“I’m going to kill my sisters. All of them,” Essence said through gritted teeth, attitude dangling from each word before she turned narrowed eyes on him. “You know what they’re trying to do, don’t you? You have to know.”

It took everything within Jackson not to smile because she was adorable when she was mad. Which he didn’t witness often. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied, earning him a deeper glare.

Okay, maybe he knew now, but not at first. He hadn’t thought much of it when Nyla told him of the change because it wasn’t unusual for him and Essence to share a room. But now that he knew her sisters might be trying to push them together, Jackson was totally onboard with their scheming. They all knew how much he adored Essence and how close they were, but they also knew Essence was afraid to move out of the friend zone. It would be just like them to butt in.

He and Essence exited the elevator, and Jackson followed a few steps behind her as she practically stomped down the hallway to their room. She might’ve been pissed, and he probably should be thinking about how he was going to get her to lighten up, but damn her ass looked good in that dress. Watching her shapely hips sway back and forth rhythmically made his body stir in response. Hell, if he could get her to calm down, maybe they could have some fun tonight. It was a new year. A perfect time to start a new chapter in their story. And a little rendezvous in a luxury hotel would only add to the fun.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Essence glanced over her shoulder at him without missing a step. If eyes could shoot invisible daggers, she was definitely shooting them at him, and he felt them square in the chest.

So much for living out a few fantasies tonight. Clearly, the hotel room would be for sleeping only.

Normally, Essence was sweet, kind, and would do anything for anyone. She also had a good sense of humor and took her family’s antics in stride. She didn’t usually trip over stuff like this, especially since she and he often shared a hotel room. The two of them, and sometimes Tray, vacationed together more often than not. Staying in the same room was a norm. So, it was out of character to see her this pissed.

Essence already had her keycard out when she stopped in front of their hotel room door. Seconds later, she stormed inside the room. She didn’t seem to care if he followed her in or not.

Jackson sighed, catching the door before it slammed in his face. This was going to be a long night. He didn’t want to argue, and Essence had every right to be mad—just not at him. She was probably looking forward to relaxing in a beautiful hotel room after a long day. Hell, a couple of long weeks, and here he was crashing any solitude she thought she’d get.

Or maybe she was mad because she had planned to invite that punk ass Romero to the room after the reception.

That thought had Jackson wanting to question her about the guy. Had their relationship moved up from just casual dating? Instead of asking, he kept his mouth shut. She was angry at her sisters, and he didn’t need her to take it out on him. He didn’t have siblings, but he’d been around hers enough to know they all drove each other nuts sometimes.

“Oh, and if you think we’re sleeping in the same bed, think again,” Essence snapped, tossing his duffel bag, which had been on the edge of the king size bed, to the sofa.

Jackson yawned, then slid out of his tuxedo jacket and laid it across the arm of the sofa. Next went the bowtie. “Essence, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I do know one thing. I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”

Copyright © 2026 Sharon. C. Cooper

USA Today bestselling author Sharon C. Cooper loves anything involving romance with a happily-ever-after, whether in books, movies, or real life. She writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, as well as romantic comedy. She enjoys rainy days, carpet picnics, and family game night. Her stories have won numerous awards, including The Rochelle Alers Best Series award for her Atlanta’s Finest Series (2022) and The Beverly Jenkins Author of the Year award (2021). When she isn’t writing, Sharon loves hanging out with her amazing husband, doing volunteer work, or reading a good book (a romance of course). To read more about Sharon and her novels, or to sign up to be notified of her latest releases, visit www.sharoncooper.net

  

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 Gill’s life experiences have informed her writing.  For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the ongoing corruption.  Her experiences as a social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t Hurt a Fly.  In this book the fatal combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist give rise to a cliffhanging finale.

 Reviewers have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing to the end, whilst not wanting to finish.  Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed.  In her books bad people get what they deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.

 She is currently writing her third book. 

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PROLOGUE

—————-

COLORADO ROCKIES

April 17, Tuesday

4:17 p.m.

Breathtaking drops along the road that rimmed Colorado’s Dead Horse Canyon terrified Sara Reynolds from the start. Cliffs and gorges stretched on and off for miles, few protected by guardrails.

“Too expensive,” Bryan explained. “Not a priority for lean county budgets.”

His advice for dealing with roadway-induced acrophobia was simple:

“Keep your eyes on the center line. Concentrate on the road. Whatever you do, never, ever look down!”

His words sprang from memory, recommendations moot. Ignoring the threat didn’t make it go away. Especially when someone T-boned your truck on a blind curve.

Their mangled Silverado teetered on a ledge twenty feet below. She stared, incredulous, as steam twisted upward from its crumpled hood in a sultry, hypnotic dance. Vapors crawled along the shattered windshield, then teased the heart-shaped leaves of a young quaking aspen—the truck’s only ally against a sheer drop of several hundred feet.

The realization she’d been the truck’s passenger only moments before sizzled through her like lightning. Why was she weightless, brunette tendrils floating about her shoulders like a storm cloud? Her horrified gaze shifted to her husband, likewise weightless and wearing his signature crooked grin.

“What happened?” Her words were soundless, thought rather than speech.

“We’re dead.”

“What? Dead? What do you mean we’re dead?”

He pointed to their truck. She gasped. Their lifeless bodies were clearly visible through the cab’s passenger side window.

He was right—they were dead.

The tender expression in his hazel eyes embraced her heart as affection flowed between them. An unexpected sense of peace  defied what lay below. Time froze, the forest hushed and serene as a leafy chorus offered a requiem in the spring breeze.

What seemed an eternity later, sirens screamed through the canyon. His demeanor shifted.

“I’m sorry, Sara. That didn’t exactly work out as planned. I know—I should have listened to you. I love you, sweetheart.”

Renewed panic surged. “What are you saying, Bryan?”

“You must go back. Promise me. Don’t let them get away with this. Please.”

He blew her a kiss, then his personage retreated, fading into a swirling vortex of unearthly light.

“No! Wait. Don’t leave me! Bryan, please. Don’t go!”

He didn’t stop, her plea denied, his only response a wave of farewell as he vanished into the light.

* * *

She awoke to mind-numbing pain. Her shoulder, neck, and hip screamed, spasms twisting every muscle as if some wild beast had torn them apart. There’d been an ear-splitting crash, a brilliant flash of light. . .

Where was Bryan? Where was she?

Unless someone knew otherwise, surely it was hell.

Somewhere far away a muffled siren wailed. Fear of the truth conspired with her blood-crusted lashes not to open her eyes. Pain vetoed the refusal. Her eyelids trembled open.

A sandy haired, broad-shouldered man in a blue EMS uniform sat beside her, attention fixed on a beeping vital signs monitor. A metallic taste filled her mouth, lips swollen and heavy, her attempt to speak a scratchy whisper.

“What. . .happened? Wh-where’s Bryan? Is he h-here?”

The man turned her way, regarding her with dark, concerned eyes.

“It’s okay, ma’am. Don’t try to talk.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’re getting you to help as fast as we can.”

Her breathing quickened, ravaged muscles and nerves on fire, but the agony consuming her heart eclipsed it all. A sob caught in her throat, words an articulated whimper.

“H-he left me. Here….”

“Just relax.” He emptied a syringe into the port of the IV line embedded in her arm.

The pain ebbed. Again nothing. Only darkness.

* * *

BELTON REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER

April 17, Tuesday

5:37 p.m.

The sensation of motion breached the persistent fog. Her eyes cracked open as the gurney rumbled through a portal into blinding light. Electronic chirping, then muted voices, the smell of antiseptics.

She forced her query out from somewhere in her chest. “W-what h-happened?”

The pretty black nurse hanging a unit of blood looked her way. “You were in a bad wreck, darlin’. Just rest now. You’re in good hands. You’re awake and that’s a really good sign.”

“But my husband—”

“I know, darlin’. Don’t worry about him. He’s in a better place.” Tears flowed unbidden. It had to be a nightmare. Willing herself awake, however, failed. Abandonment and confusion in the grip of agonizing pain remained.

Return to Dead Horse Canyon: Grandfather Spirits

Dead Horse Canyon Saga Book 2

THE DEAD HORSE CANYON SAGA CONTINUES. . .

READERS’ FAVORITE 5-STAR REVIEW

“I went into ‘Return to Dead Horse Canyon’ not having read the first book and while it does read comfortably as a stand-alone, after just a couple of chapters I actually went back to read ‘The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon’ before restarting book two. It was an excellent decision. The building of the Cheyenne history is critical to the story and had I not understood Sara’s complete motivation and Charlie’s fully fleshed-out roots, I’d have missed out on so much more than just a good read. My gosh, the depth of ethnology packed into both novels is meticulously researched and beautifully detailed. Co-authors Marcha Fox and Pete Risingsun are a dream team with this saga and I’m really looking forward to the third and final installment of their trilogy.” — Asher Syed


This epic modern Native American saga continues in this sequel to “The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon” where Charlie Littlewolf and Sara Reynolds discovered why her husband, Bryan, was murdered, changing their lives forever. While Charlie swore to avenge his white brother’s death, the path to do so remains unclear.

His job with Lone Star Operations allows him to use his college education and earn a generous income. However, it conflicts with everything he knows to be right, especially as he returns to the teachings of his medicine man grandfather. Is violating the Earth wrong or not? Little does he realize that his work will ultimately return him to the Northern Cheyenne reservation where his true destiny will manifest in ways he never imagined.

Sara is determined to fulfill Bryan’s last request to expose the government corruption coupled with the lethal forces that stole his life. Releasing the scandalous Top Secret data via WikiLeaks infuriates those with much to lose, who place a high price on her demise. When her response gets too personal, the next attempt to silence her forever comes close to home.

While miles apart, each struggles with life-threatening situations as a result of their dedication to Bryan’s legacy. Their lives remain entangled through a series of fateful decisions and circumstances that define a future fraught with dangerous unknowns for them both.

AWARDS

Pinnacle Book Achievement Award
Firebird Book Award
Book Excellence Award Finalist
5-star Readers’ Favorite Review
Page Turner Award Finalist

 

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The Revenge of Dead Horse Canyon: Sweet Medicine Spirits

Dead Horse Canyon Saga Book 3

The DEAD HORSE CANYON Trilogy’s explosive conclusion!

Picking up where “Return to Dead Horse Canyon: Grandfather Spirits” left off, we find that much to her enemy’s dismay, Sara’s life is spared, but with a steep price. A million dollar bounty remains on her demise, motivating another to threaten her life. Paralyzed by the last attempt to eliminate her, her Native American friend, Charlie, promises to help restore her health so she can walk again. Before he can accomplish that, however, the unthinkable happens, which disrupts and redirects their plans.

To fulfill his promise to his Northern Cheyenne Grandfather to complete a four-day ceremonial fast at the Sacred Mountain, Charlie journeys to Bear Butte in South Dakota, known to his tribe as Novavose. A series of startling visions reveal the full scope of his destiny. Of prime importance is to restore the ancient Earth Giving Ceremony known as the Massaum, originally revealed thousands of years before by their prophet, Sweet Medicine.

Has the time come at last for Native People to unite and fulfill Black Cloud’s curse on Dead Horse Canyon? And what about those other 19th century prophecies directed to the 7th Generation by Black Elk and Crazy Horse?

Phase I of the PURF complex is complete. A gala open house to celebrate is scheduled around the same time as the Gathering of Indigenous Leaders. While the underground facility is filled to the brim with corrupt lobbyists, contractors, and government officials, not far away a host of First Nation Americans is entrenched in a ceremony that promises to restore them to their land.

What could possibly go wrong?

5-STAR EDITORIAL REVIEW FROM READERS’ FAVORITE

“The Revenge of Dead Horse Canyon by Marcha Fox and Pete Risingsun stands out for its sharp writing and complete ability to immerse readers, especially in Charlie’s spiritual transformation. Poor Sara just cannot get a break. Attacked, paralyzed, kidnapped, and then labeled a domestic terrorist and sanctioned! This isn’t just a fight for survival; this is about the power of truth in the face of overwhelming opposition. Charlie fits into this description, with a spectacular ceremony for Sara’s healing, but also as a powerful catalyst when he is in the presence of Grandmother Earth and the consequences of his actions. Fox and Risingsun are a dream writing team in every way, and, culturally, this portrayal of Charlie’s heritage is painted from the sky to the smallest pebble and the fire burning in between. The pacing is elevated by point of view shifts and all the drama, but also a surprising relationship transformation as well. Ultimately, this finale succeeds with a perfect 10 landing. Very, very highly recommended.”

AWARDS

Reader’s Favorite 5-stars
Book Excellence Award
Pinnacle Achievement Award

 

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** Get the trilogy box set! **

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A sweetgrass braid ordered in 2019 connected a NASA physicist in Texas with a Cheyenne elder living on the Northern Cheyenne reservation in Montana. That relationship evolved from a transaction to a consultation to a co-authorship that produced a culturally meticulous, spiritually grounded, award-winning conspiracy thriller trilogy.

Before publishing “The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon” Marcha wanted to confirm her portrayal of Native American culture and the story’s protagonist, Charlie Littlewolf, was accurate as well as respectful toward indigenous people.

Synchronicity intervened via that sweetgrass braid and connected her with Pete Risingsun, an enrolled member and elder in the Northern Cheyenne tribe. He offered insights and changes, but best of all, was so taken with the story he ultimately became its coauthor.

Marcha’s experience as a retired NASA engineer and seasoned author of The Star Trails Tetralogy science fiction series, melded perfectly with Pete’s knowledge of his tribe’s history and ceremonies.

The pair, who has never met face to face, collaborated via phone calls, text messages, and snail mail between her home in the Texas Hill Country and his on the reservation in Montana.

It took five years to produce the trilogy that comprises “The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon Saga,” the three books of which have collected a total of 13 awards.

In preparation for writing the saga’s explosive conclusion, Marcha and Pete conducted extensive research. In so doing, they were delighted to uncover fascinating details of Norther Cheyenne history and ceremonies that dove-tailed perfectly with the complex story’s plot, tying it back to numerous events in the 19th Century.

 

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Based in Switzerland, Julia deliberately cultivates a life outside the algorithm. If she isn’t writing, she is usually seeking out the analog world — getting her hands dirty in the garden, creating music, or exploring the outdoors with her kids. How Can I Help You Today? is her latest novel.

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The aroma of maple bacon and coffee wafted into her office as Poppy interrupted her pondering with a plate full of breakfast and a mug to replace the one that had already gone cold on her desk. “Thanks,” she murmured, still studying the computer screen.

“Don’t get used to the service, mate. Liam talked me into checking on you after I told him about Jackson’s sudden appearance.”

“And the food?” Mel cocked an eyebrow at her friend, who she suspected was just as worried about her mental state as her brother after their chat last night. The lithe, vertically challenged woman might resemble a brunette pixie, but that brain of hers worked with devious speed.

“Figured you’d holed yourself up in here without getting a proper brekkie. Besides, I have a small favor to ask, but not while you’re sporting that glower on your phiz. What’s got you frowning so hard?” She didn’t wait for an answer but came around the desk to have a look for herself. “You’re reading about the cooking school?”

“Can you believe these gullible idiots, and yes, I’m including Jackson among them, pay for the honor of working for free in Isabelle Fontaine’s restaurant?” Taking a piece of bacon, Mel absently munched on it until the flavor of maple, meat, and unbridled joy exploded in her mouth. Poppy wasn’t as diversely talented in the kitchen as Jackson, but she was the master of the breakfast dishes she made. Mel moaned in appreciation before asking, “All right, out with it. What’s this favor?”

“Well,” her friend gave her a sly grin. Never a good sign. Whatever was about to follow would almost certainly be illegal. But when she said, “I need your advice on how to win over Doctor Hart.” Mel’s jaw actually dropped open.

“You’ve never struck me as the kind of person who worries about other people’s opinions.” She eyed the other woman suspiciously. “Why do you care what Doc thinks?”

Poppy wandered around the office, tidying a crooked photo and pulling out one of Mel’s hospitality course textbooks. The only purpose for all of her movement, as far as Mel could tell, was to avoid letting her see her face. “Because she’s important to you and it seems life would be much easier for you if the two of us got along.”

“Really?” She sat back in the creaky desk chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to figure out the ex-thief’s actual motivation.

“Okay, fine.” The woman whirled on her in a huff. “I’ve never had anyone not like me. Ever. Pathetic loser Agnes Mary Nobel? Sure. But since I transformed myself into the fabulous Poppy Phillips? Even people I’ve stolen from end up liking me.”

“Kind of judgey of poor Aggie, aren’t you?” She’d only recently discovered Poppy’s true identity when Gregg investigated her as a murder suspect. Abandoned by her single mother, she’d grown up in Cleveland in various foster homes that ran the gambit from kind to truly horrific. Given that, she understood her friend’s choice to reinvent herself, fake English accent and all. She claimed she identified as British, whatever that meant. If Mel had to put money on it, she’d bet it was because the accent meant she could get away with murder. And she had to admit, it had come in handy more than once to soothe the ruffled feathers of a guest. But Doc Hart, who’d been suspicious of her from the start, remained an aloof skeptic.

“You could try dropping the accent.”

For the first time, she saw a flash of vulnerability in the bold ex-thief’s eyes.

“What would I even sound like without it?” Poppy murmured, then switched to a flat, nasal tone that presumably she thought people from Cleveland sounded like. “My name is Agnes from Cuyahoga County. I like cheese. Blch.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re confusing Cleveland with Milwaukee, but I see your point.”

A Pine Cove Mystery Book 1

After a life-changing injury, Mel O’Rourke trades in her badge for bed sheets, running a B & B in the quirky mountain town of Pine Cove. Her peaceful life is interrupted when an old frenemy, the notorious and charismatic cat burglar, Poppy Phillips, shows up on her doorstep, claiming she’s been framed for murder. While she’s broken plenty of laws, Mel knows she’d never kill anyone. Good thing she’s a better detective than she is a cook as she sets out to prove Poppy’s innocence.

The situation gets complicated, however, when the ruggedly handsome Deputy Sheriff Gregg Marks flirts with Mel, bringing him dangerously close to the criminal she’s hiding. And just when her friendship with café owner Jackson Thibodeaux blossoms into something more, he’s offered the opportunity of a lifetime in New Orleans. Should she encourage him to go, or ask him to stay? Who knew romance could be just as hard to solve as murder?

 

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Mel gaped slack-jawed at her brother, whose palm covered his face. “Why did you kidnap Grandma?”

“I did not—ugh!” He answered from behind his hand before shaking off his frustration and moving to the back seat of the truck to grab their bags. “Mom forced me to bring her. That’s what the delay was all about. She’s been driving her crazy, and then this morning she lit the kitchen on fire.”

“She what?!”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly, something about the toaster and a curtain. Anyway, Mom convinced her she should come help you out and halfway up the mountain she wove this kidnapping story.”

“Help me? How, by greeting guests with her charming personality?” She loved her grandmother, but her salutation and scathing condemnation of the inn with just one glance were pretty mild for the old woman. When she really got on a tear, the best thing was to go to a movie until she wore herself out.

“Beats me but pro tip, do not let her in the kitchen.” Balancing the bags in one hand, Liam enveloped her with his free arm. “At least, not until we make sure the insurance covers curtain fires.”

“No need to worry, I just hired someone today who is great in the kitchen.”

He looked at her askance. “Great as in better than you or someone who is actually a good cook?”

“Shut up.” She laughed in response to the insult. “The guests this morning raved about the food. For however long she stays, I think she’ll be a plus in the breakfast department, anyway.”

“Where did you find this culinary genius? Did you put out an ad already?” He held the door open for Mel and they entered the lobby.

“We didn’t, she found me.” She looked around. “Where’s Grandma?”

The echoes of laughter led the siblings into the Great Room where their grandmother sat in front of the fireplace chatting away with Poppy. They turned toward Mel and Liam as they entered.

“Mel, your mother is a hoot,” she gushed.

She narrowed her eyes at the alleged ex-thief, who had to know perfectly well the woman in front of her was too old to be her mother. Grandma O, however, took the compliment to heart and patted Poppy’s hand, gracing her with one of her rare beaming smiles.

To Mel’s surprise, Liam skidded to a dead halt. She turned back to see why and received the icy blast of the unmistakable storm in his eyes. She’d seen the same dark expression in the mirror when she was furious. What did he have to be so angry about? Before she could ask, he dropped their bags and launched into full hissy fit mode.

“You!” he bellowed at Poppy.

The brunette seemed sincerely surprised at his response. Swiveling her head to see who else was in the room and finding no one, she met his gaze and pointed to herself with an exaggerated, “Who, me?” expression.

Her brother spun, targeting his rage at her. “Don’t tell me this is who you hired?”

“You’re only being a grump because you haven’t tried her bacon,” she joked, hoping to deflate the situation. Years of trying to nail her for any number of jobs she’d pulled off had frustrated Mel, but she had to admit she always liked her style. Despite her suspicions when she found Poppy in the lobby this morning, so far she’d been nothing but charming and kind of fun, so what had she done to piss off easy-going Liam in the two minutes since they met?

Her brother crossed his arms, stubbornly jutting out his square jaw. “There’s no way that woman is working here. She nearly killed you once, I’m not giving her a second chance.”

“You two have met?” The information surprised her, so she let the macho b.s. slide for now. She didn’t need anyone to protect her, but his anger rolled off him so calling him on his chauvinism skittered close to throwing gasoline on a fire.

“We had to watch her on the news sound bites, taking her bows for saving your life, while you lay in that hospital bed, broken and in agony.” Mel had never seen his eyes blaze with such fury before. She’d been so focused on her own suffering she’d never thought about what her family had gone through. Liam clearly had been carrying steamer-trunk sized baggage. “Nobody bothered to mention she’s the one who put you in danger in the first place. Or that you’re crippled for life, thanks to her.”

“Crippled?” Poppy’s brows furrowed, her eyes darkening.

“Easy, drama queen,” Mel snarled, “nobody’s crippled.”

“We used to go rock climbing and now you can’t even mount a set of stairs without getting dizzy.” His exasperation exploded as he paced to the far end of the Great Room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling glass door at the patio and brook beyond. What really hurt was he sounded more bummed out for himself losing a climbing partner than concerned about her.

“Is that true?” Poppy sprang up.

“I’m working on it.” Embarrassed by the whole conversation, she busied herself with tidying the morning newspapers the guests had left strewn around the sitting area.

“She nearly killed you, she’s not working here,” Liam repeated without turning away from the view outside.

Grandma O’Rourke rose to her feet with more nobility than agility, stood between her two grandchildren, and pronounced, “I like her, and I say she stays,” before tottering off to the kitchen in a self-professed search for the infamous bacon.

Of course, she liked Poppy, she just paid her a huge compliment. Never mind if she was guilty of what Liam accused her of doing or not. After putting the last section of the newspaper back in place, Mel noticed the below the fold story on the front page and tightened her fist until she almost tore the paper in two.

Scientist Killed in Daring Heist

Marla White is an award-winning novelist who prefers killing people who annoy her on paper rather than in real life. Her first full-length mystery novel, “Cause for Elimination,” placed in several contests including Killer Nashville, The RONE Awards, The Reader’s Favorite, and finishing second in the Orange County Romance Writers for Romantic Suspense. Originally from Oklahoma, she lived in a lot of other states before settling down in Los Angeles to work in the television industry.  She currently teaches at UCLA Extension and gives seminars about the art of script coverage. When she’s not working on the next book, she’s out in the garden, hiking, cheering on the LA Kings, or discovering new craft cocktails.  

 

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She rubbed the back of her head, felt a small lump, and winced. Her head was throbbing. Her knee was yelling at her and now she heard angry, men’s voices.

One of them yelled, “Over there! There she is. Get her!”

Another pulled out a long knife and they ran toward her.

Amy rushed into the woods. Turning around, she could see they were catching up to her.

Up, Amy, up. They won’t be looking up.

She climbed an oak tree as high as she could. Pulling on the long skirt, she squatted on a branch.

The branch felt odd and slithered underneath her. A large, looming face in the shape of a dragon stared at her unblinking.

Holy cr—

The creature put a long claw to its mouth and said, “Shhh.”

Amy took a deep breath. A scream was building inside her but before she could release the ear-piercing screech, she was muzzled by the creature. Her heart jolted as its wing enveloped her and she lost consciousness.

A few moments later, she was gulping for air. Fully expecting to open her eyes and see the hotel lobby, she was stunned to be staring into the eyes of a dragon.

–A dragon, a huge dragon with big, green eyes.

You’re safe.

Amy shook her head. “No. No, I’m not. There’s no okay in this, whatever this is at all. This is crazy. Why is this happening?”

Where did you come from?

She stared at his mouth. It wasn’t moving.

This hallucination was freaking weird. A talking dragon that didn’t move his lips. They’re going to take her away and leave her in the psych ward for the rest of her life.

Her eye began twitching. It wasn’t real. None of it makes sense.

Think, Amy. Dragons aren’t real. How could a dragon talk?

Anything can happen in a hallucination. She repeated to herself. This isn’t real.

Was she dead? Is this purgatory? Her own personal nightmare of an afterlife? Could she have injured herself so badly that she died?

She wasn’t a bad person. It certainly wasn’t in Hades. Well, it better not be Hades.

A talking, psychic dragon communicating with his mind.

Of course, it makes soooo much more sense.

She watched as the men ran into the woods, searching for her.

The dragon spoke in a deep, soothing voice, “Why are you dressed in that garb?”

Amy stared at the huge beast.

The beast’s green eyes penetrated her with a questioning glare.

“A— a party. We were going to a party.”

He looked at the bracelet.

“Someone put them in my shopping bag.”

“Let’s go. We need to get you into normal clothing. I’ll take you to Bev’s.”

Amy started climbing down the tree.

“No, no.” The dragon grabbed her and placed Amy on his back before taking flight.

Amy squealed, inhaled and released another louder scream.

“Stop.” His body jolted. “Your obnoxious squawking is impaling my ears.”

Within a few moments, they soared through the air and flew from cloud to cloud.

Her stomach flipped and she swallowed the huge lump in her throat.

“Ugh, no ups and downs, please.”

He laughed. “No quick drops? You’re the slow-boat kind of person.”

Her heart was finally returning to its normal beat. She was getting comfortable riding on his back and was beginning to enjoy the view.

“Whoa! This is awesome. I never have flying dreams.”

The dragon huffed.

Amy was mesmerized. It was freaking fantastic. The warm heat from the sun and soft air on her face, the flapping of his wings, it was glorious.

She could do this. It was peaceful. He was gliding along and she was euphoric.

Hold on.

“Hold on? No, don’t ruin the moment!”

The dragon took a deep dive. Amy let out an earsplitting shriek and gripped the back of his neck tighter as he gracefully landed on the ground in front of a small, wooden cabin.

He grunted in pain.

“Your fingernails are cutting into my skin.”

“Sorry.” Amy dismounted him like she would a horse.

“You don’t look like you’re sorry.”

She gave him an angry side-eye.

He grumbled, “Go. Tell her I sent you.”

“Um. You want me to knock on a stranger’s door, in the middle of BFE, and tell her a dragon sent me?”

 “We’re not in Egypt.”

She snapped, “What? We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere. That’s what BFE means!”

Ignoring her irritation, he responded, “We’re in Ireland.”

 “Ireland? I’ve never been to Ireland. How am I dreaming that I’m here? I’ve only seen pictures and this in not anything like the pictures.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t have a passport with me!”

She rubbed her forehead. Why would she need a passport in a dream?

“No worries.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll be back in a blink. In the meantime, tell her Blaze sent you.”

“Oh, look. A fairy circle.”

His wide-eyed, incredulous stare gave her pause. He shook his head. “Wow.”

She shrugged.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My mind goes really fast sometimes.” She limped toward the fairy circle.

“What are you doing?”

Amy chuckled. “Making a wish.”

He looked at her like she was growing horns.

“Um, yeah. Make a wish and the fairies will grant it only if they see fit. You have to watch out for all the fairies protecting the fairy circle. You don’t want to step on them, you know.”

Amy stepped back from the circle. “Hello, little fairies. I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”

He harrumphed and walked away.

“Hey, it’s my dream. I can do what I want.”

Amy raised her hand to knock, but never made contact. An elderly woman, in her mid-seventies, opened the door.

“Oh, I thought I heard Blaze’s voice.”

“I’m Amy. He told me to tell you—”

The woman opened the door wider. “Come in. The sun’s going to be setting soon and it’ll be a bit chilly.”

The elderly woman had light hair, dark blue eyes, and a wide, pleasant smile. Her hair was rolled up into a bun tucked on the back of her head. Amy’s memories immediately went to the cartoon with the grandma lady who owned the canary, Tweety.

Amy cautiously entered the house and as she turned to look about, a man rushed through the doorway.

He was an average-looking man except for his eyes. They gleamed an effervescent green. The man’s dark hair was a deep contrast to his light skin.

She never cared for the five o’clock shadow but it did do him justice.

“There you are, Blaze.” She handed him a mug.

“Thank you, Bev.”

“Mark on his way?”

“Soon. He has a few things he needs to take care of before he comes.”

Mark? As in Harlow?

Bev turned to Amy. “What would you like, dear? I’ve got some hot tea on the table or, if it pleases, I can pour another draught.”

“T—”

“She needs normal clothes.”

Amy glared at Blaze. “And who are you?”

“I’m the man who saved your skinny bum and brought you here.”

“And how, pray tell, did you do that? A dragon…” Her voice trailed off.

Bev looked puzzled. “So, she’s not from medieval times?”

“No.”

“She didn’t time-travel here?”

“No.”

Time travel? Amy interrupted, “I can speak for myself.”

“Really?” He snorted. “Go ahead, darling, and explain how you got here.”

“Fine. I was at a party.” Amy flipped her hand in the air. “I tucked the jeweled comb in my wig and the next thing I knew, these men attacked me and I’ve been having this dream or possibly been unconscious ever since.”

Blaze sat at the table. “You’re not unconscious.”

“Then you tell me what’s happening.”

Bev took her arm. “Oh, sweetie, it’s been a day for you, hasn’t it? Sit, relax, and have a cuppa. I’ll get you some clothes that should fit you. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

The concern in Bev’s voice was telling.

Wariness clung to Amy as a hesitant smile tugged at her lips, a stark contrast to how she was feeling.

“I don’t need clothes. I just want to wake up.”

Bev asked, “Wake up?”

Blaze waved Bev’s question off and spoke to Amy, “Somehow, you’ve managed to get two very powerful and magical relics to bring you here. People have gone to war to possess the magical comb and bracelet.”

Amy grunted.

“Those men stole the relics to take over Mu and conquer the magical world. They will not hesitate to kill you for them.”

Amy bit her upper lip, repressing a nervous giggle. “Not ruby-red slippers? Will lightning flash from the jewelry when you try to remove it from my hair and wrist? Do I repeat ‘there’s no place like home’ three times?”

Blaze glowered. “I don’t find your sarcasm amusing.”

She removed the jeweled comb and handed it to Blaze. “Here. Take it.”

Bev glared at Blaze and tapped Amy’s hand. “Blaze can get you back to where you belong and to your party whenever you’re ready.”

“Good.” Amy put her wrist toward Blaze. “I’m more than ready.”

Blaze reached to take the bracelet off her wrist. “It won’t come off.”

Bev put her hand to her chest. “What?”

Amy’s voice shook in panic. “No, no, take it off!”

“It won’t come off.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it.”

She fiddled with the clasp and finally threw up her hands in frustration. “It won’t come off!”

Bev walked over to the cabinet and brought back a bottle of Irish whiskey and three glasses, and said, “It has begun.”

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Wall Street Journal bestselling, award-winning author, Pamela Ackerson is a time traveling adventurer. She was born and raised in Newport, RI where history is a way of life. She lives on the Space Coast of Florida where everyone is encouraged to reach for the stars!

Her literary journey is as diverse and adventurous as the time-traveling escapades she writes about. With a rich tapestry of genres at her fingertips, she weaves stories that span from the wild frontiers of the Old West to the intricate cultural tapestries of Native American history. Her work doesn’t stop at fiction; she delves into the realms of history, self-help, and even marketing, showcasing a versatility that resonates with a wide audience.

Ackerson’s presence on the Space Coast of Florida reflects her forward-thinking approach to writing, always aiming for the next big leap in her storytelling odyssey. Her prolific output is a testament to her dedication to her craft, inviting readers to join her in exploring the vast landscapes of human experience and imagination.

Honest reviews of Pamela’s books are always appreciated.

Absolutely no AI programs were used to create any story she has written.

Thank you and have a good moments day.

 

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Gill Calvin Thomas is a retired academic who lives with her husband in Swanage , UK.  She finds inspiration in the landscape around her – the Isle of Purbeck has a spectacular coastline and beautiful beaches, and it is whilst walking here, that Gill develops characters and plots the twists and turns you will find in her books.

 Gill’s life experiences have informed her writing.  For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the ongoing corruption.  Her experiences as a social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t Hurt a Fly.  In this book the fatal combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist give rise to a cliffhanging finale.

 Reviewers have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing to the end, whilst not wanting to finish.  Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed.  In her books bad people get what they deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.

 She is currently writing her third book. 

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“Goddamn it.”

“My God, Jacques,” she said. “They are taking him.” Their own luck had held. Thomas’s had not. “And he had been so clever. The boot heel. The shaving cream.”

“We have to go. Immediately!” Both watched, though only seconds more, until the Germans drove off with their prize, the barn behind them collapsing in flame. “Did you think he knew about Combourg?” Jacques asked her.

She had never mentioned it. They’d only met Thomas at the Laurent farm, in Épiniac. “As I recall, nothing was ever said to him about Combourg.”

“He would not know of the monsignor, Roger’s uncle,” she added. They had kept that secret. Claire rubbed at the palm of one hand, kneading it with the knuckle of the other.

“No. And he does not know our real names,” Jacques said. “But Roger Laurent could know.”

Jacques took her hand. “Thomas is lost, but what harm Roger could do yet is considerable. If he gives up Roger.”

“Will he? Where will they take him?” she asked as Jacques worked the truck around, knowing he was leaving behind his apples and, more importantly, his cover for travel.

“Saint-Lô, I would think. Some Nazi headquarters.”

As Jacques wrenched the truck sharply onto the road toward home, where the deeply distressed Claire would be able to arrange for her return to Bodney, a bottle scooted out from under her seat.

“Look at this,” she said, pulling it up from the floor. “It’s his Calvados.” Attempting to hold back tears.

“Keep it. We will finish it tonight in his honor with a tip of the hat to our friend.”

Passing near enough to the Laurent farm en route to Combourg, with relative safety still several kilometers away, Jacques pointed to the farmhouse. It was risky, but he had to take a look, remaining well back from potential observation. There, they were able to make out, standing near the entry door, the one thing they had hardly dared hope to see—a dark green motorcycle.

What Roger’s return portended was unclear, but given what had happened to Thomas, that outcome was surely the best they could have hoped for. Jacques slowed the truck and looked to the darkened house, their hearts racing.

“Oh my God. He’s come back.”

Jacques touched her hand.

She thought to say something, leaning into him. “Let’s go home, Jacques. Please!” Then added, “You did well, getting us through it all. So brave.”

“You and me,” he said. “We did. Together.” He touched her face tenderly.

In that moment, Jacques and Claire leaned toward each other for a necessary hug, and then a kiss. A kiss of relief. A kiss of what might yet be.

Poet, playwright and novelist, Arthur retired from full-time teaching, most recently as Visiting Assoc. Professor of English, at Converse College, in Spartanburg, SC. HIs books include: In the Orchards of Our Mothers (historical fiction novel); The Whole Picture Show (poetry) Musical Muse (academic); Birdies Never Die (golf); Givings & Misgivings (poetry) and The Spy Who Came Down with a Cold (poetry) and Need to Know (memoir).

Arthur’s first career was that of a foreign intelligence officer, with assignments with military intelligence and briefly with the CIA. Arthur earned an MFA degree in Poetry at University of Florida. Pushcart Prize nominations. He now teaches in Continuing Education Dept for Furman University (fiction and poetry). 

 

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Zarek the Coletti Overlord and Lexi’s uncle gives her the Coletti version of the birds and the bees talk:

“Has your father talked to you about the physical differences between a human male and a Coletti?”

“No.” Where was this going?

Uncle Zarek frowned. “Did he explain to you what happens between a male and a female?”

I stared at him in utter horror.  Oh, my, God. He wasn’t going to give me the birds and the bees speech, was he? “Relax I had sex education classes in school.”

“Sex with a Coletti warrior is not the same. I need to educate you on our anatomical differences.”

God, just kill me now. “Do you hafta?”

“Yes, I hafta. Some females find our penis frightening.”

A giggle escaped me. “Seriously? Does it have teeth or something?”

“No.” Uncle Zarek rubbed a hand over his face. “Did you notice the slit in Kaelen’s abdomen?”

I nodded.

“We are a warlike race and to protect our ability to procreate, the Goddess placed our appendages in a shielded pouch inside our abdomens.” 

Okay. That kinda made sense. “So, kicking a Coletti warrior in the nuts is only going to piss him off?”

“Exactly.”

What was he being so mysterious about? “Ok, what’s so scary about your man parts?”

Uncle Zarek stared at me for a long moment, and an image formed in my head.

My eyes widened in horror as a snakelike penis with a frill of tentacles around the top slid out of a stomach slit. “Tentacles? Are you freakin’ kidding me? What is it with aliens and tentacles? Ewww.” 

“The tentacles increase a female’s pleasure,” Uncle Zarek replied.

The tentacles vibrated wildly like some freaky sex toy. “Oh, hell, no. That is not going inside me. Ever.”

An exasperated frown formed on Uncle Zarek face. “You do not have a choice in the matter.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“Coletti warriors are masters of seduction. Kaelen will simply overcome your reluctance.”

I crossed my arms and said sweetly, “It’s obvious you’ve never dealt with a woman suffering from PMS before. When it’s that time of the month Earth girls are fearless and capable of taking down an armed warrior without breaking a nail. We’re Attila the Hun in a dress.”

“Attila the Hun?

 “A conqueror kinda like you.”

Undisciplined Catalyst

Coletti Warlord Series Book 19

I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. Guess who gets to stop them? Me. How?

My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.

To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living to see eighteen aren’t good.

 

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Howdy. My name is Gail Koger and once upon a time I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Too many years of wild requests, screwy questions, bizarre behavior and outrageous demands have left me with a permanent twitch and an uncontrollable craving for chocolate. I took up writing science fiction romance to keep from killing people. So far, it has worked.

 

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A former BBC broadcaster and journalist, Gill Mills brings over 20 years of experience in entertainment to her narration. Known for her warm, resonant voice, she began her voice career while DJing on BBC Radio 1 and has since voiced numerous TV and audio productions. She now runs a content company specialising in podcast and film production from her studio in East London.

 

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PROLOGUE

Move, my brain screams—my arms and legs lag behind.

Blood pools behind her head, oozing out over the tile floor. Her eyes roll back into a blank stare. If I want to get out of here, this is my only chance. I don’t have much time before someone misses her.

I grab the key card out of her coat pocket and gingerly pull off her lab coat, being careful not to stain it with the growing river of blood.

As I slip on her white coat, my head darts around for something I can use as a weapon–but this isn’t a surgical center. No scalpels. No razors. Nothing sharp.

Syringes.

Scads of them.

Yes, this can work.

I fumble through the medicine cabinet, and it’s like a candy store for drug addicts.

Ketamine.

Midazolam.

Haldol.

Potassium chloride, instantly deadly.

But only if I can hit a vein.

Nope. Too risky.

I rip a syringe open with my teeth, push in the plunger, tear open the vial tabs, and stab the needle into the first vial, then the second. I fill the syringe with a lethal dose of ketamine and midazolam, hoping that it will work fast enough, if it comes to that.

Two or three minutes or so for onset, injected into a muscle.

I’ve never envisioned myself as a murderer. But what choice do I have?

Footsteps outside the door stop me in my tracks.

Someone’s hovering, and I can only hope they don’t call out her name.

She moans.

She’s alive?

What if she cries out for help?

Sweat moistens my palms as I wait. I wipe away the dampness, willing myself to calm down. I can’t afford to have slippery fingers with what I’m attempting.

Now it’s quiet. Too quiet. I didn’t hear footsteps or anyone leaving.

Are they just standing there?

Maybe they heard our scuffle?

If she makes a sound, I’m as good as dead.

I rip open another syringe, grab a vial of potassium chloride out of the cabinet, and fill it. On reflex, I tap it to get out the air bubbles, and a nervous chuckle slips out.

What’s the point of that?

I find a vein on the top of her hand, which is creepily warm. She seems to have passed out again, or else she’s dead. But I’m pretty sure she’s still alive, although I can always tell myself she wasn’t. But I’m not positive.

Can I actually do this?

For a split second, I hesitate.

Before this moment, it was self-defense.

It’s her or me, though, so I prepare to jab the needle into her vein.

Instead, I check again for a pulse.

She’s dead … I’m pretty sure.

The door handle turns.

I rush behind the door and ready my other syringe. My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m afraid someone will hear it. My pulse thrums in my ears as I await what’s next.

Then the handle catches, the lock saving me–or whoever’s on the other side.

I wait in stillness as the sound of a woman’s heels click, click, clicking on the tile floor fades to silence, willing my racing pulse to slow.

At least it’s not Cameron.

Then I make my move.

PART ONE

One month earlier

ONE

Nora

The pain is unbearable, deep in the pit of my stomach, the scars of a lifetime suddenly ripped open. I haven’t slept for days. I don’t even know my own mind.

Dipping in and out of consciousness, I’m kept barely functional by little microsleeps. My head aches behind my eyes. I’d give anything to fall into the black abyss, where all my problems dissolve into the quiet darkness.

Soft meditation music plays in the background.

“It’s not your fault,” a voice calls out to me. “Life is hard,” it continues, the ding … ding … ding of the bells hypnotic, comforting. “We can take away your pain. Come to Switzerland. Find your inner peace.”

Tears pool in my eyes.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I tell myself.

I click on the link.

It looks so peaceful there.

For the first time in months, I have hope.

Tears stream down my face as I absorb it all.

Taking away my pain.

It sounds so tempting.

I want to believe.

I need to believe.

So, I do.

And that is my first mistake.

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon bestselling author of fourteen domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time.  

Bonnie loves Hitchcock movies, psychological thriller novels, coffee, and dark chocolate, not necessarily in that order and sometimes simultaneously. She has a doctorate in United States history and resides in Honolulu with her family. She’s an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

 

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Baker City: Hearts and Haunts #6

by Josie Malone

Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance

Former Army Ranger, Mac MacGillicudy served his country for almost twenty years, fighting in one hotspot after another. Since he retired from the military, he’s roamed the U.S., unaware he’s accompanied by a woman with a hidden agenda. He enjoys writing action-adventure romances which never turn out the way he plans or expects or designs. Still his agent, publisher, and readers love them. Learning he’s inherited the old family hotel, Mac heads to Baker City, Washington for Christmas. He’ll help restore the hotel, write his next book which will hopefully end the way he wants, and perhaps discover a home.

Registered Nurse, Lillian Bryce didn’t hesitate to answer the call when her country needed her after the attack on Pearl Harbor. She joined the US Army and went off to war but didn’t return home, at least not alive. Since she loved books, she went back to the Seattle Public Library where she’d spent so many happy hours. She was perfectly content studying, researching, observing and enjoying the other patrons—the live ones, until she saw Mac MacGillicudy. She was fascinated, focused on him—well on his writing, on his books, except he had them all wrong! So, she fixed them, not once, but again, and again, and again regardless of how many times he tried to change them while they traveled the country! Now, they’re off to Baker City.

Will the two of them find love in a place where ghosts are real or just continue writing about it?

 

**can be read as a standalone!

 

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Josie Malone lives and works at her family business, a riding stable in Washington State. Teaching kids to ride and know about horses, she finds in many cases, she’s taught three generations of families. Her life experiences span adventures from dealing cards in a casino, attending graduate school to get her Masters in Teaching degree, being a substitute teacher, and serving in the Army Reserve – all leading to her second career as a published author. Visit her at her website, http://www.josiemalone.com to learn about her books.

  

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When a mega-quake buries Sacramento in toxic floodwaters, Erika Moore emerges from a bomb shelter—burned and alone, she’s desperate to find her husband and son. A country girl with a martial arts background, she fights to survive a lawless Sierra Nevada, battling gangs and saving a lost girl, Star. In a The Road-like wasteland with The Last of Us grit, every choice tests her: help others or herself? Desperate to reclaim her family, she presses on—until disaster strikes again. With raiders and waves rising, her reunion teeters on ruin. A post-apocalyptic tale of courage and chaos—will she outrun the next catastrophe?

**Only .99 cents!**

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Jane stood there watching her go. Just as Sam closed the gate behind her, Jane heard Doug’s crew coming down the side of the mountain from the right-hand side.

Moving the gate was a slow process. It slammed with a bang as people flooded down the mountainside. There was no way to open it again in time to get Jaclyn safely inside before the attackers ascended upon them.

Jane screamed to Jaclyn, “Run, Jaclyn, run and hide! They’ll catch you!”

Jane was frantically pulling the gate open. Jaclyn started to run along the river’s edge, where the flowing water pulled back the mud and left less slippery stone. Thinking fast, Erika ran to Artaz. Star was already mounted, and Erika jumped up in front of her.

“Whatever you do, don’t let go!” Erika yelled while driving her legs into Artaz.

Artaz leaped forward. In a flash, they flew around the edge of the wall, splashing through the river. They hit the beach and galloped. The mud flew in the air as they pounded along the river bed. Then, she saw Jaclyn running in fear as fast as she could. Artaz was soaring now; his hoofs were clacking across the rock. Somehow, he found solid footing every time. Erika was a short distance from Jaclyn. They were going to make it. Then, all of a sudden, a truck came into her view from her left. The engine roared as the truck bound across the mud. They were closing in on Jaclyn! Erika realized she would never make it before the truck and pulled back hard on Artaz, causing him to come to a sliding stop.

As Artaz spun around on his heels to scamper back to the compound’s safety, Erika heard Star scream, “They have her.”

“There’s nothing we can do now except get out of here,” Erika shouted. She was out of her head to be running after Jaclyn. All that would come of it was her and Star getting captured as well. Then she heard the men from the truck shouting.

“There it is! The horse. That girl is riding it. Get it!” They quickly turned and started chasing Erika down, but before they could get their truck rolling through the deep muck, Erika was back around the wall, galloping toward the bridge.

Erika raced across the camp. They tied Jaclyn up like an animal in the back of the truck. The men were laughing at her and hitting her. She screamed in horror for someone to help her, but there would be no help. She would become another victim in a world that no longer had sympathy for the defenseless.

Erika could not help her now. Too much time was wasted already. The giant hooks were pulling on the walls. Some were starting to fall. She watched Sam and Jane retreat to the designated point for the final attack. The marauders were shooting guns and throwing spears at Jane and Sam. Jane and Sam were firing back, but their ammo was limited, and Erika knew it. Sam ran back to the cover point. Erika was forgotten in the fray. The bridge would be blown, and Erika was on the wrong side!

She dug her heels deep into Artaz. They galloped toward the bridge. She could see Jane getting ready to hit the switch, but in a second, Jane was standing there with a spear directly through her eye, and it was coming out the back of her head. Screaming for Jane, Sam shot the spear thrower dead in his tracks. Sam went to fire again, but the only sound was: click. . . click. He was out of bullets and the marauders were closing in. Erika jumped off a galloping Artaz and rolled over to the generator. Artaz hit the brakes quickly on the bridge when he felt Erika jump. Star instinctually moved up and gripped the reins. Yanking on one rein, Star wheeled back around toward Erika. A group of men were closing in. She hit the switch. As she looked back, she saw Artaz with Star at the reins.

Erika leaped up in front of Star, and they tore across the bridge that was blowing up almost underneath them. They turned to get Sam and saw a bullet rip through his chest. Debris rained down on them as the bridge and the men exploded.

Artaz was now in a wild gallop, completely panicked from the barrage of gunfire aimed at them. He barreled up the hill uncontrollably. Star suddenly clenched Erika tightly and screamed. Artaz shied violently, and it took all of Erika’s strength to stay seated in the saddle. He dodged left and right, fear fueling his wild scramble up the mountainside. He ran like never before. Halfway up the hill, he collapsed into a lifeless mass.

During the crash, Erika and Star were launched through the air. They were knocked unconscious. All that could be heard was the quiet of an unbelievable night. As Erika lay there somewhere between reality and unconsciousness, she told herself, this is all just a horrible nightmare, and I’m going to wake up. What is this life? 

**Currently getting made into a tv series!**

The Lost Vegas Years

The Changing Earth Series Book 1.5

In the wake of the Great Quake, Las Vegas lies in ruins, transformed into a federal refugee camp where survival is a daily struggle. Amidst the chaos and despair, Erika Moore fights to protect her family from the government’s iron rule. With her husband Vince by her side, they must navigate a world filled with danger and betrayal. As their defiance sparks whispers of Erika being the camp’s “Savior,” each act of resistance threatens to tear their family apart.

But Erika is not alone in her fight. Vince, the camp’s quiet hero, builds aquaponics gardens to feed the starving, a symbol of resilience in the face of oppression. As the government pushes for extreme measures and family adoption programs, Erika and Vince’s covert training and unwavering determination become their greatest weapons. From the ruins of Sacramento to the dusty streets of Vegas, their family’s bond is tested by loss, sacrifice, and a rising revolution that could destroy everything they hold dear.

For fans of post-apocalyptic thrillers like The Road and The Hunger Games, Back to the Lost Vegas Years is a heart-pounding journey into a world of survival, resistance, and unbreakable spirit. In the midst of a dystopian nightmare, one woman’s fire and one man’s roots may be the key to saving their family and sparking a revolution. Don’t miss this gripping installment in the Changing Earth series.

If you enjoyed The Road and The Hunger Games, you’ll love Back to the Lost Vegas Years.

 

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Without Land

The Changing Earth Series Book 2

Nine years trapped in a FEMA camp have crushed Erika Moore—once a legendary survivor, now a shadow haunted by a failed riot and iron-box torment. Her family—husband Vince and their kids—is her lifeline in a world of forced infertility and despair. A rescue squad gig offers escape, but betrayal and floods unravel her fragile hope. In a The Handmaid’s Tale-esque nightmare with The Last of Us’ brutal edge, Erika battles a tyrannical system to free her loved ones. Every step risks everything—submission or salvation. This post-apocalyptic clash of grit and defiance hooks like a dystopian thriller—can Erika shatter the walls? Dive into the next chapter of survival.

 

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The Walls of Freedom

The Changing Earth Series Book 3

Erika and Vince Moore lead their family north through a quake-scarred Sierra Nevada, nature reclaiming the ruins, fleeing feds and mercenaries for freedom. Hunted and frail, a drifting haven spares them starvation’s grasp—but storms and peril nearly claim young Daniel. In a Station Eleven-like world of fragile renewal and The 100’s fierce survival, Erika fights on as Vince teeters on death’s edge from brutal wounds. Her spirit snaps, marching toward doom to shield her own. Allies Bennet and Virgis offer refuge—until she’s summoned to a governing board to unveil a decade of horrors and a new quake looms. This post-apocalyptic tale of grit and sacrifice hooks like a rebel’s stand—will Erika break the chains? Dive deeper into the fight.

 

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Battle For the South

The Changing Earth Series Book 4

Erika and Vince Moore trek south to warn of a looming disaster, risking all to save her mom and friends in a crumbling Las Vegas. Hunted by feds and mercenaries, they rally with a Texas militia through hurricanes and heartbreak—until a vengeful shadow from Erika’s past strikes. In a The Passage-like sprawl of ruin and resolve, with Snowpiercer’s relentless fight, Erika battles storms and betrayal, her spirit forged in sacrifice as foes close in. Allies crumble, cities teeter, and a desperate stand looms. This post-apocalyptic epic of grit and loyalty grips like a survivor’s last cry—will Erika save her own against the next calamity? Dive into the battle’s fierce soul.

 

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Dark Days in Denver

The Changing Earth Series Book 5

Riding rebel victories, Erika Moore guides her family to a Denver homestead, a fleeting calm eclipsed by a brewing disaster. Hunted by feds and bounty hunters, her cover shatters amid betrayal and bloodshed—old bonds strain and new threats surge. In a Parable of the Sower-like weave of raw resilience, with The Walking Dead’s brutal chaos, Erika fights to safeguard her own as the West frays at the seams. A desperate clash for the city tests her soul, with ruin closing in. This post-apocalyptic epic of courage and survival grips like a rebel’s last breath—will Erika defy the dark days? Dive into the fray of loyalty and loss.

 

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The Endless Night

The Changing Earth Series Book 6

Bound in a bounty hunter’s den, Erika Moore grips a shred of defiance, her spirit bruised yet fierce. Hunted by feds and a merciless captor, she mourns her lost family—until echoes of their resistance stir her fight. In a The Road-like sprawl of stark desperation, with Swan Song’s epic struggle, Erika endures TJ’s mind-breaking torment, her will forged as he twists her soul. A storm churns outside, hinting at salvation. This post-apocalyptic tale of grit and redemption cuts like a survivor’s final plea—will Erika pierce the endless night? Dive into the tempest of loyalty and ruin.

 

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Hope On the Horizon

The Changing Earth Series Book 7

Arriving in Dallas, Erika Moore battles the mental scars TJ Swenson left behind, her mind grasping for clues of the past while facing the present. With Vince at her side, she claws toward recovery as a fractured resistance wavers—still haunted by TJ’s relentless glare. In a Station Eleven-like weave of fragile hope, with The Book of Eli’s unyielding resolve, Erika defies cravings to rally her people, her son Dexter rising to steady their cause. A northern refuge offers peace, but peril stalks their path. This post-apocalyptic tale of grit and renewal lifts like a survivor’s quiet cry—will Erika reclaim the horizon? Dive into a fight for family and light.

 

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The Bitter End

The Changing Earth Series Book 8

Erika Moore stands fierce in Pine Springs, a rebel leader hunted by TJ Swenson, a tyrant who claims her soul. With Vince and their son Dexter at her side, she guards a fragile west against an ice age and TJ’s iron grip. In a The Walking Dead-like clash of brutal stakes, with The Hunger Games defiant spirit, Erika strikes at TJ’s core, her family chasing secrets to shatter his reign. A last stand looms as ruin encroaches. This post-apocalyptic epic of grit and defiance roars like a survivor’s final cry—will Erika forge freedom from the bitter end? Dive into a saga of rebellion and resolve.

 

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Swenson

A Changing Earth Series Spinoff

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Virgis

A Changing Earth Origins Story

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Sara is an author, a fighter, a mother, and a wife. Her writings’ central philosophy is that anyone can be confident in any survival situation with the right skills and mental attitude. She wants people to learn through a fictional experience just how fragile our manufactured society is.

She practices these philosophies by training in various martial arts disciplines and homesteading with her family. Sara graduated from the California State University of Sacramento with a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and published her first novel in 2014. She hosts self-defense seminars and avoiding abductions and sexual assaults.

Sara currently lives in the piney forest of east Texas. As a happily married woman with two boys, she delights in quality family time hiking and camping. Besides writing and fighting, she raises chickens, tends to her garden, and works as an insurance agent during the week.

 

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Erica rolled her eyes and slipped her hand out of his grasp. “Those lines are so old, Dominic. If you think saying all the right things is going to make me change my mind, you’re wrong.”

As if he had been physically slapped in the face, Dominic staggered. “Lines? Is that what you think this is? Like I’m just playing you?”

“Aren’t you?” she sneered. “Isn’t that what guys like you do? Say all those pretty things like ‘I read in my spare time’ and ‘It’s such a burden to be needed’ and all that bullshit. Then, when you have the girl, you dump her for the newest thing that comes along. You’re only interested because I’m something new in town, right? Someone new to win over.”

His mouth hung open. “Why would you—”

Then he stopped. He was going to ask why she would believe something so heinous, so stereotypical and cynical. Then he remembered what she had told him last night. She never grew up with a father, and if he could take a wild guess, he would have said that her mother planted those ideas in her head. No man could be trusted. A woman should rely on herself and no one else. Erica’s entire childhood would have been one jaded, dysfunctional mess, and this was the kind of baggage she carried into adulthood.

The mating bond was there and he knew everything out of her mouth was forced. She might have believed what she said, but her heart wasn’t in her accusations. Below the anger, below those hateful words, Erica really didn’t want this to end. The mating bond told him that much, otherwise, this thing between them would have unraveled already, wouldn’t it?

Too dumbfounded, he just stared into her beautiful face, the one that was on the verge of bursting into fresh tears. Her pride denied her the release. He would have loved for her to come apart in his hands, just so he could have the privilege of comforting her when she needed it most and put the pieces back together the right way.

“What can I do to make you believe me?”

Erica looked away, and he saw her throat work. “I don’t know if there is anything you could say.”

Just then, his pocket buzzed and chimed, and he was ready to smash the damned cellphone.

“Go ahead,” she said as she marched away. “Go play hero for someone else.”

Sheritta Bitikofer writes paranormal romance with a particular fondness for wolf shifters and witches. Her stories are driven by one guiding belief: love inspires courage. Through fierce romances, unbreakable pack bonds, and the magic of covens and family, her characters fight for the lives—and loves—they deserve. Sheritta lives in northwest Florida, where she drinks far too much coffee and joyfully balances life as a wife and mother while crafting her next heartfelt paranormal love story.

When she’s not writing her next novel or taking care of her daughter, Sheritta enjoys diving into the fascinating and complex history of the American Civil War. With a BA in American History from American Public University, her primary focus of study is the many human-interest stories that embody the spirit of the mid-nineteenth century. 

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Still, there’s nothing to do but carry on. The fledglings’ drop from the nest was only the first of many trials to come. Until they can fly and do their own foraging, they will demand constant attention. Worm, in particular. He and Duncan had taken so long to get down the tree. She and Sky tried to keep Kyra and Lucas calm and still as they waited. And waited. And waited, the fledglings growing crankier and crankier. And who could blame them in this heat? Then Sky, who never complains, said she was “dying” of thirst. They all were. So, Cloud led them down to the riverbank for a drink and a dip. The fledglings loved splashing in the water once they overcame their fear. Lucas, that rascal, found a tire and was happily playing in its pool of green sludge until Cloud ordered him out.

So, at age 51, after a long career in journalism and public-relations, she quit her day job and went to work. After seven years, countless rewrites, and a seat-of-her-pants course in modern publishing, she released her debut novel, The Leaving Year, with SparkPress Aug. 14, 2018.

Set in the beautiful Pacific Northwest where she grew up, The Leaving Year, is a coming-of-age story about love and loyalty, family and friendship, and the stories we tell ourselves in our search for meaning.

For her second novel, Shade of Wings, she looked to New York City to tell the story of the West Nile virus outbreak from the point-of-view of the first US victims – American crows. She hopes readers fall in love her hapless hero, Duncan, and his plucky crow family. She certainly loved giving them life.

Before tackling novels, Pam wrote short stories and articles. Her short fiction has appeared in the online literary journals, Eclectica and Amarillo Bay, and her articles have been published in many Puget Sound-area publications and websites, including The Daily Herald (in Everett, WA), Bicycle Paper, the MS Connection newsletter, and Seattle Children’s Story Project.

She has a BA degree in Communications Journalism from the University of Washington and certificates in fiction writing and advanced literary fiction from UW Extension.

When she isn’t writing or thinking about writing, she likes to read, walk the dog, swim, bike, garden, and watch birds.

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They continued the defamation of Nik Peterson for two more rounds of drinks.

“Scumbag,” Eli shouted out.

“Hey, we already called him that.” TC studied her beer bottle, then slowly eyed Eli. “Murphy would like a new name for the douchebag.” She laughed. “Hey, I just gave him a new name.”

As the name calling slowed, the giggling increased. “It seems our work is done here,” Murphy said as they ran out of names. “I need to go home.” She stood, got dizzy and sat back down. “Whoa. This room is spinning pretty badly—or would that be goodly?” She put her hands on her head.

“No, it isn’t.” Eli stood, and tottered. “Oh, oh, yes, it is.”

“We’ve got to make it home.” TC pulled the car keys out of her purse. “Let’s go. I think I’m going to be sick.”

TC stood, pulled Eli up, and then the two of them pulled Murphy up. “Thank you both for a wonderful night.” She hiccupped. “It was very cath-cathartic.” She giggled.

They hung onto each other as they stumbled toward the exit. Murphy hoped at least one of the two doors she saw was an exit.

“Murphy!” The voice was familiar. Nik? No, not that jerk. She stopped or tried to. TC and Eli were still headed toward those double doors.

“Wait up. Eli. TC.” Now the familiar voice was calling them all.

TC and Eli stopped too. Murphy looked in the direction the voice was coming from. Noah. Well, two Noahs. Both looking extremely concerned. His dimples weren’t showing. Why?

“Where are you three going?” The few lights in the place highlighted his golden hair.

“Home.” TC gripped Murphy a bit harder. “We’ve done our duty.” She nodded. “Yes, we’ve stood up for our sister and friend Murphy.”

“Yeah,” Eli echoed. “We made sure she came through a harrowing”—she squinted— “hey, you’re Noah. Our yoga instructor.”

Noah smiled. Both Noahs. And they both had those adorable dimples. Murphy couldn’t figure out exactly why there were two of him. One of him tempted her enough. Now she’d have to avoid both of them. Does the second one smell of sandalwood too?

“Yes, I am. And your neighbor. And the neighborly thing to do is to get the three of you home safely.” His gaze moved from Eli to TC, and then to Murphy. Her body tingled. Yup, the second Noah elicited the same response from her.

“What a gigantic coincidence,” Eli blurted out. “That’s exactly where we’re going. Home. Right, ladies?”

“Yeah, it is a coincidence.” TC stepped closer to him. “Wanna come with us?”

Noah took TC’s arm by the elbow. Murphy whimpered.

“Yes, yes I do,” he said. “I’ll drive. Sound good?”

“You don’t have to.” Eli patted his arm. “We have Sky. Sky hasn’t been drinking tonight. She’ll drive us home. She’ll be our disgusting driver? No, no that’s not right.”

“Designated driver.” Noah said. His dimples were nowhere to be seen. Murphy sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. I’ll go find Sky.” She took two steps and wobbled dangerously. Noah took one long stride and caught her.

“Who is Sky and where is she?” He glanced at TC and Murphy as if he were interrogating them.

TC hiccupped. “Murph, you tell him.”

“Me? Really?” She sighed.

“What do you have to tell me?” Noah sighed.

Murphy took several steps toward Noah, both Noahs, and tried to decide which one to talk to. Did it matter?

She stood on tiptoed and whispered—okay, it probably wasn’t a whisper considering how noisy Reef’s was. “Sky isn’t here. She’s only in Eli’s mind.”

“What?” He rubbed a temple.

“Sky is Eli’s imaginary friend.”

“Did you tell him?” TC tugged at Murphy’s arm. “Does he know?”

“Kind of.” She tried to focus on her two sisters. Damn, where did the second one come from?

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow if you’d just help us get home. Please.”

“Yeah.” Noah’s tone softened. “No problem. I’ve got you.”

“Are you”—TC hiccupped— “sure? Do you know where we live?”

“He’s our neighbor,” Eli said and grabbed his free arm. “We’ll follow you.” She giggled. “Anywhere.”

Murphy whimpered again.

“Noah’s going to take us home.” TC sighed. She looked to her right. “Aren’t you?”

As Murphy followed everyone out of the bar, the North Carolina humidity hit her. Both Noahs led them to a car she was unfamiliar with.

“No, my car is over there,” TC said as she tried to pull the man in the opposite direction they were headed.

“We’re taking my car.” His husky voice sent shivers down Murphy’s spine.

Terry Newman is an award-winning author who writes romantic comedy with a splash of fantasy.

Fueled by coffee, peanut butter, and popcorn, she writes stories set in fictional towns in northeast Ohio. Terry loves to place her characters in improbably situations, then allows them to take over…uhm…guide the story.

She lives in a small apartment with overflowing bookshelves, her muse, Moose, and all her characters, in North Lima, a real town in northeast Ohio. And, yes, it does get crowded at times.

 

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Prologue:

Present Day

The moon hung quietly above Helldreth Fort, its pale glow spilling through the tall windows and brushing the chamber with soft silver. A cool breeze drifted in and stirred the white curtains, their edges sweeping lightly across Everin’s skin. She pulled her silk gown closer, grateful for the warmth of the room. It felt comforting, far more so than the terrible, dark place she had left behind.

Her steps carried her to the mirror in the corner. The reflection staring back looked thinner, as if her body had been carved down to something she hardly recognized.

The neckline of her nightie dipped too low to her liking, drawing her eye to the faint scars across her chest. The lamp light traced their uneven lines, pale and unsettling.

She touched them gently. Everin barely remembered how or when she got the scars.

She pulled the outer robe around her until it covered more of her chest. At least the scars were low enough to stay hidden unless she wore something too revealing.

A sound of footsteps behind her made her turn.

Tariel Fenwick, her first love, stood at the doorway.

Everin froze for a moment. He looked different—stronger, more defined, more man than the boy she remembered. His dark hair rested just above his shoulders with two thin braids at the

sides of his head, framing a face sharpened by a faint stubble. His amber eyes, once so warm, now carried a deeper, shadowed intensity. His shirt hung open across his chest, revealing sculpted muscle that rose with each slow breath, and a leather gauntlet, more like an open finger glove, hugged his left hand like a seamless extension of his skin.

Her gaze lingered longer than she meant it to. He saw that. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.

She straightened quickly. “We need to talk, Tariel.”

“Yes,” he replied, approaching her, “but not now.”

“There is a lot I want to understand,” she said quietly. “So much I don’t remember.”

“Later.” He reached her, lowering his voice. “I’ve long waited for this moment with you.”

He stepped closer.

She stepped back.

“You waited for me?” she whispered, searching his face.

“I did,” he said. “More than you know.”

He brushed a fingertip along her arm. She stiffened but felt a flicker of the old pull toward him, a warm memory trying to surface. Her eyes drifted briefly to his lips, those that she had kissed in the past, before she forced herself to look away.

His smirk deepened. “Are we shy now, Everin?” he murmured, amusement warm in his voice.

“It has been a while,” she managed. “Things are not the same.”

“We are,” he said, touching her jaw. “You still feel this.”

She backed away again, but he followed, closing in until she had no space left. Her leg hit the edge of the bed. She lost her balance and stumbled, falling backward onto the soft covers. Instantly, she pressed her elbow into the mattress as she tried to push herself upright and pull her short nightie into place, but she barely had a second.

By the time she braced herself, Tariel was already on the bed. One knee pressed into the mattress, and in a swift movement, he trapped her between his legs. His body loomed over hers, leaving her nowhere to go. His hand slid behind her back and pulled her closer. The other moved to her neck, his fingers settling at her pulse, firm enough to hold her from looking

away.

His control was precise and deliberate.

“Tariel—” She sucked in a breath, fear slipping into her voice. “What are you doing?”

His lips hovered above hers, so close she could taste the hint of warmth in each breath he released.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, his voice shifting, deepening, curling around her like smoke. His eyes burned brighter, molten gold spilling across the darkness of his gaze. “You always have.”

Everin’s heart thrashed in her chest. Something ancient stared back at her through his eyes—something demanding, something claiming.

She tried to pull away. “You’re frightening me.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of her jaw. “You love me,” he whispered.

“You always have. And you will give yourself to me again.”

His mouth dragged slowly toward hers, teasing, commanding, his breath warm against her parted lips.

“I want you,” he said, low and certain. “I want all of you.”

“No.” Everin gasped, turning her head away as panic surged.

“Stop. You’re not—”

His fingers tightened at her neck.

He didn’t stop. The Tariel she loved would have.

“I am yours,” he murmured.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Then her voice broke in a whisper— “You’re not him. You’re not Tariel.”

The room fell silent. And everything inside her knew she was right.

The Flames of Darkness

Hell’s Fire Dragon Series Book 1

Harry Potter meets Fourth Wing in this clean, dual-POV teen Romantasy, where first love collides with dragons, prophecy, and a secret that could end the world.

A hidden power. A dreaded prophecy.
When Everin Haydon discovers she’s a dragon, she’s immediately summoned to Drakon Academy, only to learn she’s a late bloomer, unable to shapeshift, and under the Council’s watchful eye.

Her only solace is Tariel Fenwick, a fellow late bloomer. Mocked for their struggles, they find strength in each other, and a first love begins to bloom.

But whispers of the Hell’s Fire Dragon, the Feared One, destined to awaken the Demon of Chaos, loom over them.
Will their fragile love survive when the evil they fear may live inside the person they love?

 

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La Kayshal is an Australian writer of romance, YA, and children’s fantasy novels. She lives with her husband, daughter, and a playful Malshi puppy in the coastal plains of the Sunny State.

 Her debut novel, The Lost Crown, is an adventure romance set in the exotic landscapes of India. She also created the much-loved Sylph Series, a whimsical children’s collection that introduces readers to the amazing world of Sylphs, with each book carrying a gentle moral lesson.

 A lifelong fan of wizards, magic, dragons, swords, and elementals, she poured all these passions into her YA fantasy Ariston Baker in the Weird Picture Book, a fast-paced journey filled with realms, riddles, action, and adventure.

 Her latest project is the Hell’s Fire Dragon duology, a romantasy series filled with dragons, magic, and high-stakes conflict. Book 1, The Flames of Darkness, begins the story, followed by Book 2, The Flames of Soulflare.

 

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An excerpt of “Death of Angst” from WAVES OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS: STORIES

“When my eyes have the ember slits of a viper, some humans think I must be plotting death and murder. Although it happens, out of necessity, most of the time I am merely researching, scrutinizing, and processing feline perfection, because I was found as an orphan under a box. I know now that I must have been in severe pain from having survived an attack by a thug, a ruffian tomcat that wanted to breed with my mother. I remember the sharp claws digging into my fur, the putrid breath hot on my neck. So, no wonder I am skittish; it just does not leave you. The trauma, I mean. My brothers and sisters, dead and gone. More to the point, leaving me with no one to learn from . . . to emulate.

I was certainly lucky to be found by Adele Petrini outside the building where I now live on the third floor. I think Adele was around five years old back then. Human years, I’m talking about. Just a tiny, muddy thing, with messy braids and curious eyes. She wanted to name me Anxiety, but it got shortened to Angst. I don’t mind; I am certainly happy with the name. I find it important that it’s easy for humans to call my name when it’s time to eat.”

John Danenbarger spends much of his time writing in Italy. Born in Atlanta, he graduated from University of Kansas with a degree in English and Creative Writing. With a backlist of short stories, Danenbarger established the Salem Massachusetts Writers’ Club. After living in Oslo, Norway, Stockholm, Sweden, and Salem, MA, Danenbarger achieved a merchant marine captain’s license, sailing for two years on the New England coast including two round-trips to Bermuda.

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