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A Curse of Fates
by Charlotte Jeune
(New Adult Fantasy)
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Excerpt:
As she straightened herself and brushed down her coat, tipping her head back for just a second to drink in the warmth of the sun, she noticed him. The one set of eyes in a line of at least a hundred that were focused on her rather than that invisible middle distance. He was near, only fourth in the long line.
She loosed a breath at the sight of him.
Fate had never been kind to her and giving him as her fated other half, the soul that was inevitably tied to hers, that had been its cruellest trick yet.
He had grown since she’d last seen him – his teenage body had appeared small back then, his head too big for his shoulders. Now he had filled out, carrying an enviable strength in the arms held behind his back. His posture, straight backed and head high, only amplifying his height.
She looked away, attempting to find that illusive middle distance where he didn’t exist and nor did she. Where there wasn’t a prophecy or the fated or eight gods set to fall.
She knew he was staring at her, could feel the weight of his gaze as her skin prickled. Slowly, her head slid back towards him, dragging her eyes up his torso, across the brilliant white scar that ripped across his neck, past the throat that bobbed in anticipation, until her eyes settled on the face that had haunted her for years.
She traced the hard line of his jaw, the lips he’d pulled tightly, the nose he’d broken too many times as a child – that she had broken a few times too. She skipped his eyes, unwilling to see their truth and instead her gaze drifted to the six pointed white star in the centre of his forehead.
Fated.
Just like she was. Likely because she was.
He was less lucky than her, he wore his mark for all to see. At least she could hide the constant reminder, even if everyone knew her face.
She scowled at the mark.
Finally, she met the eyes that she knew were devouring her. Taking in every part of her. The rage that still lingered in her frame, the tiredness etched permanently on her skin, the limp she spent her life attempting to hide. Did he find it all? What did he see? Had she filled out like he had? Did the same ache begin in his middle at the sight of her? Did his anger rage close behind it?
He drank it all in, all of her, and when she met his eyes she knew he’d found more than she’d have liked.
She wasn’t proud enough to hide the tremor in her hand as she turned and fled back towards the shadows of the temple.
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Girls of the USO
by Nancy Cunningham
(Modern (20th Century) Historical Romance)
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Cover blurb:
In Girls of the USO, it’s 1941 Hawaii and songbird Celia ‘Cece’ Winters longs to stretch her wings beyond the sheltered life she lives, one that became a cage after the death of her older sister Ginny. But her life is complicated by her crush on childhood friend Freddy, who has already left the nest. Will Cece embrace her title of ‘America’s Newest Sweetheart’ or will she return to the security of home and a love that promises her the world?
Hoofer Ruby Thomas has escaped the shame of single motherhood by marrying her best friend, closeted gay man David. But the shame she wears like a cloak becomes a heavy burden and she longs to return to the child she left behind. To complicate matters is devilishly charming USO producer Raymond. Can Ruby continue to exist where her heart lives outside her chest?
Acrobat and trapeze artist Alice Tucker, hiding from her abusive ex under the childhood name of ‘Peaches’ seeks to make sense of her life after her promising medical career was thwarted. Can she build a new career, find herself and in the process enjoy the new kind of love she’s discovered with pioneering doctor Florence?
From the sunny beaches and tragedy of Pearl Harbor, to Australia and the battle of Brisbane, to finally Paris and an end to war in Europe, can these three women finally achieve their dreams? One thing is for sure, they’ll never break the bond they share in the bright lights of the USO tour—because even during war, the show must go on!
Learn more about Nancy here!
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The House of Lust and Candor by Kyle Belote
(Epic, Grimdark Western Fantasy)
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Cover blurb:
With the end of the Unholy War, peace can return to Atar. Two struggling bounty hunters, Maro and Amice, make ends meet chasing down criminals and monsters for their guild, but there's bigger game to hunt if one is willing. With their coffers low and desperation high, they take a job from the gods at The House of Lust and Candor. They soon find it's not a contract they can refuse, and the implications are far more profound than they imagined. Their quest leads them to the front lines of the Unholy War, and they must hunt the whisperings of truth, for good or ill, at all costs.
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The Great and Terrible Pan by Kristin Cortner
(YA Fantasy)
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Blurb:
Eighteen-year-old Emmalynn Cassan is grateful for her body of scars. In a country where perceived beauty lands villagers in the backs of slave wagons, any flaw is coveted. When soldiers arrive to collect on the King’s human tax on beauty, Emmalynn’s scars aren’t enough to save her. She flees into the murky Elder Woods, a place of forgotten magic and dangerous fairy tales. In the dark forest, she meets a creature of lore, known as The Great and Terrible Pan. All her life, Emmalynn has listened to stories about Pan, the sole survivor of the ancient fairy folk race. She’s not prepared for the childish, selfish fairy prince who flies without wings and hates to be bored.
Pan gleefully whisks her away to his forest settlement of peculiar, enchanted beast-fairies to serve as a mortal servant. Deep in the Elder Woods, Emmalynn searches for an escape back home. But The Great and Terrible Pan has quite the secret. The fairy folk are not extinct as the humans have believed. Their banishment, as well as the King’s tax on beauty, are wound together in a tangled web with an ancient curse at the center. Outwitting Pan while avoiding romantic attachment is enough of a battle for shy Emmalynn. But when it becomes clear only she can save her village and maybe even her entire broken country from its own curse, she must stand between an army of immortals and the greedy King before war ravages the only family she has left.
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Glory Land
by Pamela Howell
(YA Christian Historical)
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Excerpt:
The rays of the midday sun branded Jay Sanderson’s scalp and, like everything else these days in the dusty Texas Panhandle, he felt dry.
Hollow.
Spent.
Wiping blowing dirt from his eyes with the grimy sleeve of his work shirt, he followed his father up a windmill ladder on their farm. Tied with a piece of rope to Dad’s belt loop dangled a burlap sack and inside it a grease can and an old ruler clanged together like out-of-tune church bells, making Jay grit his teeth.
A lopsided wasp nest, double the size of his fist and covered with what looked like gray leaves cut from old newspapers, caught his eye and he squinted, trying to decide how many wasps hid inside? Fifty? A hundred? Fifty multiplied by a hundred? A muscle in his jaw tensed and he breathed noisily as he pulled out his pocketknife, flipped it open, and jabbed the nest.
“Stubborn,” Jay muttered as the knife made a pffftt sound as it punctured the outer layer.
His father’s weight on the platform above him made the ladder shake.
“Hurry up, son. Don’t got all day. These gears ain’t gonna grease themselves.”
“I’m coming,” Jay hollered. He clenched his jaw and made three more jabs. Pffftt, pffftt, pffftt. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” He almost had it, and then the nest gave way and fell forty feet, breaking into three pieces on the thirsty ground, creating small dust clouds which the ever-present wind, like an unseen giant, sucked in and exhaled like anemic cigarette smoke, toward the north.
A single wasp landed on Jay’s hand, and he flicked his wrist to be rid of it. Another landed on his nose, and he brushed it away. Then, another and another until dozens attacked and Jay, hanging on to a ladder rung with only his bent knees, flapped his hands in all directions. One stung his upper lip while others punctured his eyelids.
Needles in his eye sockets.
He dropped the knife and scrambled toward the platform.
“Jay?”
“Wasps!”
He reached solid footing, yelped, and stood. Flailing, desperate to be rid of the tiny attacking army, he turned in a tight circle as buzzing reverberated in his ear canals. Like a broken compass, he’d lost all sense of direction.
“Careful, son, you’ll fa—”
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In Too Deep
by Mette Berg
(Suspense / Mystery)
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Excerpt:
Eddie had his eyes on the snow-covered mountain road. His foot was on the break. The least bit he lifted it, and the car went rolling fast. Molly rubbed her eyes, exhausted from their long walk. She hugged herself in her wet coat and leaned back.
“Did you hear that?” Eddie straightened.
“What?”
He didn’t respond, just sat rigidly, listening.
“Eddie, you really need to relax.”
“I know.” He inhaled. “I thought I heard a click of some sort.”
She closed her eyes. “You’d gotten me all wound up too in those god forsaken woods. When I felt your hands on my throat, for a second I thought…” The car rocked up and down, speeding over a pothole. Molly grabbed the doorhandle, eyes wide. “Why are you going this fast?”
He shook his head, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “I’m not.” He stepped harder on the break, but the car just went faster.
“Jeez,” Molly tightened her own grip. “Jeez, Eddie.” She tried to look past him toward the side of the road, but it was falling so steeply she couldn’t see anything.
“Are you wearing your seatbelt?”
“Of course,” Molly hyperventilated, “I always am.”
Eddie moved his right hand from the wheel and grabbed the hand brake. He pulled it slowly. Nothing. “Watch out!” He put an arm across her chest as they hit a block of ice and the car shook again. It didn’t slow it down though. They were closing in on a corner on the zigzag road.
“I don’t know if I’ll make the bend.” Eddie leaned forward.
“What… what… what…” Molly gasped as he tore the wheel to the left and held it. The tyres screeched, and the car slid wildly. Molly would have screamed if everything hadn’t been a tight knot inside her. Eddie counter steered, and before they knew it, the car was back on track, picking up speed faster than before.
“Shit.” His eyes were dark with anger, but behind the anger, light spots of sheer fear shone through. “I won’t make the next bend, Molly.”
“What…”
“We have to jump.” He undid his seat belt.
“Jump?”
“Now.” Eddie leaned over her, and she felt her seatbelt slide off too. He put a hand behind the small of her back, and another on her upper arm and quickly half spun, half dragged her around till she sat on his thigs with the wheel gnawing at her back.
“Wait…”
“You can’t go out on your side, it’s a free fall.”
“Eddie, wait.”
“No time. Keep your arms in here,” he crossed them firmly over her chest. “Keep your head against my chest and roll, you hear me? Roll, don’t resist.” Then he opened the door and flung the both of them out.
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Stitches
by Melissa Stewart
(Women's / Horror)
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Excerpt:
Suddenly, I’m burnin’ hot and a harsh buzz attacks my ears. I’m pissed to the bone. Sam’s askin’ me ‘bout things that ain’t his business. The peckerwood. I don’t let nothin’ spill, though. I’m smarter than that. My yarn is on fire in my hands but I keep stitchin’. I stitch as fast as my old fingers will allow.
“Glada?”
“What!?” I holler, my voice echoin’ all the way out into the hall.
Sam falls back into the sofa. Completely scared, he don’t take his nervous eyes off me.
The sound of rain pepperin’ the window grabs my attention. Slowly, I drop my yarn and I rub my eye. I’ve gotta pull it together. I realize I’ve been sittin’ here, rage stitchin’ and starin’ at bloody mud puddles like a crazy person. I let out a tiny giggle and regain some composure.
“There was no cause for me to snap at ‘cha, son,” I says. “Sometimes the memories, especially the sad ones, have a way of makin’ you wish you could forget ‘em all together.”
Sam nods his head, recognition in his eyes. He understands what I’m talkin’ about. So, softer now, he continues. “What happened to your dad, Glada?”
“He went to wanderin’ in the woods,” I say automatically. “One November night. He took off durin’ one of his fits. He was never seen again.”
Sam’s quiet for a moment, his face blank.
“That’s absolutely awful,” Sam says, makin’ little marks in his book. His voice drips with ungenuine sympathy. At least, I think it does. I can’t tell if he’s sarcastic, or if my temper is muddlin’ my mind.
“It was the best thing that could’ve happened,” I continue. “Truly speakin’. He grew worse by the day. We didn’t know what to do. Hell, there was nothin’ for us to do.”
“So, you never saw him again? There wasn’t even a—a body? Nothing?” Sam asks.
I shake my head.
He wants to ask more questions ‘bout Daddy, but I won’t let him. It’s none of his business and I suspect he don’t really care. So, I laugh and give him one of my most radiant smiles. The sound is jarrin’, like derelict circus music, boucin’ off the walls. Sam is stunned by my outburst, starin’ at me with his mouth agape again, which only makes me laugh harder. I just can’t stop myself.
“You see, Sam,” I chuckle. “People can just disappear.”
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Eyes Ever Toward the Stars by S. J. Lem
(YA Fantasy)
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Excerpt:
“We’re grateful that you're able to accommodate us,” Helen continues. “This was an impromptu trip, and we didn't have time to make advance arrangements.” Looking at Ben, she adds, “And I believe this is the warmest reception I’ve ever received.”
Ben grins. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She hands Ben a few coppers, overpaying for the night’s accommodation. Meanwhile, Thomas looks around the parlor with his hands tucked under his armpits. His mouth curls downward as he glances at the worn rug, patch-mended chair cushions, and faded drapes. With the toe of his shoe, he flips over the corner of the rug revealing a permanent film of grime. He heaves and covers his mouth with a silk handkerchief.
I hand him and Helen the cups of water. “It’s impossible to keep the sand off the floors. Blows in every time someone enters.”
He holds the glass to the light before taking a sip. “If you had the ambitions of a finer establishment, you'd manage to.”
Ha! This prissy brat has probably never held a broom in his life. I whisper to Mrs. Gaines, “I’m leaving before I say something that will offend the money.”
She pats my back as I turn toward the stairs.
“Wait,” Helen calls after me. “Are you Liza Keslar?”
I stop, hand resting on the staircase’s handrail. “I am.”
“Wonderful! I’ve heard a great deal about you, and your—um—skills, and I’ve come to offer a proposition.”
A proposition. I snort.
I turn around. “Ben, why don’t you go upstairs and read your book?”
“But, why?” Slouching, he pouts his lower lip. “They’re Northerners. I never get to talk to Northerners.”
Smiling, I pull candy from my pocket that I had purchased along with the book. “I was going to save this until tomorrow, but …”
His gaze locks on the pink sugary swirls. Candy always wins. He holds his hand out, and I drop them into his palm.
“Good decision.” I ruffle his hair once more, and he squirms away, giggling.
After saying good night to our guests, he tucks his book under his arm and slowly ascends the staircase. Each clunk from his metal brace knots my stomach. As his footfalls fade, Mrs. Gaines shoots me a warning glance.
Ignoring it, I look Helen hard in the eye. “I don’t work cheap.”
Helen’s red-stained lips spread into a smile. “You’ll be well compensated—”
“She’s hardly fit, Auntie.” Thomas shakes his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look how scrawny she is. This is a man’s job.”
Before this night is over, I shall surely punch Thomas. “Ma’am, I recommend you hire a proper escort for your protection in Hazard’s Crossing rather than your nephew.” I glance at Thomas. “It’s a man’s job.”
Thomas smirks, but his eyes burn with hatred. I wink at him.
“Thomas is trustworthy.” She places her hand on his shoulder, and he raises his nose at me. “You see, if anyone up North discovered my reason for coming here, I’d be locked up. I need a man killed.”
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Anne, a Queen for a King by Jennifer Rees
(Historical)
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Excerpt:
Anne
I have survived a king, his queens, and one of his children. Had he loved me, perhaps I could not boast so well of my survival, nay, my success. For I have done what no other of his wives have managed to do. For two, I have kept my head. He did not want me in his bed, so saving me from the ignominy of still births or bearing a child to full term, which did not end well for his third wife.
Contrivance is a woman’s tool best used discretely and I became an artisan. As a woman of wealth, born into privilege, my fate to be a pawn for my country, family, and religion, was set: sold in marriage to the most politically useful alliance. Life has not always been kind, but by God’s good grace and with patience, obedience, and love, I have lived well, been mine own mistress of mine own household.
I have been welcomed at court as a wife, a queen, a sister and an aunt and have enjoyed close kinship with my stepchildren, even Mary for a while, until her religious fervour devoured her and nearly took me with it into the flames of heresy.
Now I lay my head to rest, for my time draws near, but as my end encircles me I see through the veiling mists, my beginning. Like a river meandering through the beautiful countryside of my adopted England, my thoughts flow through the dams and eddies of my life.
1539
Leaving
The air is filled with shouting and the champing of impatient horses. Coaches, horses, baggage carts, ladies, maids, ambassadors, soldiers, mill and trample the frozen ground. The sky looms dark and grey over a dull, rising dawn. My mother stands on the steps, pale, a statue in the frenzy of leaving. My hand snatched from hers as I am drawn to the carriage that will take me from her, away from my home, my family, my country – forever. The ache leaves me as cold as the winds that drive the mist and snow across the courtyard.
Grief of never seeing my mother again, floods my thoughts. Beyond the shutters of the chariot, the land of my childhood passes from me. My eyes fill with tears.
Mistress Gylman watches – I must get used to that. ‘Perhaps we could continue with your English lessons on our journey?’ She is a kind woman sent by my betrothed to assist me in the ways of his court and to teach me English. We talk between German and English but mostly German, it being our native tongue, though she lives in England and is married to one of the king’s courtiers.
I may be, only a woman, but I have eyes and ears, and, to my surprise, an aptitude for language. I know more English than they believe; a secret I keep for the moment for I am aware Mistress Gylman has another role to perform – that of spy.
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An Awful Shadow
by Mariash Duga
(New Adult Regency Fantasy)
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Blurb:
The year is 1817 and England is in chaos. Penniless soldiers are returning from the Continent after a bitter struggle with Napoleon, the treasury is virtually empty, and unknown malcontents are using mysterious magic to blow up factories in the North.
Recently orphaned Adelaide Marwood would love to have time to worry about the fate of the nation but with more pressing, and personal, issues bombarding her from every angle she really can’t be bothered. With her new guardian—her estranged half-brother Colonel James Marwood—too busy investigating the attacks to properly introduce her to anyone and her absolute antidote of a governess insisting she learn High Academy magic, Adelaide’s plans for her social debut—and eventual brilliant marriage—are in serious jeopardy.
As the attacks move south, Adelaide finds that national problems can rapidly become personal and that if she isn’t careful her personal problems with her half-brother—and his friend the cranky, dimpled Captain Tristan Ellingham—might just become national. Will Adelaide be able to use her particular brand of Parlor Magic to save England? And more importantly, will she be able to get through her presentation at court without losing any of her ostrich feathers?
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It's Raining Men
by Hollie Smurthwaite
(Steamy Paranormal Romantic Comedy)
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Excerpt:
. . . another man fell. A pirate. He had a tricorne hat, ebony skin, and black dreadlocks reaching to the middle of his back. His white shirt was open to his navel. A goatee adorned his gorgeous face. A sword was tucked into a thick belt. He wore leather pants—wore the shit out of those pants. Damn. He landed in a crouch, straightened and slipped into the darkness. He was more attractive than G.I. McStud.
When the Sheikh fell, spinning down with a leap, the answer clicked. A movie. The commune must be filming a movie. Sahara craned around her hiding spot searching for cameras, wardrobe trailers, or a food truck. Nothing. Low budget, perhaps. Maybe they were producing the show themselves.
A belly dancer squealed, making the Sheikh toss back his headscarf. His robe was buttoned to his neck, but there was no mistaking the strong shoulders. He had perfect skin, eyelashes Sahara could see from several feet away, and a manicured, short-cropped beard. Damn, damn, damn, he was hot. The belly dancer threw herself into his arms. He responded by dropping his face into her cleavage.
Okay. Sahara was starting to get an idea about the genre of film they were making. The world needed more women-centric porn, so right-on, commune babes. More costumed women drifted through the open spaces, including Cleopatra and a princess. The image of her dog Desdemona running through one of the movie shots motivated Sahara to continue her search. Though she was trespassing, she couldn't hide her smile.
Every few minutes, a soft thump sounded out from somewhere nearby. From the periphery of the trees, Sahara spotted a cowboy.
The men often looked at her, briefly, in passing, no matter how well she hid herself, but the women never noticed her, even when she was exposed. The women looked only to the sky, all dressed for a costume party. Odd.
Every few seconds, a role-playing male model dropped to the grass. Some landed on their feet, some rolled to standing, and a few sprawled and then jumped up like nothing had happened. They wore a range of costumes. There were knights and rockers, pirates, businessmen in impeccable suits, a barbarian in a loincloth, rogues or rakes or highwaymen with velvet coats and white shirts with lace at the throat and wrists. An artist with his shirt half unbuttoned and paint smears on his muscular chest caught her attention. There were even a few dancers who leaped and pirouetted and scissor kicked, and an odd assortment of one-off characters: a juggler wearing a jester outfit, a scarred man in a prison-orange jumpsuit, a rodeo clown.
Generally, however, romance covers popped to life and began peppering the land with their testosterone-laden heroes.
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Watering the Seeds of Guilt
by David Neuner
(YA Thriller)
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Excerpt:
Mom would kill me if she knew I was focused on the décor. I can’t help it, though. It cheapens this moment for me. At any minute, the curtains will part dramatically. The man who killed Victoria and six other girls will be unveiled like a prized catch. Someone will inevitably gasp aloud. Someone else will sob. And I’ll just sit quietly fidgeting with the strap of my wristlet, wishing I was anywhere else. I’m probably the only one here who doesn’t want him dead.
I’m not done with him yet.
“Alexis.” Mom whisper-yells at me as I pull out my phone.
“What?” I point to the observation window in front of us. “The curtain’s still closed.”
I don’t hide my annoyance even though I know I should. Mom’s been on edge since the moment she woke up this morning. And every day for the past eleven years leading up to that moment.
Mom leans in front of Dad and speaks through gritted teeth. “Show some respect for your sister.”
Heat rises to my cheeks as I slide the phone back into my wristlet. I do this for Mom. Victoria wouldn’t care. When this is all over, she’ll still be gone. Meanwhile, Bill Lawrence will get the easy way out. Quick and painless. My sister wasn’t as fortunate. Neither were the other six girls he stole from their families. Their futures all brutally erased. And what does this monster get? A sleeping potion.
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