Black Blade
H.G. Lynch
(Reaper Born Trilogy, #2)
Publication date: February 8th 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Having moved country, fallen in love, and killed the demon responsible for his father’s death, Ruairidh could do with a break.

Instead, he’s being arrested for his girlfriend’s murder, being stalked by demons, and seeing a Fetch that indicates the death of someone close to him.

This time, Ru isn’t just failing Maths and fighting demons – he’s going to the demon realm to bring back the soul of his loved one, and it’s going to take more than his sword and his wits if he wants to make it back to the living world.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Ruairidh reached out and took my glass from me, setting both glasses down on the coffee table. Then he held out one hand in an elegant request. “May I have this dance?”

“You may.” I slid my hand into his, and he bent low to kiss my knuckles like a proper Victorian gentleman. I giggled as he straightened.

He flashed his cocky grin, and pulled on my hand, yanking me forward, so I stumbled against his chest. “Much better,” he purred, circling his arms around my waist.

Breathless, I splayed my hands on his chest and slid them to his shoulders, so my body was pressed down the length of his. His forest-green eyes burned into mine, so close that they were all I could see. The music was smooth and slow, and I was surprised when Ruairidh began to move to the rhythm, his steps careful and familiar.

“You can waltz?” I asked, startled that this rough-edged man could dance so beautifully.

He winked. “I have many hidden talents.”

Author Bio:

H.G. Lynch is a Paranormal Romance author from Scotland. She is an avid reader, and cat-lover. She spends most of her days writing, while wrestling her cat off her laptop. She loves horse-riding, Star Trek, and snow.
Her books are dark paranormal romances.

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The Council of Nereth
T.J. Amberson
Publication date: December 2nd 2018
Genres: Fantasy, Historical, Young Adult

Six months have passed since the Council of Nereth was formed. The land is at peace. The people are thriving, secure in the knowledge that Raelin, the evil sorceress who once ruled over them, is no more.Like the other members of the Council of Nereth, Edlyn has returned home to live and work, waiting for the time when the council will meet again. Busy serving the people and restoring the manor of her childhood, Edlyn keeps her deepest wishes hidden away in her heart.On Edlyn’s eighteenth birthday, a messenger from the capitol arrives to her home and delivers devastating news: Maddock has gone missing, and the worst is feared. Edlyn rushes back to the capitol to join the other council members in a desperate search for Maddock. Soon, a ghostly attack confirms the terrifying truth that evil forces are upon Nereth once again. With time running short, Edlyn and her companions must find Maddock and save Nereth before it is too late.

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EXCERPT:

“I am afraid there is no time,” the man interrupted. He crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. “I apologize for the abruptness of my visit, but I must implore you to hurry. My name is Dalton. I am the new Chief Officer. I was sent by Sir Briac to escort you to the capitol without delay.”

For one instant, Edlyn stood in stunned silence. Then her heart thudded in her chest, and she lunged across the room for her still-damp cloak. “Of course. I shall ready myself immediately.”

“Oh, Miss Edlyn.” Lancy wrung her hands. “I do hope that the cause for your summons is nothin’ too serious.”

“It must be of great importance. The council was not scheduled to meet for another month yet.” Edlyn hung her sword over her side. As she donned her boots, she raised her head and addressed Dalton again. “Did Sir Briac say anything to you about why we are being so urgently summoned?”

“It is in regards to Sir Maddock.”

Edlyn froze. “Maddock?”

Dalton removed his hat and pushed his wet, shoulder-length brown hair from his face. “It would seem that Sir Maddock has gone missing.”

“Missing,” was all Edlyn could manage to say, her breathing growing strained.

Dalton replaced his hat. “After the council members parted ways last June, Sir Briac never received any correspondence from Sir Maddock. Concerned for his welfare, Sir Briac led soldiers into the Colleland to ensure that all was well. But Sir Maddock was nowhere to be found. No one seems to know what happened to him, and our ongoing searches have not uncovered even a trace of a clue.”

Author Bio:

TJ Amberson hails from the Pacific Northwest. With a love of writing in several genres, TJ strives to provide well-written, age-appropriate, & original novels for tweens, teens, and new adults.

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The Elite Seven

7 AUTHORS.
7 STORIES.
7 DEADLY SINS.

I was born with wealth, athletic ability, and looks that could melt the panties off a nun.
I had a clear path to success.
Until fate dealt me a cruel blow, leaving me empty and in need of purpose.
My only focus now is to become part of The Elite—a secret society in one of the most prestigious colleges in the world.
But everything comes at a price, and with The Elite, you have to earn your place.
Lucky for me, being sinful is in my DNA.
The only obstacle to full initiation is my task: seduce the un-seducible, the forbidden, and lure her with the sins of the flesh.
Easy for a man like me…in theory.
She started as my task, but what happens when the lines between lust and love blur, and the need for power rages war with the need for her?
Accept your sin wisely, for the tasks given to earn your place are not for the weak—they’re for The Elite.
This is my life, my chance, my legacy.
I am Rhett Masters.
I am Lust.



The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
But who said the devil was a he?
In my world, she was out to cause havoc on all our lives.
She’ll use the one thing I care most about to control me—force me into her Elite world, filled with sin, deceit, and power. And under her spell, I’ll lead a sinister brotherhood of seven at one of the most prestigious universities in New Orleans.
Seven tasks set forth by the devil herself, promising nothing less than the forbidden fruit of power. What they don’t understand is it will all end in bloodshed and regret.
They call me the alpha. The one in charge. The one with pride bigger than any task I could be given. And my pride won’t let me be anywhere but at the top of the food chain until she gives me what I truly want.
My task is Meghan Thorne.
She’s too pure for me to touch, too good for me to ruin—and the only thing standing in my way to freedom.
Accept your sin wisely, for the tasks given to earn your place are not for the weak...they’re for The Elite.
As they say, pride comes before the fall.
I am Mason Blackwell.
I am Pride.


I’m a motherless son to a father who hates me. Fury has lived and breathed in my black heart for so long, it’s a part of my soul now. The only thing that’s ever mattered to me is protecting my twin sister, Sabella, from my father’s temper.
So when the chance to join a secret society presents itself, there’s no question I’ll do whatever it takes to become a member and earn my place in the ranks of only the most Elite.
With a taste for the deviant, I’m drawn to the darkest of desires, and no one ever leaves my bed unscathed.
My task: seduce Patience Noelle, St. Augustine’s sweetheart and the mayor’s beloved daughter—then break her heart.
Sinning is what I live for, and deviance is my passion. Failing has never been an option.
But what happens when my sin becomes my curse—when destroying the only woman I’ve ever wanted is my key to protecting my sister?
Accept your sin wisely, for the tasks given to earn your place are not for the weak...they’re for The Elite.
This isn’t just my chance, it’s my legacy and reckoning.
I am Samuel Gunner.
I am WRATH



It was temptation that broke the sinner.
People say I have everything.
They’re wrong.
I may have looks, money, and privilege, but I don’t have the one thing that really matters, the one thing I crave: a woman with eyes only for me.
I’m searching for my woman—one who will fall to her knees because I’m her king. She’ll wear the crown of my tarnished name, and long for me when I’m not near. And when I am close, she’ll be naked across my lap, feeling the sting of my palm across her milky skin.
You could say I’m a sinner because I’d do anything to have the perfect woman—compliant to my every need and whim—and I’m envious of every couple who walks around naive to the luxury they have.
That’s why I joined The Elite, the most prestigious brotherhood in the south.
It’s the one place that will give me what I cannot have.
Only…the task assigned to me is too much for my jealous eyes.
Accept your sin wisely, for the tasks given to earn your place are not for the weak...they’re for The Elite.
Those who envy have no peace.
My name is Sabastian Westbrook.
I am Envy.



I was born into a world of darkness—one that never touched me when I was around my brother, Mason Blackwell. Leader of The Elite Seven. The thing about darkness, though, is it’s persistent. Eventually, it pushes itself into my life, penetrating my soul and leaving its stench latched to every vein, rooted inside every bone, and sunken into every pore. I thought I reached rock bottom when I fell in love with my brother’s best friend. My very own brand of drug with no comedown. My own nightmare I never woke from. But I was wrong. So very wrong. When I returned to New Orleans, I arrived as a shell of the girl they once knew. Put on a smile. Be the sweet innocent girl they remember.
I’m Evie Blackwell, hostage to my demons. Can the damned be saved?
I’ve done some unforgivable acts in my years, but I never asked for forgiveness. Nothing beats the feeling of wrapping my hand around someone’s throat and watching as their life bleeds down their cheeks. She was everything I should have stayed away from. The first night I saw her, I knew I was doomed—a slave to the girl with the pretty eyes and soft smile. The girl who turned out to be my best friend's baby sister. I couldn’t stay away. I had to be near her, even if it meant ruining her in the process. I wanted to wreck her, so I could piece her back together—a puzzle only I knew how to solve.
I’m Micah Dixon.
Greed.
I come for everything and get everything I come for—and I want all of her. But she’s changed, and so have I.
I’m much, much worse now…




My life has been served to me on a gold platter to be devoured by my silver spoon.
Money, money, and more money. It’s the backbone of the Goddard name. I’m the only son, so it’s all mine for the taking.
But sometimes money isn’t enough. I always want more, yet nothing seems to satisfy me.
My father has made sure I become a part of The Elite Seven. Where most candidates are chosen, I was given my place. Everything comes at a price, though. Luckily, I can afford any price—no one has more money than God.
The Elite Seven have their initiations. My assignment is personal and beneath me: steal a car and send a warning. It’ll hurt my best friend in the process, but we both made a pact going into this. There’s no line we won’t cross.
My task makes an ugly turn and I nearly take a life. Such a small, unimportant person—someone no one would even notice was gone. She’s a problem my money and power can easily sweep under the rug.
It’s what my father wants. It’s what my brothers want. But when she finally opens those big, innocent brown eyes, I realize I’ve found what I’ve been searching for my entire life. I don’t want my little problem to disappear…I want to keep her.
Accept your sin wisely, for the tasks given to earn your place are not for the weak—they’re for The Elite.
Money is my legacy, but I want something money can’t buy.
I am Baxter Samuel Goddard V.
I am Gluttony.


I don’t give a fuck.
Not about money or fame, beauty or power. I’ve had all those things since birth, and trust me, they’re a fucking snooze.
I don’t give a fuck about anyone, not even myself.
Until my father proves evil can exist in the most holy of places. For the first time ever, something like interest stirs in my soul.
He wants me to enroll at St. Augustine.
Join The Elite.
Court the virginal daughter of Archbishop Savoie.
Prove to him I’m worth the family name.
I’ll do it all.
And I’ll do it so well, no one will know what’s coming. People are so quick to underestimate the wicked and lazy.
They forget idle hands are the best tools for the devil’s work.
I am Rush Dempsey.
I am Sloth.

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Two Witches and a Whiskey
Annette Marie
(The Guild Codex: Spellbound, #3)
Publication date: February 8th 2019
Genres: New Adult, Urban Fantasy

Three months ago, I landed a job as a bartender. But not at a bar—at a guild. Yeah, the magic kind.

I’m not a badass mage like my three smokin’ hot best friends. I’m not a sorcerer or an alchemist, or even a wussy witch. I’m just a human, slinging drinks like a pro and keeping my non-magical nose out of mythic business. Seriously, I know my limits.

So why am I currently standing in a black-magic ritual circle across from a fae lord?

Somewhere behind me, my three mage friends are battling for their lives. Somewhere near my feet is the rogue witch I just knocked out with a stolen spell. And I have about five seconds to convince this very angry sea god not to shmoosh me like a bug.

I’m pretty sure this wasn’t part of the job description.

--
THE GUILD CODEX: SPELLBOUND
Three Mages and a Margarita (#1)
Dark Arts and a Daiquiri (#2)
Two Witches and a Whiskey (#3)

Goodreads / Amazon

--

EXCERPT:

Shouts burst from Aaron’s table in a mix of triumph and dejection. Half the table lifted their shot glasses and tossed them back, Aaron included. He slammed his glass down and growled.

“That one wasn’t fair,” he complained. “Lyndon, your turn.”

Surveying the gathering, I counted most of our top combat mythics—from mages like Aaron, Kai, and Laetitia, to sorcerers like Andrew, Lyndon, Gwen, and Zora. Even Girard, the first officer, had joined in. This was the elite faction of the guild—the ones who claimed the toughest jobs and took on the deadliest opponents.

Ezra was part of the circle too, but he’d slid his chair back and didn’t have a glass. He never drank much, stopping long before he got tipsy.
Whiskey bottle in hand, I leaned against his chair. “What’s going on?”

“Drinking game,” Ezra replied with a grin. “Going around the circle, each person shares something they’ve done or experienced on a job. Anyone who hasn’t had a similar experience has to drink.”

“Since Darius covered it so thoroughly,” Lyndon declared, “I want to know. Who’s been bitten by a vamp? If you haven’t, cheers!”

Groaning, Aaron downed his refilled glass. Wasn’t he happy to be vamp-bite-free? Or maybe he was so many shots in that he’d prefer pointy fangs over more liquor. Laetitia, Gwen, Andrew, and two others drank as well, but Kai didn’t.

Zora pushed her sleeve up and displayed an ugly half-circle scar on her forearm. “The bastard nearly ripped a chunk out of me. It happened back at my old guild and their healer wasn’t top- notch.”

As various mythics whistled appreciatively, Lyndon pulled his shirt collar aside. A similar scar marked the spot where his neck and shoulder joined. “She drained a solid pint before my team caught up. I don’t normally relish a kill, but that one didn’t bother me.”

They passed the whiskey around, refilling their shot glasses.

Andrew, a skilled defensive sorcerer and frequent team leader, leaned back in his chair. “I want to see who hasn’t tripped and fallen on their face in the middle of a fight. And when you drink, we’ll all know you for the liar you are.”

As everyone laughed, Kai alone lifted his shot and downed it. Smacking it on the table, he raised his chin in challenge. “Who’s calling me a liar?”

I snickered when no one said a word. If there was ever a mythic who hadn’t wiped out in a battle, it was super-ninja Kai.

Girard stroked his beard. “My turn, isn’t it?”

Aaron and Kai exchanged despairing glances.

Smirking, Ezra half-whispered to me, “Girard will try to make everyone drink.”

The officer shot him a grin, then lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “Not to get too macabre, but Lyndon brought up kills, so. If you haven’t seen at least six bodies in one place, drink.”

“What?” Gwen pointed accusingly. “What kind of horrific shit have you been sticking your greasy beard in, Girard? Who stumbles across six piss-reeking corpses?”

Ah, Gwen. Every time she opened her foul mouth, I had to fight the urge to laugh. With her sleek blond ponytail and penchant for designer business attire, she looked like a high-end executive— an impression she ruined whenever she spoke.

Girard wagged a finger. “Drink, Gwen.”

Scowling, she tossed back her shot. Everyone else lifted theirs—except Aaron and Kai. Their smiles had vanished, their expressions grim as they stared at their shots like they wished they could drink too.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, then Zora grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of Ezra’s chair. “Tori, you do one!”

“Uh, me?”

His drunken grin back in full force, Aaron took my replacement whiskey bottle and stuffed a full shot into my hand in its place. “Give us a good one, Tori!”

I blinked around the table, packed with the guild’s best warriors. What could little ol’ human me say? What had I done that none of them had? Well, there were a few contenders. Flown with a dragon? Made a darkfae scream like a sissy girl? Punched a rogue druid in the nose? Problem was, I couldn’t talk about any of that.

My gaze dropped to Aaron. “Who here has thrown a drink on three mages at once?”

Laughing groans circled the table. Even Girard had to take a shot.

“Wait!” Laetitia lowered her whiskey. “I spilled a coffee across Darius, Tabitha, and myself once. Does that count?”

The table debated, then decided it counted. Zora gave me a commiserating slap on the hip, making me stumble backward into Ezra, still seated in his chair. He steadied me with a hand on my waist.

“Good try!” Zora exclaimed. “You almost had it, but no one’s managed to make everyone drink yet.”

“Tori could have,” Kai interjected. “All she had to do was say ‘kissed Aaron.’ Then we all would have lost.”

The guys howled with laughter and Aaron snorted.

Zora turned to Alistair, an older man I knew only as the most powerful mage in the guild. He was rarely here, too busy hunting the scariest bad guys both in the city and outside it.

“Last round, Alistair,” she said. “I can’t handle any more whiskey, so this is your final chance to claim ultimate victory. Go big or go home.”

Alistair tugged thoughtfully on his snow-white beard. Deeply tanned and weathered, with full- sleeve tattoos on his sinewy arms, he oozed badass-ness. I leaned forward, eager to hear his challenge.

“Hmm. All right, this is mine: Who among us has fought the ultimate opponent?” His dark stare roved around the table. “Who’s fought a demon mage?”

No one moved. A wordless ripple passed among the mythics as they assessed their comrades’ reactions. Cold, tangible fear crawled through the eerie silence. Then, in near perfect unison, they lifted their shots and drank.

Author Bio:

Annette Marie is the author of Amazon best-selling YA urban fantasy series Steel & Stone, its prequel trilogy Spell Weaver, and romantic fantasy trilogy Red Winter. Her first love is fantasy, but fast-paced adventures and tantalizing forbidden romances are her guilty pleasures. She lives in the frozen winter wasteland of Alberta, Canada (okay, it's not quite that bad) with her husband and their furry minion of darkness—sorry, cat—Caesar. When not writing, she can be found elbow-deep in one art project or another while blissfully ignoring all adult responsibilities.

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The Ruins
T.H. Hernandez
(The Union #2)
Publication date: June 16th 2015
Genres: Adventure, Dystopian, Romance, Young Adult

Heartbroken, grief-stricken, and wracked with guilt, seventeen-year-old Evan Taylor returned to the Union, leaving behind the boy she loved.

Now, she and her friends must find a way to do the impossible – warn the citizens of the Union about an impending rebel attack without alerting the government and risking retaliation against her friends in the Ruins.

When every move Evan makes is thwarted, it soon becomes clear she’s being watched. Faced with a daily fight to stay one step ahead of her pursuers, she returns to the Ruins. But life in the Ruins has its own dangers, and soon she’s fighting a different battle – to stay alive long enough to discover the truth.

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EXCERPT:

Grief, guilt, heartbreak, fear, loss, and abandonment all swirl in my head, creating a vortex of pain and confusion keeping me awake.

Three days ago I was planning a future with the boy I love. Cyrus was going to come back to the Union with me. We were going to figure out a way to warn the citizens here or stop the attack. Together. Now his brother is dead and Cyrus stayed behind, unwilling to abandon the rest of his family.

The scents of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass float on a late summer night breeze. I stare up at the clouds from the chaise lounge on the balcony. A thick marine layer inched its way in from the coast hours ago, blanketing the sky and obscuring the stars I was hoping to see. With the moon hidden and the Union lights off for the night, darkness envelopes me.

Over the soft murmuring of desalinated ocean water burbling through the aqueduct, I hear the door slide open behind me and sit up. My bio-dad, Eddie, walks out and takes the spot beside me.

“Can’t sleep?”

I shift to my right, giving him more room. “No. You?”

He shakes his head, his cinnamon-colored wavy hair sweeping across his shoulders. “My grandmother used to say if you can’t sleep, it means you’re awake in someone else’s dreams.”

That’s a comforting sentiment. Is Cyrus dreaming about me right now? Or is he like me, too afraid of the nightmares to close his eyes?

Eddie presses his lips together and studies me for several long seconds. “Are you ready to tell me where you’ve really been all summer?”

His question catches me off guard. I thought he bought my story, the one I told him when I came back. The one Lisa fed him while I was in the Ruins. Posing as me, she texted my mom and Eddie from my tablet with regular updates on our fake adventures sailing off the southeastern coast. When I first showed up here yesterday afternoon, he didn’t seem to care where I’d been or what I’d been up to, only that I was here at all. I’m definitely not ready to have this conversation with him.

“I don’t know, are you ready to tell me where you were for the first twelve years of my life?”

He shifts his weight on the chaise next to me and sighs. “I don’t know how many times I can apologize.”

“You think another ‘I’m sorry’ is going to fix everything?”

He rubs his palms on his thighs and stands. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, but you might want to ratchet the anger down a few notches.” He moves toward the door before turning back. “You’re going to have to forgive me some day.”

I raise my head and turn toward his dark silhouette. “Why? You think sending me a ticket and letting me hang out with your new kids makes up for everything?”

“No,” he says quietly, “because hanging on to all that anger and resentment isn’t healthy.” He walks back into the house, sliding the door closed behind him.

With a heavy sigh, I fall on my back and stare back up into the blackness. Seriously? After being nothing to me for three-quarters of my life, where does he get off being all parental right now?

Author Bio:

T.H. Hernandez is the author of young adult books. The Union, a futuristic dystopian adventure, was a finalist in the 2015 San Diego book awards in the Young Adult Fiction category.

She loves pumpkin spice lattes, Game of Thrones, Comic-Con, Star Wars, Doctor Who marathons, Bad Lip Reading videos, and all things young adult, especially the three young adults who share her home.

When not visiting the imaginary worlds inside her head, T.H. Hernandez lives in usually sunny San Diego, California with her husband and three children, a couple of cats, and a dog who thinks he's a cat, affectionately referred to as "the puppycat."

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Rune’s Folly
Garen Glazier
Publication date: February 5th 2019
Genres: Adventure, Fantasy, Young Adult

By day, Tansy McCoy is a florist making charmed bouquets for the citizens of Junonia, capital of the Kingdom of Terranmar. By night, she’s an assassin and the keeper of the Dangerous Garden where deadly blooms grow. Together with the town tailor, butcher, baker, and metalsmith (just don’t call her a candlestick maker), she is part of the Guild, a secret group of spell-wielding thieves and mercenaries. Their task: consolidate all that remains of the realm’s fading magic under the ruthless King Zeno’s control.

Impetuous loner Tansy chafes under her Guild demands. She longs to quit her town and trade and head for the hills. Unfortunately, King Zeno has other plans. He wants to marry off his daughter to Terranmar’s famously reclusive wizard, Rune Hallows, and he’s willing to have the Guild kidnap him to make it happen. Fail to deliver the wizard and the consequences will be swift and deadly.

Reluctant but determined, Tansy sets out on the long journey to faraway Wentletrap and Rune’s desolate tower by the sea. To get there she must cross a swamp full of sinister surprises, battle a werewolf, and outrace a bloodthirsty band of revenants, while she wrestles with her own magical powers that seem to be expanding in unpredictable ways.

But reaching Rune’s tower is only the beginning. When Tansy learns the real reason behind the king’s contest, she’ll need to decide whether to give in to the growing forces of magic ready to reclaim Terranmar or embrace her newfound powers to save the kingdom.

Goodreads / Amazon

--

EXCERPT:

The tower was his retreat, the night his refuge.

During the day he was the subject of ridicule. The children stared. The old women whispered, shaking their heads as he passed by. He would curse them under his breath and pull his hood down.

Rune’s days were harsh, soured by the small minds and cruel tongues of the villagers that called Wentletrap home.

But the nights were his.

And most nights, by candlelight, he would shape with knowing fingers a crude little figure, a man, out of the red clay he gathered from the rolling hills just beyond the shore. He would thrust two arched sticks into the clay man’s back, and to these he carefully attached feathers. Albatross, gull, and osprey.

His ancient books kept him company, and they had taught him the right words. Whispering them into the sour-salt air, the wings of his creation would beat once, twice, and then the clay man, his homunculus, would fly. It would soar over the moonlit ocean until the morning came and the cruel sun cracked the clay, wilted the wings, and stole the magic away.

But before the blasted rays of daylight destroyed them, the homunculi would return to Rune’s tower bringing back ingredients from their journeys. Leaves, hair, teeth, sand, among other things. Most common enough, some rarer than rare. Occasionally, if Rune was lucky, clutched in one of the creatures’ tiny fists would be a shell. Always white, but of different sizes, shapes, and textures.

When the shells came back to the tower, Rune’s stern face would soften just a touch, and the barest hint of a smile would play across his lips.

Last night had been one of those delicious evenings.

And so, from his day amongst the rabble, he had recalled the particularly hateful sneer of Old Lady Turnbull, the baker’s wife. He hadn’t forgotten that brat Bilga and the mud she’d kicked across his shoes either.

With his lips nearly pressed against the chest of his little winged man, he’d given it one last set of instructions, breathing mischief into its heart. Then, as the homunculus zipped not east out to the sea but west into the village, Rune had walked down the spiral steps that ran along the curved wall of his tower.

At the bottom he repeated his route, but this time slowly. His fingers bumped along the shells that covered every inch of the wall, the intricate patterns glowing softly at first and then more brightly the further up his keep he went. From floor to floor he climbed until he stood once again on the uppermost story.

To the casual observer it would appear that here, too, the wall was carpeted with shells, but just above the casement of the large window overlooking the dark sea, a space no longer than a finger remained.

He held the shell to the wall and spoke the words he knew so well. When he took his hand away the shell stayed put, glowing so brightly along with the others that Rune could hardly bear to look.

The shells’ light reached its zenith and then dimmed, but an afterimage of the swirls and whorls Rune had so carefully rendered on his tower walls remained, dancing across his vision and filling the rest of his night with reveries of years past and lost love.

Now, as the first tepid rays of sun slid through the perpetual fug that surrounded his tower and the sorry little village nearby, he crossed to the western facing window and opened it wide.

Directly below him the curve of his tower plummeted to a rocky piece of land. As the tide was in, the sharp rocks and weather-beaten keep formed a tiny island half a mile or so from the shore.

High tide was Rune’s favorite time of day. He could rest peacefully knowing that none of Wentletrap’s citizens would disturb him. During low tide the swirling eddies of the black ocean would recede, revealing a greasy spit of land just wide enough for a single footpath. More often than not a shucker or fisherman or some other human flotsam would shuffle out of the godsforsaken village to cross the spit and stand at the bottom of his tower, shouting out in graceless tones for assistance, occasionally, or retribution, more commonly.

He expected Old Lady Turnbull or Bilga’s father would be paying him a visit later, dirty and grey and cursing his existence. Although it might be difficult for Old Lady Turnbull to make the trip herself, what with the swelling and the stink, not to mention the boils, so perhaps it’d be the baker himself. Rune might even give him the antidote if he came bearing a conciliatory basket of scones. Bilga’s father, on the other hand, was on a fool’s errand, for while baked goods might temporarily melt Rune’s cold heart, nothing could move him to offer a cure for the terminally obnoxious teen.

Smiling now, Rune stepped away from his territorial view of Wentletrap and its miserable environs. He was about to descend the stairs for a well-deserved cup of tea and early morning nap when a strange movement caught his attention out the opposite window. Quickly crossing the floor he tore open the casement and leaned out, certain he was seeing things. But no, there it was, flapping its smoking wings erratically as pieces of its legs and torso began to break off and plummet into the sea below.

It was a homunculus he’d sent out a few days prior. It hadn’t returned, which happened occasionally, and he’d given it up for lost. It should have been ashes by now, turned to dust beneath the sun’s merciless rays. Rune’s face hardened with concern.

As he watched, the little creature gave one last flutter of its wings and disintegrated, red dust and feathers blowing out to sea, but not before Rune reached out and caught the bundle the homunculus had been clutching in its tiny hands.

Wrapped with a black ribbon was a nosegay of purple flowers. Examining the sweet-smelling bouquet at a safe distance he saw the dusty spears of lavender, the dark hoods of wolf’s bane, and the round petals of oleander.

“Troubling,” Rune muttered to himself. “Quite troubling.” Then, “I wonder.”

He turned from the window and crossed to the stairs, holding onto the ominous flowers with just his finger and thumb pinched around the ribbon.

Leaving the uppermost floor, Rune circled round the stairs to his library. He quickly bypassed seven of the eight tall, double-sided bookcases that bisected the circular floor at regular intervals. Stopping in front of the last, he crouched down and used his index finger to pry a slim volume covered in red velvet from the bottom shelf.

Carefully he cracked open the cover of A Compendium of Flowers and flipped the pages, coming first to lavender. When Rune saw its traditional meaning his brows furrowed. When he got to the symbolism of oleander he gritted his teeth. And when he turned with dread to the page describing wolf’s bane he snapped the book shut, strode up one flight of the curving stairs to the kitchen and tossed the nosegay into the fire smoldering under a crusty pot of stew or potion. He couldn’t remember which.

As he watched the blooms crackle and blacken, his mind buzzed with the message his homunculus had delivered. Caution, beware. Future misfortune. All in the color purple for royalty.

Had the king discovered his plan? Rune was sure he’d been discreet, but Zeno had eyes everywhere, the suspicious bastard. Then again, the message was rather oblique, and subtlety was definitely not his majesty’s strong suit. As a rule, he skipped warnings altogether and went straight for punishment, harsh and swift.

No, this didn’t seem like the king’s doing. Maybe the color was just a coincidence, but something told him that whoever decided sending a message via flower would be the best means of communication would certainly never ignore their shade in terms of conveying intent or meaning.

Rune went through the names of the king’s various associates in his head, dismissing all of them as either too brutish or too dull to be the origin of the troubling flowers. He was still pondering the odd dispatch when a harsh voice calling his name blew in on the dank ocean breeze filtering down from the still-open window upstairs.

“Rune! You bloody mongrel! Show yourself!”

Ah, Bilga’s father. Was the tide out already?

Rune tossed A Compendium onto the podium that stood near the base of the stairs before vaulting them two at a time. Never one to back down from a colorful exchange, he didn’t want to keep the man waiting.

“What do you want?” Rune bellowed on his way up. “I hope it’s to apologize for afflicting the world with your brutish progeny.”

Mysterious messages would have to wait; verbal abuse heavily peppered with colorful insults was what passed for entertainment around here. Besides, he was almost done with his shells. One more and he could leave everything behind: the tower, Wentletrap, the whole stinking kingdom along with any and all parties dealing in floral threats.

Author Bio:

I have always called Seattle home and find the perpetual gloom to be a wonderful writing ally. I like coffee shops, bookstores, dancing in my living room and singing in my car. The opening scene of Up makes me cry. Three Amigos makes me laugh. Fashion magazines, croissants, and long, long baths are my guilty pleasures. They might occur separately or together. I prefer boxing classes to yoga, and I get some of my best ideas when I'm running. I loved school and spent more time than one really should getting a business degree in marketing and a master's in art history. In an ideal world I'd go to bed at 2am and wake up at 10am. I've never been an early bird, and I feel strongly that alarm clocks kill dreams.

Learn more at garenglazier.com.

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A New World – Contact
MD Neu
Publication date: February 4th 2019
Genres: LGBTQ+, Science Fiction

A little blue world, the third planet from the sun. It’s home to 7 billion people with all manner of faiths, beliefs and customs, divided by bigotry and misunderstanding, who will soon be told they are not alone in the universe. Anyone watching from the outside would pass by this fractured and tumultuous world, unless they had no other choice. Todd Landon is one of these people, living and working in a section of the world called the United States of America. His life is similar to those around him: home, family, work, friends and a husband.

On the cusp of the greatest announcement humankind has ever witnessed, Todd’s personal world is thrown into turmoil when his estranged brother shows up on his front porch with news of ships heading for Earth’s orbit. The ships are holding the Nentraee, a humanoid race who have come to Earth in need of help after fleeing the destruction of their homeworld. How will one man bridge the gap for both the Humans and Nentraee, amongst mistrust, terrorist attacks and personal loss? Will this be the start of a new age of man or will bigotry and miscommunication bring this small world to its knees and final end?

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EXCERPT:

The scene is a nightmare the main character, Todd, has after finding out that aliens are coming to Earth from his brother. The global announcement hasn’t been made yet, so Todd and his husband, Jerry, have had to keep what they know quiet:

Todd hurried along the devastated street, his clothes torn and burned. Around him, a thick blanket of gray filled the air with a putrid smell of rot. He recognized the overturned cart and the woman’s hand grasping out at him.

What happened?

He was at the store.

There was panic. People grabbed and fought over everything in reach. People argued over cans of soup and packages of chips. Pure anarchy. There was so little left when he arrived.

It was every man for himself.

He remembered spotting the bodies of an old couple next to the now emptied-out produce area. They hadn’t stood a chance in the panic. All around him, hysteria, a frenzy that he’d taken part in. He didn’t recognize faces or know names. He remembered stepping over the body of a child. Holding what? Something purple. A woman dead next to him. Her purse’s spewed contents of cellphone, keys, wallet, and change around her. He tried to get what he needed before…before what? He couldn’t remember.

Rushing down the street, Todd no longer comprehended where he was. Finally, he found a familiar house through the endless sheets of gray. Everything burned: trees, cars, homes, and people. All gray, everything covered in an unholy layer of ash.

Slowly, he made his way home. As he walked, he glanced at what remained of a stroller with a burned body kneeling before it protecting a baby. He steadied himself and hurried over to the remains, reaching out his hand in terror.

God in heaven.

His stomach lurched as he fell back, tears streaking his face. It was Steve holding his infant daughter, failing to protect her. Failing to save her. They were dead, everyone dead, all dead. He was distraught as a haze fell over his mind.

He tried to cry out for help but found he had no voice. His throat scorched and voice obliterated. Gone. Was it the rancid smoke around him, or was it the reality of what had happened? Either way, no sounds slipped off his tongue. A deafening quiet surrounded him. A menacing emptiness mocked him with everything he had once held dear. There were no planes, no cars, no dogs, nothing. All gone. Whatever happened long since finished.

Running past the crumbling world and into the remains of his front entry, Todd gasped at the devastation. He didn’t know where else to go.

The burned remains of his once comfortable home taunted him. Home was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to walk through the door and feel happy. He called out Jerry’s name. His voice faltered. The harder he tried, the more ear-piercing the silence became.

Todd rushed to what had once been their living room, he searched desperately for Jerry. How could he not be here? When he went to the store, Jerry was still there, but that had been—how long had it been? He couldn’t remember. When he ran to the den, he found it, too, was in ruins. The large window had blown out, and the heavy curtains were shredded, laying on the floor. Where had Jerry gone? Wrecked room after wrecked room, and there was no sign of Jerry. The house abandoned, except for the layer of gray.

Slowly, it sank in. The aliens hadn’t come in peace. They’d destroyed it all and killed everyone. There was nothing left. He was alone. Finally, he moved to the back door and looked through the shattered window.

A figure hovered over something small in the yard. The figure was covered in filth and torn clothing. Jerry. It had to be. If there was a God, the man there in the yard would be Jerry.

Todd could survive anything, even this, as long as he had Jerry.

He ran to Jerry and reached out to touch his shoulder. His husband turned and gave him a sickening, bloody smile. Todd stopped dead in his tracks, his soul ripped from his body.

Jerry chewed on something, something small, his mouth covered in bright-red blood and white fur. Todd recognized the first thing devoid of the color gray—Bianca’s white fur. Todd heard the words “Mmm, kitty stew.” Jerry’s features were splattered in white fur and blood.

Author Bio:

M.D. Neu is a LGBTQA Fiction Writer with a love for writing and travel. Living in the heart of Silicon Valley (San Jose, California) and growing up around technology, he's always been fascinated with what could be. Specifically drawn to Science Fiction and Paranormal television and novels, M.D. Neu was inspired by the great Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Stephen King, Alice Walker, Alfred Hitchcock, Harvey Fierstein, Anne Rice, and Kim Stanley Robinson. An odd combination, but one that has influenced his writing.

Growing up in an accepting family as a gay man he always wondered why there were never stories reflecting who he was. Constantly surrounded by characters that only reflected heterosexual society, M.D. Neu decided he wanted to change that. So, he took to writing, wanting to tell good stories that reflected our diverse world.

When M.D. Neu isn't writing, he works for a non-profit and travels with his biggest supporter and his harshest critic, Eric his husband of eighteen plus years.

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Shadow’s Voice
Natalie Johanson
Publication date: January 2nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Fantasy

Rose Trewin is on the run. Pursued by memories of her father, she runs from city to city, seeking normalcy. But Rose can’t escape her past, or the magic running through her veins, the magic that allows her to slip through the shadows unnoticed. The magic her father once used to mold her into a mercenary sent to destroy his enemies.

Now her magic is growing and changing, becoming something new and untamable. Rose is unable to rest. Wolves wrapped in fog follow her relentlessly along the countryside. Desperate, she uses her magic to escape, but the shadows are pushing her towards the center of a conspiracy.

Now, her country teeters on the brink of a civil war as a Lord Governor gathers power against the king. An enemy, with magic similar to her own, emerges in the chaos of political intrigue.
Faced with a country at war and a king brought to his knees, Rose must accept who she is and harness her powers in order to save her country and herself.

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EXCERPT:

Rose stretched her neck and sighed. the low setting sun was hot on her neck and sweat trickled down her back. She groaned and pushed away from the spinning wheel, dropping the bundle of wool back into the pile at her feet.

“Miss Trewin, you haven’t finished.”

She rolled her stiff shoulders and turned to the older, white haired woman. “No, ma’am. But the sun is setting and I’m hungry.” She dusted her lose skirts free from the wool fibers. “I’ll make it up tomorrow.”

The shopkeeper glowered at her but relented with a wave of her hand. “Fine then. Business has been slow anyway.”

“Thank you, Marg.”

Rose smiled softly and slipped past the gruff woman—the first to offer

Rose a job in this small town. She wasn’t a great seamstress or spinner, but she worked hard, and Marg wasn’t a cruel shop owner.

“Are you still staying at the inn?” Marg asked as she passed.

She tucked stray hair behind her ear. “Yes. It’s clean and not too expensive.”

Marg snorted softly at her. “You should look for a room somewhere else. There are plenty of people who would rent you a room. I even know of a small cottage or two near the woods.”

“Perhaps,” she said as she dusted off her skirts.

Rose looked up when her boss cackled at her. “You’ve been here nearly six weeks. Living in an inn can’t be enjoyable.”

“No, it is not but . . .” She trailed off. “Thank you again.”

Slipping outside, she wandered down the uneven cobblestone street toward the pub and inn. It was a small building, dingy and worn. The ceiling had a haze of smoke clinging to it, but it had decent food, mostly, and clean beds. It was a small town, smaller than she liked, but it seemed to suit her. The buildings were a ramshackle collection of stone and wood, many wedged next to each other as if the city grew too quickly.

Rose settled herself at a small table in the corner. “Dinner ma’am?”

She looked up at the tired barmaid and nodded. “Some ale as well, please.”

The barmaid quickly returned with a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. Rose sipped at the thin broth and poked at the chewy chunks of meat. She wrinkled her nose at it and pulled the mug of ale closer. Leaning back in her creaky chair, she watched the room.

Her view was interrupted by a man stopping in front of her table. “Yes?” Rose drawled and slowly dropped her hand closer to the dagger sheathed in her boot.

The thin man gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Might I join you for some conversation and a meal?”

She glanced at the stranger and looked him quickly up and down.

Worn and cracked boots, old but nice clothes, dirty face but clear eyes. Before she could shake her head no, he was dragging the chair around and sitting next to her, his back to the wall.

Rose raised an eyebrow at him as he settled in the chair and waved over the barmaid. “Yes, of course . . . help yourself,” she drawled and shifted so she could face him.

He snorted. “A horse makes for stale company after so long.” He turned to the woman. “Some stew and ale, please.”

She sipped her ale and watched him. “I’m Nico.”

“Rose.”

Nico gulped down half of his ale before stopping for air. “Have you lived here long?”

She clucked her tongue and finished off her ale. “Born and raised.” She stood from the rickety table. “Now, I must be off. Enjoy your stew.” Rose walked steadily and calmly toward the narrow stairway in the corner without looking back. She didn’t care for strangers and cared for questions even less, no matter where they came from. Let that traveler think she was born in this rotting little town and forget all about the strange girl he met in the tavern when he left.

Rose unlocked the door to her small room and slipped inside, locking it behind her. She walked to her narrow bed and pulled the dagger from each boot, dropping them onto the small table next to it. She slipped off the simple skirt of browns and reds and yanked off the constricting bodice. Rose climbed into bed, ignored the sounds of a tavern below her, and tried to sleep.

The night was restless, with the wind howling outside all night. Dreams of her father and life before made for a long night. When morning came, it was gray and cold. Rose looked at the sky from her small window and thought grimly how it fit her mood. She dressed quickly in more reds and browns before heading out of the inn for another day of tedious work. She liked the flashy bright colors of turquoise or green, but those stood out. She paused as she passed the small mirror hanging on the wall. Her hazel eyes and straight brown hair were simple. Too young to have wrinkles, but life didn’t care that she was barely in her second decade and there were small lines at the corners of her eyes. Rose loved bright colors when she was young. Now, reds and browns were her col- ors. They don’t stand out. She snorted at her reflection and left her room.

Rose pulled her long jacket closed against the wind. The walk from the inn to the shop was short but the wind was cold and hard. By the time she reached the shop door, she was half running. The bell dinged softly as Rose tried to smooth her hair back into place.

“Oh, hello dear.”

She gave up pulling her hair out of her face with a huff. “Nasty wind picking up, there better not be a storm coming.”

Marg snorted and turned the page in her ledger. “Oh, someone came looking for you after you left yesterday.”

She snapped her head up. “What?” Alarm made her insides twist. No one should be looking for her. No one should know to come here. Marg licked her thumb and turned another page. She spoke without bothering to look up, “Yes, tall man. Had quite a lot of black hair. He said he was an old friend of yours.”

Rose tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry from fear. “What did you tell him?”

Marg finally looked up. “That you’d gone for the day.”

“Anything else?”

Marg frowned at her. “No, dear. What’s gotten into you?”

She rubbed her lips with her shaking fingers. “I need to run an errand. I’ll be back later. I’ll make up the missed work tonight.”

Marg frowned at her. “You only just got here, girl. What am I paying you for?”

“I’ll be back.” Rose turned on her heel and went back out into the wind. Her hair whipped around her face as she turned down the narrow alley between the drapery next door. Her light skirt wrapped around her legs in the wind. She took another turn and headed along the back of the buildings toward the inn.

“Morning, Flower.”

Rose jerked to a stop. She turned faced the speaker. “You know I hate that name.”

A tall man leaned against the wall, his dark hair hiding most of his face. She could never tell if it was to be sensual, to hide his face, or if he simply couldn’t control his messy locks.

“I thought I’d wait around for you.”

“Why are you here, Gavin? Have you finally found someone who will hire you?”

He leaned against the shop wall, trying to look relaxed, but Rose could see the strain in his neck and the clench of his jaw.

“I’m looking for better employ, if you must know. You, however, are a long way from home. Your father must be so worried.”

Rose pulled her hands out of her pockets and kept her arms lose at her sides. The wind pulled her hair from the loose braid and it whipped around her face. “I’m sure,” she drawled. “Is that what you’re going to do, Gavin? Rush back to him with news of my whereabouts, hope that lets you back into his fold? Do you think presenting me as a gift will get you work?”

He jerked away from the wall and grabbed her hard by the arm. “He’ll be mighty pleased to know your location. Might even pay me good coin for the information. And if he won’t, others will. You know they will.”

A quick, hard whirl freed her arm from Gavin’s grip. Before he could say more, she turned away. He shouted after her but she ignored him; keeping her back straight. She slipped in through the servant’s door near the stables and used their hallways to get up to her room. She locked the door behind her and let out a deep breath.

Her little room was barren: a small bed against one wall, a short rick- ety desk along the other. She had no decorations and her few personal items were still packed in her bag. If she were to leave, no one would remember she’d been here. Her spot at the small spinner shop would be easily filled.

Rose slumped onto her small bed. This was the farthest west she’d been, had even crossed the province borders into Amora and still her past found her. She’d been here too long already, and Gavin couldn’t be allowed to sell his news of her. She curled onto the bed, tucked the scratchy wool blanket around her, and set in to wait for the night.

Author Bio:

Natalie Johanson has been interested in writing and reading since she first held a pencil. What first began a short story for her own reading turned into a world with a story to tell the world. When her time isn't being monopolized by her ferret, work as a police officer, running Dirty Dash races or reading she is writing.

Check out Natalie's website, nataliejohanson.com, for news, updates and more.

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