A hypnotic, sinister debut mystery about a seemingly good cop who is secretly the daughter of a notorious serial killer.
Tuesday, May 14, 2024
Happy Release Day to The Hunter's Daughter by Nicola Solvinic #SupernaturalMystery #SerialKillerThriller
Monday, May 13, 2024
Interview - The Heart of Chenoa by Creole Noir #MagicalRealism
Excerpt:
Amidst the sprawling fields of Chenoa, a small town nestled in the heart of the Texas, a tale of resilience and friendship unfolds. At its core lies the story of a young woman named Indigo, whose journey from darkness to light weaves a tapestry of courage, love, and the transformative power of friendship.
Indigo had known no other reality than the one she shared with her abusive boyfriend, Troy. The shackles of fear bound her tightly, choking the life out of her dreams. But one fateful night, fueled by a flicker of courage ignited deep within her heart, she made the decision to break free.
With nothing but a few belongings and a trembling resolve, Indigo set out on a journey to start anew in a town where nobody knew her name. Chenoa welcomed her with open arms, offering sanctuary from the storm that had raged within her for far too long.
As Indigo tentatively navigated the unfamiliar school of her new home, she stumbled upon a group of misfits whose warmth and acceptance enveloped her like a comforting embrace. Among them were Brooke and Jerald, inseparable siblings whose laughter echoed through the halls of Chenoa High School, and JC, whose inner turmoil simmered beneath his charming exterior.
Together, they formed an unlikely family, bound not by blood but by the unbreakable ties of friendship and shared experiences. Each member of their motley crew bore scars of their own, but together, they found solace in the company of kindred spirits.
As high school dramas unfolded and personal traumas resurfaced, Indigo and her newfound companions stood united against the tide of adversity. They rallied together to seek justice against a conniving classmate, their bonds growing stronger with each shared victory.
But beneath the surface of their idyllic friendship lay secrets waiting to be unearthed. JC harbored a love for Jerald that dared not speak its name, while Brooke's premonitions whispered of futures yet to unfold. And in the shadows, Jerald battled with the demons of his past, struggling to tame the beast within.
Yet through it all, they clung to each other, their hearts intertwined in a tapestry of love and loyalty. As they confronted their deepest fears and embraced their unique gifts, they discovered that strength lies not in solitude but in the unbreakable bonds of friendship.
In The Heart of Chenoa, amidst the Spanish moss trees and the whispering winds, Indigo and her friends learned that the greatest battles are fought not with fists but with hearts open wide. And as they embraced the magic woven into the fabric of their lives, they found redemption in the unlikeliest of places: within themselves, and within the hearts of those they held dear.
Tuesday, May 7, 2024
Bound Across Time by Annie R McEwen #ParanormalRomance
Book Trailer: https://shorturl.at/ajuE0
Excerpt from Bound Across Time, by Annie R McEwen
You’re
an idjit, Patrick. Death was always too good for you.
He
should have gone slower with her, no doubt about it. He was a lout, a brute, to
startle her so thoroughly, and that was never his intent. He could have—no, he
should have—whispered, or moaned, or shimmered from a distance. Instead, he was
hasty.
Hasty?
He was a burning brand of desire. Who could blame him after two
hundred-fifty…how long had it been? He’d lost count of the years.
That
was still no reason to be an imbecilic knave, popping up like codswalloping
Punch on a puppet stage while wearing the same filthy linen he was tipped
overboard in when the Earl didn’t have the decency to give him a proper burial.
At least the sea water had washed away the blood.
His
honor, his common sense—perhaps they’d washed away as well. Within reach of
this woman, he could remember nothing he’d learned of subtle romance and
courtly manners. All he could think of was making her his, now until the end of
time.
What
an embarrassment he was, to his sainted mother, to his upbringing, to the
gentleman he was reared to be. An embarrassment to every Irish bard who ever
sang songs or wrote poems about women who were doves, and lilies, and other
things he couldn’t remember.
He
did remember that they were fragile and easily startled. Easily driven away.
Next time, I will be slow. I will slowly and gently explain things to her.
Unusual things. Highly unusual, uncanny, frightening, nigh incomprehensible
things.
Sure,
now, Patrick, me boyo, that’ll be a stroll along the banks of the Shannon.
By
the right hand of God, but she was beautiful. Slumbering on the stone floor,
her skin smooth ivory but gilded, as though the sun had kissed her once and
then fallen in love, unable to leave. She’d lost her cap, and her hair—rich,
deep brown and burnished with red, like brandy—tumbled around her neck and
shoulders. Her sun-brushed skin, high and perfect cheekbones, the delicate
slant of her eyes, the plump swell of her breasts above the top edge of her bodice,
the curves of the body he could imagine pressed to his own aching and lonely
one…
Beauty
itself, she was, not only of body but of mind. In the weeks before she’d seen
him, he’d watched her exercise that beautiful mind among the slower thinkers of
the Castle, who doubtless envied her. She was stubborn, spirited, and
quick-witted—he liked that.
He crouched over her crumpled form, not touching, only taking in her scent.
Rose attar and mint—he liked that, too.
The
only thing he didn’t care for was the name she went by, See-see. What sort of
name was that? It was something you called a canary. He would never call her
that, not when the French name with which she’d been christened was just like
her.
Céleste,
meaning heavenly.
She was waking now. He rose and backed away. Time for him to depart, as he must, and breathe a prayer. Not for himself, there was no point to that. If God had ever listened to him, he wouldn’t be where he was, and he deserved no better. His prayer would be for her, the angel who defied or escaped God’s curse to light his endless night.
Come back, Céleste Gowdie. Please come back.
Monday, April 29, 2024
Author Interview- Unbalanced Ph by J.M. Scarlet
What inspired you to become an author?
The inspiration behind becoming an author is a kind of funny story. I was hanging out with a few of my writing friends and one of them challenged me to write and publish a book. I am the kind of woman who never turns down a challenge! Therefore I started writing, and my friend helped me through the self publishing process, and here I am with my first work—so excited!
How did you come up with the title for your latest book?
Science has always been a big love for me. It’s a hard subject to study and understand but I enjoy the challenge. So I started studying about ph balance and how it affects people and other things in nature. I also understand that bodies have to be in balance. I started thinking about how my characters are all unbalanced in some way or another; everyone for that matter. Three is an odd number, my characters are flawed, so the idea of ‘unbalanced ph’ started to form. I felt that it would be a good enough teaser to peak readers' interest.
Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
I started out with completely different titles. The first one was ‘Journey of D’, which was ok, but it just didn’t fit. Then I switched over to ‘The Neighbor Lady’, but that too felt off because of PJ and her contribution to the arc of the story. As I began to reread the story over and over I landed on ‘Unbalanced Ph’. The book wasn’t complete, but after I found the title, I was able to really dig in, and complete the story.
Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?
Doug is loosely based on a co-worker who’s a single dad and imaginations I have of my father who I never knew. He and my mother split either before I was born or when I was a baby. My mother has never given me the absolute truth, and I have yet to meet my father to get the whole story. So writing Doug was cathartic for me. My co-worker who’s a single dad gave me some concrete situations to write from. From both of those experiences Doug and the novella were born.
Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?
I think I’d like to write some science fiction. I really love writing characters and crazy sensual situations, but I also would love to send them into space, or write about another planet. If I could make a sequel with these three characters going to another planet would be great. However I really want to find a core audience first and maybe sell some books! But rest assured, if they do go to another planet there will be some spicy scenes with some sexy aliens! (lol)
What book are you reading now?
I’m currently reading “The Dare” by Harley Laroux. I found this author through a friend who told me to read her because she is an excellent story-teller. I have found this to be so true! It’s a short read, but I’ve really gotten sucked into the story, so sexy, so many twists, I love it!
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
The most challenging part of the writing was definitely writing the sex scenes. It is tough! Since this is all new to me, I didn’t want to offend people, but at the same time I wanted the experiences to be authentic. I’m a fan of sex, let’s be clear! I also understand some readers want specific words to give specific feelings etc. So I struggled with giving the right words for certain body parts, and dialog. I hope to get some feedback on this part of my writing the most, this way I can adjust what I give to the people.
When you’re not writing what
do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty
pleasures?
When I’m not writing, or hanging out with friends my true guilty pleasure is roller skating. It’s a physical activity that keeps me in shape. Now I also enjoy other physical activities that make me quiver, sweat and squirm, but we’ll save those for another post. However, skating allows me to be free. Feeling the wind rush through my hair, or spinning around and around on the skates is absolute dizzying joy.
What is next for you? Do you
have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in
progress?
Well, there are a few things I’m working/toying with. The first is a sequel to Unbalanced Ph. I
really want to dive in with my lady co-stars. This book is definitely Doug
centered, but the sequel(s) would swoop into the stories of these intriguing
women. I’m also thinking of creating an audio book. Friends have told me that
audio books can create a whole new fan base for me. So I’ve been kicking that
around, but once again, it’s something I know nothing about. And, it’s a
challenge, and we know how I feel about challenges!
Excerpt
As he drove up and pulled into his spot he noticed Nene getting out of her car with two arms full of groceries. Doug parked his car, and quickly got out to help.
“Hey Nene, do you need some help?”
“Heeyyy Doug, of course I could use a hand,” she replied as he grabbed a bag that was slipping out her hand. “Thanks so much! These groceries are a mess, but I gotta feed these kids. And while I’m here gettin’ these groceries, the kids ain’t never around to help!” As she chuckled, Doug nodded. He’d passed Nene a few days back and met her briefly, but this was their first real interaction.
“Yeah, that’s the thing about kids, I get that. But you gotta be glad you had ‘em right?”
“Well I guess Doug, I have second thoughts from time to time,” she said as she laughed again.
“Hey Doug, I noticed you working on that house next door, and was wondering are you fixing it up, or are you moving in?” They both gathered their grip on their respective groceries and paused. Doug shifted around a bit.
“Uh...well, you know Nene, since you like asked and all, I’m pretty much doing both. I bought the property, and it needed a bit of work so I’m working on it too.”
“Ohhh, ok, ok Dougie, I see you, I see you. Well since I got this moment with you, if you don’t mind me askin’ and all,” she started while looking up at him, “what you going to do with all that space? I’ve been here seven years, and all these houses are the same. They’re all three bedrooms. And from what I’ve noticed, it don’t seem like you have any family. Am I correct in that?” She motioned her torso in a shy but sultry fashion. Doug felt slightly warm; the sun was out, but that was not the origin of his temperature rise. He looked her up and down faintly, and noticed her nicely painted toes poking out from her sandals, her shape, void of hips, but trim waistline, her full bosom, and long pink nails contrasting her beautiful dark skin. Doug glanced deeply at her face, and focused on her provocative brown eyes.
“Well Nene,” he stuttered, “since you asked, I’m sing–...I mean I have two girls. And yeah, I’m single, I mean I’m a single dad,” he replied, mopping his answer up at the end.
“OK!” she exclaimed, making space and walking toward the door. “I wasn’t trying to get all in your business, but we’re neighbors you know. So I just wanted to let you know, if you ever needed a cup of sugar or some flour or something like that, I’m here. Right next door, I’m your neighbor.” Doug helped her to the door, and handed her the load of groceries he held.
“I got you Nene, I got you. But let me ask you something?” She nodded in acceptance to his question. “How do you know I can cook?” She smiled and gazed at him.
“Well, any man who is single, appears to be responsible, is a homeowner, and has a smile like yours…I’m just betting you can. Sooo, if you need a little sugar to make something sweet, I’m the neighbor lady you should call on. I’m only a few feet away.”
“Ok,” Doug replied, smiling at her, “If I’m ever in need of some sugar, you’ll be the first neighbor I’ll call.” Doug backed off her doorstep and started to walk away. He looked back to see Nene gripping her finger in her mouth eyeing him. She quickly waved, and Doug waved back, smiling.
Single dad…single, I’m single, thought Doug as he walked the pathway to his house. I’m single, I don’t need permission to talk to my neighbors. I’m single. No one will say anything about how you handle your life; you don’t have a woman right now. You’re single. Be ok with that.
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
The Divine and Deadly by Taylen Carver #ContemporaryFantasy
Praise for the Magorian & Jones Series:
Excerpt: Chapter One
I have watched hundreds of humans suffer through their transformation from human to Old One. Some say I am an expert in this, but I would dispute that. I don’t think there are any experts. Too little is known about the transformation process for anyone to claim the status. The experience I have lets me ease my patients’ agony a little, and avoids harming them in the process. But no skill of mine changes the course of the transformation by a single micron.
I watched Henry Magorian writhe and twist on the bed I stood beside, reviewing my uselessness, and finding it ironic that I was so helpless. Henry was Benjamin Magorian’s older brother, and a slimey wretch of a man. Yet he was my patient. I was required to give him the best care possible. His family had flown us out to Montreal from Toledo, Spain, on a private and very expensive jet, for this purpose.
Pain is pain. I hated seeing the man claw at the expensive sheets, the tendons in his neck and wrists standing out like ships’ hawsers. He wore only boxer briefs and his entire body was bathed in sweat. He had been sweating for hours, now. We had changed the sheets twice.
I made myself look away. Watching him helped no one. I put the stethascope on the tray table the family had thoughtfully provided and looked at Jaimie.She held her hands out over Henry’s body, just above the thrashing shoulders, concentrating on whatever information travelled through her palms. I wasn’t certain what she could detect, for the mystery of fae magic was not readily shared by any of them.
Jaimie wore her thick pale hair up in a pony tail at the back of her head, which allowed her pointed ears to be seen. Normally, she was careful to drape her hair over her ears when among humans, but we’d long since passed that consideration. We’d been in this room for nearly thirty hours, and members of the family had stopped stepping in to check on their cousin/uncle.
She held her flawless face in a stiff, neutral expression. She was not allowing herself to show how worried she was. But I’d had seen too many transitions. I was worried myself.
“He’s fighting it,” I said.
Jaimie looked up, then back down at her patient. “Yes.”
It was the first time either of us had said it, although I think we’d both guessed as soon as we’d walked into the elegant pale blue and cream room. The family had bundled all three of us, including Ben, onto a jet on standby at Toledo’s small private landing field, the moment Henry Magorian had shown the first signs of transition. It had taken nine hours to reach Montreal, plus an hour at either end for local travel and ten minutes of lightning-speed packing.
So we had first seen Henry over eleven hours after he had begun transitioning, and we’d been here, save for small cat naps in the bedroom next door, for thirty hours.
Forty hours, more or less, and he still showed no physical changes.
Henry kicked and moaned, then curled up into a tight ball.
“I can take away the pain. A little, at least,” Jaimie said. Her voice was strained. She had slept less than I. Fae could reduce pain by breathing in bad humours—which was not a medieval conceit for them. It wasn’t as effective as an angel breathing on the patient, but it did work.
“You know the danger in that.” We’d both learned that reducing the pain too much let the patient relax. The transition required that they move, so that the metabolism was elevated, allowing the organs to evolve. The extreme fever was another function of the transition. It was the mechanism that changed the patient’s DNA expression, the key to the transition. Lowering the body temperature could suspend the transition, too.Jaimie put her fingers to her temples. She had no medical training in her human history. She had been a soldier in the British army. It was only her transition to a fae that made health work feasible. She was less used to watching a patient suffer than I, although she would always find it stressful, no matter how used to it she became. We all did, despite a hardening of one’s empathy once exposed to too much of it.
“He should have changed by now.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know of anyone taking this long.”
“I have seen some cases last this long,” I said grimly. I didn’t add the remainder of that statement—that everyone who had fought their transition for this long did not survive. Jaimie didn’t need that additional worry. It was quite likely she was well aware of this statistic. I just didn’t want to bring it to the forefront of her thoughts.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Her wonderful silvery eyes were red-rimmed, but still worth staring into. Even after thirty hours of hard work and worry, even wearing the travel creased clothing she’d arrived in and slept in, she looked wonderful.
I pushed away the betraying thought and tried to find an answer to her question, for the fear in her voice was real. It wasn’t fear of death. She had been a soldier and now was a fae who dispensed magical healing. She was accustomed to death.
I knew the source of her fear. This was Henry Magorian. Ben’s brother. Jaimie did not want to let Ben down. She wanted to save Henry for him.
So did I, even though I had learned to loathe Henry not long after meeting him.
I’d sent Ben out of the room hours ago. His pacing and his unhelpful suggestions, along with his anxious questions every time Henry moaned or moved, had not helped either Jaimie or I concentrate. As far as I knew, Ben was in the next room and, as it was two in the morning, Toledo time, he was probably sleeping, even though bright summer sunlight streamed through the windows.
It was eight in the evening, Quebec time, on a blazingly hot day, but none of the external weather reached us, for this house had a controlled environment kept at a pleasant twenty-three degrees with just the right degree of humidity. The window of the room we were in had remained closed and sealed against the heat outside. The view from the window was magnificent, for the house stood high upon the exlsuive Summit area, with a jaw-dropping view of the Old City and the St. Lawrence river twinkling on the horizon.
The Magorian family could afford the luxury of whole-house environmental controls, just as they could afford private transatlantic flights, and bribes to ease an Old One through two nations’ customs and immigration border checks.
Ben had insisted that they make the arrangements to bring Jaimie into the country. He had argued that Jaimie could help Henry as much as I could. The family, desparate as they were, had complied, although I had no idea what it had taken to make it happen. Canada was particular about who they let into their country, especially when it came to the Old Ones. Unlike Spain, Canada had so far refused refugees, although there were many unofficial refugees flooding across the Canada/United Stated border. Canada was not xenophobic, though. It was the first country in the world to acknowledge the Old Ones legally.
Here, Old Ones were not automatically considered “dead” after turning. They were in a legal limbo, still, but the assets they’d held as a human, and might acquire as an Old One, were also held in legal stasis, rather than passed onto heirs. It was a half-step toward giving Old Ones full citizenship, or at least residency, and the rights and obligations that came with it. The government was still arguing the point in Ottawa.
But Jaimie, despite a lack of indentity documentation, had merely received a nod of acknowledgement from the customs official who had stamped Ben’s and my passports. I had spotted a photograph of Jaimie attached to his clipboard.
She stared at me now, hope showing in her eyes, as I appeared to be thinking of another way to save Henry Magorian.
I desparately wanted to come up with a solution. I wanted her to look at me with relief and gratitude. I wanted her to….well, that was never going to happen. But still, I wanted to please her.
So I made myself consider every single possibility. What had we not done for this horrible man? What else could we try?
I stared down at his curled up body. If he continued to fight the transition, it would not end well. Did he know that? Did he resent the idea of becoming an Old One so passionately, that he was putting up this marathon resistance?
That gave me an idea. I looked at Jaimie. “It’s a long shot.”
“I don’t care.”
That was exactly what I had expected her to say. “That thing Ben did, in New York, with the proto-wizard?”
“The mind meld?” She didn’t smile at the pop culture name we’d adopted for whatever it was that Ben had done to the man, as she usually did. She was a huge Star Trek fan, which I found, well, illlogical, given her former profession. Or perhaps that was exactly why she liked the show so much. A professional soldier would appreciate a peaceful utopia. “What of it?” she added.
“If he could reach Henry, he could tell him to stop fighting the transition.”
Jaimie looked down at Henry, who certainly couldn’t hear us now. “Do you think he doesn’t already know that?”“He quite likely does know that. But Henry likes to get his own way.” He’d fooled Ben into signing over his portion of the family inheritence because he didn’t like Ben’s choice of lifestyle. “If Ben could appeal to him, let him see…” I made myself say it. “Let him see that if he doesn’t let this happen, he’ll die. Henry’s sense of self-preservation might kick in.”
Jaimie pressed her lips together. She hadn’t met Henry, but I’m sure Ben had shared with her the reason why he had to rely on his income as a wizard, when his family was so well off.
“I’ll go and get him,” she said. “A long shot is better than the nothing we’ve got without it.”
About the Author:
Tuesday, April 16, 2024
Review - Indian Burial GroundIndian Burial Ground by Nick Medina
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This book weaves together elements of dysfunctional family dynamics, intergenerational trauma, desolate reservation life, Native folklore, and supernatural elements to create a horror tapestry that will disturb you in the way only a good book can.
The book bounces back and forth between Louie's life as a 17-year-old on the res, and modern-day when he returns to the res for a Pow Wow. Sadly he arrives right after his 38-year-old niece Noemi's boyfriend has been killed.
The circumstances of his death lead him down a rabbit hole into the past making him fear the horrors of that time are now repeating in the present. The hellscape he survived in the 80s centered around his family and members of his tribe, all connected by strange supernatural elements. He followed the string that tied all the events together. But it left him scarred to this day. Now he fears the terror is back to claim Noemi like it threatened to do when she was a child.
Excellent read. I will be reading more of Medina's work.
Received an ARC from NetGalley
View all my reviews