Author: Angie

Maris The Brotherhood Files Book 1 by Isaiyan Morrison Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy

She gave me her blood, and my life changed forever. Anastasia. My sire. The only influential figure in my already-fragile life. She did this to me. She caused all the pain and suffering. There was a time I believed I owed her everything. After all, she gave me immortality and the never-ending thirst for the psychic energy contained in the blood of my victims. But now vampires hunt me and the humans want to use me as their personal weapon. They believe I’m some apotropaic figurine that can damn all Deamhan and force us back into hell where we belong. Me? I just want to live. I just want to be Maris. That way, the only one I can damn is myself. Goodreads * Amazon

Remy The Brotherhood Files Book 2

For Deamhan, revenge is the best dish of all. In 1840s Paris, vampires aren’t just at the throats of humans. Split into two warring factions, Dorvo vampires wage war against the Deamhan, their paranormal cousins created by dark magic and who feed on the psychic energy of their human victims. In this strange new world, Remy, a bourgeoisie, is sired as a Deamhan by Julian. But the intoxicating rush of becoming a powerful psychic vampire is soon eclipsed by the presence of Ruby, a beautiful yet elusive Dorvo vampire. Betrayed by his own, Ruby feeds his undesirable urge to have his revenge against Julian and the rest of the Deamhan. But he doesn’t know if he can trust Ruby. She may have given him his freedom, but she’s still the enemy who has vowed to vanquish the Deamhan, the very same Deamhan that betrayed him. Now it’s up to Remy to decide who to trust — and who to destroy. In Remy, The Brotherhood Files, author Isaiyan Morrison presents a paranormal urban fantasy about fractured relationships, mistrust, and forgiveness. Here in the City of Love, it’s anything but, as Remy’s caught between two warring sides who both want him gone. Will his desire for revenge cloud his judgment? Or will he figure out who he can trust once and for all? In this wild journey from the graveyard and through the dark alleys and cobblestoned streets of Paris, Remy is both hunter…and prey. Goodreads * Amazon

A veteran of the Armed Forces, Isaiyan Morrison was born and raised in Minneapolis. Her passions include writing, reading, and researching historical events. She also spends her time gardening, playing video games, and hanging out with her three cats and beloved pit bull. She’s the author of The Deamhan Chronicles and the novel, Old Farmer’s Road. Be sure to sign up for her Newsletter to be notified of Isaiyan’s newest releases! https://BookHip.com/LNKFHFWebsite * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Newsletter

The bond I had with Jesse grew stronger, reminding me of my own bond with Finley. At night,
we became an unstoppable force and whatever differences we had dematerialized in the wind. He
loved picking out who he considered to be the perfect humans in the crowd. Sometimes he would
coo up to these women and the men, offering them free alcohol.
One hot summer night Jesse bought a white chiffon deco styled flapper dress with rhinestone
studs complete with white Cuban heels, convinced that this was the new fashion among human
women and I had to look my best. Fully dressed, I gazed in the mirror, mesmerized about how
human I now looked. I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He handed me a small compact mirror
and some makeup and I dabbed away my facial scar. I always wore my mother’s amulet but this time
he begged me to leave it at home.
Again, we had our own private booth near the back and we watched these humans dance,
spinning each other around to the music. I enjoyed the sounds of horns blasting my ears along with
the smell of blood in the air. We paid close attention to the human actions. When they clapped, we
clapped. When they cheered, we cheered.
“That dress looks beautiful on you,” Jesse said to me.
I smiled at him. “Not in a million years did I think I would find myself enjoying this environment
and wearing the latest fashions.”
“Neither did I but here we are,” he said to me, smiling back. “I’m curious. What did you see
yourself doing?”

“I couldn’t see myself living past the new century,” I replied. “I thought I’d die from tuberculosis
in London.”
His smile withered. “Why would you think that?”
I faced him. “My mother was a prostitute and I followed in her footsteps. Women have short life
spans in that type of lifestyle.”
“So is that how you got that?” Slowly he raised his hand and he placed it against the left side of
my face.
I looked away. I never mentioned my scar to him and he never asked me, until now. “Vampires.”
He dropped his hand. “Vampires?”
“It’s not important.” I didn’t have enough fingers on both hands to count how many people had
hurt me in both my human and Deamhan life. I didn’t want him to know about the vampires and
why I was important to them. I quickly changed the subject. “I’ve never asked you this but why did
you start boxing?” I realized that I didn’t know anything about Jesse’s human life, his parents, his
siblings if any. Again, I never bothered to ask. “You don’t seem like the type who would participate
in something like that.”
“My father was—” He stopped himself. “My father is an English teacher and my mother stays at
home, drinking afternoon tea with other bored and sad married women.”
“Your father is a smart man, then?” My eyes lit up.
“Yes, he is. On the other hand my mother, well, she just likes to gossip and buy expensive
things.”
“Did you not enjoy your family life?” I asked.
“I was bored,” he replied. “I wanted to do more with my life.” His eyes left my view for a
moment. “My family is very wealthy, Maris. My mother inherited her parents’ fortune. I was raised
around servants in a home big enough to fit 100 people. It was lonely. I was lonely.”
I wanted to feel sorry for him but I didn’t experience the life he had before being a Deamhan.
“So hitting other men with your fists sounded more exciting?”
“That was my only escape.”
“You could’ve just purchased your way out of Chicago.”
“Yes, but what good would that have done?” A solemn expression appeared on his face. “Money
doesn’t always make you happy, Maris.”
“It made Finley and me happy,” I replied.
“Yes, that’s true, but it won’t last forever and you and I know that we have forever.”
“So, what makes you happy?” It was the same question Ruby asked me a long time ago.
“You.” He grabbed my hand. “You make me happy.”
I stared into his eyes. “Blood doesn’t make you happy?”
“Blood fills my hunger but no, it doesn’t make me happy. I can feed and not be happy.” He
laughed. “What makes you happy?”
I wanted to tell him that he and Finley filled that desire. Swiftly, he planted his lips over mine and
I felt a hot flash tingle in my throat. In quick speed I pushed him away.
“What are you doing?”
With his elbows supporting his upper body, he looked up at me and smiled. “What do you mean?
I was kissing you.”
“I know but… why?”
“Kissing you would make me happy.” He quickly grabbed the edge of my dress and pulled us
further down into our booth. This time I didn’t push him away as he kissed me again. With his teeth
exposed he nicked my neck and I responded by placing my hand around his throat, tilting his head
to the side, and biting into his neck. I questioned my actions but I didn’t want to stop. We couldn’t
feed from each other but the idea of doing so proved enough to make me want to try. I wanted his

blood in me as he wanted my blood in him. He bit into my neck and I felt a sharp quick pain. His
thoughts twirled inside my head. I love you, Maris.

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Never Kiss a Stranger by Logan Chance Genre: Romantic Comedy

Kiki Ellis Atwood is the devil. Ok, maybe that’s too harsh. Ellis Atwood is ruining my life. First, he demolishes a perfectly good wedding trellis. Second, he destroys a gorgeous doggie wedding that I spent ages planning. (I kid you not.) Third, he makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and that is not ok. I prefer the cold and harsh way my fiancé makes me feel so much better. (wait, that didn’t come out right.) Fourth, and there is a fourth, he gets me all wound up and flustered. And last, when he unexpectedly kissed me it made me forget my own name, or the fact that I’m getting married…in a month. Please someone help me out. I’m a mess. Worst part is, Ellis isn’t the bad guy I first thought he was. And being forced to spend time with him is making me realize that he needs my help more than anything. So what’s a girl like me to do? Ellis I’m only in town long enough to figure out a plan with my brother on how to save our brewery from the awfulness that is my father. Oh and be in a wedding. Where I may or may not be crushing a little too hard on the bride-to-be. (spoiler alert, I’m crushing hard.) She’s really cute. Like seriously. And she has the cutest job, she’s a dog wedding planner. (I kid you not.) I can see why Henry loves her. I can see why everyone loves her. I can see why I’m falling for her. I’m usually not a relationship-type guy. Call it picky or whatnot, but usually I get bored easily. So, my plan is simple. Spend as much time with Kiki (soon to be Faniki, I know) and hopefully get bored with her adorkable smile and sexy legs that go on for miles. Then, I can save the brewery, be the best man of the wedding, and get my butt back to Chicago and away from the happy couple. Goodreads * AmazonBook Trailerhttps://youtu.be/mwPl- CH_9FQ

Logan Chance is a USA Today and Top 20 Amazon Bestselling Author with a quick wit and penchant for the simple things in life: Star Wars, music, and smart girls who love to read. He was nominated best debut author for the Goodreads Choice Awards in 2016. His works can be classified as Dramedies (Drama+Comedies), featuring a ton of laughs and many swoon worthy, heartfelt moments. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Newsletter

Chapter One
Kiki

Have you ever had a goat walk all over your butt? I’m serious here. And somehow, I’m
supposed to stay in a zen state as a baby goat tramples his little hooves all over my body?
My best friend, Lola, has had some nutty ideas in her life. ‘It’s all in the sake of a healthier
lifestyle,’ she says.
Once, she had us paddleboarding. Which yes, nothing out of the ordinary. But, instead of
starting in a lake, or in the intracoastal, she had us start on the beach.
It took us about thirty minutes just to paddle past each breaking wave. We had a little section
of people on the beach cheering us on. I’m sure they just liked watching us wipeout.
Talk about a workout. I was so exhausted from fighting the waves I couldn’t go on any
further.
Another time she thought it would be fun to head down to Miami and walk from South Beach
to downtown. Which we did, but I wished I’d known ahead of time that was the plan. I thought
we were heading south to party, because that is usually what one does in Miami. But, I
wouldn’t have worn my favorite black heels.
Sure there’s wanting to be adventurous, but there’s a fine line between adventure and just
plain silly.
And maybe this is it.
I’m not actually complaining because I’ve never been part of a routine where it has not
benefited me greatly, but I just don’t quite understand bending yourself into the shape of a
pretzel and then thinking, you know what this also needs? GOATS. Lots of little goats
jumping all over us.
Yoga with Goats. Goga? Goga on. Super creative title. I know. You’re welcome.
Point is, Lola thinks it’s fun to try new things, and well Poppi and I should probably have our
heads examined because we go along with whatever hairbrained plan she has.
I like to say we’ve gotten smarter, but this …this right now…is insane.
“I’m pretty sure this goat just got to third base,” I whisper to Lola, trying to keep my yoga
pose in check.
This is supposed to be a serene space. It’s got all the elements to make a person relax. Soft
music. Beige walls. Hardwood flooring with blue yoga mats spaced equally around the place.
Even the yoga teacher is the epitome of tranquility. Her name is Flower, I kid you not, and
she has her hair piled into a wicked knot on the top of her head. Other yogis would be
jealous.
“Close your eyes and work through the movements,” Flower purrs at the front of the class.
“Now move into downward dog pose. Remember to make sure you don’t lose your goat.”
Flower gives a sideways glance at Poppi. Her goat took off long ago and is now across the
room eating a potted plant.
I stare at my goat, his big brown eyes stare back. “Please stay with me little guy,” I whisper
as I move my body into downward facing dog while the goat balances perfectly on my ass.
You could say my goat and I have gotten pretty close.
“Now move into crab pose. Keep your goat steady.”
Sweat trickles down from my forehead as I glance at the teacher who glides into the pose
with ease, her goat looking like he’s riding out the perfect wave. “Are you going to get your
goat?” I ask Poppi.
Her mouth drops open as she scans the room, locating her goat. “Nah, he seems pretty
happy over there.” She waves a hand, and then focuses her attention back on me. “Also, I
still can’t believe you’re engaged, Kiki.”
I bite my lip, trying my best to keep my inner yogi at peace. “It’s not too soon is it?”
Poppi’s elbows hit the mat as she stops posing. “No, it’s like a dream come true. Henry’s
perfect.”
I smile. “He is perfect, right?” I still can’t believe I’m getting married. Me. Kiki Kingsley is
engaged.

And Henry really is just soooooo perfect.
Even the way he proposed was perfection. We’d only been dating a month, and he took me
out to La Pearl. It’s the type of place where you have to call months and months in advance
to get into. I’d always wanted to go. I was ecstatic that he asked me, and I remember
spending hours finding the perfect dress. It was a hot little red number with matching shoes.
And then it happened.
It was a little cliche, but still so romantic.
He ordered champagne to the table, and there was an engagement ring in the glass. Shock
doesn’t even cover the expression I wore on my face.
When I glanced over to him, he was on one knee, asking me to be Mrs. Henry Faniki. I never
even knew his last name, and I was saying yes over and over before I had the chance to put
the two together. Kiki Faniki. Yes, my name will rhyme.
“Just the name,” I breathe out, keeping my pose and goat stable.
“Kiki Faniki, the first woman on Mars. See it sounds more prestigious when you put it doing
something important,” Lola says.
“Breathe,” Flower huffs, staring in our direction, obviously not very happy with us. “And no
talking.”
“But, I’ll never go to Mars,” I whisper back.
“You never know that.”
“I think that’s one thing I can say for certain. Ugh, I can’t have a rhyming name.”
“Don’t take his last name,” Poppi offers.
I shake my head. “No, I’ve always dreamed of taking the last name of my husband.” I close
my eyes, trying to find my center of gravity as the baby goat I’ve named Peter tries his best
to stay on. He’s kind of cute. All black fur with big brown eyes. He almost…no, I can’t say
that. I can’t even think it. But as the little goat stares back at me with his little triangular beard
and big brown eyes, I can’t help thinking he looks a lot like Henry.
“Oh my god, my goat looks just like Henry,” I say to my friends.
Poppi laughs. “It’s just because you’re so in love. You’re seeing him everywhere you look.”
“So romantic,” Lola coos.
“It’s romantic that my fiance looks like a goat?”
“Girls, please,” Flower scoffs while moving into another pose, her body as bendy as Gumby.
We mimic her movements, trying not to laugh. I glance at my ring, the rock Henry proposed
with. It shines and sparkles in all the right ways. I still can’t believe this is my life.
He told me he’d never met anyone like me before, and that he knew it was sudden, but he
couldn’t stand living another day without me being his wife.
I about died of swoon fever (it’s a real condition, look it up) when he put the two-carat
princess cut ring on my finger. I smile to myself, remembering back to the way his brown
eyes centered on mine when he told me his five-year plan.
He said, “Marriage. Bang. Kids. Bang. Everything will fall into place with the perfect woman
by my side. Then, I’ll make partner. Bang.’’
Me. The perfect woman.
We went home that night and made passionate love. Well, we would have, but Henry had had
a bit too much champagne celebrating and passed out before the actual event of it all. But, it
was still a perfect night.
“And just think, now you get to plan your own wedding,” Poppi says, getting back into the
pose like Twisty-Curvy upfront who watches us with her evil eye.
Every girl has fantasized about their dream wedding since they were a little girl. And I am no
exception to this rule. I want it to be right on the beach. I even know the spot, by the turtle
sanctuary on Juno Beach where there’s a tunnel that leads from the parking lot, to the sand.
You can’t be from Florida and not want a beach wedding. And yes, I want to walk out of the
tunnel like walking down an aisle. I can almost see it. I close my eyes with a smile on my face
as I try to picture it all with Henry.
“This goat is infatuated with my left boob,” Lola says, bringing me back to reality.
I pop open my eyes and try not to laugh as Lola tries to keep a crab pose steady as her own
baby goat gnaws at her tank top.
“He thinks you’re his mother,” Poppi says as Flower gives her a nasty look. Poppi just glares
right back at her.

“Well, I’m not.” Lola glances at the front of the class, trying to get the instructor’s attention,
hoping she’ll stop class once she sees Lola’s goat sexually assaulting her.
And then it’s like everything takes a turn for the worse. As if the whole world explodes into
slow motion. Poppi’s wandering goat tries to mount the Flower, and I try my best to stifle my
laughter as she loses control and comes crashing down to her mat. “Will you please come
get your goat,” she yells at Poppi.
Poppi stands and heads to the front of the class as quickly as she can.
I stop posing and hold Peter close to me.
But Lola has completely lost control of her animal, and he kicks his heels together and jumps
off her. He’s been spooked and rushes to the front of the class, knocking over Flower and
her goat.
It’s seriously like goats gone wild in here.
A few of the other goats trample around, trying to knock everyone and everything over in
their path.
Peter bucks against my arms, and I can no longer hold him back.
And then the unimaginable happens. As if goats going crazy in a yoga studio isn’t bad
enough, my engagement ring knocks loose, and Peter swallows it as I let out a howl.
“Noooooo. My goat ate my ring.” My squeals halt all the activity and everyone stands still,
watching Peter with his little innocent face.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“Wow, goat yoga is intense,” Poppi says under her breath as the Flower looks like she could
breathe out fire at any moment.
I think it goes without saying we all get kicked out. But, not until I’ve been assured by the
farmer of the goats that we just have to wait a few days before I can get my ring back. Yes,
you guessed it. I have to wait for a goat to poop out my engagement ring. I hope this isn’t an
omen as to how my marriage will go.

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(Im)perfectly Happy by Sharina Harris Genre: Women’s Fiction

When four college friends formed the Brown Sugarettes Mastermind Group, they had very different goals—but matched each other in ambition. Yet ten years later they can’t help wondering what happened to the hopeful, confident, driven women they used to be—and how to get them back . . . Radio personality Raina, known as “the black Delilah,” hates the wholesome persona that’s made her a success. Doling out syrupy versions of her grandma’s wisdom feels worlds away from the sarcastic, tell-it-like-it-is woman Raina really is. Kara Jones was sure she’d be a master sommelier by thirty. Life and loss interfered with that plan. Now she has one more chance—but it’s taking a toll on her self-esteem and her marriage. Nikki Grayson hardly recognizes the stay-at-home mom she’s become. When her band signed a record deal, she swapped the limelight for a minivan and a sensible ’do. Now she’s wishing she had followed her heart. Instead, she’s drowning her regret in alcohol. Public defender Sienna Njeri willingly put her city council aspirations aside to support her fiancé’s bid for office—and now she’s wondering if her loyalty is misplaced. Longing for the support, advice, and tough love they once shared, all four resolve to start meeting up again. After all, their dreams may still be within reach. But are they worth the price they’ll pay to achieve them? Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N * Google * Kobo

Sharina Harris earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Georgia State University. After college, she pursued a career in digital marketing and public relations. Although her profession required writing, she decided to pursue a career in writing in 2012. Sharina’s contemporary romance series under the pen name, Rina Gray, was named Book Riot’s 100 Must-Read Romantic Comedies. When Sharina’s not writing, she can be found with her head stuck in a book, rooting for her favorite NBA teams, and spending time with friends and family. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

“All right, party people, it’s time to dance!” the DJ announced. The diva that is Diana Ross’s
sultry voice floated over the speakers, singing, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” I could see Diana’s
smile, see her shimmy with all the confidence in the world, telling me to “Go get him, girl!” I didn’t
shimmy but instead squared my shoulders and stood.
“Where are you going, sweet cheeks?”
“To go get him.” I stormed away before Keith had the chance to dissuade me or tell me not to
embarrass him. The place was huge. Three hundred people jam-packed, and Chris had effortlessly
dodged me. “Dammit. Where is he?” I stretched my neck, even stood on my tiptoes. After ten minutes
of fruitlessly circling the room, I wanted to give up. Plus, Diana was no longer cheering me on.
Discouraged, I made my way back to my seat when I got a whiff of smoke. Smoke! Chris loves to
smoke! Terrible habit, but the man was a chain smoker. He was most likely puffing his poor lungs away
outside. Turning on my heels, I rushed to the entrance of the renovated warehouse and turned a sharp
right.
My heart revved again when I found him leaning against the brick wall near a silver cigarette bin.
Gotcha!
“Christopher,” I said on a sigh. I tried to calm my heavy breathing, still out of breath from speed
walking. Grabbing my arms, I attempted to rub away the cold. My strapless black dress was not
appropriate for winter weather, even in Georgia.
“Sienna.” He dragged in a long puff of smoke and then exhaled. A thick white cloud billowed
between us. Waving my hands, I stepped back and coughed. Probably just as he wanted, to create a

divide between us. I still didn’t understand what his damn problem was with me. My recently manicured
nails dug into my palms.
“Why have you been avoiding me, Christopher?” My voice was sharp and imperious, like a
teacher berating a student.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
I stepped closer, so close if he breathed deeply his chest would touch mine. It wasn’t
appropriate to get in a man’s personal space, but I had to know. “Why don’t you like me?
He snapped his head back, narrowed his blue-gold eyes. The flash of blue in his eyes showed his
surprise. Perhaps he was surprised by my audacity. But if he really knew me, he’d know I could be bold
when needed.
The blues in his eyes gave way to gold, reflecting twin pools of anger. “I don’t dislike you. I feel
sorry for you.” He took a step back and smoked away from me.
Sorry for me? Embarrassment and pain seeped down to the hard concrete lot. Why feel sorry for
me? I had a damn good life, thank you very much. A fulfilling career, a wonderful family, a great guy, and
the best friends in the entire effing world. A flame ignited in my stomach. Each puff he carelessly
smoked stoked the fire in my belly. “Why?” I bit off, crossing my arms so tightly it pushed up my breasts.
His eyes dipped to my chest. He swallowed. “You’re the living and breathing example of Little
Miss Sunshine. You’re so determined to block out the bad, you don’t see what’s going on around you.”
He stubbed his cigarette and tossed it in the bin. “You think everything is perfect and wonderful and
lovely.” He mimicked my voice, making me sound like a silly cartoon character.
“I don’t think everything is perfect and wonderful and . . . and whatever the hell else you said.” I
waved at him.

“Lovely,” he sarcastically supplied.
“I don’t. I’m a second-generation immigrant. My parents both came from humble beginnings,
yet they were able to provide for me and my seven siblings. We were rich in love but not much else. If I
wanted something that wasn’t a necessity, I worked my ass off,” I growled. “Sienna—”
“No. Be quiet and listen.” I jammed my finger just above his rib cage, and my finger nearly broke
against his granite chest. “Now, where was I?”
“You worked your ass off.” This time the sarcasm was gone, and his already deep voice had
gone deeper. The disdain had left his eyes, replaced by something else I was too worked up to analyze.
Whatever it was had siphoned away the red-hot anger.
“Yes, I did. I graduated number one in my law school class. And you know what I d-do now?” My
teeth were chattering. I needed to wrap this up pronto before I became a Popsicle.
He shrugged out of his black tuxedo jacket and flapped it around my shoulders like a cape.
“You’re a public defender for the city of Atlanta.” He stepped closer to me, or had I stepped closer? “D-
damn right. Which means I don’t get to ch-choose my clients. Some are guilty, some are innocent, but all
deserve a fair trial. Someone to look them in the eyes and let them know that they aren’t the sum of
their mistakes. That they are worth something. Sometimes I’m their last hope, and yes, I’m their Little
Miss Sunshine. I do it for them.” I jerked my thumb back, pointing to no one in particular, and then
pointed to my chest. “I also do it for me. Because if I let the dark bleed through, I won’t be any good to
my clients or to the community. I’ll be just another shitty lawyer shuffling through cases, treating my
clients like a number. Just another shitty person who doesn’t care about the welfare of my fellow man.”
This time, he stepped closer. I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. “You want world peace, Miss
America. It’s admirable, but I’m not the man for the job.” Despite his asshole response, I laughed. “I

don’t need you to teach me world peace, Chris. I want you to teach me how to win. I want to help Keith
when—”
“I’m not convinced Keith is the right man for you.” His voice was gruff and as bitter as the cold
weather. He took a deep breath. “I mean . . . I don’t think Keith is going to be the man to make major
changes for the community. He did okay in his first term, but he hasn’t kept most of the promises he
made.”

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