Blackout Trail
Linda Naughton
Publication date: January 10th 2023
Genres: Adult, Dystopian, Post-Apocalyptic

Doctor Anna Hastings is no stranger to disasters, having spent much of her career as an aid worker in conflict zones around the world. Yet when an electrical phenomenon known as an EMP brings down the power grid, Anna faces catastrophe on a scale she never imagined. She must learn what it means to be a doctor in a world deprived of almost all technology.

As the blackout causes planes to fall from the sky, Anna crosses paths with devoted father Mark Ryan in the chaos at the airport. Mark convinces Anna to travel with him and his seven-year-old daughter Lily to their family’s cabin in remote Maine. There Mark hopes to reunite with his wife, and find a safe refuge from a society on the brink of collapse.

Journeying across a thousand miles of backcountry trails, they will face a daily struggle against nature. Their biggest peril, though, may come from their fellow survivors. As Anna grows closer to Mark and Lily, she resolves to see them safely home. But can she hold onto her humanity in a world gone mad?

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

I lowered the phone and narrowed my eyes at the blank display. No indicators, no clock —nothing. How could it be dead already? I’d charged it before I left Jess’ house last night, and the damn thing was barely a month old. I scowled. “Oh, come on.”

The nearby baggage carousel ground to a shuddering halt. A collective groan from the other passengers drew my attention away from the useless brick in my hand. Snatches of disjointed conversation reached my ears.

“Can you hear me? I think we got cut off. Frank?”

“The hell? I had plenty of charge left.”

“Moooommy! My movie stopped!”

A growing sense of dread pooled in my stomach. It wasn’t just our baggage carousel that had stopped; they all had. Both the overhead lights and the computer screens showing the baggage carousel assignments had gone dark too. The only light streamed in from the floor-to- ceiling windows lining the perimeter of the baggage claim area. Why hadn’t the emergency lights kicked on?

The automatic sliding doors had also stopped, confounding a gaggle of college kids trying to leave. Beyond the doors, an ominous stillness had replaced the constant bustle of parking shuttles, cars, and taxis creeping along the pickup lane. There should’ve been engine sounds. Horns. Something. Now there were just a bunch of confused and pissed-off people getting out of their vehicles.

Grumbling from the other passengers gave way to a stunned hush. Panic bubbled just beneath the surface. You couldn’t set foot in an American airport these days without being bombarded with reminders of terrorism. Everyone looked at each other, the same question written on our faces: Was this some kind of attack? What should we do? I expected some sort of alert or explanation over the loudspeaker, telling everyone to remain calm, but none came.

A thunderous crash from the opposite end of the terminal had me ducking and covering my head. Metal screeched on metal, accompanied by the tinkle of shattered glass and an ear- splitting grinding sound. A chorus of terrified cries erupted around me. I’ll admit it—I screamed too. I caught a glimpse of a plane fuselage crashing through the airport ceiling before plowing into the ground.

The plane flattened the south end of the building as casually as a child knocking over a stack of blocks, and the resulting fireball sent flaming debris flying in all directions. At the opposite end, the shock wave knocked me off my feet. A rush of hot air stung my face and hands.

People started picking themselves up off the ground. Dozens of survivors made a mad dash for the exits. Their screams sounded distant to my ringing ears. Non-functioning doors proved to be a mild hiccup for the exodus. The lucky ones smashed through or pried the doors open before they got smashed against the glass.

Catching my breath, I rose to a crouch. The putrid smell of aviation fuel mixed with acrid smoke tickled my throat and made my eyes water. Heart hammering, I surveyed the destruction in slack-jawed horror. The rectangular terminal stretched for the length of a football field, and nothing remained of the south half but fiery rubble. Between here and there was a wide stretch where it looked like a bomb had gone off.

Author Bio:

Linda Naughton is a writer, software engineer, paramedic, and mother of two. She’s the author of several novels, gaming products, and the blog Self-Rescuing Princesses. A proud geek and gamer girl, she enjoys TV, movies, video games, and role-playing games. Visit her website at https://lindanaughton.com.

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Foxed
Jay Hogan
Publication date: January 12th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

FOXED: To be thrown into a state of uncertainty—flustered, bamboozled, bewildered, puzzled, vexed.

AKA, me. Jed Marshall. 55-year-old successful classic car mechanic; divorced, mostly closeted, and whose wholly inexperienced bisexuality has suddenly awakened after one smouldering look and said, ‘Damn, who’s the hottie?’ Or words to that effect.

Cue, Nash Collingwood. 53-year-old scarily smart high school principal; out, gay, confident, and sexy as hell. He’s also my daughter’s boss. So, not complicated at all, right? Nash could ignite a bonfire with a single sultry look, comes fully accessorised with a charm offensive Churchill would be proud of, an easy-going flattery that thrills my heart far too effortlessly, and an impressive track record with men many decades my junior.

In short, Nash is everything I’m not, and everything I’ve avoided for roughly my entire life. He’s the hot rod to my sensible family car, that is if you like your family cars with a few dents, creaky suspension, unexpected backfires, and a dodgy stick.

The last thing I need is a relationship—especially with a man. I buried that pipe dream a long time ago and a little loneliness is a small price to pay. The festive season and long summer vacation are on our doorstep. I’m finally getting things right with my family who mean everything to me, and I don’t want to mess that up.

But Nash doesn’t care about my awkward inexperience, or clumsy excuses, or any of my insecurities. Nash only sees me. He wants me. For the first time in years, I feel alive and sexy and a whole lot more than just a good father and grandfather.

I should walk away, but the closer Nash and I become, the more he fills my grey world with colour, and the promise of a second chance at love I never thought possible.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

“Hello?” The tentative greeting was followed by a series of knocks on the open hangar door of the workshop.

I leaned forward in my seat but couldn’t quite see who it was.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Shit. It couldn’t be. But the voice was familiar, too damn familiar, and a warmth curled low in my belly as my heart ticked up.

“Sit.” Rollo waved me down. “I’ll see to whoever it is.” He wiggled out of his chair and headed out into the workshop while I edged toward the door for a look, grateful for a little more time to get my shit together.

But when I saw Nash standing there in tight blue jeans and a black button-down, looking slightly nervous and way too fucking lickable, the warmth in my belly turned into an embarrassing flip. Rollo laughed at something Nash said, and the next thing I knew he was headed back to the office with Nash on his heels, the man’s curious gaze sweeping right and left. The closer they got to where I was standing, the more my stomach clenched.

What the hell was he doing here?

“You okay, Boss?” Jemma suddenly appeared next to me, and I realised my hands were fisted and sweating. “Do you know him?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my palms down the front of my coveralls and gave a half shrug. “A little.”

Jemma shot me a curious look but said nothing.

Rollo walked into the office and waved a hand my direction. “Here’s the man himself. Would you like a coffee, Nash?”

Nash stopped just inside the door with his back to the others and cast an apologetic half-smile my direction. “I don’t want to take up your time if you’re too busy. It’s your call, Jed.”

We both knew he wasn’t talking about the workshop, and with my overall sleeves tied around my waist and only a thin black practically not-there singlet standing between me and the man’s heated gaze, warmth flooded my cheeks. When he was done checking me out, his eyes returned to mine and his mouth curved up in an appreciative smile as he pointed to my cap bearing the slogan Ford Mustangs: Better than Sex. “Nice hat.”

And—oh my fucking god, I was getting hard.

“Boss?” Rollo was still waiting on my answer, which had been far too long coming. “Should I make Nash a coffee or not?”

“What? Oh, um . . .” I flustered. “No, I’ll do it. Maybe you guys could finish smoko outside?”

Rollo and Jemma exchanged a puzzled look, then grabbed their unfinished drinks and promptly left with Jemma casting a final what-the-fuck look over her shoulder. I answered with a shrug and swiftly closed the door, watching through the glass as they exploded into hushed conversation and headed for the outside table and chairs to finish their coffees. When I was sure they were out of earshot, I turned to Nash, who had his palms up, and immediately apologised.

“Jed, I’m so sorry if I’ve fucked up. The last thing I wanted was to make things awkward for you, I . . .” He trailed off, chuckling, and shaking his head. “Well, shit, that’s a damn lie. It was hardly going to be anything but awkward, was it? Crazy principal chases after his reluctant crush? Borderline stalking, at best. I think I just motored straight past undignified and crashed into abject humiliation. I have no excuse other than—” He hesitated, his gaze fixed on mine as he nibbled his bottom lip, before finally continuing. “I wanted to see you again. It’s as simple as that. And if that’s not okay, I’ll leave right now.” His words ran together, and he shook his head like he was angry with himself, his cheeks blazing, his gaze darting sideways to the window.

But I was stuck on reluctant crush. My heart stuttered in my chest as I tried to wrap my head around all of what he’d just said.

I still hadn’t answered when he finally groaned, “Can you just put me out of my misery? And I’ll be gone.”

And with those few simple words, all my noble good intentions to rise above the carnal temptation that Nash Collingwood embodied with fucking bells on flew out the window under jet-fuelled propulsion. Martyrdom clearly wasn’t what it used to be.

And also, he looked way too fucking cute standing there looking a whole lot less confident than usual. This was a Nash I could relate to.

I gave a slow blink and breathed out a sigh. “It’s . . . fine. I’m not sure what good you think it will do, but take a seat.” I headed for the espresso machine, feeling like a tongue-tied teenager. “How do you have your coffee?”

Author Bio:

Heart, humour and keeping it real.

Jay is a 2020 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Gay Romance and her book Off Balance was the 2021 New Zealand Romance Book of the Year.

She is a New Zealand author writing mm romance and romantic suspense, primarily set in New Zealand. She writes character driven romances with lots of humour, a good dose of reality and a splash of angst. She’s travelled extensively, lived in many countries, and in a past life she was a critical care nurse, nurse educator and counsellor. Jay is owned by a huge Maine Coon cat and a gorgeous Cocker Spaniel

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Defy the Stars
Cathrina Constantine
Publication date: January 13th 2023
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Circus grunt. Charmer. Fire wrangler.
Growing up within the grind of the enchanted Circus Faire, Crew’s unique talents have blossomed. Though, he’s been warned that the King of Hawkswing is determined to eradicate a certain species, and for his own sake Crew must keep his formidable gifts under wraps.

Relations between interspecies caused an imbalance of power and now are strictly forbidden. Dolorans, like Sage and her sister, are being hunted and persecuted because of their intense powers, leaving them no choice but to run to escape the genocide of their kind.

She possesses a forceful energy for good and evil.
His untapped powers are growing stronger by the day.
Survival will demand they rely on each other.

When Crew learns a dark wizard is holding his brother captive, he enters into a deal with him in hopes of getting close enough to free those he has imprisoned. Yet, what he uncovers is far more sinister than Crew could ever imagine. Can Crew harness the strength within him to save his brother and Sage and all those in the wizard’s clutches? Or will he be trapped by the wizard’s wicked plan?

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

“What a shame. Polk spoke highly of you.” Aerestol snapped his fingers and the sentinels redeployed, penning Crew in. While Crew was a head taller, the goons were packing revolvers tucked into the waistbands of their pants. “In my line of work, I can’t afford to trust anyone. Rumormongers are dealt with accordingly. My advice? Don’t become one.” He hooked his thumbs into his vest, and with his head down, turned toward the grand staircase.

“Now what?” Crew said. Was he done for? Were his goons going to take him out. Kill him?

Aerestol pivoted, and as if improvising a reply, his head slanted sideways. “So far, you haven’t impressed me, boy. You should have handed over the girl. Instead, I walk away empty handed. I can’t tolerate that.” He ran his fingers beneath his chin. “Perhaps Polk was speaking with a straight tongue. He never failed me. I tell you what, for his sake alone, your obeisance is most welcome if you want into my lucrative business.” His mouth spread. “If you make it out alive…you know how to reach me, through Dyke. Ingrain this into that thick skull of yours. No snitches. One bullet.” He jutted his chin towards the one-eyed goon. “Do it.”

The sentry pulled his revolver from his waistband and targeted Crew’s chest.

“Hey!” Crew barked, anxious to get Aerestol to look at him. The doctor swerved and Crew straightaway connected with his dark eyes. Gotcha! “So this is how we’re going to end our business arrangement, aye? A bullet to the heart?” he pitched his voice. Aerestol’s pupils enlarged. “I’m the only one who can bring the girl to you. Don’t waste me and my talents.” Crew blinked, terminating his connection, and the doctor squeezed his eyes and shook his head.

“His thigh,” ordered Aerestol. “It’s unfortunate that I can’t stay to watch how this performance ends.”

The orc lowered his gun and pulled the trigger.

White light sliced through Crew. And a blinding explosion of stars as intense pain ripped through him. His knees buckled.

Author Bio:

I am blessed with a loving family and forever friends. My world revolves around them.

I grew up in the small village of Lancaster, NY, where I married my sweetheart. I’m devoted to raising 5 cherished children, and now my grandchildren.

I love to immerse myself in great books of every kind of genre, which helps me to write purely for entertainment, and hopefully to inspire readers. When not stationed at my computer you can find me in the woods taking long walks with my dog.

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Painted to Death
Sarah Vernon
Publication date: January 10th 2023
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery

Sam Green is an art student with some pretty creative habits when it comes to solving mysteries, in this new series from author and artist Sarah Vernon. It’s the coldest part of a Boston winter when her friend Catherine is found dead in the painting studios one evening. The police are quick to rule her death a suicide, but Sam knows that something doesn’t seem right. Despite the protests of her friends Rebecca and Stephanie (although — happily — with the help of her crush Arun), Sam starts to poke around the old art department building. Peering into the dark corners of studios and underneath piles of musty art supplies, Sam soon uncovers some surprising suspects and motives behind Catherine’s death, in an art department simmering with artistic jealousy, resentment, and more relationship drama than a daytime talk show could handle. The only question is, will Sam be able to find out who killed Catherine before that person finds Sam?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

It was a dark and stormy night. Yeah, for real. That’s how I’m starting, because why mess with what works?

Also, it really was dark and stormy the night this all started, the wind bursting in through all the tiny cracks around the old, barely insulated windows of our triple-decker apartment. I say started, but this was actually a couple of weeks after Catherine had died. I just thought I’d start right in the middle of it, because we all know the worst Agatha Christies are the ones where Poirot doesn’t even come into it until page seventy-five, and you have to first get through hours and hours of slow English family drama, or worse, a bumbling English inspector.

We were huddled in the living room, with Benny on the floor leaning against the coffee table, and Rebecca, Mel, and me on the couches, mugs of mulled wine steaming in our hands. We would have all preferred to be outside smoking, the distraction of a cigarette easing the conversation, but there’s that dark and stormy night again. Plus, our landlord had recently made it harder to disarm the smoke alarm, so no more smoking inside either.

So here we were, trying to have a casual conversation about a topic that defies casual conversation. Mel – the kind of roommate we weren’t quite close to yet, who still attached herself to any kind of group activity at our apartment – was trying hard to make everyone smile, telling unfunny jokes and keeping the wine topped up. Rebecca had taken the comforting aunt approach, keeping her hand on Benny’s shoulder while he told us about his afternoon.

“I just feel like they weren’t even asking the right questions,” he was saying. “It’s like, the cops didn’t ask about her family much at all – what kind of mood she had been in. All they wanted to know was things like, did she have a boyfriend?” Rebecca tutted and leaned down to pat his back. “I mean, what is this, twenty years ago? Do they still only go for the boyfriend?” Benny frowned into his cup, the steam blurring his glasses.

In fairness, people are still most often killed by their immediate loved ones. And twenty years ago is not all that long ago. But forgive Benny’s nearsightedness; in fairness, at twenty-two, it was essentially a lifetime to him.

“What did you tell them?” Mel wanted to know.

Rebecca and I shot her a sharp look, but she was innocently fiddling with her hair, short and newly dyed lavender, and wouldn’t meet our eyes. Benny had called us as soon as the police had finished interviewing him, desperate for our company and already on his way over. We had all agreed it would be best not to ask for specifics, but Mel was apparently determined to be as annoying as ever.

“Obviously the truth,” Benny replied. “That she had dated a few different people so far this year, but none was particularly serious. And really,” he continued indignantly, “even if someone had been a serious boyfriend, how can they actually think that proves anything? All that shows, I think, is how easy it was to love her.”

Benny’s chin dropped to his chest and Rebecca was immediately on the floor next to him, her arm around his back. I swear she actually said, “There, there.”

“Sam, maybe you can get out some extra blankets? Benny, why don’t you just spend the night here, on the couch?” Rebecca looked at me expectantly.

“Of course,” I said, a clap of thunder accentuating my voice. “It’s way too stormy out for you to go anywhere, anyway.” I got up, dragging Mel with me. “Mel, help me get the blankets down.”

She followed me, obviously reluctantly, out into the hall. I opened the door to the hall closet, still holding onto her arm.

“Sam, what’s up? Let go of me,” she whined. I rolled my eyes.

“What was all that back there?” I hissed. “We agreed we weren’t going to ask him for specifics. Benny’s been through enough as it is – we don’t have to make him relive everything.”

Her eyes grew wide, an expression of innocence we were familiar with, as Mel always proclaimed that she was never the one who left dirty dishes out or forgot to buy toilet paper. It was frankly gross that she would try to pull the same crap here, in the middle of a murder investigation.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it was prying just to ask what he answered to one question,” she said, still in her most exasperating whine. “And come on, Sam, it’s not like you’re not curious. Benny was her best friend. Basically her brother! Who else is going to know what’s really going on?”

“But you don’t need to know what’s going on,” I said, reaching up to the top shelf for an extra quilt. “If the police want to call you up and tell you everything they’ve found out in the past two weeks, they’ll do that. You don’t have to ask Benny for the recap.” I pushed the quilt into her arms, turning back for sheets.

“Fine,” Mel said. “I’m sorry. But for the record, I’ve heard you and Rebecca whispering. I know I’m not the only one who wants answers.” This last word she delivered in a true crime podcast-perfect whisper.

Author Bio:

Sarah Vernon is an author and artist based in Massachusetts, where she writes the Triple-Decker Mystery Series.

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