Pink Guitars and Falling Stars
Leslie O’Sullivan
(Rockin’ Fairy Tales, #1)
Published by: City Owl Press
Publication date: January 6th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Zeli’s signature pop diva sound and image are nothing short of magical—literally. Her fame comes with hidden costs, a curse that could ruin her voice forever.

Aspiring indie musician, Justin MacKenzie, is determined to kick it to the top of the Rampion Records’ Summer Number One professional vs. amateur singing competition.

The favorite to beat in the annual televised contest is none other than the label’s smoking hot superstar, Zeli, whose crazy extensions flow the length of a football field. Those ridiculous extensions, coupled with her bubblegum brand of pop, are an affront to everything Justin loves about music until a stolen kiss blazes into a romantic encounter.

Once inside Zeli’s world, Justin discovers things are not as they seem. In their quest to allow the real Zeli, to step into the spotlight, the pair must confront the mysterious force behind the dazzle of Rampion’s success. If these star-crossed lovers can’t rally their own magic to defeat the darkness, they will lose everything—including each other.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

On the way to wardrobe, to prep for his B.A.S.E. jumping exhibition in Zeli’s platinum record celebration concert, Justin Time stumbles into the pop diva’s dressing room by mistake…

Shades of pink twilight swallow us. Zeli rests lips against the rim of her cup, drowning a sob with tea.

Man, that tea smells sweet. I’d like to tickle my vocal cords with it. What did Grant Gothel call it? Ramp-up tea? Justin wants to ramp up. I stand and take a greedy sniff.

Zeli catches sight of me and leaps to her feet. She screeches like I’m slinging an axe.

I trip over the bottom of the costume rack and fly forward, finding balance a hot second before I plow into her. “Whoa, sweetness. I’m not here to mess with you.”

She clutches her head. “Hair thief!” She raises a pair of fists with intent to cause damage. “Closer and I’ll make your ribs crack.”

“Stop screaming or that cute face will go blue.”

Zeli circles her fists, searching for an in to deck me. “Don’t lay a finger on my extensions.”

“I want no part of that crazy hair mess.” I shake my head. “Keep your freak show, I’ve got no intention–” Taking a step back, I fan an arm down her body. “To finger even a single sweet tress.”

She’s delusional. No thief could bust Rampion security to get up here. Then again, when you’ve got millions glued to your head, imagining creepers in the dark is not so out there.

She zips behind the table, snarling. “You won’t get a piece of this either, fool.”

Hugging her body, she curls into a ball worthy of an armadillo. I’m not stupid enough to take advantage of our alone time, but that doesn’t prevent a Zeli lip lock from ticking onto my mental playlist. Her face pops out of the Z-ball as if she’s plugged into my thoughts.

She raises her hands. “Hands here. Raise them up high where I can see.”

I brush bangs aside, the portrait of casual. “You’re safe, damsel, get a hold of your cool.” I jerk my chin her way. “Cut the innocent act. It’s clear to me. No way a fast track, rock chick hasn’t known–” I throw her an air kiss. “Tune-piping Romeo love of her own.”

She stretches to her full height, not enough to hit the five-foot mark, and plants hands on hips. “Jacklick.”

After flashing my best stink-eye, I head for the hallway before her insults bait me into action I’ll regret. The smack of her hand against the table makes me jump.

“You’re leaving?”

I flick my wrist. “You ain’t nothing but a wrong turn.” I almost clear the doorway of the twilight room when she giggles. I whip around. “What? I’m not the big bad wolf anymore?”

She abandons her table fortress and rakes a finger up and down my wingsuit. The silver bag glides after her. “Big bads don’t wear bananas.”

I cringe.

Realization dawns in her eyes. “Oh, you’re one of my lucky stars.” She claps.

“What?”

“Seven lucky stars, falling from the sky for my concert?”

“Maybe.”

“If not, you’re rocking a wack look.” Zeli smiles, easy with me now that she’s defined my place in her kingdom.

Don’t count me out. I can rock a threat, babe. I’m tempted to grab her and plant a kiss on that laughing mouth. I feel my face flush Zeli pink. Stealing a taste of Z-lip is not worth summoning Gothel and screwing my chances at the Summer Number One audition.

To my surprise, she strolls over and dances a finger across my shoulder. “What’s it like to B.A.S.E. jump? Terrifying or Heaven?”

The touch renders me momentarily mute.

Her fingers pop off my shoulder like I’m a hot stove. “I don’t want anyone jumping for me to be afraid.”

The slightest sensation lingers from our contact. Does rock chick Zeli honestly care how Justin MacKenzie feels flying off her tower? Is this chick nice? For reals, nice? Heavenly tea breath wafts from her lips. An urge for a softer kind of kissing sneaks up on me. Kisses that whisper, not shout.

I match her finger dance and dab a touch on her shoulder close enough to feel the warm skin of her neck. “Nice of you to care.” If I slide my hand around the back of her neck, pull her in…

Author Bio:

Leslie O’Sullivan is the author of Rockin’ Fairy Tales, an adult romance series of Shakespeare/fairy tale mash ups set against the backdrop of Hollywood’s music scene. Coming soon is her Behind the Scenes contemporary romance series that peeks into the off-camera secrets of a wildly popular television drama. She’s a UCLA Bruin with a BA and MFA from their Department of Theater where she also taught for years on the design faculty. Her tenure in the world of television was as the assistant art director on “It’s Garry Shandling’s Show.” Leslie loves to indulge her fangirl side each year at San Diego Comic Con.

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Born in Blood
Emma R. Dean
(Syndicate of Blood and Chaos, #1)
Publication date: June 3rd 2022
Genres: Adult, Mafia, Reverse Harem, Romance

All they had to do was accept her deal and Shadow would give them everything they could ever want.

Despite being born a mafia prince, Damien Chaos lacked the one thing he desperately wanted.

Absolute power and control.

If he wanted that, Shadow was the answer.

The only problem was the Shadow Empire is a kingdom of the intangible and they owe their allegiance to no one.

Kidnapping their lead scientist was the only answer.

If Damien could possess her, if he could resist his desire – if he could just ignore how badly he wanted to carve a symphony of obsession into her skin – he’d finally get the answers he’s been searching for.

They may call him cruel and psychotic.
Manipulative and ruthless.
But they have no idea exactly how far he’ll go to win his kingdom, because Damien Chaos can play this game better than anyone else.

That is, until he met her.

All power comes with a cost.

And that price is their pain and sacrifice.
The pretty mafia prince and his boys may think they have what it takes, but they could never break her.

Desdemona is a ghost – a shadow, and the mafia could never get their hands on her.

But Damien, Aeron, and Kaito were too beautiful to deny. All she had to do was let them think they’re in control. Then they’d fall right into her trap.

They would become hers.

All three of them.

She would use their desire to dig her claws deeper into their minds until they began to relish in the pain – until they finally submit.

For the first time in their lives Damien, Aeron and Kaito are forced to learn what true chaos really is.

This is a reverse harem mafia romance where the villain gets the girl. It has some dark themes including manipulation, stalking, kidnapping, and violence. This story also has MM.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“If I thought I could steal you from him, I would,” she whispered, and somehow Kaito knew she was talking about Aeron, not Damien. “I’d be willing to share you with him though. He’s almost as pretty as you are. I want him to break me, but I want you…I want you to eat me alive.”

Kaito shuddered, knowing he was well and truly fucked now. This girl understood him, and he hadn’t said a single word. She wanted what he wanted, and his obsession with Aeron didn’t seem like a dirty little secret when she talked about it.

She was focused on his scar like it held the secrets of the universe. Then she looked up at him and licked her lips.

For the first time since it happened, someone else had touched that mark on his neck and he hadn’t wanted to destroy her for it. No, Kaito wanted this crazy woman to sink her teeth into it, even though he knew it would hurt like a bitch.

A strangled sound left him and Kaito couldn’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed, not when she started riding him again. Even through their clothes the sensation made him mindless until he was driving his hips up into her, desperately trying to create more pressure and friction.

Her breaths started to come in pants and Kaito leaned forward, rubbing his nose along hers just to feel those breaths—the evidence of her desire on his face as well as his dick.

All he wanted to do was taste her – the poison would be worth it.

Because he knew that sharp sting was exactly what she really tasted like, and he was the only one who hadn’t gotten to devour her. Kaito sank his teeth into her jaw, holding the bone with enough force her hips stuttered, and a little cry left her lips.

This was his though, this pleasure he’d let her take, the sharp sweetness of her skin.

His teeth ached to draw blood, but Kaito held very still, resisting the urge to make another mark on her face.

“Do it,” she whispered, reaching down to unbuckle his pants.

Kira took him out and started stroking so hard and fast there was nothing he could do but fall apart underneath her, teeth digging into her jaw but never breaking the skin.

“Such a good boy,” she murmured, using his shirt to wipe the cum from her hand. “But next time you’ll taste me.”

The praise and the orgasm made him fucking stupid. Kaito licked the mark on her jaw and breathed her in, wanting to hear what else she was willing to tell him. Would she let him know how good he felt when he was fucking the shit out of her?

Would those blue eyes tell him everything he wanted to hear?

Fuck, she’d gotten into his head so deep Kaito didn’t think he’d ever be rid of her

Author Bio:

Emma Dean is the autistic author of Draga Court and the Council of Paranormals. Juggling work, life, higher education, and a rambunctious toddler leaves little room for much else, but when she gets the chance she dives into a good book and likes to re-read the Black Jewels series by Anne Bishop every year during Christmas.

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The Indigo
Heather Siegel
Publication date: June 1st 2022
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Jett Hart, a 16-year-old girl from New Jersey, refuses to accept the diagnosis that her mother is brain-dead. Yes, Mom’s long-comatose body seems like an empty shell. But there was that split-second, weird time Jett swears she lifted out from her own body and travelled to an indigo-colored, starry space, where she felt Mom’s presence.

Now, as Jett’s caretaking Aunt threatens to pull Mom’s life support, Jett must find this mysterious indigo place again and return her mother to her body before it’s too late. The bad news is that only her schoolmate Farold — who may or may not give off a more-than-friends vibe — believes she can do this. The good news is that he’s an amateur quantum physicist in training and has some ideas about how to help Jett get back “up there.”

Even if Jett manages to find Mom in the “indigo,” can she bring her back to her body? While also staying connected to her own “empty shell” below? And, what if . . . someone is trying to stop her?

A teen thriller offering astral projection cosmology, life cords, parallel universes, and wormholes, THE INDIGO is a wild trip through one person’s consciousness “above,” her interconnected reality “below,” and the psychological and potentially fatal dangers of being disconnected from both.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Quantum Club Meeting. 2:30. Cafeteria.

“I didn’t know the school had a Quantum Club,” says a girl passing by. Popular. A junior, in black Lululemon leggings.

“What the hell’s ‘quantum’?” a familiar voice says. “Oh . . . that explains it.” I turn to see my cousin Meghan looking in my direction. Hair highlighted blond. Glossy pink lips. We are nearly the same age, and worlds apart.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” a beefy senior guy says. “Let’s go eat.”

“Oh, Matty, all you care about is food.” Meghan giggles as they continue walking.

Truthfully, I don’t know what quantum is either, but a quick Google search gives me the answer:

The study of physics that allows for particles to be in two states at the same time.

“That’s weird,” I say out loud to no one.

I head for the cafeteria, intrigued…

There are three people seated in the sea-foam-green cabbage-smelling room. No surprise Mickey Mizner and Brian Leonard are two of them.

“My problem is I’ve got everything prepped for ampage past 27MHz,” Mickey says, blowing dark bangs off square-framed glasses. “I just need to hit ionosphere at the right angle—” He taps a black box on the table, the size of a breadbox, with knobs and buttons. From here, I make out the words Galaxy Torchlighter 825.

“—Sweet, isn’t she?”

“Sweet and illegal to jack up,” Brian replies.

The new guy swigs from an Orangina and scribbles in his notebook, his white braided bracelets scratching against the Formica tabletop. He’s wearing an MIT sweatshirt, and peeking out from the neckline is a black rope necklace. At the ends of his hair, gold beads catch the fluorescent light.

“It’s not a bad start,” he says, looking up and taking a swig of orange soda. “But can you get someone on the other end of the world to receive the signal? The antipode must be, what, Australia?”

“That’s what I told you,” Brian says. He’s wearing a uniform from the ice cream store Sunset Scoops: a brown wavy smock made to resemble dripping hot fudge, and a maraschino cherry hat.

“Wait, the what is Australia?” Mickey asks.

“It means ‘opposite,’ ” I say, reaching the table. “Geographically, right?”

The new guy grins at me, his eyes twinkling with approval. And I’m not going to lie: I can’t help but grin back. I slide into the end seat.

“Farold,” he says.

“Jett.”

“Well, now that we got that out of the way,” Brian cuts in. “I’m thinking Electromagnetic Induction. The hypothesis is that a current can create a magnetic field.”

“Also not bad.” Farold scribbles again and glances up. “But you’d have to check if it’s already been done.” He has a singsong quality to his words. I like the way “realize” is “real’izze.”

Mickey shoulders Brian. “That’s what I told you.” He turns to Farold. “Anyway, if I find someone across the world, in an antipode” — he glances to me — “think it’s worth seeing if my radio’s skip is capable?”

Brian shoves back. “Mine may be done, but there’s nothing yet on what can and cannot escape the said magnetic field. . . .”

“They’re both solid starts.” Farold draws his fist to rest beneath his sculpted jaw line, looking suddenly like the art room’s knockoff sculpture of Michelangelo’s “The Thinker.” “But since this is going to be a competition for MIT, the best science institution in the country, we’ll have to shoot beyond the rudimentary. . . . Any other ideas?”

Three faces turn to me. One cute as hell. But I’m here to listen. Besides, I can’t take the rejection again.

“Every idea has merit,” Farold says.

“He’s dope, Jett,” Mickey says, which coming from him sounds anything but dope.

“If she doesn’t have any ideas . . . ” Brian says.

“I don’t . . . I mean, I thought . . . I don’t know, maybe we were going to talk about quantum physics or whatever, not enter a competition.”

“You study quantum physics?” Farold asks.

“No . . . but it sounds interesting.”

“Which part?”

I could feel defensive, but there’s something about the way he asks, earnestly, and the way he looks at me, so open and curious. “I . . . guess . . . I liked what your flier said. It made me think. Wonder, really. Something I’ve been thinking about. The idea of things being in two separate places at the same time?”

He smiles again, right through me, sending a tingle along my neck. “I’m actually working on something that poses that exact question. But it’s hard to prove. I mean, so far, no one has . . . supported it.”

“I hear that.”

“I had a feeling you might.”

“How would you have a feeling about that?”

“Your hesitation.” Our eyes affix. Is it my imagination or is there something palpable between us?

“Tell me your idea,” he says.

“Tell me yours.”

“You guys know we’re in the room, right?” Brian says.

Farold turns to him. “Two particles in separate boxes.”

“Following,” Mickey says.

He waves his hand, drawing us all in. “It’s proven they can communicate with one another and influence each other’s physical spin. Well, I propose they relate to one another in a nonscientific way. In a way we can’t really yet name. That they can speak to one another . . . by sensing one another.”

His eyes meet mine, alight, full of possibility. “Your turn.”

And like that, I find myself blurting the story I promised I’d stop telling people:

“There was an accident. . . . I could tell my mother wasn’t there. . . . And then this thing happened at the hospital. . . . But I’ve tried everything and can’t get back. . . .”

“What have you tried?” Farold asks.

“You name it. Re-creating the events. Dreaming and setting an alarm. I’ve tried something called the rope technique, and the ladder technique. Also, rolling out, driving out, rotating, and yo-yo’ing, which is basically trying to climb, drive, or shimmy out of my body. I’ve tried the point-shift method and the picture technique, in which I’m supposed to envision myself hovering at the ceiling, looking down at my bed. I’ve even sent away for this—”

I pluck the envelope from my bag and tear it open.

That’s when Mickey and Brian call it a day.

“Next Thursday?” Mickey asks, gathering his CB radio.

“Yeah, I gotta split too,” Brian adds. “You’re awesome, man. . . . Uh, good luck, Jett.” Brian tips his ice cream cone hat and exits the cafeteria, leaving me alone with Farold, my heart sinking at the sight of the DVD on the table between us.

It’s not the cheesy clouds against sky on the circular sticker adhered to the DVD that rushes blood to my cheeks, but the airbrushed, ethereal angel flying through those clouds.

At $39.99, this cost me more than four hours of librarian work. Why did I think this was a good idea to share — or buy?

Farold slides the disc into his laptop, turning the device for both of us to see. Even the digital quality is pathetic. Two women wearing flowing garb and seeming to float on a cloud discuss how they came to learn under the tutelage of the Dr. Reflexology guy, the art of soul travel by aligning their chakras — what they can help me do for the next hour. Though if I want to learn the nine secrets to launching myself, I will need to send away for the DVD package. For a mere $69.99 more.

I want to crawl under the table.

“I didn’t know it would be this—”

“—cheapjack.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what we say in Trinidad. Or in English, ‘cringe-y.’ ”

And that’s my cue.

I stand, slinging my backpack on, and extend my palm for the DVD, even knowing as pathetic as it is, I am going to watch it — a thought that makes my cheeks even hotter. Because that’s how desperate I’ve become, and I hate myself for it. “Anyway . . . if you can just keep everything I said earlier to yourself.”

He pops out the DVD and walks around the table to stand before me, a foot taller. “What happens in Quantum Club stays in Quantum Club.” He edges close enough for me to smell a delicious vanilla scent wafting from his sweatshirt, to feel those tingles again, and to see in his pupils gold flecks that look like stars.

“Could be a multiverse, you know. That Indigo place?” His hand grazes my wrist as he places the plastic disc back in my palm. “Alternate realities are always taking place. The name for it in quantum mechanics is the Many Interacting Worlds.”

Prickles down my neck. “Are you saying . . . you believe me?”

“There are no absolute proofs in quantum theory. It’s about what we can measure, and to what precision.” He seems to have an idea, darts back to his notebook, and scribbles.

“We’re going to need to know what’s been documented on the theory so far, and under what conditions.” More scribbling. “Oh, and what laws govern these . . . phenomena. So . . . maybe that’s not a total waste?” He nods to the DVD.

I place it on the table, suppressing tears, and take a seat.

Author Bio:

Heather Siegel is the author of THE KING & THE QUIRKY, and OUT FROM THE UNDERWORLD. She teaches academic and creative writing, holds an MFA from The New School University, and lives with her family in Southern Florida.

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Rebel One
J.S. Christine
(Melkin Series, #1)
Publication date: May 13th 2022
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Lacey Carson dreams of experiencing the world outside of the mundane town her father limits her to. “Go big or go home”? Lacey is already wrapped up in her comforter before that question can be finished. Her fight or flight instinct falls hard in one direction only.

Insert Travis Miller. He’s a little too loud, a little too violent, a little too focused on Lacey. He only knows how to go big.

When the opportunity presents itself for more adventure, Lacey jumps in head first before Travis can say no. It may be a little more than she bargained for as she learns about the ups and downs of independence, her own strength, and the crime world she quickly becomes immersed into.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

I looked behind us. There was a large van with guns poking out of it.

“Oh my God,” I cried, clasping a hand to my mouth. I turned back facing forward and slouched down to keep out of the way if they shot the back window.

“Don’t go that way. Keep away from our new place,” Cameron ordered Travis as he flew past cars. He took a sharp turn, pulling up the emergency brake to make the turn before releasing it and continuing down with no regard towards the speed limit.

“What new place?” Travis shot back.

“Left. Don’t go straight. I said left,” Cameron said, pointing with his hand that had a gun in it.

I swallowed. I had no idea what they were talking about but I didn’t care. I was not going to live much longer anyway. I held my head in my hands, massaging my temple with my fingertips.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Travis shouted as we skidded around a sharp turn.

My body rammed against the side of Finn’s from the force.

“Let me drive,” Ben said from next to me in the backseat at the same time Cameron yelled for them to switch.

I racked my brain for how that was going to happen. We were going more than a safe amount above the speed limit. Stopping to switch would only slow us down and even though I was a firm believer in speed limits, that option wasn’t looking too great right now.

“Take it, Cam,” Travis said as he moved back from the steering wheel.

Cameron scooted over slightly. He put one hand on the wheel and I watched in horror as he moved one leg down to where the gas pedal would be. From the speed, it felt like it was being floored. My eyes bulged.

Ben hopped in front of me at the same time Travis flicked a switch underneath his seat, causing it to move back as far as it would go. The two boys fit in the seat awkwardly as they moved around each other; Ben taking Travis’ seat and Travis crouching to climb back.

“Hey gorgeous,” Travis said as he faced me while in between the drivers and passenger’s seat. He flashed a cheeky smile before climbing to where Ben was previously seated next to me.

The whole exchange happened in the span of maybe seven seconds. I blinked. There was no way I was living to see the age of eighteen at this rate.

Ben made the seat go to the right distance away from the pedals and Cameron moved back over to his seat. The speed, if anything, went faster now that Ben was driving. Cameron started talking to him about something but I couldn’t pick it out.

Travis came into my line of view as he fumbled through the duffel bag at my feet before pulling out a large gun. He pushed himself out of the window so he was leaning out of it with his chest facing the car. Finn was doing the same, only Travis seemed to be sitting on the arm rest on the side of the door, not putting him out of the car as much as Finn, who was literally sitting on the window edge.

“Lacey!” Finn yelled. He slumped quickly back into the car. “Hold my legs for me.”

Without giving me a chance to say yes or no, and without second guessing the trust he put in the girl he kidnapped hours ago, he forced himself back out the window. I crawled over to where he was and held onto the top of his legs. I sat on my knees, putting them directly on his feet to try to put more weight on him to keep him from falling out of the car.

“Next time, don’t make such a grand entrance,” Cameron yelled in the direction of where Travis’ body was. Cameron’s window was rolled down as well, but I don’t know how much he was actually doing since I felt like Finn was blocking most of his view with his body.

“Excuse me?” Travis shot back. I could barely hear him but he must have moved his head in slightly as he spoke. Otherwise, I think the wind and bullets would have carried his voice away.

“Let’s lay on the horn and tear up the roads as we come home to get everyone’s attention, what an idea!” Cameron scolded.

“Sorry, you’re going to have to yell louder if you want me to hear you over the squealing tires and bullets being shot at me,” Travis demanded.

Author Bio:

J.S. Christine has been writing novels since 2011 and graduated with a degree in Creative Writing. She strives to give readers worlds they can relax in with characters they can call their friends. Her novels typically travel down the obstacle-ridden roads of self-discovery with music blasting in the car’s speakers and the occasional explosion off to the side. Her first novel, Sparked, was self-published in 2016. When she isn’t writing, she can be found binge reading books, burning cookies, attempting to run, or teaching her three cats how great popcorn is.

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Wicked Wolves and Tangled Truths
Daniela Romero
(Hellbound Hearts, #1)
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Isabella is a shapeshifter without a Pack.

Torn from her home and forced to live with her human father, Isa has become the one thing every shifter dreads.

A lone wolf in an unknown territory.

If she wants to survive the year, she’ll need to keep her head down.

Which is easier said than done when, on her first day in town, she catches the attention of Rafael Castillo—Hellbound High’s Alpha Heir. He’s hot as hell but runs cold as ice. And more important, he’s determined to make Isa’s life hell.

But if she thought the local wolves were all she needed to worry about, she’s in for a rude awakening when she realizes being a lone wolf doesn’t just make her an outcast.

It makes her fair game.

—-
This full-length novel is a standalone dark and gritty, enemies to lovers, paranormal romance. It contains no cheating, no cliffhanger, and your happily ever after is guaranteed!
—-
“WOW!!! This was by far top reads of 2020….. absolutely freakin fantastic.” ★★★★★ — Kindle Reader

“This book is captivating. I started reading and could not stop.” ★★★★★ —Kindle Reader
—-
**Wicked Wolves and Tangled Truths was originally published as a contemporary romance novel and has been re-imaged at the request of Daniela’s paranormal readers.**

The complete series:

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

She doesn’t look at me the rest of the weekend. I should have expected this. Calculated the risk. I know she’s not some meek little submissive wolf, no matter that she sometimes pretends to be. She’s punishing me for leaving her hanging and it’s fucking working. What was supposed to be a punishment for her, a reminder of who the fuck was in charge here, ended up backfiring on me and now I’m watching her like some lovesick dog without his bone.

I keep forgetting she isn’t like the rest of the girls here at Hellbound High. She doesn’t give two shits who I am and she’s making that abundantly clear. She sticks close to Liu all day Saturday, leaving me little room to swoop in and take her. Not unless I want to make a big show of it, and yeah, that’s not happening. So, I’m left to stew as she laughs with the motherfucker, drinks with him, lets him touch her. It’s not romantic. At least I don’t think it is for her. But every time that asshole throws an arm around her shoulders, my wolf rakes his claws beneath my skin and I want to pummel his face in.

Isa Romero is mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to hurt. Mine to soothe, should I decide to. I’m itching to touch her and it’s doing things to my head I don’t like. My wolf is agitated and I’ve never been so close to losing control of him the way I am now.

“Rafe, what’s your deal, man?” Des asks as I brood on the cabin porch sipping on a glass of water. “I figured you’d fuck the girl out of your system and walk away. What gives?”

I grunt. “Maybe I just want a few more fucks before I move along.”

Before I finish the sentence, he’s already shaking his head. “Nah. I’ve seen you with girls. This one is different. I get the whole mind-games shit you like to pull with chicks, but even that’s different with her. You cooked last night, and don’t try and bullshit me into believing that was for me or Jordy. You did that for her. Why?”

Jordy interrupts, stepping outside, still rocking that stupid bright-ass bikini over his sweatpants. “I like Isa. Can we keep her?”

Des and I both jerk our heads toward him. “What?” I ask, surprise coloring my voice.

“I said, can we keep her?”

“She’s not a puppy,” Des chides, but his brows furrow like he’s wondering the same thing.

“Why?” I ask again.

Jordy rolls his eyes. “Hello, I just said because I like her. She’s a badass she-wolf. Are you even paying attention? What is up with you today, man?”

I turn to Des but all he does is shrug and raise a brow as if to say, don’t ask me. Some help he is. I don’t get this side of Jordy. Sure, the guy’s nice to pretty much everyone, but only at face value. He doesn’t actually like people. I don’t even think he cares for Des or I all that much and we’re his best fucking friends.

“What happened to you two fuckers saying I needed to focus on Pack business?”

“I changed my mind. I wanna keep her. If you’re not into her anymore now that you’ve had your fun just say the word. I don’t mind sloppy seconds. Based on the sounds I heard coming from your room last night, that girl is well worth the trouble.”

I stand and take a menacing step toward my best friend, my skin ripples with the urge to shift and I’m two seconds from nailing the asshole in the face with my fist when Des steps between us. “What are you planning here?”

“To wipe that smug look off his face.” I point my water bottle right at Jordy and the fucker smiles at me.

Des shakes his head. “Not with numb nuts over there. What are you planning with Isa?”

My jaw tightens and I glare at him. “I don’t have any plans,” I bite out, “Why the fuck are you two down my throat about her all of a sudden?”

“She’s not like other girls,” he says. “She’s a wolf. She’s one of us.”

“I’m aware she isn’t like other chicks. But no, she isn’t one of us. If she was, she’d be over here kissing my boots instead of playing around with Liu all goddamn day. What do you want from me?”

Jordy shoves himself between the two of us and flicks his gaze back and forth. “He wants you to lay out your intentions, Rafe. We both do.” And for once the dude has a serious expression on his face.

I glower. “Why the hell are you two so goddamn interested in who I fuck all of a sudden?”

Des grunts. “Because Jordy is right. We like her. Neither of us wants you to fuck things up for us.”

My mouth drops open. “For us?”

Jordy nods and smacks me in the chest light-heartedly. “Yeah, fucker. For us. Like I said, we like her. She fits in with our crew. She doesn’t see a path to power when she looks at any of us like every other chick in this town. We could use a feminine touch up in here. Too much testosterone with you two jackasses all the time if you ask me, and your dick is going to fuck that up so this is us telling you not to do that. Lo entiendes?” Do you understand? Was he fucking with me right now? “Say whatever you need to say to her. You fucked something up this morning or she wouldn’t be hanging with that ass wipe and you wouldn’t be over here brooding.”

My jaw clenches. “This isn’t how things roll with us.” There’s a bite in my tone I usually reserve for everyone but the two people beside me. Desmond and Jordy are like brothers. They’re family. But I don’t take orders from anyone except my Alpha and I don’t have to explain myself to them.

Jordy meets my stare and his eyes narrow, sparking with something I’m not used to seeing in his gaze. “She’s the relationship type.”

I work my jaw harder. “And this matters to you because…”

“You’re not.”

“Never claimed I was,” I remind him. And then I add in for good measure, “She laid her cards out first. She wants fun. No strings. Don’t jump down my throat for giving the girl exactly what she asked for.”

Both their expressions consider me for a moment, searching for any deception. Then Des asks, “She really said that?” He doesn’t sound convinced and his nostrils flare, trying to catch me in a lie.

“Yeah, fucker. She did. So calm down.”

“Fine, let’s assume we buy that. What’d you do to piss her off?”

My shoulders sag and I grit my teeth.

“Come on, fucker. Spill.” Jordy says, all but bouncing beside me. The guy is wired this morning. I need to remember to hide the coffee from him. He must have consumed a full pot.

“I fucked her.”

“And…?”

I huff out a breath. “And I withheld her orgasm when she refused to beg for it.”

Desmond whistles and Jordy whoops, then says, “I always knew you were a shady asshole with control issues but fuck, man, that’s cold. And let me guess, you still got yours?”

I nod grinding my teeth together. “My wolf wants her submission.”

Jordy cackles, covering his mouth as he folds over at the waist before he straightens. There are tears of laughter shining in his eyes. “And your human self was too far gone to deny it. Idiot. If you want inside that pussy anytime soon, expect to do some groveling.”

Not. Fucking. Happening.

Author Bio:

Daniela Romero is a USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. She enjoys writing steamy, new-adult and paranormal romance that delivers an emotional roller coaster sure to take your breath away.

Her books feature a diverse cast of characters with rich and vibrant cultures in an effort to effectively portray the world we all live in. One that is so beautifully colorful.

Daniela is a Bay Area native though she currently lives in Washington State with her sarcastic husband and their three tiny terrors.

In her free time, Daniela enjoys frequent naps, binge reading her favorite romance books, and is known to crochet while watching television because her ADHD brain can never do just one thing at a time.

Stop by her website to find all the fun and unique ways you can stalk her. And while you’re there you can check out some free bonus scenes from your favorite books, learn about her Patreon, order signed copies of her books, and swoon over her gorgeous alternative cover editions.

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Love & Other Vows: For better or worse…
Lyndsey Gallagher
(Professional Players, #5)
Publication date: June 1st 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Shelly Williams is loving life. She’s been offered a place on the newest, sexiest, celebrity reality television show, and her husband has just retired from his position as captain of the Irish rugby team, meaning he’s around more to help raise their children, leaving her free to pursue a few of her own ambitions. Ambitions Marcus knows nothing about.

Marcus Williams is struggling to find a purpose following his recent retirement as captain of the Irish rugby team. There’s only so many holidays, horse riding trips and happy hours one man can endure. When his wife is paired up with his old sporting rival in front of the entire country, Marcus begins to realise he stands to lose a lot more than just his career.

With ten weeks of watching Shelly slide, shake and shimmy against the one man that has the potential to destroy everything, Marcus must act if he wants to save their relationship.

They vowed to stay together through sickness and health.
But what about fame and wealth?

Love & Other Vows is a steamy, love conquers all stand-alone romcom with guaranteed HEA.

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—

TEASERS:

“Marcus.’ It’s a plead and a pant rolled into one. Recognising the desperation in my tone, he doesn’t make me wait. With his face pressed firmly between my thighs, his tongue traces the length of me in the exact repetition that causes my quads to flex and tighten across his stubble, building into a climax which is only enhanced by the possibility of getting caught under the blazing Portuguese sun.”

—

“I honestly don’t know, Shelly. Women threw themselves at all of us. He had ample opportunity. I’m not saying he took advantage of that, only that I don’t know either way. I heard the rumours over the years, but he’d be a fucking fool to cheat on you.” A wistful look fills his ice blue eyes. “If you were mine…”

Author Bio:

Lyndsey Gallagher is the kindle bestselling author of six contemporary romance novels, with many more on the way! An unashamed romantic, forever in search of the next happy ever after, her debut novel The Seven Year Itch was inspired by the weekend she met her husband. Lyndsey lives in the West of Ireland overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. She enjoys long walks, deep talks and the occasional G & T!

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Serenade
Morgan Shamy
(The Dark Nocturne, #1)
Publication date: May 31st 2022
Genres: Mystery, Paranormal, Young Adult

St. Paul’s Academy of the Arts isn’t your usual boarding school…

When November Huntington is sent away to live with her long-lost family, she’s forced to attend a music school for the gifted—which wouldn’t be a problem if November were musical. She’s an athlete through and through, and hates being different.

The kids at the school don’t welcome her, they’re wary of her presence, especially Vincent, a brooding teenage boy involved with dark spirits, who can make time stop when he plays his piano. In fact, all her classmates are all obsessed with playing their instruments. And odd things happen when the do.

But something is off about the school. Deaths have occurred through the years, students showing up dead the same way November’s parents were killed—with their throats ripped out.

A killer is on the loose… November must figure out a way to stop whoever it is, balance her feelings for Vincent, and solve her parents’ past before she, too, is numbered among the dead.

The first in a Paranormal Fantasy Saga by debut author Morgan Shamy.

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—

EXCERPT:

She started forward once more, silently cursing, when a soft melody drifted from the woods. The sound jarred her to a stop, and her heart suddenly spiked. She wasn’t alone. Someone was out here. The music drew closer, heightening. It was slow and haunting, tinkling, like a music box. It didn’t sound like music from a radio or phone. It moved through the trees, wrapping around the bushes, spreading out toward her. She could feel it all around her, soaking into her.

“Hello?” she asked, backing up a step. She squinted into the trees. “Hello?”

No one answered.

The music continued, and she wrapped her arms around herself, backing up further.

“Hello?”

Deep into the forest, a bright light appeared, small at first until it burst outward. The light seared her eyes, large and white, and she ripped her gaze away. A voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to run. The music continued to play on the air, soaring toward her. It was getting closer, becoming thicker, heavier.

This couldn’t be happening. She was having hallucinations. She needed to get out of here. She needed to find stability. Ground herself.

She pushed herself faster, her feet pounding on the forest floor. But the music slithered after her, brushing along her back, carrying with her as she ran.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Stop!” She continued to race, until she dropped to her knees. She covered her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop!”

In a blink, the music halted, and the light dissipated, but the music still echoed inside her head, hanging on the air. She stretched her eyes wide, her gaze darting side to side. She stayed frozen, her knees on the dusty ground. Her heart beat loud as the breeze picked up and tickled the hair off her face. Birds chirped, and the forest came alive again. She slowly lowered her hands.

Everything was normal. Everything was fine. She had been hallucinating.

She huffed out a frustrated breath and headed back down the trail, shaking out her arms. She was stupid to think someone had been after her, or to think she’d heard music or seen such a bright light, but the sweet melodic sound wouldn’t leave her alone. The melody lingered inside her head, weaving through her memory. Maybe someone had been there, and maybe she had been its target.

Author Bio:

Morgan Shamy is an ex-ballerina turned YA writer. She has been immersed in the arts since the young age of 4, where she performed various roles alongside a professional ballet company for over seven years, and has danced on prestigious stages like soloing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. She has taught hundreds of girls in her fifteen years of teaching, where some of her students have received full-ride scholarships to schools like School of American Ballet, the Harid Conservatory, Kirov Academy of Ballet, and Pacific Northwest Ballet, to name a few.

Morgan discovered writing when her three-year-old son was diagnosed with cancer. It was through that experience which instilled the need to share art and magic with children through words on the page.

Morgan is also an accomplished concert pianist. She was the first girl in Utah to receive the 75 pt. Gold Cup in the Utah Federation of Music in piano solo/concerto competition. Morgan currently lives with her X-Games gold-medalist husband and four children in Salt Lake City, Utah.

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Dark Blue Waves
Kimberly Sullivan
Publication date: May 27th 2022
Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance, Time-Travel, Women’s Fiction

When you wake up in Bath, England two hundred years in the past, how far can a love of Jane Austen get you?

Janet Roberts dreams of an academic career in literature, so she can hardly believe her good fortune when she’s accepted into a Jane Austen graduate seminar in Bath, England. Settled in Georgian splendor among her seminar colleagues, Janet and her classmates live, eat and breathe Jane Austen.

An accident interrupts this idyll when Janet regains consciousness in her own room—back in Regency England. For a scholar of nineteenth-century literature, this should be a dream come true.

But Janet quickly learns there’s a world of difference between scholarly knowledge of the written page and maneuvering real life as a reluctant time traveler.

Her burgeoning friendship with Emma Huntington eases her entrée into nineteenth-century society. However, Emma’s brother, the handsome, proud and frustratingly magnetic Sir Edward, is far less welcoming.

While desperately attempting to make sense of her dilemma, Janet treads a thin line between trying to blend into her new world and not being unmasked as the imposter she is. Can she discover the way to return to her twenty-first century life? After working so hard to create a rewarding nineteenth-century life for herself and opening her hart to friendship and love, does she even want to?

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—

EXCERPT:

Janet marveled at her reflection in the mirror. Her light brown hair with its sunny highlights looked elegant swept up; her neck appeared long and delicate. Her green eyes sparkled. She looked older, more sophisticated with her nineteenth-century toilette. She was certainly too suntanned to be fashionable among the creamy-skinned young women of Bath. Her form was perhaps too muscular for nineteenth-century tastes, but sport-sculpted shoulders and legs would be well-covered by the fashions of the day.

It did not require an extreme stretch of the imagination to believe that she might have just stepped out of the Bennet household. If only she could learn the manners and banish anachronisms from her discourse, she might actually get away with it.

“Why, Jane! Don’t you look lovely! What a miraculous recovery.” Emma glided into the room, all smiles and good cheer. “Doctor Perry has given me an excellent report. We are to take a short walk, but I have strict instructions to rest frequently. I have brought my sketching pad and pencils so that we shall have every excuse to sit and rest. Doctor Perry assures me you are strong, and he is confident you should soon be back to your old self.”

Janet smiled at her new friend. How kind they were being to her. She followed Emma out of the room, and then out the front door into the glorious, sunny June day.

June 17, 1813.

She could hardly believe it. She, Janet Roberts, writing her master’s thesis on nineteenth-century English social customs and manners and how they were reflected in the literature of the period, was now walking around Bath on June 17, 1813. This was a dream come true. How her fellow students and scholars would envy her, if only they knew.

But would they ever know? Would she ever return to her twenty-first-century life to complete that half-finished thesis, the one she needed to finalize by next May? Would she return to finish her Austen seminar? She’d agonized endlessly over her father controlling every aspect of her life—her studies, her career, her choice of a husband—yet here she was, a few days later, and her life was one giant question mark.

Emma slipped her arm through Janet’s, and the two women walked along the green of The Crescent, then continued the short distance to The Circus. This was the very same route Janet jogged with Siobhan only a few days earlier, on the morning of the accident that changed her life.

The streets were a riot of sights, sounds, and color. Women in their elegant dresses, servant girls in their coarse, functional smocks and aprons. In Janet’s world, it was not always easy to distinguish the classes by fashion. A twenty-first-century internet billionaire might work daily in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, just like the worker cleaning the streets. But here, in this new world, class and privilege were prominently displayed in one’s dress and carriage. There were no blurred lines. No room for ambiguity.

Children wandered the streets, carrying heavy parcels and buckets in their delicate, tiny hands. Janet longed to relieve them of their loads. How on earth could such young creatures be working so hard, carrying burdens that must weigh as much as they? Surely they should be in school, or enjoying their brief childhood, or accompanied by an observant adult, someone to ensure that they were vigilant and would not risk being run over and killed by a passing horse and carriage in a careless moment of childish distraction. Goodness, her modern sensibilities found this far too difficult to digest.

As she and Emma promenaded, elegant men stepped aside to allow them to pass. The men smiled and tipped their hats to the passing ladies.

The smell of horse manure was overwhelming. It hung so thickly in the air that Janet felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She saw a few men braving oncoming traffic, shovels in hand, attempting to clear the streets, only able to eliminate a small portion of the mountains of accumulated horse droppings.

Hadn’t the automobile been touted as the ideal solution to eliminate pollution? Janet, alongside her middle school classmates, had laughed smugly at the absurdity of that premise. How easy to have been smug in her clean and hygienic modern world. But now that she was actually living in the time period and breathing in the overwhelming odor that must have permeated every major city, she felt more sympathy for those who had welcomed the technology as a possible liberation from the nauseating stench that blanketed cities and towns.

Janet tried in vain to compose her face, but she couldn’t help but stare at the sights and sounds all around her.

Emma laughed at her friend. “You must remember to close your mouth and not gape at your surroundings. It looks as if you are out in the world for the first time, my dear Jane. Surely, you have not forgotten in this brief time what the world looks like beyond the confines of the sick bed.”

You would be surprised, Emma.

Author Bio:

Kimberly grew up in the suburbs of Boston and in Saratoga Springs, New York, although she now calls the Harlem neighborhood of New York City home when she’s back in the US. She studied political science and history at Cornell University and earned her MBA, with a concentration in strategy and marketing, from Bocconi University in Milan.

Afflicted with a severe case of Wanderlust, she worked in journalism and government in the US, Czech Republic and Austria, before settling down in Rome, where she works in international development, and writes fiction any chance she gets.

She is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA) and The Historical Novel Society and has published several short stories and two novels: Three Coins and Dark Blue Waves.

After years spent living in Italy with her Italian husband and sons, she’s fluent in speaking with her hands, and she loves setting her stories in her beautiful, adoptive country.

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Dead Wrong
Annie Anderson
(Grave Talker, #6)
Publication date: May 24th 2022
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

Never make a deal with a demon.

There are two things Darby Adler wants more than anything: to take a vacation, and to find who is responsible for the rash of witch abductions in Knoxville.

With an ancient vampire in town and a slew of fugitives on the loose, her suspect pool is vast. But Darby has a sneaking suspicion she knows the culprit all too well.

And if she can’t catch him on her own, she might just have to resort to more creative measures to get the job done.

Here’s hoping she doesn’t lose her soul in the process.

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—

EXCERPT:

Hooking a finger in the bridge of my sunglasses, I pinned him with a cold glare. “Tell me, is it fibbies in general, my gender, or me in particular you don’t like, Preston? Because this is the second time in a matter of days that you have skirted around another agent to tell me to get off a crime scene, and I gotta say, it’s pissing me off.”

A sneer curled his lip as he planted his feet, leaning forward just a touch too close for my comfort. “Maybe I don’t like your kind, Warden,” he growled, cutting through any and all levels of pretense. “Maybe I don’t like trying to clean up arcane fuck shit on my only day off. Maybe I—”

I caught sight of his KPD brethren stopping to stare, and cut him off.

“Shut. Up,” I growled, fighting off the urge to cover his mouth with my hand. The absolute last thing I needed was a cranky beat cop exposing the arcane world to all a fucking sundry. “If you know who I am and even an inkling of what’s good for you, you will keep your fucking mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”

Snatching my cell from my back pocket, I dialed Tobin’s number.

“Yeah, boss?” he answered, the timid waver to his voice gone now that he was alone in the house and couldn’t see my face. Tobin didn’t like direct contact of any kind, but on the phone? In front of a computer? He was an absolute powerhouse.

“I need everything you have on an Officer N. Preston.” I squinted at the shield pinned to his chest. “Badge number 745632. And I need it yesterday, if you please.”

Tobin paused briefly, a faint snicker rattling down the line. Tobin loved it when other people were in trouble. His keyboard clacking like machine gun fire was music to my ears. “On it. Give me five.”

Without so much as a nod to polite phone etiquette, the line disconnected, and I stuffed the cell back in my pocket. I’d have to talk to him about that.

Staring at the prick whose face had turned an unhealthy shade of puce in the short time I was on the phone, I tilted my head to the side and narrowed my eyes.

“Now that’s done, what were you saying about my kind, again? Not that you know what my kind even is or what I’m capable of.” The subtle buzz around the guy had a solid human flavor to it, but I’d been wrong before.

I’d been wrong about a lot of things.

Author Bio:

Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.

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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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