Eternal Curse
Kara Leigh Miller
(The Cursed Series, #1)
Publication date: September 15th 2020
Genres: Paranormal, Romance, Young Adult

After pulling the plug on her mother’s life support, seventeen-year-old Chloe Madison moves to live with relatives she hardly knows. Her new hometown in the Adirondack Mountains is barely more than a pinpoint on the map, but it’s shrouded in deadly secrets and strange family legends. Chloe is determined to keep her head down, finish high school, and get the heck out of there. Until she meets the enigmatic Trent Halstead. Something intriguing hides beneath his quiet self-assurance and hero hair. Maybe there’s something—or someone—worth sticking around for after all.

But when a rash of unsolved murders leaves two of Chloe’s classmates dead, she begins to suffer from disturbing hallucinations that build to the horrifying image of Trent as a murderous vampire. With nowhere else to go, she’s stuck in a town she hates, surrounded by people she can’t trust, and she’s pretty sure she’s going to be lunch.

If all that isn’t bad enough, Trent is hiding a lethal secret, besides the whole immortal bloodsucker thing. He’s the not-so-proud owner of an ancient, family curse—no Halstead will ever know true love—and he’s desperate to find a way to break the curse. Could Chloe be the key to his happiness or just another secret Trent wished he never unlocked?

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

He hopped out of the truck and was around to my side with the door open before I even had my seatbelt unhooked.

“Everything all right?” He tucked his cell phone into his pocket, concern blanketing his face.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You were frowning pretty intently.”

“Oh.” It was sweet how he was so worried. “Guess the heat is getting to me,” I said with a faint smile. The temperature must have jumped twenty degrees while we were at Trent’s house.

Trent put his hand on my forehead like he was checking me for a fever. The stark contrast of his cool hand against my heated skin made me shiver.

“You are pretty hot.” He winked.

I laughed. “That’s a horrible line.”

He raised a brow and lightly dragged his fingers down the side of my face, stopping to cup my cheek, making the hairs on my arms stand on edge. I looked into his crystal-clear eyes and held my breath. His mouth was so close, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine. Why wouldn’t he just kiss me already?

“Do you trust me?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Yes.”

It amazed me how quickly and easily I said that—and how much I meant it. I barely knew him, but deep down in the darkest corners of my soul, I knew he would never hurt me. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did.

Slowly, Trent closed the distance between us. His lips pressed against mine, featherlight and much too quick. In the split second when our lips connected, I was hit with a wave of intense longing that had my knees shaking. And then in the next moment, he straightened and moved away from me.

Trent cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Author Bio:

Kara Leigh Miller is a full-time wife; stay-at-home mom to 4 kids, 3 pit bulls, and 6 cats; writer, and the Editorial Director at Anaiah Press. When she’s not herding her family, she’s working out, reading, or binge watching Netflix. She's previously published two adult Christian romantic suspense books that are no longer in publication. Though she’s published a young adult Christian romance (Perfectly Imperfect), Eternal Curse is her first foray into the secular young adult market.

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The Captive King
Susan Copperfield
(Royal States #3)
Publication date: February 12th 2018
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

In the Royal States of America, magic rules all, but life—and love—always finds a way.

At the Texas Charity Auction, money can buy anything, and Summer Cassidy is under orders to take advantage of the opportunity. While she believes the marital collar once worn by an Aztec queen belongs in a museum, it’s up to her to sell the priceless treasure to one of the elite in attendance.

Meeting Bachelor #103, a man who finds her descriptions of human sacrifice charming rather than appalling, hadn’t been part of her plans. Buying his company for a quarter hadn’t been part of her plans, either.

One coffee date, a dinner, and a curse later, Summer’s catapulted across the Royal States on an adventure that will forever change her life, alter the course of an entire kingdom, and give her a chance to earn a love capable of defying even death.

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EXCERPT:

How had I gotten saddled with attending the Texas charity auction? I wanted to return to my tent in Mexico and hide, but no. Someone from the Nahua dig team at Joya de Ballesteros had to convince some overly wealthy, braindead elite to part with his money, and by virtue of being the only intern with tits, I’d gotten the job.

Hell, I was the only woman at Site C, and most of the team wasn’t sure what to think about that. The ones who weren’t busy trying to get into my pants blamed me for each and every disruption.

After the first time I’d buried a would-be assaulter neck deep in dirt, they’d kept their harassment verbal so history wouldn’t repeat itself.

If I wanted my doctorate, I needed to shut the hell up, sell the damned jade Nahua marital collar for top dollar, and deal with the humiliation of being the only unmasked attendee at a bloody masquerade ball.

I wished I was wearing something other than muddy cargo pants with pockets full of digging tools.

A little warning would’ve been nice.

“The last time a woman attended an auction looking like she’d just come in from the fields, she charmed herself a king,” a man murmured behind me.

The last thing I needed was to be compared to the talk of the entire auction, the future wife of Montana’s king. I scowled, clutching the polished wooden box containing the jade necklace to my chest. “I was at a temple, not a field.”

A field would’ve been a lot nicer; in some ways, I appreciated the respite from the smothering jungle humidity and the incessant attention of thirsty mosquitos.

“A temple? Were they having a mud-wrestling competition?”

I bit the bullet and turned to face him. He wore a suit like every other man present at the auction, although his was navy rather than the standard black. Unlike everyone else, he wore a plain black mask, just enough to cover his face so he couldn’t be readily identified. I found his lack of feathers, gemstones, and trappings reassuring.

He was either like me—a goose stuck among swans—or he was an elite with no fucks left to give about what anyone thought of him.

Author Bio:

Susan Copperfield is the royal romance, urban fantasy loving alter ego of award-winning & USA Today bestselling novelist RJ Blain.

Under the super not-so-secret identity of Susan, the Royal States of America is explored, where the work of sixteen founding royal families preserved the United States from destruction and civil war when magic swept over the world.

In the Royal States, life, love, and magic always finds a way.

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Blood Rogue
Linda J. Parisi
(Blood Rogue, #1)
Published by: City Owl Press
Publication date: September 8th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

There is the blood and can only ever be the blood. So, how will love survive in a world of pain?

Vampire Charles Tower never knew anything sweeter than the taste of Stacy Morgan’s lips.

He never imagined anything crueler than her being marked for death by the only father he’s ever known.

Mikhail reared him. Taught him how to survive. Now he’s gone rogue and it’s up to Charles to put the man down.

But can he convince himself, and Stacy, that love between them is impossible?

That’s hard to do with a woman like her, especially when she offers herself up as bait.

Now they must fight against the centuries-old customs that bar them from being together and the rogue vampire who wants every last drop of Stacy’s blood.

If you like Richelle Mead, Ilona Andrews, or K.F. Breene, you’ll love this vampire paranormal romance!

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EXCERPT:

He dipped his head, lifted a brow, and smiled. “Let’s make this a special occasion then. Our first meeting. The Chart House?”

She shifted her pocketbook strap on her shoulder, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased. “I’ve been there. That would be lovely.”

He inclined his head but drew his brows together as if he had a problem. “I have a favor to ask. Would you mind driving? My car is in the garage of my building. We’d have to walk a ways to get it. Or Uber.”

“Sure.” She turned, and Chaz followed, admiring the view before falling into step next to her. That long stride of hers nearly matched his. “You had everyone going, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“My friends. They’re not exactly subtle.”

He lifted his eyebrows, hoping he appeared ignorant or innocent, but she didn’t seem to buy it.

“Come on. You mean you didn’t see the drool all over the floor? Kelly tried to chain you to her.”

“That’s why I stood next to you. I’m not interested in the obvious.”

“Okay. So if I’m not obvious?” she asked, heading down another block. “What exactly am I?” She stopped next to a beat-up Jeep.

A word popped into his head, and he hated it immediately. “Intelligent. Strong. Beautiful.”

She tipped her chin, head tilted, eyes widened, and huffed. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated. He climbed in the passenger side while she got in behind the steering wheel. As she put the key in the ignition, he covered her hand with his. Her gaze lifted, filled with confusion, anticipation, and a bit of curiosity. He leaned in and breathed in her scent, a heady mixture of expensive perfume and hormones. Her skin pebbled as he blew lightly on her cheek. Chaz heard the distinct rhythm of her heart as it hammered in her chest, which rose and fell with short rapid breaths.

His incisors grew, and he swiped a taste of her neck. Perfect.

She moaned as he bit down. God, she tasted sweet. Much more like dessert than a meal. He sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, and her heart slowed, pounding in his ears to the same rhythm as the city.

Chaz.

He reared back away from her neck. Had he taken too much? Horror filled his gut. No, her flesh was still warm, pulse low and steady, eyes closed.

Thank God.

He leaned over again and bit down, but this time it was to give her the Lethe, the drug that would make her forget he ever existed. He admired her beauty one last time, then reached in her purse and found her driver’s license, committing her address to memory. Shouldn’t have done that, Charles. He climbed out of the car and placed the bag of coffee in the crook of her arm. She would wake up in about an hour or so and not remember a thing.

Damn. That sucked.

Author Bio:

As a major in biochemistry with a minor in English literature, Linda has always tried to mesh her love of science with her love of the written word. A clinical research scientist by day and NJRW Golden Leaf award winning author by night, she creates unforgettable characters and puts them in untenable situations, much to their dismay. Choices always matter and love conquers all, so a happy-ever-after is a must. Linda is the current Treasurer of Liberty States Fiction Writers. She has served on the boards of other writing organizations, and loves to teach the craft of writing at worshops and conferences. She lives in New Jersey with her husband John, son Chris, daughter-in-law Sara, and Audi, a Cocker Spaniel mix who had her at woof!

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About the Book:

Read an Excerpt from My Heart's Regret:

“Why did you leave?” The question shot out of her taking them both by surprise. They stared at each other, a wealth of memories flooding the space between them. Years of hurt, months of pain and a million unspoken words crowded around them.

“Don’t.” He turned away from her, shaking his head. “Don’t do this.”

“Why not? You don’t think I deserve any kind of explanation?” 

He opened the rear door of the car in response. “Are you ready to go home?” 

“Home?” She laughed, a bitter sound that floated in the air. “Is that still home to you?”

“Are you ready to go back to your home?” The slight emphasis felt like a slap across her face.

“And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?” She watched his face for a clue to his feelings. She found none. He was as stone-faced as ever.

“You don’t think of it as home anymore. When you left, you didn’t just leave to study and start your career. You left everything behind. Your home. Your past. Your…”

“Yes.” His acceptance cut her off mid-rant. “I left it all behind. The poverty. The insults. The humiliation. I left my life here behind.”

“Is that all you left behind?” The words sliced through the night like a knife.

Raghav just stared at her, his eyes a cauldron of bottomless emotion. On a growl of frustration, she slid down from the car and stomped towards the door he still held open. Yanking it from his hand, she slammed it shut. Then she walked around the front of the car to the passenger door and got in.

A storm was coming. A loud rumble of thunder could be heard and the wind was picking up outside the car. It blew a lock of his unruly hair into his eyes. 

He didn’t notice but she did. Even through the tears stinging her eyes, she noticed everything about him. 

Raghav continued to stand, motionless by the rear door, his tightly clenched fists the only evidence of the emotion raging inside him. The first drops of rain started to pelt down drenching him in seconds.

Finally, he moved towards where she was sitting. Leaning down, he rapped on the window to get her to put it down.

Samaira obliged, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

 “Get out.” The words were gritted out through clenched teeth.

“No,” she snapped the word out.

“Go sit in the back seat.”

“No,” she said again as she settled more comfortably into the seat. 

“Sam, if someone sees…”

“Let them.” She couldn’t care less.

“Sam, please.” The plea was quiet, but it sliced through. “For my father’s sake.”

Her heart broke at the words. She swiped at the tear that escaped and rolled down her cheek. Without looking at him, she stepped out of the car and got into the rear seat. 

Raghav slid into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear.

They drove home in silence, each lost in their own tortured thoughts. It wasn’t long before her house loomed in front of them. 

They were almost at the gate when she spoke, “Are you happy?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Are you?”

She laughed. The mirthless sound echoed between them as Ahmed Chacha waved them through the gates. “You’re not going to answer any of my questions, are you?”

Raghav sighed. “What’s the point of this conversation? Discussing the past is going to bring us nothing but more pain.”

“Alright. Let’s talk about the present. Why did you come back?”

Raghav brought the car to a halt outside her front door. “I came back for my parents.”

“Never for me,” she murmured. “You left me without a second thought.”

Raghav, who was holding her door open, froze at the soft words. She stepped out of the car and around his still form. She wasn’t going to beg him for answers anymore.

“The thing is, Sam,” the whisper reached her through the violent noises of the stormy night, “You left me first.”

About the Author:

Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.

Contact the Author:
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About the Book:

Read an Excerpt from Along Came a Spyder

About the Author:

Apeksha Rao is a multi genre author from Bangalore.

She is the author of Along Came A Spyder, which is the story of a seventeen year old girl who wants to be spy.

Apeksha has written many short stories based on the same series, The Spyders, which are available on this blog.

She is a voracious reader, and a foodie.

Apeksha's current works in progress: A middle grade book, a chick lit featuring a detective, and a horror novel (the writing of which is giving her sleepless nights).

Apeksha on the Web:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram

About a Girl
Mary E. Palmerin
(Heartless, #1)
Publication date: June 5th 2018
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult

Sprucewood High School changes everyone. The girl with sad eyes who walked out of the bathroom stall; she made herself puke. The star basketball player can’t read an entire sentence, so he takes his anger out on the introverted kid after third period. His face turned purple and blue.Olive was just a girl. Fletcher was just a boy. And there they were, together, wandering in the chaos of it all. Their paths crossed, all because of fate. She was the lost girl who wanted to love, but she also wanted to die. He was the mysterious new kid with golden eyes that held a story she wanted to know.Together, they attempt to figure out a way to numb themselves from the pain of finding out who they are in this world, where they belong, and how to handle the memories that haunt them in their nightmares. Addiction in its nastiest of forms torments them, threatening their false paradise as they attempt to escape their pain.Will their self-destructive ways be too much for the love they start to feel? Or is it even love when it is clouded by the H they shoot into their veins? Hearts break and souls get crushed at Sprucewood High.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Prologue
Olive
The Day Death Welcomed Me
The Day After Love

I sat there with a silent jar of thoughts, which was consuming every ounce of myself that I had left. My long, unkempt black hair dangled annoyingly across my face as I laid atop my tiny safe place with my knees pulled up to my chest. The creaking of the ground sent dust up into the humid spring air from the thunderstorm the night before, and my attention span was that of a fly. My window air-conditioning unit was useless during the grueling Kentucky weather. I couldn’t help but dazzle my stare with the dirt that danced just before me. It was strangely calming as I sat there, half-naked with my still developing body in nothing but underwear and a button up flannel, wondering if I would have the balls to die today.

My life was different. My life had changed. I was not going to make it until tomorrow. My script had been altered, it was re-written due to fate. The sirens of my heart were singing and screeching the highest they ever had. I was off track and at the most desolate place I’d ever been in my life. Isolation isn’t true when you are unsure about the thoughts and feelings in your head. I had ten-thousand emotions taking up space in mine. I wasn’t alone. I was in the presence of things that didn’t make sense. Truths had yet to be revealed.

I wanted to fall into a tunnel where the pitch black of night could suffocate me, just like it did in my head. I wished I could dance over the moon with the stars in my dreams where nothing else mattered, where pain didn’t exist, but the world was turning more hateful every single day that I woke up. As time passed, I would often stare at things, not understanding why my knees would buckle as my tongue would tie itself to the syllable before making me stutter like a little kid who was called out during class. Weird instances and feelings occurred more often, and over time, my teenage self couldn’t wrap my brain around my frame of mind. I started to make choices, self-destructive choices, which sent me closer to the edge of hell after things happened and nightmares were the result.

I never said much. Talking wasn’t something I was used to doing. I became an expert introvert. I never thought I would’ve been able to come up with the right words if I decided to talk to my mother, so I did what I did best. I stayed quiet until my will found a way.

‘Hey, Mom. Not sure why I feel weird when I see or smell certain things, especially old trucks or walk past the cologne aisle at the convenience store. I’m feeling a little down. I’m not sure what’s going on inside my head.’

I don’t even remember the day I started to change. It’s ironic how phases meld together like colors from paint swirling about in water. I muddled around, leaving pieces of myself behind. I regularly hurt myself, toying with the idea of suicide, but the definiteness of death was something I needed before the puzzles from years ago came together to haunt me with a pain that would no longer be tolerable. And then fate had to come in and hurt me even more. Who would have guessed, as much as I prayed for death, I was too much of a coward for it. Well, apparently I prayed hard enough.

“Branch. You up and ready? We need to leave to get to Dr. Sarya’s office.”

That’s what I was to my mother. Her little olive branch; the peace offering of her life that fell apart before it could come back together and fall apart one last time. My parents divorced when I was six, and my father never took time to look back. I remember little about him except his dark hair and deep voice. He walked out of our two-bedroom country house and never looked back with his torn leather suitcase in tow, staring at me with sad eyes. I remember that moment, but never one with him before. Now, I understand how bizarre his behavior was, and mine was even more peculiar. I was never able to recall a birthday celebration, Christmas, or Thanksgiving with him.

No memories would be recalled until years later.

As time passed and I entered the gates of hell, also known as Sprucewood High School, the invisible crack was pried open. I was forced to face the girl who I was destined to become. The more I tried to understand the change in my head, the more I attempted to find an answer. But the harder I looked, the more I was hurt.

That day, I was done trying. My body was too tired to fight anymore.

I laid in bed, my sweat clinging to my comforter like Saran Wrap. My eyes made their way over to the corner of my room, and I smiled at the only constant in my life that laid crooked in the corner. I imagined them, the worn pink fabric pointe ballet shoes, still remembering how my feet felt in them when I would leap across the floor without any care. I used to point my foot, inserting it until they were laced up perfectly. I would do the same with my other foot when I could still dance. My feet used to feel like heaven. If only my heart and body could join them, then life would have been easy for me.

I grabbed the remote to my stereo and turned my CD player on, which had a tendency to skip anytime you put in anything except my Ani DiFranco or Janis Joplin. Ani started belting out in her deep, raspy tone and I daydreamt about my feet gracefully sweeping across the floor as my eyes remained closed. I was trying to find my heaven, convinced I could change my mind before it was too late. Time, to me, had been wasted. It did nothing but hurt. I let myself smile as I continued to imagine myself standing in second position, my arms out to my side as I prepared to pirouette and dance until the sun burned the pain away; the same kind of discomfort I failed to understand, the type that was thrown my way at that hell-hole where perfection and pain walked down the halls like yin and yang.

I saw goodness for a little bit. He was the boy with golden eyes and brown hair that hung above his eyes. He had pain like me. I could see it. Fletcher was hiding from the ugly, trying to comprehend his own demons, but he’s gone and it’s too late to get him back. He was sucked into the same kind of fucked up shit that I was. He lost. I was losing, too.

Thinking of him made my heart ache as silent tears started to fall from my eyes. The girl I had become was unrecognizable. My hair was disheveled, my hips wider with weight, and my eyes sunken in from either lack of sleep or too much; there was never an in-between. My heart was tired of working so hard. I was tired of living.

A year before, from the outside looking in, my world looked fine. I was the ordinary girl with supposed friends and decent grades. My crooked-tooth grin was deceiving, though. My brown eyes were sad, and even more so since I lost the only boy who had a chance of understanding me. I hurt him, and now he’s gone. My eyes were growing too tired to care anymore. I felt it coming, the end. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Who would have guessed I would be just a girl about to die alone?

I wished I could still punish myself for hurting Fletcher. He was the only decent thing I had and I fucked it up. There was no going back. It was too late.

I pulled his handwritten goodbye letter from underneath my pillow, sobbing at his message, understanding that I needed to be with him. My tears stopped in that second when I reached the clarity I had been searching for through the murky misunderstandings of my so-called life. It’s ironic how one can reach such a conclusion when death is sure to greet you.

I remember gazing out my window, imagining it open despite the heat from the unapologetically warm summer day, remembering how Fletcher would look at me from below with a pebble in his hand and a sparkle in his eye.

The ghost of my yesterdays floated away as I continued to remember the lattice that led up to my window, the same thing Fletcher would use to climb up to see me, but he wouldn’t be seeing me anymore. Instead, every day, I would be reminded as little pieces of him were left behind with evidence of my mistakes.

My eyes grew too heavy as echoes from my mother’s voice screamed. She was an ocean away and it was too late. I was too far gone to be saved. I closed my eyes as visions of better times washed away the pain. Finally, I would be able to dance over the moon and the stars would be my friends. They could shine for me and love me, despite the darkness I never understood.

Author Bio:

Mary E. Palmerin is an internationally bestselling author of The Monster Series, Redeeming Rhys, and half the madness behind The Red Market Series. She currently resides in Indiana with her husband and two boys. She enjoys writing raw, taboo tales that strike various emotions in her readers. When she isn't busy writing, she usually has her nose in a good book. Mary loves spending time with her family and friends, being outdoors, cooking, art, tattoos, red wine, traveling, and anything that makes her laugh. She loves to connect with her readers!

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Beginning’s End
M. Dalto
(The Empire Saga #3)
Published by: Parliament House
Publication date: September 8th 2020
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult

Ever since her unexpected return to the Empire, all Queen Empress Alexstrayna wanted was to protect her family. Despite of the life-altering events that occurred within the Borderlands, her family – those that remained- were all she had left, and as Empress is was her predestined duty to protect the while ensuring the safety of the Empire.

But when the ever-threatening forces from the Borderlands challenge all she has worked towards to maintain that peace, she must search within herself to discover a new magic stronger than anything the Annals have foretold before.

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Previous books in the series:

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EXCERPT:

The lords from the outlying territories began arriving a week later.

Alex and Reylor had made the decision together that the lords would be called to the palace as soon as Alex was well enough to receive them. Rumors spread since the incident within the Borderlands, with some even questioning the health and well-being of the Queen Empress. That Alex had returned was one thing—it was as if the lords flocked to them only to see her in the flesh, living and breathing, to decide if she was truly capable of leading them.

War was coming.

There was nothing Alex could do to stop it. She knew she needed lords on her side, to believe her position, and to listen to her when the Empire needed them the most.

She had taken up residence in the rooms that once belonged to Reylor. They were a few of the only rooms that hadn’t been affected by the library’s explosion, and therefore were not disturbed by the ongoing efforts to stabilize the palace and return it to its former glory. She had initially insisted Reylor have his own rooms back, but he refused to have her reside anywhere else, and instead he took up residence in the Council’s chambers; the proper place for the Lord Steward, he told her.

One benefit of her title Alex did not reinstitute were her Mistresses.

With two of them dead, and the third dismissed for her own safety before she left the Empire, she didn’t have it in her to petition any more innocents to wait on her when there was too much at stake being a member of her inner circle. She looked after herself—dressing herself, doing her own hair. It was no different than when she was on her own in Boston, and she appreciated the time alone when she had it.

She had just finished donning her dress—simple yet elegant enough the lords wouldn’t question her level of formality when she greeted them. Her jewelry and crown and all other frivolous items were lost when the palace collapsed and she was in no state to replace them.

Wartime was not a time for embellishment.

She assessed her reflection in the mirror in passing as she grabbed her hairbrush. Alex had lost weight—she had been bedridden for a week and never regained any of it back. She ate, but nowhere near enough; nothing satisfied her. Yet, by some magic of the Empire, she looked…beautiful. As if her perfect hair, bright eyes, and flawless skin was enough of a mask to hide the destruction beneath.

Alex was a mess, but the power of the Empire refused to show the truth behind the mask.

She hated it.

She wasn’t sure she would ever be how she was supposed to be. She knew Reylor tried to keep her mind from drifting—the constant stares, taunts, dinner invitations. Perhaps he thought it would keep her preoccupied, but it wasn’t working. Or it hadn’t been working. More recently, she found herself thinking about his invitations…for no other reason than she was lonely.

A mess.

A desperate mess.

Author Bio:

M. Dalto is a bestselling New Adult author of adventurous romantic fantasy stories, having won a Watty award for excellence in digital storytelling for her debut novel, Two Thousand Years, in 2016. She spends her days as a full-time residential real estate paralegal, using her evenings to pursue her literary agenda, and when she’s not writing, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, playing video games, and drinking coffee. She currently lives in Massachusetts with her husband, their daughter, and their corgi named Loki.

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The Crow King
M. H. Woodscourt
(Wintervale, #1)
Publication date: September 1st 2020
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Magic is against the law. He must use it anyway.

The Crow King has outlawed magic. Despite the kingdom’s edict, Gwyn plunges into the ancient and deadly True Wood to find a magical cure for his dying brother. Within the shadowed realm, he must fend off more than violent and fallen fae-like Ilidreth when he learns the king is out to stop him at whatever cost.

On his desperate quest, he is joined by a unicorn, a quirky girl, and the maddest of the fallen fae. Together they must outrun enchanted crows and enemy armies, and face the ghosts of a shattered age, all while racing to save Gwyn’s brother. Meanwhile, war brews between countries, and a secret order of mages hunts Gwyn down.

Yet none of this can prepare Gwyn for the harrowing truth behind the fall of the Ilidreth long, long ago, and what it means for his life and his homeland.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

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EXCERPT:

Mist curled over the quiet hills of Vinwen. Somewhere a bird trilled, prophesying the coming dawn, and the sun answered with a ring of gold spilling over the horizon as it peeked at the slumbering world. Lazy clouds drifted by, grey, dappled with faint pinks and yellows.

Sitting on the wooden fence, Gwynter ren Terare squinted against the hovering gloom in the valley below, eyes fixed on the road. He strained for any sound beyond the faint chirrup of crickets, the song of birds, the gush of the nearby stream. A crow cawed as it landed on the fence.

There. Just there. A faint neigh. The rattle of a wheel against a stray stone. A cracking whip. Gwyn shoved against the rough wood post, leapt to his feet atop the fence, and wobbled once before he caught his balance. Perched, he soon made out the distant shape of the coming carriage, a single lantern bobbing to pierce the predawn shadows.

Gwyn grinned and jumped from the fence. The crow screamed and flew off. Gwyn loped along the streambank up toward the manor house. His shoulder-length hair flounced in his eyes, but he ignored it as he cut through a protesting gaggle of geese and threw himself against the kitchen door to stumble inside.

“Mercy, child!” cried Mavell, spoon in hand. “You look a sight. What awful trouble could there be so early as this?”

Gwyn shook his head as he gasped for air, leaning forward, hands on his legs. He gulped a few times before he could utter a word. “Lawen’s coming. Almost here. Down the road a bit.” He straightened and headed for a bucket of water on the table, took up a ladle, and helped himself to a long, cool drink.

The cook grabbed the ladle, poured water into a cup, and handed that to Gwyn. “Master Lawen, already? Surely not. He’s not to come until tomorrow, so his letter said.”

Gwyn drained the cup. He held it out to let Mavell ladle him another. “But he’s always early. I had a feeling to watch for him, and here he comes.”

“And how do you know it’s Master Lawen?”

Gwyn smiled. “I always know.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t argue. There seemed no point, they both knew that.

“Well,” the slender woman said, rubbing her hands against her apron. “If it is Master Lawen, oughtn’t you go off and clean yourself up for his arrival? Your mother will have a fit if you greet him looking like a shepherd’s boy.” She swatted Gwyn’s backside with the ladle. “Off with you, go on.”

Gwyn chuckled and trotted out of the kitchen and into a long gallery. His feet echoed against the flagstones. He cast a glance out the windows to find that full dawn had banished grey in favor of a thousand shades of green and brilliant gold. He could hear the geese and chickens griping and dogs barking as the carriage rolled along the private drive leading to the house. Gwyn thought he heard the crunch of gravel and his heart leapt.

Lawen! Home, at last. How long had it been? A year or longer. Mount Vinwen had felt hollow in his absence, though none of the others appeared to notice.

Gwyn reached his room, brushed off his trousers to dislodge any dirt or wood splinters, and changed his coarse shirt for fine woven linen. He slipped on stockings, yanked on a pair of polished boots, then caught his hair in a ponytail. A last inspection in his mirror. Gwyn awarded himself a curt, militaristic nod. He tugged one last time on his long shirt front, wrapped his belt atop it, clicked his heels, and headed downstairs.

In the main vestibule he found the rest of the ren Terares assembled, even Mother, though her lips pressed tight and her eyebrows arched above eyes sharp as needles. She turned toward Gwyn as he reached the bottom of the sweeping staircase and her gaze softened.

“Gwyn, dearheart. Thank you for not looking like a peasant this morning.”

He kissed her cheeks. “Good morning, Mother. I thought this occasion warranted the change.”

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose the master is home today.”

Gwyn brushed off her tone, not willing to let it seep in. He could understand her resentment in a way. Last year Tynveer ren Terare, Gwyn and Lawen’s blood father, had been killed in a skirmish against the savage Ilidreth. Now Lawen was the master of Mount Vinwen, and Mother, Tynveer’s second wife after Lawen’s mother had passed, now suspected her stepson would soon send her and her three children to live at another of his estates, but Gwyn knew better. There was no kinder soul in all Simaerin than his elder half-brother.

The sound of crunching gravel outside the front doors ceased as the carriage bounced to a stop. Gwyn’s younger sisters laughed and tumbled forward as the servants pulled the manor doors aside to admit the Master of Vinwen.

Author Bio:

Writer of fantasy, magic weaver, dragon rider! Having spent the past 20 years devotedly writing fantasy, it's safe to say M. H. Woodscourt is now more fae than human.

Her published titles include The Crow King, book one of her YA/High Fantasy Wintervale series, A Liar in Paradise and Key of Paradise of her YA/Portal Fantasy Paradise series, as well as October Cove, an Urban Fantasy novella.

All of her fantasy worlds connect with each other in a broad Universe, forged with love, sadism, and no small measure of blood, sweat, and tears. When she's not writing, she's napping or reading a book with a mug of hot cocoa close at hand.

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