Love, Not War: A Charity Anthology for Ukraine
Publication date: May 24th 2022
Genres: Adult, Romance

LOVE, NOT WAR — A charity Anthology for the Ukraine Crisis Fund

17 authors have come together to write 16 different romance stories of all sub-genres and tropes.

LOVE, NOT WAR releases 05.24.22

All proceeds will go to benefit affected communities in Ukraine, with a focus on the most vulnerable, including children, who need access to food, medical services, and psychosocial support. It also supports humanitarian assistance in impacted communities in Ukraine and surrounding regions where Ukrainian refugees have fled.

PARTICIPATING AUTHORS:

A.R. HALL

CASSIA BRIAR

DEE GARCIA

EMERY LEEANN & ELIZABETH ST. JOHN

HAZEL GRACE

JEN STEVENS

JENSEN REED

KATHERINE MOORE

M. JAMESON

M.R. LEAHY

N.M. BLACK

SARA A. MOSIER

SAVANNAH SLOAN

SUKI WILLIAMS

SUMMER O’TOOLE

YOLANDA OLSON

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Myracles in the Void
Wes Dyson
(Myraverse)
Publication date: April 12th 2022
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

There once were two children,
a girl and a boy.
One could create,
the other, destroy.

Within every heart lies the power to bond or break.

On an isolated port of floating garbage called Hop, Gaiel Izz and his sister, Lynd, never imagined they’d be able to change anything…

Not their nasty neighbors, not their hungry bellies, and especially not their missing father.

That will change when they discover the power of myracles — magic that either creates or destroys.

As the brother and sister set across Esa to bring their family back together, this power will either unite them or shatter their entire world to pieces.

It will all come down to what truly lies within their hearts…

Create or destroy?

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—

EXCERPT:

Chapter One – Unforgiving Hop

THE RED TIDE is COMING!

Water Level Low.

SPRYT SightingsHighly Expected.

Un-luck + Disaster ToAllWho Encounter.

BLOCK EVERYOPENING.

— Mayor Tanning

What a delightful sign to have hanging in front of one’s home — a mix of “watch out” with “you’re on your own.” But that’s living in Hop for ya, a’kay?

As a floating port in the middle of the sea, there weren’t any roads to or from Hop. On their own, indeed. But it wasn’t always so lonely. Fifty years ago, Hop was a bustling pitstop for the hundreds of trade ships sailing across the Domus Gulf every year. A place to “hop” from one side of the gulf to the other. Being a travel hub made it bursting with exotic goods and fresh ideas. But the wild waters of the gulf were hard to predict, and they only seemed to grow more dangerous over time. One shipwreck was enough to send thoughts and prayers, but after ten and twenty ships washed back blown to bits, it started to nip at the profits. Soon traders found alternate land routes that may have taken longer, but at least weren’t so death-y.

Practically overnight, Hop and its people were forgotten like a used hanky in a puddle. Trapped on a floating port amid the unfor‐ giving sea, a stagnant idea stuck to them — anything made would just be unmade. What was to stop anything they worked hard to build from falling to pieces like Hop did? Nothin’ lasts butsalt in yer ass became the most graffitied words on the splintering streets, a series of long planks called “Boards.” Was there any point in shining your shoes, doing your hair, brushing your teeth? They would all end up dirty, tasseled, and yellow. Undone, eventually. Was there any point in building relationships, then? Nothing lasts but the salt in their asses, indeed.

Just behind that friendly “red tide” warning sign on Boulie Board, a skinny wreck of a home rose from the battered planks. Its number, 76, was drawn large and wide on the front and side in “Hopper White,” a local specialty paint whose main ingredient was seagull poop. Nothing could be wasted in Hop, not even waste. The pieces that made up the home had a kind of widely used look about them, like maybe that wall had once been the barnacled belly of a rowboat, and before that, it was a sign that said HOP: POPULATION 600. Its door was a full fourteen shades of a should-I-touch-that sort of green and was cracked at the bottom up to the knob. Its two sea-weathered windows were small and narrow like suspicious eyes squinting at the neighbors. By Hopper standards, the Izz family actually had quite a fine little nest.

The only reason the Izz house somewhat outshined its raggedy neighbors was because of the family’s firstborn, Gaiel Izz. Gai liked to fix things when they broke. Something about broken objects made him queasy, compulsive even; a roar in the belly yapping at him to make it better. As for the things he couldn’t fix, he’d at least insist on putting a sheet of soggy newspaper over it or something. In fact, he patched so many holes in his clothes with newspaper that it became the dominant fabric. It crinkled as he walked.

One special night, this industrious fifteen-year-old was lying motionless on the floor in one of the home’s damp upstairs bedrooms. His right ear was practically suctioned to the floorboards as he listened carefully for any signs of movement downstairs. He’d been listening so long his ear had become a bright, throbbing mushroom. This night, he’d embark on his most ambitious fixing project yet — his twelve-year-old sister, Lynd.

While Gai may have been on the floor, he wasn’t out of bed. The floor was both of the Izz children’s bed. Many, many things floated by Hop in the strong currents, like sunken ship junk or garbage from far off Electri City on the mainland. But few were “cozy” materials for them to scoop out and use to make bedding. Since nothing came in or out of Hop, if a Hopper wanted something new, they’d best grab a scoop and pray to Zeea that whatever they needed happened to be floating by that day. Gai once scooped an armful of braided anchor rope and wove it into a nice blanket. He looked over at Lynd sleeping on it, snoring like a ship headed out to sea

— Twaahhh! Peaceful as she seemed, her little hands kept pulling at the fraying edges of the rope-blanket, almost like tearing it apart soothed her as a babe suckling their thumb would. She was definitely not a fixer like her brother. Truly, she was quite the opposite.

Author Bio:

Wes Dyson is a creative marketer and dog-daddy of four Pomskies living in Western MA. He loves classical music and earthy, grass-tasting tea.

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Soulstealer: Steven
Shane Boulware
(Soulstealer, #2)
Publication date: May 20th 2022
Genres: Adult, Supernatural

The Soulstealer’s greatest power is that no one believes it exists…

…except Steven Carpenter. One of the last remaining members of the Ordo Solis—a thousand-year-old order sworn to kill the ancient demon—even his faith has begun to wane. But when he witnesses the return of the Soulstealer with his own eyes, belief quickly turns to grim reality.

With the souls of the world at stake, Steven knows what he has to do—expose the Soulstealer. There’s just one problem, it knows it’s been discovered … and so do the nefarious cults sworn to the demon’s cause. In a race against time and evil, Steven will have to find help. But will it be enough? Or will they be too late?

Author Shane Boulware ramps up the action in his hair-raising second entry in the Soulstealer series. Burning the boundaries between urban fantasy and suspense thriller, this grim-dark stomach-churner will leave you as breathless as the characters trapped within its pages.

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—

EXCERPT:

Though she didn’t believe him, Jeff promised Sara he’d read to Trista tonight, taking no more than two hours reviewing surveillance. He worked his schedule to spend the first hour watching the Gatekeeper in real-time as he arrived, and the second hour emailing and speeding through the day’s feed.

The Gatekeeper came into view as Jeff’s doorbell rang. Jeff stepped out of his office and got to the door in time to see Sara peering through the peephole. She scowled at Jeff as she opened it, revealing Steven dressed in a Star Trek t-shirt, leather jacket, steel-toed boots, jeans, and a ridiculous purple bandanna around his neck.

Steven waved. “Hi, Sara.”

“Steven.” She glared at Jeff. “Two hours, Jeff, and not one minute more.”

Steven grinned and made a whip-cracking motion with widening eyes as Sara returned to the living room.

“Yeah,” Jeff muttered, “I’m lucky I’m still in the house. Come on in. I’m watching the Gatekeeper.”

“Sweet!” Steven followed Jeff back into the office, setting his backpack down and pulling up a stool while Jeff returned to his chair. They huddled around the television. “Man, we haven’t done this in a while.”

Jeff cracked a smile. “Yeah, it’s been months since we’ve had a good ole fashioned sit-down. Aren’t you supposed to be out cruising the wild?”

Steven shrugged while glancing about the office; empty wrappers and gadgets strewn about. “I was in the neighborhood. I’m still on my vacation time though, so I’ll be headed back out for parts unknown.”

Jeff nudged him. “You were feeling guilty.”

Steven tilted his head. “Yeah, maybe a little. But I was serious when I said that I needed some time away from all this s***. The open road is the open road, and I got an urge I need to satisfy.” Steven pumped his fists and rocked his hips.

Jeff laughed while tucking away some unpaid bills on his desk.

“I decided to go south to the Carolinas,” Steven continued. “Through Tennessee and Missouri, then Ohio and back here. Tomorrow I’ll head out north, possibly all the way to Canuck-land. Who knows? I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“Meanwhile…” Jeff began.

“Meanwhile, you’re fightin’ the good fight,” Steven added in a southern accent while eyeing the television. The Gatekeeper lounged in a brown leather chair, watching the fire as he did every day. A small table stood to his immediate right and another leather chair on the other side. His black leather fedora rested on the middle table.

Forty minutes into the video, a young man approached the Gatekeeper. Jeff leaned forward, snatched a notepad and mini pen from his back pocket, and scribbled notes on the paper.

Steven scrutinized the unfolding scene. “Easy, killer, just watch.”

The young man tried to sit before jerking still. He stood back up.

“I wish we had audio,” Jeff muttered.

“Shhh, just watch.” Steven strained to read their lips. The camera angles shot out both ways from the fireplace, giving them the perfect view. The Gatekeeper and his new friend began a conversation. Then the young man grabbed hold of the fedora and set it on his head, tapping the edge.

“Holy s***,” Jeff said. “That’s the Gatekeeper’s hat. He either knows exactly what he’s doing, or he has a death wish.”

“Mmmhm, we’ll see.”

They knew what would happen after the Gatekeeper verified the Soulstealer’s identity. They had learned about the procedure back when a much stronger Solis America infiltrated the Raptor’s former headquarters in Boston. Still, they could only guess at what words the two exchanged. The Raptors guarded the secret with a foolproof method: memorization.

The young man sat in the chair, back erect, and continued their dialogue. He took the Gatekeeper’s hat off and returned it to the table, tapping it again. The newcomer said something else, prompting the Gatekeeper to snatch his fedora, stand, and stride toward the VIP section.

The young man made no motion to follow, which they knew wasn’t part of the procedure unless the exchange failed. When the Gatekeeper left the room, the young man exited the bar the way he came.

Steven frowned. “That’s different.”

“What just happened?” Jeff asked.

“Looks like a failed attempt.”

“Yeah, but the guy knew what to do.”

“Or he was just a dumb drunk. It’s probably the Raptors messing with us again.”

“How could they know we’re still watching them?”

Steven gave Jeff a long look. “Jeff, they’ve probably been in your house a dozen times this year alone. I’m pretty sure they know.”

Jeff drew back, his voice trembling. “That’s not funny, Steven. I have a little girl in this house.” His eyes darted around the room as paranoia enveloped him.

“C’mon Jeff, they’re the Raptors. They have dossiers on every one of us, down to what kind of ice cream we like. We’ve been playing Spy vs. Spy since we figured out they supported the Soulstealer.”

“Is that your new name for it, the Soulstealer?”

“Catchy, isn’t it? I came up with it on the ride back. Sounds a lot better than ‘Stealer of Souls,’ or ‘Dracula.’ And Satan.”

Author Bio:

Shane Boulware is an unconventional idealist from Orlando, Florida. Naturally, he commissioned as a Contracting Officer in the United States Air Force in 2012, where he promptly got tased, was hit with pepper spray, participated in a mock riot, jumped out of an airplane, and lived in a combat zone. These experiences tempered his creative instinct and led him to publish two music albums, found an innovation company, break a Guinness World Record, and learn over sixteen dance styles.

Having grown up a huge fan of Dune, Star Wars, Stargate SG-1, Warhammer 40K, Harry Potter, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and The Lord of the Rings, Shane always wanted to create and share a world of his own. His imagination set him on a path to write the supernatural thriller, Soulstealer, and its sequel, The Ordo Solis.

When he’s not negotiating contracts or salsa dancing the night away, you can find Shane taking his creative passion out on an unsuspecting keyboard. If you want to know when his next book will be available, visit his website at ShaneBoulware.com, where you can sign up to receive release updates and join a community of savants, swashbucklers, and nerds.

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River of Ashes
Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor
(St. Benedict, #1)
Published by: Vesuvian Books
Publication date: August 2nd 2022
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

“A psychological portrait akin to Lord of the Flies.” ~Midwest Book Review

SOME TRUTHS ARE BETTER KEPT SECRET. SOME SECRETS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD.

ALONG THE BANKS OF THE BOGUE FALAYA RIVER, sits the abandoned St. Francis Seminary. Beneath a canopy of oaks, blocked from prying eyes, the teens of St. Benedict High gather here on Fridays. The rest of the week belongs to school and family—but weekends belong to the river.

And the river belongs to Beau Devereaux.

The only child of a powerful family, Beau can do no wrong. Star quarterback. Handsome. Charming. The “prince” of St. Benedict is the ultimate catch.

He is also a psychopath.

A dirty family secret buried for years, Beau’s evil grows unchecked. In the shadows of the haunted abbey, he commits unspeakable acts on his victims and ensures their silence with threats and intimidation. Senior year, Beau sets his sights on his girlfriend’s headstrong twin sister, Leslie, who hates him. Everything he wants but cannot have, she will be his ultimate prize.

As the victim toll mounts, it becomes clear that someone must stop Beau Devereaux.

And that someone will pay with their life.

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—

EXCERPT:

A howl came from the direction of The Abbey.

Andrea leaned away from him, listening. “What’s that?”

Beau nuzzled her neck. “Wild dogs. They live on The Abbey grounds. There’s a couple of legends about them.”

“What legends?” She stepped out of his embrace.

He watched her hips beneath her coat. “They say the dogs stay around The Abbey waiting for the lady in white. She was a gamekeeper for the seminary school and a lover of one of the monks. She died on the grounds, betrayed by the man she loved. Her dogs were kept to manage the varmint population. The wild dogs are said to be their offspring.”

Beau slipped the coat from her shoulders. “The gamekeeper was found hanging from a tree in a white hooded cloak. It was all kept very hush-hush at the time. After the woman’s death, the dogs roamed the grounds and lived off the land. They’re said to only appear when death is near.”

Beau looked at Andrea to see if she was sufficiently unnerved.

“That’s just creepy.” She glanced at his hands as he tugged at her jeans. “But a guy who brings girls to these abandoned cells is into creepy.”

He liked the image the cells portrayed. It was his laboratory, like he’d read about in Frankenstein, where he could experiment and create his own monsters.

Author Bio:

Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is a multi-award-winning author of over twenty-seven novels, a screenwriter, ICU Nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. A member of the Horror Writers Association and International Thriller Writers Association, Weis writes mystery, suspense, thrillers, horror, crime fiction, and romance. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.

Lucas Astor is from New York, has resided in Central America and the Middle East, and traveled through Europe. He lives a very private, virtually reclusive lifestyle, preferring to spend time with a close-knit group of friends than be in the spotlight.

He is an author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but right next door behind a smiling face.

Photography, making wine, and helping endangered species are just some of his interests. Lucas is an expert archer and enjoys jazz, blues, and classical music.

One of his favorite quotes is: “It’s better to be silent than be a fool.” ~Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird)

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The Fiddler of Dawn and Dusk
Katheryn J. Avila
(Greylea Spells, #2)
Publication date: May 19th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Camilla Vargas, gifted violinist unwilling to ever play again.

When I said I wanted to start over somewhere new, being pulled into a world of monsters and magic is not what I had in mind. Caught in the grips of a faulty spell, my only hope of getting home is picking up a violin and completing a goddess’ quest. Add to that a handsome but less-than-willing, divinely appointed bodyguard, and this whole fiasco runs the risk of ruining my new life plan.

But maybe that’s not so bad.

Valmong, prodigy cleric ignoring the voice of his patron god.

When Tenebrin’s voice rings in my mind, I’m usually better at tuning him out. But he’s persistent, and as a cry rings out through the trees, I can’t ignore the order to help. Camilla is odd — for a bard — refusing the violin that’s clearly hers and unfamiliar with the magic she can wield. Her quest for Claritas’ Insight will probably get me killed, but the longer I’m with her, the less I care.

I just want to keep her safe — even if it means I’ll never see her again.

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—

EXCERPT:

Valmong
Could she be any slower?

We’ve been walking for close to two hours and she’s lagged behind the whole time. Though I’m not eager to reach Swynton, I’m not moving as fast as I’d like, and at this rate we might not get there before nightfall. Every time Camilla tries to catch up — either with a jog or a ridiculous walk where she constantly pumps her arms — it’s not long before her breath is short, almost ragged.

I have a half a mind to offer to carry her.

“Sorry…can we take a break? Please?” She leans against a tree, closing her eyes.

“Sure.” I take a step closer to her, “Is it your head? You seemed fine earlier.”

“Yeah. Every time I try to pick up speed, it feels like the world is tilting.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll be okay after a short break.” Camilla sits on a fallen tree. “Sorry again, for slowing you down.”

I shrug, trying to dismiss her concern. “It’s fine. To be honest I’m in no rush to reach Swynton.”

“Why?”

I don’t expect a follow up question, and once more I’m taken aback by how much she doesn’t know. She’s probably the only person in the entire region who doesn’t know who I am.

Or why I’m not exactly welcome in Swynton.

“They’re not very fond of me there.” I leave it at that.

“Should I be nervous, then? If you’re not welcome there, what’s to say I will be?” She fidgets in place, her hands twisting the hem of her top, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“You’ll be fine.”

She finally drops the topic and sits in silence for another few minutes.

By the time we reach the main road, the sun is high in the sky. The forest lines either side of the road, and I’m surprised there aren’t more people on it. Swynton’s festival starts tonight, and there should be thousands making the pilgrimage here, for the shrines to Tenebrin and Claritas.

Fresh horse tracks and the tell-tale signs of wagon wheels tell me we might have just missed the crowd.

“Do you always travel by foot?” Camilla’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Yes. Horses are more trouble than they’re worth.” I turn to look at her without stopping. “Why? Getting tired again?”

“No. And even if you had one, I’ve never ridden before.”

The longer we’re on the road, the lighter the air around us gets, especially as the forest thins the closer we get to Swynton. Beside me, Camilla seems more at ease.

“So…does this happen often? Finding people in the woods like you found me?” She really has a hard time with silence.

“You run into others now and then. This is the first time I’ve had to save anyone, though.”

“You don’t just go around rescuing people?”

“No. Not the rescuing type.” Maybe in another life.

“What type are you, then?”

Will the questions ever cease? I stop, unable to hide my annoyance as I look at her.

Be nice. Tenebrin’s voice only doubles my irritation.

“The ‘does things for money’ type.” I stare her down as I speak, hoping she takes the hint to stop. Maybe trigger some of that same fear I provoked the previous night.

“Was that supposed to intimidate me?” She tilts her head, warm brown eyes trying to find the answer to her question on my face as they squint against the sun. Her face is so open, soft. Curious. Does she know she quirks her lips like that when she asks a question?

She is quite pretty, isn’t she? Tenebrin shocks me from the path my thoughts were taking.

“It was supposed to make you stop talking.” I adjust the strap on my shoulder, breaking her gaze and fixing my attention back on the road. A few minutes later, the gate to Swynton comes into view.

Author Bio:

Katheryn is a software engineer in the Philadelphia area, writing fantasy and paranormal stories when she’s not fighting technology. In 2013, she graduated from King’s College in Pennsylvania with degrees in Computer Science and Professional Writing — so she’s always writing, be it software or fiction. She lives with her husband, Eric, and their furbaby, Ada.

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