I love to read. My favorite genres women's fiction, romance (including erotica), psychological thrillers, fantasy, and young adult. I also enjoy steampunk, dystopian, LGBTQIA, and paranormal. I am also a busy mom of 3 kids.
In detective Mera Maurea’s experience, three things motivate a murder: secrets, convenience, or passion. But none of the three can explain why the Summer King is dead.
With a tight deadline hanging over her head, Mera has to figure out who’s the culprit before the frail balance that holds the nation of Tagrad together crumbles into dust.
To aid her—or turn her life into a living hell, hard to tell which—is her fae partner Sebastian Dhay, a snarky detective with a penchant for the illegal. He’s a volatile wild card who will do anything to solve the murder, even if it means his doom.
The clock is ticking. And Mera is hiding a deadly secret of her own.
Bast began unbuttoning his vest and nodded to a door close to the kitchen. “You can sleep in my bedroom.”
Mera barely recorded what he’d said. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He threw the vest on the sofa and proceeded to unbutton his shirt, a burning dare in his eyes.
Mera took in his strong, defined abs, and a delirious warmth went down her spine.
He tossed the shirt atop the sofa too, showcasing his perfect chiseled torso and strong biceps, meant to wrap around a woman as she rode his…
“Enjoying the show, are we?” He began undoing his belt, his deceiving, sharp eyes burning with lust.
Mera’s throat was so dry it might be made of sand. “I…”
Noticing the massive bulge underneath his black boxer briefs, she stepped forward. She wanted, needed, to touch that part of him; lick it, hold it, shove it inside her until…
This was wrong. He was her partner, at least for the time being.
“Stop being a dick, Detective Dhay.” Grasping her bag, she hurried into the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her.
::: Can she resist his darkness? Find out in TO KILL A FAE :::
C.S. Wilde wrote her first Fantasy novel when she was eight. That book was absolutely terrible, but her mother told her it was awesome, so she kept writing. Now a grown-up (though many will beg to differ), C. S. Wilde writes about fantastic worlds, love stories larger than life and epic battles.
She also, quite obviously, sucks at writing an author bio. She finds it awkward that she must write this in the third person, and hopes you won’t notice.
To be notified of upcoming releases, signup for the Kick-ass Team at www.cswilde.com
You are cordially invited to a destination wedding to die for…
“My rating for Drowning Lessons by Rachel Neuburger Reynolds is five stars. I loved the setting, the mystery is top-notch, the characters are very realistic, yet humorous, and the plot moved well. This series is one that I will be watching.” ~Baroness’ Book Trove
“There are so many fine things about this novel that it’s difficult to enumerate them all. The characters are beautifully drawn; the dialogue sparkles; the setting is vividly rendered…This is sure to delight followers and fans of mystery novels !!” ~Kelly/Reviewer NetGalley
Welcome to Bocas del Toro, a remote chain of islands off the Caribbean coast of Panama. Five days of glorious sun and lush rainforest await the forty guests celebrating Bridezilla Olivia’s dream wedding—but will a murder sink the catered affair? Before anyone’s got time to start working on a tan, an unfortunate snorkeling accident eliminates a member of the wedding party. Maid of honor Lexie Marino smells trouble, and is thrust into the responsibility of investigating, needing to solve the case before her bestie’s trip down the aisle gets tropically derailed. The show must go on.
Lexie’s a little too tall, a little too awkward, and a little too brokenhearted, but she’s determined to nail the real killer. Can this unlikely sleuth stay afloat as she’s hit by wave after wave of wildly entertaining characters, including an alpha bride, surfing detectives, and a high school flame long forgotten? You’ll find yourself laughing until the very end of Drowning Lessons, a debut cozy mystery that makes the perfect beach read. Rub in some coconut oil, dangle your feet in the crystal-blue waters of Starfish Beach, and sip a cool drink as Lexie discovers the deductive superpowers she never knew she had. Let the party begin!
“This story is much more than a cozy mystery. It is a dramedy where literally everything that can go wrong does. Twists, turns, craziness, and good old mayhem fill these pages all on an idyllic chain of islands . . . This was a fun book to read and a great start for this series.” ~Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book
“Drowning Lessons is filled with humor from beginning to end, not to mention several twists along the way. It’s the perfect beach read.” ~Socrates’ Book Reviews
“Great debut for this new series: a compelling plot, a spectacular setting, and bizarre characters, nothing is missing.” ~LibriAmoriMiei
This is the first book of five in the Red Frog Beach Mystery Series. The Wipeout Affair, Book 2, will be released on October 17, 2019. For information and updates please visit RachelNeuburger.com
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“No, he’s dead,” Lloyd said to me. “Know what I mean?”
Lloyd looked me directly in the eye and a chill ran down my spine, which was half to do with Nico and half to do with Lloyd’s preternaturally blue eyes. Match those peepers with his black hair and 6’4” lithe body, and he was every bit of a vampire who just happened to have a tan.
Carlos and Lloyd brought Nico down to a cabin, while one of the deck crew called ahead to Bocas Town Marina to say that we’d need an ambulance to drive us less than half a mile to the hospital.
“I suppose we should tell Walter,” Lloyd dryly said, clinically looking over the body. “I’m not this kind of doctor, I suppose, but I’d say massive coronary. Drowning?” He tenderly touched Nico’s face. “Good night, dear friend.”
We abstained from speech, as drunken revelers stomped around above us. Carlos paced and let us know that we’d need to give the ambulance driver cash when we arrived, as soon as someone could find him. The driver also had a cab that went to Bluff Beach and back, where sometimes he’d spend the day if business was slow. It was unclear whether the vehicle was technically an ambulance at all.
“Of course it is,” Carlos said with a bad poker face.
“Lexie,” I heard Olivia sing from the top of the stairs. “We need you! Migs has a very particular concept for this photo—”
“Can you come down here, Olivia?” I meekly asked.
“Migs has a concept for disembarking very artfully, taking photos while,” she continued, walking into the room and laying eyes upon the corpse. “This is not happening. God damn, this is not happening. What happened? Is he okay?”
Lloyd lit a cigarette.
Of course he did.
“I’m not that kind of doctor,” he said for the second time, stopping when Walter walked into the room.
Walter appeared not to believe what he saw; his dear friend laying still on the bed.
Olivia looked wildly around the room.
The boat docked at the key side and I heard footsteps as our partygoers disembarked above us. Carlos had his crew tempting people away from the ship, making the masses forget that they hadn’t moved on to a second snorkeling spot.
Walter sat silent, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Olivia, Carlos, and Lloyd heatedly discussed what would happen next. The room went silent when the next thing that Olivia said was, “Let’s keep this quiet until we know what happened. I want to have all the information before we tell the guests.”
Oh no. She’s up to something.
When the group started talking again, Lloyd nodded and motioned towards Carlos and said, “Just let the captain there tell them there was an unfortunate snorkeling incident. I get it, Olivia. Ducks in a row and all that.”
“I’m not saying snorkeling incident,” Carlos chided. “I’ve got insurance to worry about. Unfortunate snorkeling incident? What’s wrong with you?”
“You want a list?” Lloyd calmly asked.
How could you fault a man for being crazy when he so casually owned it?
Did they have a point? I suppose that it might have been wise to wait until it was clear what had happened. Lloyd looked at her, in what I can only describe as clinical bemusement, and gifted her with enough rope to hang herself. He abruptly offered to remove himself from the boat and treat the remaining guests to a late afternoon cocktail at the Pickled Parrot, five minutes across the bay on Isla Carenero.
Walter made a b-line for the bathroom, hand clasped over his mouth.
Lloyd ran his hand through his thick dark hair as he put his sunglasses on, lighting another cigarette, smirking at everyone remaining through his dark lenses.
He handed me a wad of cash for whatever corrupt local might need it and left, turning back to cynically say to Olivia, “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
Rachel Neuburger Reynolds is the author of The Red Frog Beach Mystery Series. As a playwright, her plays have had been produced in London, Edinburgh, and New York. After 25-years in New York City, she now resides with her husband between London and St Leonards-on-Sea in England. For news about Rachel and the upcoming Red Frog Beach Mysteries, check her out at RachelNeuburger.com.
Monsters of the Tywyll Forest have poisoned the Winter Court, unleashing a prophecy that demands a human sacrifice to save the withering land. Willing to do whatever it takes to save his people, King Cadewyn of the Winter Court ventures to the human world in search of one insignificant life to claim…
Amber was used to her life being in shambles, but getting kidnapped and whisked off to a magical fae realm was a new low even for her. While feeling drawn to the fae King by a sizzling attraction, her apprehension builds to a panic when she finds out why she was brought there.When Cade discovers that Amber is his mate, can he carry out his plan to sacrifice her? Or will the malicious plotting of others within the court leave Amber trapped in the mystical realm with nowhere to run?
Winter King is a standalone steamy paranormal romance with a HEA. Each book in the Wyth Courts series will feature a different couple, with a complete story, and a HEA. Suited for readers 18+ due to language and sex scenes.
I hadn’t expected movement in the middle of the night, but sure enough, the female human left her apartment building in a hurry just after four in the morning. She hugged a thin jacket over a tee and sweatpants. A second later, a taxi showed up and she boarded it.
Where in the freezing ice was she going at this time?
Regardless of my thoughts, I changed into my wolf form and followed her.
Just like I had done all day long.
Right after Haera told me how to save my people, I used my medallion to teleport to the human world. Haera had helped. She cast a spell over me, saying I would end up near the one I needed to save my court.
A selfless, pure-hearted human.
When she told me that, I scoffed. A selfless, pure-hearted human? Those were like myths. They didn’t exist. But Haera assured me I just had to get near the human and I would know.
The moment I saw Amber leaving the restaurant after being fired, with her long, black hair whipping on the chilly wind and her bright green eyes looking up at the clear skies full of hope and wonder, I knew it was her. Not because she was absolutely stunning and I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but because the pull I felt deep in my core told me that she was the one I needed.
J.S. Dark is the pen name of a USA Today Bestselling author. As J.S. Dark, she writes steamy paranormal and fantasy romance, with red hot heroes and their sassy soulmates. Her passion for books started when she was very little, and her first novel was penned at only thirteen years old. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, two kids, and way too many books!
The Blasket Islands are the heart of Ireland – once populated with some of the most famous Irish writers, they are now abandoned, filled with nothing but wind and silence. Kate Moreton, a PhD student at Dartmouth, is in Ireland to research the history of the Blaskets, not to fall in love. She has a degree to finish and a life back in New Hampshire that she is reluctant to leave.
But fall in love she does, with both the wild, windswept landscape and with Ozzie, an Irish-American fisherman with a troubled past who shares her deep, aching love for the land. Together, they begin to build a life on the rocky Irish coast. But when tragedy strikes, leading Kate on a desperate search through Europe, the limits of their love and faith in each other will be tested.
The Irish tell a story of a man who fell in love with a fairy woman and went with her to live on an island lost to time and trouble.
They lived in a thatched cottage overlooking the sea with nothing but donkeys and gulls and white chickens to keep them company. They lived in the dream of all lovers, apart from the world, en- tire to themselves, their bed an island to be rediscovered each night. In all seasons, they slept near a large round window and the ocean wind found them and played gently with their hair and carried the scent of open water to their nostrils. Each night he tucked himself around her and she, in turn, moved closer into his arms, and the seals sang and their songs fell to the bottom of the sea where the shells held their voices and relinquished them only in violent storms.
One day the man went away, mortal as he was; he could not resist his longing to see the loved ones he had left behind. She warned him that he would grow old the moment his foot touched the soil of the Irish mainland, so he begged her for one of the donkeys to ride back to his home for a single glance at what he had left behind. Though she knew the risk, she loved him too much to deny his wish, and so he left on a quiet night, his prom- ise to come back to her cutting her ears with salt and bitterness. She watched him depart on a land bridge that arced to the mainland and then turned back to her cottage, knowing his fate, knowing that love must always have its own island. She raised up
2 J. P. Monninger
the fog from the ocean and she extinguished all light from the island and the chickens went mute and the donkeys brayed into the chimney smoke and the gulls called out her anguish.
After many days of travel, and through no fault of his own, he touched ground and became an old man in one breath. Even as age claimed him upon the instant of his foot striking the soil, he called to her to save him, but she could not help him any longer. In the seasons afterward, on certain full moon nights, she permitted the island to rise from the mist and to appear to him, or to any broken-hearted lover, the boil of the sea stilled for an unbearable glimpse of what had been lost so thoughtlessly. To his great age he lived for the moments when he might hear her voice rising above the sea, the call of their bed and their nights and their love, the call of his heart, the call of the gulls that held all the pain of the world. He answered on each occasion that he was here, waiting, his heart true and never wavering, his days filled with regret for breaking their spell and leaving the island. He asked her to forgive him the restlessness, which is the curse of men and the blood they cannot still, but whether she did or not, he could not say.
I had misgivings: it was a tourist bus. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had booked passage on a tourist bus. It wasn’t even a
good kind of tourist bus, if there is such a thing. It was a massive, absurd mountain of a machine, blue and white, with a front grill the size of a baseball backstop. When the tour director—a competent, harried woman named Rosie—pointed me toward it with the corner of her clipboard, I tried to imagine there was some mistake. The idea that the place I had studied for years, the Blasket Islands off Ireland’s southwest coast, could be approached by such a vehicle, seemed sacrilegious. The fierce Irish women in my dissertation would not have known what to say about a bus with televisions, tinted windows, air-conditioning, bathrooms, and a soundtrack playing a loop of sentimental Irish music featuring “Galway Bay” and “Danny Boy.” Especially “Danny Boy.” It was like driving through the Louvre on a motor scooter. It didn’t even seem possible that the bus could fit the small, twisty roads of Dingle.
I took a deep breath and climbed aboard. My backpack whacked against the door.
Immediately I experienced that bus moment. Anyone who has ever taken a bus has experienced it. You step up and look around and you are searching for seats, but most of them are taken, and the bus is somewhat dimmer than the outside light, and the seat backs cover almost everything except the eyes and
8 J. P. Monninger
foreheads of the seated passengers. Most of them try to avoid your eyes because they don’t want you sitting next to them, but they are aware, also, that there are only so many seats, so if they are going to surrender the place next to them they would prefer it be to someone who looks at least marginally sane. Meanwhile, I tried to see over the seat backs to vacant places, also assessing who might be a decent, more or less silent traveling companion, while also determining who seemed too eager to have me beside her or him. I wanted to avoid that person at all costs.
That bus moment.
I also felt exhausted. I was exhausted from the Boston–Limerick flight, tired in the way only airports and plane air can make you feel. Like old, stale bread. Like bread left out to dry itself into turkey stuffing.
I felt, too, a little like crying.
Not now, I told myself. Then I started forward.
The passengers were old. My best friend, Milly, would have said that it wasn’t a polite thing to say or think, but I couldn’t help it. With only their heads extending above the seat backs, they looked like a field of dandelion puffs. They smiled and made small talk with one another, clearly happy to be on vacation, and often they looked up and nodded to me. I could have been their granddaughter and that was okay with them. They liked “Danny Boy.” They liked coming to Ireland; many of them had relatives here, I was certain. This was a homecoming of sorts, and I couldn’t be crabby about that, so I braced myself going down the aisle, my eyes doing the bus scan, which meant looking without staring, hoping without wishing.
Halfway down the bus, I came to an empty seat. Two empty seats. It didn’t seem possible. I stopped and tried not to swing around and hit anyone with my backpack. Rosie hadn’t boarded the bus; I could see the driver standing outside, a cup of coffee
Seven Letters 9
in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Two empty seats? It felt like a trap. It felt too good to be true.
“Back here, dear,” an older man called to me. “There’s a spot here. That seat is reserved. I don’t think you can sit there. At least no one has.”
I considered trying my luck, plunking down and waiting for whatever might happen. Then again, that could land me in an even more horrible situation. The older gentleman who called to me looked sane and reasonably groomed. I could do worse. I smiled and hoisted my backpack and clunked down the aisle, hammering both sides until people raised their hands to fend me away.
“Here, I’ll just store this above us,” said the old man who had offered me a seat. He had the bin open above our spot. He shoved a mushroom-colored raincoat inside it. He smiled at me. He had a moustache as wide as a Band-Aid across his top lip.
I inched my way down the aisle until I stood beside him. “Gerry,” he said, holding out his hand. “What luck for me.
I get to sit next to a beautiful, red-haired colleen. What’s your name?”
“Kate,” I said.
“That’s a good Irish name. Are you Irish?” “American, but yes. Irish ancestry.”
“So am I. I believe everyone on the bus has some connection to the old sod. I’d put money on it.”
He won a point for the first mention of the old sod that I had heard since landing in Ireland four hours before.
He helped me swing my bag up into the bin. Then I remembered I needed my books and I had to swing the backpack down again. As I dug through the bag, Gerry beside me, I felt the miles of traveling clinging to me. How strange to wake up in Boston and end up on a bus going to Dingle, the most beautiful peninsula in the world.
About the Author:
J.P. MONNINGER, author of The Map That Leads to You, is an award-winning writer in New England and Professor of English at Plymouth State University.
Tommy worked hard to establish a life outside of his father’s legacy. Son to the infamous Delucia family, he’s the heir to a throne he doesn’t want. As loyalties keep pulling him back in, he struggles to obtain a clean break. Becoming a new man is just out of arm’s reach.
Naila is a sassy, headstrong entrepreneur with businesses in the Delucia territory. A chance meeting between the two has Tommy questioning everything about his life and what his future holds.
As circumstances keep putting them in each other’s paths, the two can’t deny the building chemistry between them. As passions ignite, so does the tension surrounding the Delucia family, catching them both in the crosshairs of an all-out war.
When the dust settles, there’s only one question remaining: how deep are they willing to go?
Italians had an old saying, “Colpo di fulmine.” The thunderbolt. It was love at first sight, but none of that cheesy shit. It was powerful, like getting caught in a thunderstorm and being struck by lightning. It was intense. It hit you in the heart so hard, your heartbeat changed its tune to be in time with that of the person you were struck by. It knocked you on your ass, making you reckless and completely sane at the same time. In this lifestyle, it was one of your biggest downfalls.
Creatively living through music, writing and yoga.
I love the arts and how they move you and make you feel.
Reading has always been a great love of mine right after my love of music. Each song written is a story waiting to be told. Which, along with my over active imagination fueled my desire to write about the chaos that goes on in my head.
I love stringing words together. I love making people get lost in a story and connecting with fictional characters that remind them of someone they know.
I published my first book Shattered in 2013. It’s the first installment in the Shattered Hearts Series. Shattered started out as an assignment for a college course I took at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. After I graduated college I went through my old papers and reconnected with the story morphing into so much more then what I wrote in my college course.
Now you can find me doing yoga, listening to music and working on getting out all the stories in my head, including dabbling in poetry. (Which I’ve always had a secret love affair with).
When Keegan’s father, the Demon King of Fire, attempted to produce an heir, a surge of light energy interrupted the process. One tiny piece of the newly forming demon broke off. That piece is Keegan. For years, he has attempted to lay low, watching from the shadows while his monstrous brother Aidan, the true Prince of Fire, is groomed for the throne.
Keegan’s shaky status quo is shattered when one of his father’s power-plays goes horribly wrong. He is cast to Earth and forced to work with a suddenly powerless Aidan. The two brothers must cooperate to complete an impossible task and avoid being cast forever into the abyss. As if having to spend time with his beastly other half wasn’t bad enough, Keegan must adapt to living on Earth, wielding his new human vessel, and dealing with his demonic appetite without harming the human creatures for whom he has always cared.
As Keegan and Aidan work to save themselves, questions arise. What exactly was the King of Fire up to, that sparked their Master’s interest enough to cast them from the Demon Realm? Can Aidan be trusted in his new human form, complete with emotions, or is he the same unfeeling creature he’s always been? And why are so many demons suddenly invested in the outcome of the brothers’ trial? The only thing Keegan knows for certain is that whether he succeeds or fails at the task, the consequences for the Demon Realm and for Earth itself will be catastrophic.
Sons of Fire by Tracy Auerbach Publication date: January 7th 2020 Genres: Urban Fantasy, Young Adult
Tracy Auerbach is an author of science fiction and fantasy for teens and adults. As an avid reader with a vivid imagination, she chose to study film, English, and education, and went on to teach and write STEM curriculum for the New York Department of Education. This helped to polish her writing skills and ignite her passion for science fiction and fantasy.
Her first scholarly article, published in Language Magazine, was about the value of active, creative learning in science.
On the fiction side, Tracy’s work has been featured in the online literary journal Micro-horror, The Writing Disorder fiction anthology, and the “(Dis)ability” short story anthology, in addition to her novels.
When she is not teaching or writing, Tracy is usually reading or spending time with her family. She lives in New York with her husband and sons.