Excerpt:
Andrea walked to the coffee table and picked up the letter. She held it up and jabbed at it with her right index finger. “Eleven regional theatre companies have performed Rememberings this year, and I get a royalty check for $750. How could that be right? They’re screwing me and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”
“Call Roger and see what he has to say.”
Andrea laughed. “Roger? He texted me yesterday. Not a word about money. He texts me once a year and never once has mentioned royalties…let us not forget that Roger is my last remaining tie to Brian. I met Roger through Brian. Fifty agents wanted to sign me, and Brian insisted I go with Roger and WMA. He’s a pleasant enough guy, unlike Brian, but he’s never done a damn thing for me. Is it Brian’s fault for recommending him, or my fault for listening to him?”
Thoughts of Brian hit Andrea like a face against a windshield. She hadn’t thought about him consciously in a long time, yet he was never far from her thoughts. Some guys are like that; they just get into your blood. Often it is the horrible ones that stay there. As the hot water from the shower touched her skin, it elicited an almost imperceptible sigh. She and Brian had spent many a shower together. She remembered how he loved to soap her breasts, and make her nipples hard…until they begged for his lips. She tossed her wet hair out of her eyes and slapped the wall, chastising herself for even thinking about him. He was just one of many evil spirits she had encountered in her life, and he was her past. Perhaps Ivoryton would point the way to her future. She shook her head as she dried her hair with a towel. She had no idea that she was not quite done with Brian yet.
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Scrooge’s Folly – Saving Jacob Marley by David Weinberg #RomCom #PNR
Wednesday, May 24, 2023
Truth in Blue by Mirai Amell #HighFantasy
Excerpt - Chapter 1
No place like home
The palace was too quiet.
It should have been abuzz with many familiar noises: gardeners tending the plants, cooks clanging the utensils, and servants running errands. Instead, the rhythmic clip-clop of the hooves from Ciaran’s horse was the only sound echoing across the palace courtyard. The perfectly manicured shrubs and flowers blooming during peak summer looked exhausted, having to keep the facade of their expected sunny disposition. In contrast, barricaded in a garden corner, rooted yet lifeless, the prana plants glinted cunningly. With the sunlight bouncing off their amber-colored crystalline form, it was as if they were watching him.
As if they knew something he didn’t.
The trained senses of a King’s Knight warned him, but Ciaran dismounted, nevertheless. How could he be wary of a place he had called home for so long? After a few moments of deliberation, Ciaran decided to tie his horse to one of the pillars near the doorway, just in case.
He had practically grown up at the palace, having arrived there at thirteen to live and train as an apprentice knight. His father, Oswald—a Bender and the Lord of Korbridge—had still been alive then to watch with pride when Ciaran had received the royal crest that declared him a King’s Knight five years later. The metal emblem, carved with a golden sun rising from behind a jeweled dagger, was pinned to the chest of Ciaran’s black coat when Oswald passed away a few months after the ceremony. That had been six years ago. Malakai had stayed by his side through the ups and downs, the triumphs and losses. He was a friend, a rival, a comrade, and the closest thing to a family Ciaran had left.
He would gladly walk into a raging fire if it were for Malakai.
Now, Ciaran walked into the decidedly frosty palace.
No one greeted him in the main hall. The throne room, offices, and foyer were all eerily deserted.
He could sense people around, hear their hushed whispers and the echoes of their footsteps, yet it seemed they were deliberately avoiding him. Ignoring the strange stillness in the air, he resolutely walked toward his sleeping chambers in the north wing. Of all the knights in the country, only ten were chosen to be King’s Knights, the ones who lived in the palace, attending to the ruling King of Castellon.
Halfway to his destination, he stopped at the edge of the winding stairs. The stairs diverged here: one set of steps went up to the royal residence, and the other went down to the palace dungeons, a place that brought back haunting memories for him. He tried to shake them off and turned to take the stairs going upwards.
“I see you’re back already.” The hostility in the voice of General Atkins standing before him startled Ciaran. The five knights, who had crept up behind him in the meantime, didn’t appear any friendlier. Reva, Lucia, Feris, Goran, and Jahir all held weapons. To make things worse, they knew each other too well.
“General, where is he?” Ciaran could not stop panic from rising in his heart. The aging General had gray in his hair, but his height and breadth made him a mountain of a man. The formidable presence of this experienced warrior was enough to make grown men wet themselves (most grown men). Still, Ciaran did not break eye contact with his mentor, his emerald eyes demanding answers.
The General winced almost imperceptibly before replying, “The king sent him to Lasceraz.” Ciaran’s blood froze in his veins; he was too late for his friend.
“They’d such a shouting match that the stewards had to call me from my home in the city,” Atkins said. “I found Malakai unconscious on the floor, and the only thing I got from the king was the order to transport him to the dungeons in Lasceraz. In chains. Ciaran, what’s going on?”
The General implored him for some explanation.
“How long ago?” Ciaran ignored the General’s question to ask his own.
“Nearly three days now. What are you guys keeping from us? Answer me!”
Ciaran didn’t reply, his mind already calculating his next steps. Lasceraz, the infamous prison, was in the southernmost corner of the country. It would take several months to reach it on horseback unless he secured the service of a space-Bender mage—like the General, for sure, had. Fortunately, he knew one who used to work for his father, but Bender Farley lived in Ciaran’s hometown Korbridge, and it would take a few days to reach there from Castle. The longer he delayed, the more time Malakai would rot in Lasceraz.
Just as Ciaran turned around to leave, the knights readied their weapons: two sets of daunting daggers, two shining swords, and one menacing mace pointed straight at him. The General himself did not carry anything, standing with his arms crossed in front of him. Not to mention that Ciaran was not a mage, but two of the knights and the General were. Taking a deep breath, he brushed his sandy hair back with his right hand; a few locks strayed back over his green eyes.
“You truly believe you can stop me from leaving?” he asked, smiling for the first time since entering the palace grounds.
The knights looked highly uncomfortable, for they were well aware of who they were up against. People in the kingdom might not know his name, but every knight in the country knew of Ciaran’s reputation.
“No. I don’t believe we can manage that…” The General replied truthfully, “But I need to say that we tried our best regardless.”
Ciaran gave his mentor a quick nod, steadied his sword, and took his stance. “I understand.”
***He couldn’t understand how he was still alive.
His entire being ached; his muscles and even his bones were sore.
Malakai tried to turn on his bed to find an angle where it would hurt slightly less, and a pained yelp escaped his mouth. The cold iron bit his wrists, sinking its unyielding teeth into his joints. He opened his eyes to find himself chained to the walls.
Lasceraz. A wave of despair overtook him, making it hard to breathe. Was the air always so stale and thick here? Malakai had toured the prison many times but never noticed how dark it was. The cells were made of thick granite, without even a tiny window to allow light to peek through. With some effort, he turned his head upwards and regretted it immediately. Everything swam before his eyes, and a sharp pain made him retch, only to realize he had nothing left to vomit apart from his blood.
After his body stopped shaking from the shock, Malakai felt a strange emptiness inside him; the warmth and comfort of his magic were barely there anymore. The panic that rose through him was worse than the bile he tasted in his mouth. He tried his best to calm himself, to convince himself that it could not be gone, for magic was made of prana: the life energy coursing through every living being. It had to be somewhere if he was here. But the more he searched, the more it became evident that it was dying.
And he was dying with it.
Malakai’s eyes blurred once more. Were they tears of sadness, knowing he had lost everything he held dear, or tears from the burning torment his body experienced with the slightest movement? He couldn’t tell them apart.
As his eyes focused again, Malakai remembered there used to be a window in every cell once upon a time. The first king of Castellon knew light was a beacon of hope; it kept the fight alive in people. His descendant, the current king, also understood what it meant to the prisoners. So, five years ago, he ordered all the windows to be boarded up. Malakai was the one who had supervised the project and seen the dejected looks on their faces, caked with dirt and grime, yet he never fully comprehended. Until now.
Many of them were murderers, kidnappers, and swindlers, but there were others who couldn’t pay the ever-increasing taxes; people who had no reason to be in the infamous jail of Lasceraz.
Yet, they were.
So was he.
“Get 'im to eat somethin’.” The metallic tinkle of keys alerted him as the room door opened. A guard dressed in red and yellow placed a bowl of soup in front of him while another held a lantern in his hand. Malakai wondered how many days had passed since he was sent here and if Ciaran knew his fate yet. It was no coincidence that he was incarcerated when each of his allies within the King’s Knights happened to be out of the capital.
“Three days. You’ve eaten nothin’.” The guard brought a spoon with the soup near his mouth.
“Please!” the man nearly pleaded and added, “Yer Highness.”
The other guard looked equally awkward. Malakai understood how disturbing it must be to treat the second prince of their kingdom as a mere prisoner—torn between their absolute loyalty to the orders issued by the king and their instinct to protect a member of the royal family. His older brother might be the ruler of Castellon (and he made sure to remind people of that constantly!), but Malakai was a soldier, first and foremost. He had spent time with guards, trained them, and inspected prisons as part of his duties, something the pampered king never bothered himself with.
He opened his mouth to let the guard feed him. Under no circumstance was he allowed to be free of his manacles. Such was the rule in Lasceraz, where every prisoner was kept in maximum-security solitary confinement. Sip by sip, he finished the bowl of soup, and the guards released simultaneous breaths of gratitude, likely because they had half-expected him to protest, or worse. Malakai didn’t want to make it any harder on them than necessary, considering they would have a tough enough time when he escaped. His weak stomach rebelled despite his noble intentions not to trouble the guards; a dull ache radiated from his core, spreading out like a volcano spewing lava, and Malakai keeled over in pain.
After they helped him throw up everything he had just ingested in the chamber pot, one of the guards tried to say something but couldn’t. Ignoring the grip of fatigue threatening to suffocate him, Malakai smiled and said, “It’s not your fault.” He meant it, but they hung their heads in shame and left the room without checking the chains, forgetting that they’d loosened the shackles slightly to let him clean up earlier.
He didn’t doubt that Ciaran would find a way to get him out of here.
But maybe Malakai could beat him to it.
***Being beaten in a battle wasn’t something Ciaran ever worried about.
However, victory always comes with a price.
As he rode his tired horse away from Castle, the capital city of Castellon, Ciaran had to admit that while he’d managed to get out of the palace in one piece, thankfully without killing any of them, it hadn’t been easy. Every hesitation, every indecision from one side was used by the other. It was a wonder he’d made it this far.
Friday, May 19, 2023
Caio by LS Delorme #Paranormal #Romantic #Thriller #PNR
Excerpt:
How can you be as smart as you are and have no backbone, girl? or You’re not pretty enough to be able to expect a man to take care of you, so you better find an administrative job so you can support yourself, or Self-consciousness is just another form of vanity. It’s just you thinking about yourself too much.
That simply scratched the surface of what Sarah heard on a daily basis growing up. On the positive side, she could take criticism with the best of them. She had also learned to channel her sensitivity into an awareness of people’s motivations that coworkers called “uncanny.” On the negative side, when her parents died, she had absorbed their voices into those that already spoke inside her head, and now they were the loudest ones.
It was her heightened awareness that told her that something was not quite right with the Davies case. She wasn’t sure what, and she would need to be careful about how she researched, but it tickled her curiosity.
Sarah was lost in these thoughts as she left the grocery store and made her way home, past the park and toward the basketball courts. When she realized where she was, her heart started to race a little bit at the thought of seeing the boy she had seen last week.
There were some boys playing on the court. She scanned them for someone in grungy clothes, but from a distance, they all looked like they were wearing appropriate attire.Sarah’s heart sank a little.
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Although she wasn’t exactly sure what she was chiding herself about, it was nice when the voice doing the talking was her own.
As she got closer, she saw the tall, red-haired boy miss a shot and retake the ball. He was one of the regulars. When the red-haired boy landed, he jostled one of the other boys near him. That boy staggered, regained his footing, and in the process deftly stole the ball. When she saw his face, Sarah actually heard herself gasp. The boy who had been pushed, the one who now had the basketball, was the boy she had seen before. She hadn’t noticed him because his appearance was quite different. His shoulder-length dark hair had been cut. He had on a red-and-black striped shirt that didn’t look expensive, but did look brand new, as did the matching shorts. His sneakers were black with pristine white soles. And right at the moment, he was dribbling the ball down the court—straight at her.
Sarah froze. She was standing on the sidewalk behind the basket on the other side of the chain-link fence. She felt like her feet had grown roots as she watched him set up, jump, and make the basket. He came down right in front of her. As he landed, before turning to run back down the court, he stopped and caught her eye. His eyes widened ever so slightly, and he smiled.
For a moment, he looked directly in her eyes and she felt a strange dizzy feeling in seeing him and being seen by him. No one in her life ever seemed to actually see her. No one ever had.
Thursday, May 18, 2023
The Roast Iconic Oracle Deck by Marcella Kroll #OracleDeck #OracleCards
Saturday, May 13, 2023
Forged In Lies by Raven Dark and Jenna Stirling #DarkDystopian #WhyChoose #MCRomance
Excerpt:
Havoc’s grip tightens, unmistakably possessive. His eyes gleam down at me. “Back off, Twig. I choose who she’s with. And you won’t be on the list.”
Twig’s brows go up in surprise.
Havoc looks at me and blinks, apparently caught off guard by his own words. “Relax, pretty girl,” he adds, pushing past Twig. “You belong to me now. No one will touch you unless I say so.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I mutter.
And yet my sex slicks at his sheer possessiveness.
“Not sure how you’re getting to me, but you’ll pay for it later.” His voice is suddenly gruff.
“You better count on a rough night.”
My pulse stutters. What’s with this guy? One minute he sounds as if he wants to keep me all to himself, and the next he wants to pass me around. How many guys are we talking here?
Trying to distract myself from Havoc’s effect on me, I dig the bread out of my pocket and nibble on it. I look at Sage. Not sure what I’m hoping for, but his expression tells me nothing. It’s as if I’m frozen out, and something between us has evaporated.
“Havoc, Sage,” a guy shouts, striding over to us. He’s tall and athletic-looking like Sage, but with blond hair pulled into a ponytail. “What the fuck took you two so long? Venom’s pissed.”
“That’s nothing new.” Havoc grabs a beer from a barrel near him, and Sage does the same.
“What happened at Gore’s?” Ponytail smirks, watching me eat. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. “And what’s up with the strange?” he adds.
My gaze zeros in on the patch on his cut. I take in the acronym, committing his rank to memory. Second In Command.
At his tone, Havoc’s hand moves to my nape. I could swear Sage stepped closer. Ponytail’s smile widens.
“Gore’s dead,” Havoc says, guzzling his beer. “Couldn’t pay his dues.”
“Fuck. Another one? This’ll put the Keep in a hell of a mood. What about his women?”
“Dead too,” Sage says. “They were gone by the time H found them.”
“Shit. They would have fixed a lot of problems. All right, Sage, send a couple guys out there to scavenge.”
“You got it, Hutch.” Sage heads over to a group of guys standing with Twig.
“So, who’s the bitch?” Ponytail—Hutch—asks, nodding to me.
“Gore tried to hide her when we showed up,” Havoc says. “She wasn’t his, though.”
“Stray pussy, is it?” Hutch’s eyes narrow on me. “I’ll take first crack at her.”
Havoc pushes me behind him. I think I actually hear him growl.
Hutch grins and lifts his shoulders. “Fuck, what’s with you? You’re like a dog with his food.
Well, you better bring her to Keep first before you stick your dick in her.” He’s laughing as he
turns and heads for the house.
I scrunch my brows at his retreating back, then glance up at Havoc. He knows I’m MC. Why didn’t he report it to his Second?
“This way,” Havoc orders me, heading after Hutch. “Wait until Venom sees you. He’s probably gonna want your ass first.” He pauses and leans down, lowering his voice to that growl that makes my blood heat. “And I’ll eat up every second, pretty girl. I bet watching would be almost as good as fucking you.”
Alarm bells ring in my head. I gotta get out of here now before this gets any worse. And I have to get to Charlie. As long as I’m here, I can’t do that.
Heart in my throat, I lower my eyes, searching for an escape route. Some of the bikes sit without men near them, keys dangling from ignitions. One’s a few feet away. Even if I could get Havoc to let go, he’d catch me before I reached it.
Still...
We’re closing in on the front doors, Havoc’s long strides eating up the grass. If I’m going to act, it has to be now.
I lurch, pretending to stumble. Havoc loses his grip. I whip around and sprint toward the nearest bike.
Havoc curses. Shouts ring out. Panting, I swing onto the bike, kick the stand up, and fire up the engine.
“Stupid bitch,” Havoc roars.
Out of nowhere, a strong arm snakes around my neck and I’m yanked off the bike. I land on my ass with a yell before I’m pulled to my feet and spun around.
I have about a half a second to see silver-blond hair before the guy swings his fist right at my face.
Friday, May 12, 2023
Free Book Friday May 12, 2023 Two Moons of Merth by Ruth C Mitchell #FreeBookFriday
Free Book Friday May 12, 2023
Tuesday, May 9, 2023
Bittersouls by L.A. Morton-Yates #YAFantasy
Excerpt:
Something moved at the edge of the horizon. It was like a shadow, black as a cloud but moving fast across the snow plain. Time seemed to stop, but Dela could feel herself sliding forward as if she were standing on a lake of ice. Freja was still yelling, but she couldn’t hear her. Her arms were flailing, but Dela hardly noticed.
A wave of lights moved in front of the thing, jumping and turning, quick as sparks. It was like a field of quails fleeing into the sky before a coming wolf, but the wolf—the shadow—followed them. The closer it got, the more the shiver racked her spine. She knew exactly what it was, though she’d never seen one. No one in the congregation had. There were no stories. No whisperings. Only a name.
“Shade.”
Freja stared at her, bewildered into silence. Perhaps she was going to speak, but then—
“Shade!” Dela reached for her friend, snatching her by the sleeve and pulling her toward her. They ran, berries forgotten even as the bags bounced in Dela’s grip. They were a dozen strides from the bush before she thought to secure them to one of her belt hooks. How could she even think of them at a time like this? They had to get to the camp. People had to know.
They skidded to a stop at the edge of the overhang they’d climbed. The tents were only a dozen feet below, and a handful of people had gathered at the commotion. They stared up at the two girls with confusion intermingled with irritation. They weren’t used to their evening being disturbed by shouting, and the long journey had people’s nerves worn thin.
None of that mattered. All that mattered was what they would do. What were they supposed to do?
“Shade coming from the east!” Dela yelled. “Get the Ministers!”
Chaos possessed the camp. People scrambled, yelling. Others just stood with disbelieving frowns. Some started running in no particular direction. As if that would save them.
Would it?
Dela knew nothing about Shades. She hadn’t put much thought into what they might be or do or want. All she knew was that whatever that thing was, it was one of them. And the lights? The things it was chasing? What were they?
Freja was trembling as she crouched and threw her legs out over the edge of the rocks. It was a maneuver she’d done a hundred times, and in colder weather than this. But for fear or anger or nerves, her grip failed. Dela lurched downward, chest striking hard against the rocks as her hand snapped out into the air—and caught her friend’s arm. She grunted as she swung the girl toward the rock wall, which Freja caught in an instant. They exchanged an important glance, but there was time for little else.
Dela stood again, scanning the snowfield for signs of the shadow. It was still gliding forth on nothing but empty air, like a nightmare in a dead sprint toward an innocent dreamer. But, she realized, it was not heading straight for them. It had deviated, aiming toward the empty field north of them, and if it kept going that way, it might miss them entirely.
Could it see? It didn’t seem to have eyes. Nor any other body part, per se. Did it smell, then? Or feel? How could it expect to find anything out here in the cold, white abyss of the Bitters?
Whatever rules it followed couldn’t be the same as what humans or animals followed. It didn’t make any sense.
Then she saw the reason. One of the congregation, maddened by fear, had made a break for it, out into the open Basin. The Shade wasn’t just going to miss the camp. It was going after him.
He’d made it a hundred feet from the camp, and showed no signs of looking back or slowing. From the angle of approach, the man couldn’t see the shadow coming. Couldn’t see it bearing down on him. Couldn’t see the impossibility of his flight.
The Shade engulfed him as though it was little more than a localized fog. He vanished entirely from view, and for one bizarre moment, the beast of a cloud seemed to stop.
Then they heard the scream.