish for lack of remembering. Still, Weaver, it is not too late.”

In the frost-kissed cottage where the changing seasons are spun, Erith wears the Weaver’s mantle, a title that tests her mortal, halfling magic. As the equinox looms, her first tapestry nears completion—a breathtaking ode to spring. She journeys to the charmed isle of Innishold to release the beauty of nature’s awakening across the land.

But human hunters have defiled the enchanted forest and slaughtered winter’s white wolves. Enraged by the trespass, the Winter King seizes Erith’s tapestry and locks her within his ice-bound palace. Here, where comfort and warmth are mere glamours, she may weave only winter until every mortal village succumbs to starvation, ice, and the gray wraiths haunting the snow.

With humanity’s fate on a perilous edge, Erith must break free of the king’s grasp and unravel a legacy of secrets. In a charmed court where illusions hold sway, allies matter, foremost among them, the Autumn Prince. Immortal and beguiling, he offers a tantalizing future she has only imagined, one she will never possess—unless she claims her extraordinary power to weave life from the brink of death.

In the lyrical fantasy tradition of Margaret Rogerson and Holly Black, D. Wallace Peach spins a spellbinding tale of magic, resilience, and the transformative potency of tales—a tapestry woven with peril and hope set against the frigid backdrop of an eternal winter.

Goodreads / Amazon

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

A wicker basket of colorful spools rested at my feet. I picked through the bewitched thread my mother had hand-spun long before my birth. No matter how many seasons passed, the spools unwound and unwound, and I no longer fretted about reaching their ends. There was no end to magic, no end to the seasons, no end to my place on the cusp of two worlds.

A delicate pink caught my eye, a color crafted from the cherry blossoms bordering my garden. I held it against the tapestry, testing its suitability for flowering plum trees and coral bells I’d stitch into the meadows and along the forest’s edge.

“Should you desire my opinion, Erith,” a small voice piped up, “it requires a touch of carnation and a shimmer of sunshine. On the dogwood blossoms as well.”

“I wondered about those.” My gaze rose to my knee-high hospet. He sat cross-legged on the hearthstone in front of our shrinking fire, cracking walnuts with his sharp teeth. The creature blinked at me with eyes as clear as spring water, his waistcoat buttoned, cheeks rosy, and cinnamon hair parted in the middle like a magistrate. Nobbin kept my wood and moss cottage tidy, expecting little beyond customary respect and an occasional outfit when his garments aged past mending.

He also took it upon himself to offer artistic advice since my mother had chosen to join my father in the underworld.

“I might leave them as they are,” I said. “Dogwoods are white.”

Nobbin’s eyebrows tilted up in an expression of devilish skepticism. “Spring’s princess will agree with me. Give it a brush of magic. I know you dabble when I’m otherwise occupied.”

“You spy on me?”

“I’m observant. And I’m charmed.” He flicked his handcloth at the window. “Snow doesn’t glitter like that without your touch, my girl. You added that sparkle to your mother’s tapestry, and it impressed the Winter King.”

“Do you think so?” A blush heated my cheeks. “From what I’ve gathered, he’s not one to dole out compliments.”

“None of them are.” Nobbin held up a nut as if inspecting a precious gem. “Such is the nature of immortals. Add a layer of royalty on top, and we are lucky they don’t dismember anyone or anything tarnishing their crowns.”

“Dismember?” I cringed at the grisly thought and drew my black shawl around my shoulders. “My mother told me the courtiers are kind and cruel in equal measure. Without good reason for either.”

Not one to speak with his mouth full, Nobbin raised a finger and swallowed a morsel of walnut. “Indeed, they’re notoriously whimsical. But you are their weaver, and every artist must begin somewhere. You will earn your place, Erith, though it is no simple task to prove your power and demand respect. Spring is the first tapestry you may claim as your own creation, and it is a glorious start. I have untold faith in you.”

I smiled gratefully and stifled a shudder at the challenge ahead. Despite Nobbin’s trust in me, my confidence wavered like a weathervane on a gusty day. I’d done my best, and it would have to serve. The seasons’ rulers wouldn’t dismember me on a whim. I hoped.

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About Author D. Wallace Peach:

Best-selling author D. Wallace Peach grew up surrounded by her father’s well-loved paperback books. Fantasy was a staple, but it was Tolkien’s The Hobbit that planted the seeds which would grow into a passion for writing.

Peach started writing later in life when years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books. She was instantly hooked.
In addition to fantasy books, Peach’s publishing career includes participation in various anthologies featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She’s an avid supporter of the arts in her local community, organizing and publishing annual anthologies of Oregon prose, poetry, and photography.
Peach lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Myths of the Mirror

 

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The Dream Rider Saga Trilogy By Douglas Smith ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: January 9, 2025 in Excerpt, giveaways, urban fantasy, YA
Tags: , ,
17

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Will Dreycott is a superhero. In his dreams…and in yours.

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The Hollow Boys

The Dream Rider Saga Book 1

by Douglas Smith

Genre: YA Urban Fantasy

WINNER OF THE 2023 AURORA AWARD FOR BEST YA NOVEL
WINNER OF THE 2023 JURIED IAP AWARD FOR BEST YA NOVEL

“Thrilling YA fantasy” —BookLife (Editor’s Pick)
“A must-read story for YA fantasy fans.” —Blueink Review (Starred
review)
“Inventive, engaging, and boundless fun.” —The Ottawa Review of Books

Vanishing street kids. An ancient evil. The end of the world.
Our only hope? A hero who can’t leave home.

At seventeen, Will Dreycott is a superhero…in his dreams. And in yours.

Eight years ago, Will’s parents, shady dealers in ancient artifacts,
disappeared on a jungle expedition. Will, the sole survivor, returned home with
no memory of what happened, bringing a gift…and a curse.

The gift? Will can walk in our dreams. At night in Dream, Will hunts for
criminals—and his parents. During the day, his Dream Rider comic,
about a superhero no one knows is real, has made Will rich.

The curse? Severe agoraphobia. Will can’t go outside. So he makes his home a
skyscraper with everything he needs in life—everything but the freedom to walk
the streets of his city.

Case, an orphan Will’s age, survives on those streets with her younger brother,
Fader. Survives because she too has a gift. She hears voices warning her of
danger. And Fader? Well, he fades.

When street kids start vanishing, the Dream Rider joins the hunt. Will’s search
becomes personal when Case breaks into his tower to escape her own abduction.
Fader isn’t so lucky.

As Will and Case search for Fader and the missing kids, an unlikely romance
grows between the boy with everything and the girl with nothing except the
freedom Will longs for.

But as they push deeper into the mystery, they confront an ancient power
feeding on these forgotten kids to restore itself. And once restored, no one in
the world will be safe.

To defeat this creature, Will must do the impossible.

Go outside.

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The
Dream Rider Saga, a fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s
most original writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

Praise for The Hollow Boys:

“This arresting series kickoff grips from the start as it
introduces its inventive milieu, its flawed but fantastically powered hero, its
playful worldbuilding, and a host of tantalizing mysteries. … [A] vigorously
imaginative scenario. … Takeaway: Thrilling YA fantasy” —BookLife (Editor’s
Pick)

“An assured, confident novel … A must-read story for YA fantasy fans.” —Blueink
Review (Starred review)

“Inventive, engaging, and boundless fun.” —The Ottawa Review of Books “A
fun supernatural tale with well-developed characters and a touch of
romance.” —Kirkus Reviews

Praise for Douglas Smith:

“The man is Sturgeon good. Zelazny good. I don’t give those up easy.”
—Spider Robinson, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

“A great storyteller with a gifted and individual voice.” —Charles
de Lint, World Fantasy Award winner

“His stories are a treasure trove of riches that will touch your heart
while making you think.” —Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Awards
winner

**On Sale Until Jan 11!**

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At seventeen, Will Dreycott was a superhero.

In his dreams.

Happily for Will, right now, he was dreaming.

To start his night as the Dream Rider, he “awoke” as usual on the Bed of Awakening in the House of Four Doors. Will knew he wasn’t really waking. He was asleep. But entering Dream always felt as if he had finally woken up. As if his time spent in the “real” world was time spent asleep, waiting to return here.

To return to Dream. To be the Dream Rider.

Brian, his favorite Doogle, waited for him. The creature sat beside the bed, its head on the covers, staring at Will.

Doogles were dog-shaped—sort of. Kind of like a Dalmatian, white with black splotches, or the other way around. But with a snout like an anteater, ears like a koala, and eyes like an owl.

Big nose, big ears, and big eyes. The better to smell, hear, and see you with, little girl. Or old man. Or middle-aged woman. Or whoever or whatever Will set his Doogles to search for in Dream.

Okay, so they weren’t much like dogs at all. But they were his creations, his logical constructs in Dream, and he thought of them as his dogs.

Dogs that searched.

Doogles.

Will stood and looked around. The House changed each night. Tonight, it was a round, domed chamber of white marble with dark wooden doors of varying shapes—rectangular, round, oval, and square. The four doors were carved with writings in Latin. Or Greek. Or something. Languages weren’t his strongest school subject.

He scratched Brian behind his ears. “Evening, Bry. I missed you, buddy.” In reply, Brian curled his long, whip-like tail into a spiral, a Doogle display of happiness.

Will tugged at the costume hugging his slim frame, again regretting the form-fitting spandex. But by now, hundreds of millions of people recognized the Rider—and that recognition gave him power in Dream. Too late to change his appearance.

Besides, the costume looked cool. It was black as the night sky, its surface speckled with blazing red comets with silver tails. Gray clouds drifted over his chest, obscuring then revealing the moon behind them. The moon, which changed phases like the real one, was full and bright tonight.

A black cloak, its hood currently thrown back, completed the look. A jeweled clasp in the shape of a twelve-pointed crystal star fastened the cloak at his neck.

Yeah. Cool.

He considered the four doors the House presented tonight. Which to choose?

“Nyx!” he called.

A cloud of gray mist the size of a beach ball formed before him. Inside the cloud, a woman’s face appeared—blue skin, violet eyes, and long, purple hair floating around her head. She was striking, but too sharp-featured to call beautiful.

Seeing Will, Nyx rolled her eyes. “Really? You again?”

“Uh, since you’re my subconscious, who did you expect?”

She pursed dark blue lips. “Someone better looking? I mean, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

“You are dreaming.”

“Have you ever wondered why your subconscious appears to you as female?”

“I’m in touch with my feminine side. Just give me the data file I prepared on the missing little girl, please.”

“Lisa Carter? Well, at least you bothered me for a good reason. Here.”

He held out his hand. A crystal sphere the size of a baseball appeared with a “pop,” dropping into his palm. Inside the sphere, words, numbers, and images scrolled and tumbled, appearing and disappearing.

“May I go now, oh Great Master?”

“Please. And lose the sarcasm,” he said. Nyx made a rude sound and disappeared.

He offered the data ball to Brian. “Here you go, boy. It’s everything I know about Lisa.”

The Doogle bent his snout up to sniff at the sphere. A long black tongue shot out, wrapping around the ball and sucking it into his mouth.

Brian swallowed the ball. Sparks of light danced in his black eyes. He began a circuit of the House. After sniffing at each door, he returned to the oval one, cocking his round ears forward. His tail sprang straight up, then bent into an arrow shape pointed at that door.

Will walked up to him. “You sure?”

Brian’s tail whipped out, smacking Will on the leg before forming the arrow again.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get grouchy.” He patted Brian’s head. “We have to be sure, pal. Tonight may be our only chance to find her before…” He didn’t finish. Before it was too late. Before Lisa Carter was dead.

He pulled up the hood of his costume. Now anyone meeting him in Dream would see only blackness where his face should be. A blackness no light could penetrate.

He grabbed his skateboard from beside the bed. Across its black surface, constellations spun behind a thin veil of cloud. He touched the door. It swung open, and he stepped into Dream, Brian at his heels.

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The Crystal Key

The Dream Rider Saga Book 2

Sequel to the AURORA AWARD WINNER and the Juried IAP
AWARD WINNER, The Hollow Boys

“Give me the Crystal Key!”

Will Dreycott is the Dream Rider, the agoraphobic teenage superhero who can
walk in our dreams but never in the streets of his city. Case is his
girlfriend, a survivor of those streets who hears voices that warn her of
danger. Fader is her brother, who is very good at disappearing. Together, they
defeated a body swapper and a witch to save the world (The Hollow Boys).

Now, Case battles guilt over living sheltered in Will’s tower home while her
street friends still struggle. Blaming his affliction for Case’s sadness, Will
searches for a way to live a normal life with the girl he loves—a way to go
outside.

But his efforts draw the attention of dark forces. Sinister figures hunt Will
in Dream. Intruders scour the vast warehouse of antiquities
“acquired” by Will’s missing parents. And a masked swordswoman
attacks Will, demanding “the Crystal Key” before disappearing into
thin air.

Are they all searching for the same thing? Something from Will’s parents’ shady
past? For the swordswoman leaves behind a flowery scent, Will’s only memory
from the lost expedition eight years ago that gave him powers in Dream but cost
him his parents and his freedom.

A trail of dark secrets leads Will, Case, and Fader to a mysterious world.
Trapped between warring cults willing to kill for the Crystal Key, the three
friends must master strange new powers that grow stronger and wilder the closer
they draw to the truth.

This time it’s not just the fate of the world at stake…but the multiverse.

~ ~ ~

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The Dream Rider Saga, a
fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s most original
writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

Praise for The Crystal Key:

“The richly inventive Dream Rider adventure
continues in this second appealing entry…with an exciting plot… always
enlivened by the Smith hallmarks of crack dialogue, fun sleuthing and
puzzle-solving, a strong throughline of emotion, a swift pace…and a principled
refusal to settle for the familiar. Takeaway: This thrilling superpowered urban
fantasy series continues to grip.” (New readers should start with book
one.) —BookLife (Editor’s Pick)

“The engrossing second installment of Douglas Smith’s
Dream Rider Saga trilogy. … Smith continues to demonstrate an ability to
expertly weave multiple complex fantasy elements into a cohesive whole. … This
fast-paced story delivers in a big way—and Smith has all his ducks lined up for
an explosive conclusion [to the series] that readers won’t want to miss.”
—Blueink Review (★ Starred review)

Praise for Douglas Smith:

“The man is Sturgeon good. Zelazny good. I don’t give those up
easy.” —Spider Robinson, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

“A great storyteller with a gifted and individual voice.” —Charles
de Lint, World Fantasy Award winner

“His stories are a treasure trove of riches that will touch your heart
while making you think.” —Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Awards
winner

“Stories you can’t forget, even years later.” —Julie
Czerneda, multi-award-winning author and editor

 

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Lawrence Kinland was afraid. Ridiculous, he told himself. He had no reason for fear. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Even if he had no idea where he was. Or how he came to be here. Or why he wanted to be here.

He sat alone at a round white-clothed table in the largest banquet hall he’d ever seen. And the strangest.

The room was a huge cavern, carved from a shining black stone, running at least fifty paces by a hundred and rising to a high vaulted ceiling. At scores of tables throughout, men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns talked and laughed, ate and drank. All wore animal-headed masks.

Servers, male and female, dressed only in loin cloths and leopard masks, wove between the tables. Each balanced a tray laden with a steaming roast of an unknown meat on their heads and carried a wine flask in one hand. On the cavern walls, torches burned with scarlet flames, washing the room in a bloody light.

Why was this scene so familiar? Had he been here before? If so, he couldn’t remember. Just as he couldn’t remember how he’d arrived here tonight.

Tonight? Was it night?

An oval dance floor of polished hardwood filled the middle of the cavern, large enough for a hundred couples, but currently empty. Circling that space, every twenty paces or so, flames leaped from bronze pots squatting waist-high on clawed feet, their smoke mixing with the torches and the smell of cooked meat.

Kinland’s table sat at the end of the room on the edge of the dining area. Beside him, the dance floor ended at a semicircular dais a meter high and ten across, sculpted from the black stone. The dais jutted from the cavern wall, tall red curtains hiding whatever lay behind. Two men dressed as Victorian footmen flanked the curtains, each holding draw ropes. They wore bear-head masks and sword scabbards.

Concentric circles lay carved into the platform, with spokes radiating outwards from the innermost circle. On the floor below where each spoke ended, a golden goblet rested, as if waiting to be filled.

Masked guests occupied every seat at every table in the room. Except at his. He sat alone, unmasked. The other diners paid him no notice, yet his isolation and proximity to the dais felt both threatening and ominous. He felt exposed, naked, unwanted.

At the opposite end of the cavern, a broad red-carpeted staircase led up from the dance floor to a tapestry-draped landing. A movement on the staircase caught his eye. A man wearing the formal attire of a Victorian gentleman and a boar’s head mask descended the stairs. Walking the length of the room, the man seated himself across from Kinland and removed the mask. Long white hair. Blue eyes, bright and cold. A hooked nose under snowy eyebrows.

Another jolt of surprise shook Kinland. They’d met before. Here. In this place. His memories rushed back.

The man’s name was…Beroald. He was a powerful man. A man who had offered to share that power with him—if Kinland performed a certain task.

Cold sweat trickled down his back. He remembered more now. Remembered the agreement he had made, the task he had promised to do.

Remembered, too, that he had failed in that task.

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The Lost Expedition

The Dream Rider Saga Book 3

The Thrilling Conclusion to the Multi-Award-Winning
Trilogy

Will is the Dream Rider, the superhero who walks in our dreams but never in the
streets of his own city. Case is his girlfriend, a survivor of those streets
who hears voices warning her of danger. Fader, her brother, is very good
at disappearing.

In The Hollow Boys, they defeated a body swapper and a witch to
save the world. In The Crystal Key, they battled warring cults to
protect an ancient artifact tied to Will’s affliction.

The Chakana. The Crystal Key. But the key to what? To finding answers, they
hope, to the questions that rule their lives.

What caused their strange powers? And Will’s crippling agoraphobia? Can he be
cured? Why did their parents travel to the jungles of Peru eight years ago? Are
they still alive?

Behind every question is the Chakana. What is the mysterious relic? Why will
people kill to possess it? What hold does it have on Will?

As creatures from Inca myths haunt the three friends, another attack on the
Chakana threatens Will’s life. To save him and solve the mystery of the lost
expedition, only one choice remains.

Return to Peru. With the Chakana.

There, they find friends and foes, both old and new. And behind it all, an
unseen enemy moving them like pieces on a chessboard.

To win this deadly game, Will, Case, and Fader must master new powers to defeat
the most dangerous adversary they’ve ever faced—a god.

At stake this time? Every life, every world, every universe. Everything.

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The
Dream Rider Saga, a fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s
most original writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

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When her plane landed on the Isle of Man, or Mann as the locals called it, the red-haired woman rose from her seat in the otherwise empty first-class cabin. Empty, because she had arranged it so.

A male flight attendant hurried up to her. She lifted her long tresses to allow him to fasten her hunter-green cloak around her neck. She wore tight black slacks and green low-heeled pumps. A white buttoned shirt with French cuffs completed her look, with enough buttons undone to expose impressive cleavage. Better than a spell for most men, she always said.

At the baggage claim, she stabbed a manicured finger on her left hand at the first person she saw, an overweight, balding man in a plaid suit. A bird-shaped shimmer passed in the air between them, then vanished.

She pointed to her suitcase on the carousel. “Get that. And follow me.”

The man opened his mouth as if to protest, then stiffened. Retrieving her bag, he scurried in her wake as she strode through the crowded terminal of the small airport, her cloak and hair billowing behind her.

At the taxi stand outside, she ignored the line of waiting passengers and got into the first car. The driver glared back at her. “Lady, there’s a queue. You—” His words died as he stared at her face, wide-eyed. Stared, she knew, at the golden runes that now lay there.

She felt them flowing across her face and down her left arm, arranging themselves into the script she desired. She flicked her left hand at him. He stiffened and stopped talking.

“Vel Gaelg ayd?” she asked.

He blinked at her.

She sighed. “You don’t speak Manx?”

“Few do anymore, Mistress.”

“Augh. Put my bag in the trunk.”

Getting out, he took her suitcase from the man in the plaid suit, who gazed around as if lost, then wandered back toward the arrival doors. The driver got into the cab. “Where to, Mistress?”

“Cashtal Rusien.”

He blinked again.

“Castle Rushen, you idiot.”

“Ah, Castletown. Yes, Mistress.”

She settled back as he pulled into traffic, letting the scenery scroll past her tired eyes. So much had changed, but one thing matched her fading memories. The grass still glowed in the summer sun, a blazing lime green that almost hurt the eyes. “There’s no green like that in the world,” she whispered.

“Are you from here, Mistress?”

“Many years ago,” she said, lost in the past. Catching herself, she scowled at him. “Shut up and drive.”

In Castletown, the harbor was familiar, although a sweeping curve of cement had replaced the old stone jetty, and the small lighthouse at its tip was new and freshly painted red and white. The turns in the roads matched her memories, but the low stone houses of old were now three-storied brick buildings, steep-roofed and shoulder-to-shoulder along each narrow street. She shivered at how little she recognized.

Until the driver turned a corner, and the castle rose before her, looming above the modern structures of the small town.

The gray stone of its thick walls and squat towers was streaked with white, randomly from bird droppings, deliberately from new mortar. A carpet of green moss covered the slanting stones topping the sea-facing walls. She smiled. Castle Rushen stood as it had for centuries, a physical memory of a past none here had lived.

Except her.

“By the Goddess,” she said. “It still looks the same.”

“Best preserved medieval castle in Europe, they say,” the driver said, pride in his voice.

It better be. Or at least one particular room.

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Douglas Smith is a five-time award-winning author described by Library
Journal as “one of Canada’s most original writers of speculative fiction.”

His latest work is the multi-award-winning YA urban fantasy trilogy, The
Dream Rider Saga. Other books include the urban fantasy novel, The Wolf
at the End of the World; the collections, Chimerascope and Impossibilia;
and the writer’s guide Playing the Short Game.

His short fiction has appeared in the top
markets in the field, including The Magazine of Fantasy & Science
Fiction, Amazing Stories, InterZone, Weird Tales, and
many others.

He is a 4-time winner of Canada’s Aurora Award as well as the juried IAP Award.
He’s been a finalist for the Astounding Award, CBC’s Bookies Award, Canada’s
juried Sunburst Award, the juried Alberta Magazine Award for Fiction, and
France’s juried Prix Masterton and Prix Bob Morane.

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bluesky *
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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Boys – 2 winners!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Serpentina by Faith Consiglio ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: November 22, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, Science Fiction, YA
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SERPENTINA

by Faith Consiglio

 

Publication date: June 27th 2024
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult

Driven to find a cure for her brother’s illness, Emma embarks on a research trip to the island of Crete, a land brimming with tales of the gods. There, she is drawn to the myth of Medusa, a beautiful priestess turned monster, cursed at the hands of a jealous Athena.

Her exploration leads to a dangerous encounter with a mysterious serpent in the forest, and after the snake’s venom nearly kills her, Emma slips even deeper into the myth, her own fate intertwining with the woman at its heart.

She returns home, eyes set on attending Columbia University after graduation, but it isn’t long before she notices changes to her body and mind… changes that are nothing short of serpentine.

As she pulses through Medusa’s memory, she unlocks an unexpected truth that alters her world. She discovers the scope of her new abilities, including her blood’s power to cure illness, but with a cost. When Emma is betrayed by those closest to her, she finds herself hunted by an enemy hungry for her blood. And she is not the only one in danger; a horrifying plan unfurls as young girls disappear from the streets.

Emma must embrace what she has become to fight an enemy more ancient and evil than she imagined, for the chance to heal her brother, save the girls, and avenge the mythical source of her power.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

 Serpentina will be available Free during the blitz.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Dark leaves rustled in the forest, their dried tips rubbing against each other like the slow rattle of a snake. Emma paused, a warning echoing in her mind. Since her arrival to the reptile research base on Crete, she had ventured into the palm forest alone each afternoon, wandering deeper each time.

Never enter the forest alone. It was the rule her research mentor emphasized most during orientation. But there was nothing truly dangerous on the island. Hercules had cleared away all the deadly creatures to honor Zeus’s birthplace. She smiled, recounting the myth the airport taxi driver had told them. Emma knew, out of all the snakes there, only the cat snake had venom, and it was too mild to hurt a human.

Still, if Dr. Belken discovered her sneaking out at dusk, she might as well kiss a Columbia University recommendation letter goodbye. Yet the forest called her in, beckoning her to explore its ancient grounds.

She stepped over sandy soil, glancing over her shoulder at the wooden stairs and scanning to see if anyone was watching before turning into the trees. She savored a breath. The air was dry and the heat tame, with an endless breeze carrying wisps of sea salt and the spice of wild herbs through the dancing shadows of leaves.

A rustling halted her steps.

Her eyes darted to catch a beige, reptilian tail slipping into the nearby shrubs.

She held her breath and crept toward it, afraid to scare it off. It would sense the vibration of even her lightest step.

She peered through a thicket of narrow, glossy leaves and clustered pink flowers. Her heart pounded, instincts heightened, but she reminded herself that even a bite couldn’t kill her.

At first, she didn’t see anything. Then scales materialized among the leaves on a thick, coiled body. Only now they were green and pink. She squinted. Was it a different snake, or had it changed?

Its serpentine head emerged through the leaves, forked tongue flickering. She froze.

This was not a cat snake.”

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About Author Faith Consiglio:

Faith grew up in Sloatsburg, NY, and finished medical school in Stony Brook to become a psychiatrist, with a passion for storytelling. When she’s not writing or seeing patients, Faith enjoys traveling, taking her cat for walks, trying different types of green tea, and seeing how many plants she can fit in her apartment.

Website / Goodread / X / Instagram

 

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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.

Step One by Grier Cooper ~ Peek Inside And Giveaway

Posted: November 17, 2024 in Contemporary Literature, Excerpt, giveaways, YA
Tags: , ,
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Step One

by Grier Cooper

 

(Indigo Ballet Series)
Publication date: November 15th 2024
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult

When Indigo lands a role in Ballet Russia’s touring production of The Nutcracker, it’s a dream come true…. Or is it? Her arch nemesis is also part of the production. So is dashing Russian viral video superstar Dimitri Volkov, who’s playing some kind of game she doesn’t quite understand.

As Indigo dances alongside the rising stars of Ballet Russia she struggles to rise above constant criticism from Ballet Russia’s Director, Yuri Kanofsky. But first she’ll have to dig deep and silence the doubts running through her mind if she wants to rise to their level and drive her ballet career forward.

When unexpected events turn Indigo’s world upside down overnight she’s forced to decide how much she’s willing to sacrifice to get there.

And one innocent mistake just might cost her everything.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“You.” The single word from Yuri yanks me out of my reverie. “Indigo, is it?” I nod numbly. “Come here, please.” Yuri points at the center of the floor then folds his arms and waits. I take my position there standing still.

“We begin like this,” he says, posing as I remember from the video of Irina. He shows me the first counts of eight for my solo and I mark the steps as I watch. I’ve memorized them after the second time he walks them through; thankfully I’ve always been quick to pick up choreography.

“You have it?” he demands gruffly. I nod. “Show me.” he steps back and leans on the barre at the front of the room, watching me intently, like a cat tracking a careless bird.

I spread my feet wide and bend forward at the waist, imagining the pose as I remember Irina did it. Aside from Yuri’s counting, the room is silent and still; I feel the others watching. But I can’t think about that. I must only think about the counts and where my body is going, one second ahead so I am there when I am supposed to be–

“No!” he claps loudly. “Let me see position again.” I recreate the pose I was in before he interrupted. “No.” he shakes his head vigorously. “It is like this.”

He strikes the pose. “You see?”

I don’t understand the difference but I don’t dare say anything. I nod.

“More energy in fingertips,” he suggests. I try again, this time I imagine sparks shooting out of my fingertips. This seems to work, since he lets me continue. I rise en pointe, bringing one leg into passé retiré, the toes touching the side of my standing leg near the knee.

“Stop.” More clapping. He marches over to me again. “Make me passé,” he says. I rise back into the position, more forcefully this time, but still he shakes his head. “It is impossible,” he states. “This is not passé. It must be in front of knee, like this,” he says, demonstrating.

Miss Roberta would frown on this placement, I think. Another example of how different ballet technique is from one company to the next, from one country to the next.

Still, I comply. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to learn slight variations, to have more translations in my pocket. You never know when they might come in handy in the future. Another passé, then close in fifth position, and pirouette from fifth–

“No again.” He clenches his hands into fists this time and stomps over to Skinny Snow White. I catch the first word, “Olgachkova” and then get lost inthe flurry of words that follow, none of which I understand. When he falls silent,

Skinny Snow White nods in assent and replies, “Da.”

Skinny Snow White removes the plastic warmup pants she was wearing and makes her way over to me. Yuri flaps a hand at me impatiently, indicating I should step aside. “Olga will show,” he says, turning to her with an enormous smile of beatitude.

I edge out of her way, trying not to feel crushed. I know that having Olga dance in my place is meant to be a teaching tool, something to help me ultimately, but it still stings.

That feeling intensifies as she moves gracefully through the choreography, flowing smoothly through the passés and turns as effortlessly as a fish swirls through water. I try to focus on what she’s doing so I can learn. I’d like to figure out exactly what it is that Yuri’s looking for, that I haven’t got. Yet. But it’s almost impossible to ignore that this woman is one of the most exquisite dancers

I’ve ever watched.

I’ve told myself oodles of time I must never ever, under any circumstances, make comparisons–because comparison is always a losing game. But how not to when the glaring differences are practically smacking me in the face?

Yuri claps again. “Enough. Khorosho, blagodaryu vas, Olga. We will break. Return in twenty minutes.”

I stand paralyzed, mute with a flurry of thoughts pirouetting in my mind.

After watching Olga dance I don’t know how I will ever measure up. I want to, but it seems like an impossible task. Where to even begin? Who can help? Can anyone? What do I need to do to reach that same level of precision and perfection?

All I can think is that even if I were to sneak from my bed and dance all night long, wearing out pair after pair of pointe shoes every night up until our performances, like the Twelve Dancing Princesses fairytale, I’m not sure even that would be enough.

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About Author Grier Cooper:

Grier left home at fourteen to study at the School of American Ballet in New York. She has performed on three out of seven continents with companies such as San Francisco Ballet, Miami City Ballet, and Pacific Northwest Ballet, totaling more than thirty years of experience as a dancer, teacher and performer.

Her work has been praised as “poignant and honest” with “emotional hooks that penetrate deeply.” She writes and blogs about dance and has interviewed and photographed a diverse collection dancers and performers including Clive Owen, Nicole Kidman, Glen Allen Sims and Jessica Sutta. She is the author of Build a Ballerina Body and The Daily Book of Photography. Grier’s work has also appeared in Conscious Dancer, Discovery Girls, Skipping Stones, and Dance Advantage, among others.

Website / Goodreads / X

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Dear Hero By Hope Bolinger & Alyssa Roat ~ Author Interview And Giveaway

Posted: November 12, 2024 in giveaways, Humor, Interview, Romance, YA
Tags: , , , ,
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Book Details:

DEAR HERO by Alyssa Roat & Hope Bolinger
Category:  YA Fiction (Ages 13-17),  394 pages
Genre:  YA Romance, Superheroes, Chat Fiction, Humor
Publisher:  Torchflame Books
Release date:  October, 2024
Content Rating: PG-13 for MCU-level superhero violence; PG when it comes to language and sexual content (kissing).

Book Description:

There’s an app for everything–even meeting a new nemesis.

Up-and-coming teen superhero Cortex is on top of the world—at least, until his villain dumps him. If he’s going to save his reputation, he needs a new villain to fight, and fast. Meanwhile, the villainous Vortex has once again gotten a little overeager and taken out a hero prematurely. Will any young hero be able to keep up with her? Maybe she should work on finding a steady relationship with an enemy she won’t kill in the first round.

Enter Meta-Match, a nemesis pairing site for heroes and villains. The two match right away, and after throwing punches at each other behind coffee shops, practicing their fight choreography, and hiring henchmen to do their bidding (mostly just getting them coffee), they realize they have a lot more in common than names that annoyingly rhyme. After all, they’re still rising through the ranks in their respective circles, and their reputations need good press.

But not everything in the superhero world is as it seems. Can a hero really trust a villain to do the right thing? And can a villain trust a hero not to screw them over? As darkness from the past threatens them both, they may need each other for the fight to come—one with much higher stakes than their choreographed meet-ups on weekends.

Told entirely through texts, transcriptions, and direct messages, this darkly humorous chat fiction rom-com goes behind the scenes of the superworld.

BUY THE BOOK:
Torchflame
Amazon ~ B&N
​add to goodreads
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Author Interview:
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Can you walk me through the process of the two of you writing this book?

Absolutely! Alyssa and I (Hope) have always enjoyed collaborating on pieces together. So with the height of the superhero movie Golden Age in 2018, we wanted to try our hand at a chat fiction book about a hero and a villain matching, on something similar to a dating app, but for nemeses. We had a lot of fun, assigning characters and letting the plot whisk us away. You never knew what your coauthor was going to write next, so it was an excellent exercise in improvisation and collaboration.

What advice would you give to budding authors?

I think we can both agree that the industry is unexpected in a lot of ways. Whether you choose to go traditional or if you go indie, there’s quite a steep learning curve, and the industry tends to be sluggish. Be prepared for the unexpected, and don’t give up. Write for fun and write what you love. Don’t allow anyone to pigeonhole you.

Are you plotters or pantsers?

We are actually complete opposites. Alyssa tends to fly by the seat of her pants. I (Hope) am a lot more comfortable with an outline. But when we write together, we tend to stretch each other in the areas in which we feel weakest. It’s a good kind of scary.

Do you write every day?

Not really. There was a period of time where Alyssa and I had quite a few deadlines, and we honestly burned ourselves out with how quickly we had to write books (I believe I had to write 7 books in one year, all under deadline). So I think we’ve both taken a step back to enjoy the process a little more, and write for the fun of it. We’ve enjoyed the challenges of deadlines, but definitely are trying to take a break from hustle culture.

What Is Your Next Project?

Alyssa and I both have underworld/mythology books releasing next year. Hers is a YA romance, and mine is a middle grade. At the moment, I (Hope) am in recovery from a number of health things, so I may be slowing down some of my publication schedule. I’m learning to put myself first and care for myself—something I’m not always the best at doing.

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Meet the Authors:

Alyssa Roat lives in the cornfields of Indiana, but she hopes to soon discover a portal to a fantasy world where she will run a bookshop for magical creatures. For now, she is an award-winning multi-published author and has worked in a wide variety of roles within the publishing industry as an editor, agent, writer, and publicist. She and her partner have four black cats who allegedly have never been fed in their lives and occasionally help her write by walking across the keyboard. Her name is a pun, which means you can learn more about her at www.alyssawrote.com or on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook as @alyssawrote.

connect with the author: website ~ X/Twitter ~ instagram ~ facebook ~ goodreads

 

 

Hope Bolinger is the author of more than 25 books, including the award-winning Blaze trilogy, and has contributed to many more. She has worked for various publishing companies, magazines, newspapers, and literary agencies and has edited the work of 300+ authors. She has won awards for her essays, poetry, children’s books, novels, and plays. She’s a theater nerd and spends too much time hiking and petting her fat cats, Freya and Odin. She can be found online @hopebolinger and @hopekbolinger.

​connect with the author: website ~ X/Twitter ~ instagram ~ facebook ~ goodreads

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DEAR HERO by Alyssa Roat and Hope Bolinger Spotlight Book Tour 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.

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