Author: Angie

A Drop of Magic The Magicsmith Book 1 by L.R. Braden Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

The war isn’t over . . . With the world clinging to a fragile peace forced on the Fae by humanity after the Faerie Wars, metalsmith Alex Blackwood is plunged into the world of the half-fae who traffick in illegal magical artifacts. Her best friend’s murder and his cryptic last message place her in the crosshairs of a scheme to reignite the decade-old war between humans and fae. Worse, violent attacks against her and the arrival of a fae knight on a mission force Alex to face a devastating revelation of who and what she is. To catch a killer, retrieve a dangerous artifact, and stop a war, Alex will have to accept that she’s an unregistered fae “halfer” with a unique magical talent—a talent that would change everything she believes about her past, her art, and her future. Her world is crumbling around her, and Alex will have to decide who to trust if she and the world are going to survive. “A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Born and raised in Colorado, L. R. BRADEN makes her home in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, precocious daughter, and psychotic cat. With degrees in both English literature and metalsmithing, she splits her time between writing and art. A Drop of Magic is her first novel. Website * Facebook * Amazon * Goodreads

METAL DUST CLUNG to the sweat on my arms, glittering like shining scales. Even with the studio
door propped open behind me, the uncommonly warm October air did little to temper the heat of the
forge. A shower of sparks erupted as I plunged the carbon steel rod back into the annealing embers and
dragged an arm across my forehead, taking care to avoid the bulky, blackened welding glove. I’d
probably still end up with sooty streaks decorating my otherwise pale face. I always did.
Lost in the beat of my old MP3 player, I started belting out the lyrics of Robert DeLong’s Don’t Wait Up
as I prepared the next rod. Then a touch settled—light and tentative—on my arm, and the bottom fell out
of my stomach.
Tongs clutched in one hand, hammer in the other, I spun.
“Whoa, whoa.” His lips formed the words, though I couldn’t hear them over the music blaring through
my headphones.
An inch shorter than I was, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, I had no reason to think the man was anything
but human. But then, who could tell these days? He took a step back, hands raised, either to show he
meant no harm or to ward off the blow he thought was coming.
Behind him, near the open door, stood a second man. He wore a rumpled brown suit that matched his hair
and eyes. Average height, average build, average looks. Nothing remarkable about him.
Moving to put the anvil between us, I set the hammer down and pulled off my headphones, but kept a
white-knuckled grip on the tongs. The higher-than-average number of violent crimes this summer had me
on edge—along with everyone else—though none of the violence had come so far as my neck of the
woods. It seemed unlikely a murderer would get my attention before attacking, but my heart raced a mile
a minute as I faced the strangers. “Who are you?”
The man nearest me lowered his arms. “We announced ourselves, but it seems you didn’t hear.”
I scowled at his attempt to put the blame back on me. This was my studio, and they were uninvited guests.
“My apologies.” This came from Mr. Unremarkable. The monotone of his voice matched his appearance,
revealing nothing. “You may call me Smith. My associate is Neil. Am I addressing Alyssandra
Blackwood?”
A muscle under my right eye twitched. Most people only knew me as Alex. Alyssandra hadn’t existed
anywhere but legal documents since I was twelve and traded the name in for something stronger, more
practical.
“We’ve come to purchase an item from you, an engraved silver box.”
My shoulders dropped as the tension in them eased a little. Customers didn’t often stop by the studio
unannounced, but it wasn’t unheard of. People sometimes got my address from the Souled Art Gallery
in Boulder where I showed my work, or from previous customers, and came to commission pieces. Most
were courteous enough to call ahead.
“I’m booked on orders right now. I could maybe get to it next month.”
“You misunderstand. We are looking for an object already in your possession.”
“Oh. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have an item like that in stock.”
“We know the box came your way. If you hand it over, we can make it worth your while.” Neil had the
slick, sleazy tone of a used car salesman. Curious though I was about this box, and why they thought I
had it, I’d had enough of the conversation. Even if they weren’t killers, they gave me the creeps. I shook
my head. “You were misinformed.”
“Ms. Blackwood,” Smith said. “Be reasonable. We’re willing to pay handsomely, and considering the
other parties involved, you’re not likely to get a better offer. Surely it isn’t worth the risk?”
My breath caught as the thinly veiled threat hit me like a punch in the gut.
“You need to leave, now.” My voice trembled slightly. The studio only had one door, and they were
between it and me. I was trapped. Shifting my stance, I tightened my grip on the tongs, willing them not
to shake.
Smith raised his hands in a placating manner. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. You might not
even realize you have the item we seek. It would look quite common, like a jewelry box.”
“I told you, I haven’t got anything like that. Now get out of here before I call the cops.” It was a bluff, of
course, I’d left my cell phone in the house. Even if I could call, the police would never arrive in time to
help. That was the downside of living so far from town. I was on my own.
“Enough of this.” Neil stepped around the anvil and reached for my arm.
Time slowed.
I didn’t like to fight, I avoided confrontations when I could, but if he thought I was going to roll over, he
was wrong. With a guttural howl, I twisted my wrist out of Neil’s grip and swung the tongs into his face.

His skin split apart like newspaper peeling back from a fire, scorched black and crinkled around the
edges. An unearthly shriek filled the studio, and I stumbled back, shocked at the damage I’d done.
Neil shimmered and seemed to melt. His skin became transparent, and a network of blue veins crawled
beneath its surface. His nose spread and sank into his face, leaving two flared slits. Below that, the mouth
emitting that horrible sound elongated until the gaping, needle-lined hole grew so large I could have put
my whole fist in without scraping my knuckles. When he reached up to cover his face, his fingers had
nearly doubled in length, the webbing between them connecting all the way to the tips. His fingernails
stretched and thickened to claws. The creature before me was straight out of a horror movie, and I added
my own scream to the cacophony.
Wielding my tongs like a baseball bat, I backed away from the writhing shape which had been the man
Neil seconds before. Even at the best of times, my stomach cramped when someone mentioned the
fae. Seeing one in the flesh was like having a bucket of ice water dumped on my head. I shivered from
head to toe, and fought the urge to throw up.
Smith crossed the space between himself and Neil in two steps and pulled Neil’s arms down to expose the
hideous gash burned across his cheek. My stomach lurched at what I’d done. White glinted where bone
showed beneath charred flesh. The eye above had swelled shut and was rapidly turning a sickly greenish
color. Smith placed one palm against Neil’s forehead, and the horrible wail abruptly cut off as Neil
sagged in Smith’s arms.
“It seems we were mistaken.” Smith spoke as he had before, without inflection or emotion. Nothing to
show surprise or concern that he was holding an unconscious, injured faerie in his arms. “Good day, Ms.
Blackwood.”
My mind went blank as I fumbled for words.
Smith took my stupefied silence in stride. Hefting Neil without visible effort, he gave a small parting nod
and carried his companion out of the studio.
I remained where I was until the sound of car doors closing and the crunch of gravel told me I was alone.
Then, still clutching my tongs, I inched to the door and took a deep breath of the outside air. The
driveway was empty, no cars in sight. No faerie goons either. My knees gave out under the weight of the
panic I’d been keeping in check, and I sank to the ground, tongs still clutched in my shaking hands. The
tea I’d had for breakfast felt like acid in my stomach, threatening to come back up.
A gray tabby with yellow-green eyes peeked around the corner of the shed with a questioning, “Meow?”
Cat had appeared on my doorstep a few months back, begging for scraps, and I’d made the mistake of
giving him some. He’d come around every day since. Despite the fact he’d already stuck around longer
than most of the guys in my life, I’d steadfastly refused to name him.
“Fat lot of good you were.”
Lifting his nose, Cat swished his tail and stalked away.
It was silly to take my anxiety out on Cat, but it was easier than dealing with the panic and adrenaline
threatening to overwhelm me. Anything to distract from the flesh seared to the tongs in my shaking
hands.
I couldn’t imagine forging more, so with a wary eye on the door I dampened the coals and stored my
tools, each in its marked place on my pegboard. The gooey tongs went on a shelf, I’d throw them in an
acid bath later.

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Silevethiel The Vaelinel Trilogy Book 1 by Andi O’Connor Genre: Paranormal Fantasy

Following her father’s murder, Irewen is betrayed and left for dead in the forests of Mistwood. Rescued by an elf, Irewen awakes an exile with no home, no country, and no people. But as the horrific memories of murder and betrayal return, she realizes the nightmare is only beginning. The world of Vaelinel is failing–its fate bound to her in ways no one fully understands. A mysterious elven prophecy may provide her with some answers, but continuously hunted and fighting for her life, Irewen quickly learns that unearthing the truth will be more difficult than she ever imagined. Can she accept the friendship of the Wood Elves, or will she stand alone against the terrifying evil now threatening to destroy the entire world? Add to Goodreads Amazon * B&N

The Speaker The Vaelinel Trilogy Book 2

The Vaelinel Trilogy continues with this absorbing sequel to Silevethiel! Alone and hunted by the Drulaack, Irewen takes advantage of her only option for survival. Pushing her concerns aside, she lets the dead keep her. But her refuge doesn’t last long. Driven out of their hosts by Laegon, a handful Drulaack have returned to the Spirit World. No longer having the protection of the dead, Irewen is forced to return to Vaelinel. Finally reunited with her companions, the burdens placed on them are taking their toll. Thoughts of suicide and mistrust plague the company. Slowly unravelling, they must conquer their personal battles before standing against the evil threatening the land. For the Corrupter thirsts for revenge. And he’ll stop at nothing to satisfy his hunger. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N

A Prophecy Fulfilled The Vaelinel Trilogy Book 3

Regrouping after their escape from the Light Elves, Irewen and her companions fear the worst after black smoke plumes on the horizon. Allowing compassion to rule over reason, they ignore Finnwyn’s warning and return to Lilendvelle, hoping to help some of the survivors stranded in the city’s wake. Instead, they run into a trap. Completely surrounded by an endless army of Drulaack, they fight for their lives, but their efforts aren’t enough. Irewen is captured and dragged into the heart of the Corrupter’s lair. Having his prize, the others in the company are granted their freedom, but at a great cost: the one named in the prophecy who is meant to unite the elf forces and stand against the Corrupter is lost to the world – trapped beneath the Corrupter’s talons. With the aid of his mother’s spirit, Brendell must now find a way to gather an alliance strong enough to march against the Corrupter and his army, but his time is running out. Each day that passes brings Irewen closer to death. And the world closer to destruction. Add to Goodreads Amazon * B&N

Andi O’Connor is a multi-award winning author of epic fantasy novels and short stories with a healthy dose of paranormal mixed in. She sits in front of her typewriter (yes, typewriter!) every day and loses herself in her worlds and characters in hopes that her readers will fall in love with them as well. When she’s not clacking away, you can find Andi dancing her butt off in the ballet studio. Rest assured, she’s not the next Natalia Osipova, but she has a mean collection of leotards and always finds an excuse to buy more. She loves bats and dreams of turning her yard into a certified bat habitat. She has three dogs who constantly work hard to drive her insane, but their fluffy cuteness outweighs any insanity they can bring. Her husband ‘Honeybee’ is wonderfully supportive of her author life, and her son ‘P’ may or may not have claimed her typewriter as his own on several occasions. Deadpool is her spirit animal, and her motto is Embrace Your Crazy. We’re all unique and crazy in our own ways, and Andi hopes others will join her by being proud of their quirks and embracing their crazy! Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Excerpt 2 from The Speaker
“Irewen.”
Irewen turned, searching the darkness. “Father? Where are you?”
Since first communicating with her father, she’d entered the Spirit World
numerous times. Each encounter went smoother than the one before, but she still
wasn’t comfortable being the only living person in the land of the dead. Regardless of
whatever ability led her to this place, she didn’t belong.
“Irewen.”
“I’m here, Father.” Instinct told her to continue searching through the penetrating

blackness, but experience told her otherwise. This wasn’t her world. She wouldn’t find
him. He had to come to her.
A soft white light appeared before her, barely able to fight against the dark.
“Irewen.” Her father stood only feet away. Shrouded in an eerie violet mist that seemed
to flow through him, the Spirit World didn’t allow her to forget that he was a ghost. No
matter how much she wanted him to be real – to be alive – he wasn’t.
They were standing so close all she had to do was reach out her arms and pull
him toward her in an embrace. But she couldn’t. She’d tried touching him during a
previous visit by running her fingers down his cheek, but her hand had passed through
him. Touching nothing but air, the experience left her with a suffocating sense of
emptiness and a lingering icy pain on her fingertips.
She’d never be able to touch her father again. The pressure of his warm lips
against her forehead would never again greet her in the morning before they sat down
to breakfast. His comforting hugs wouldn’t ever be there to help fight her growing
loneliness. She couldn’t go to him when she needed to ask advice or when she simply
wanted to talk. Not truly. Not while being in a world where they both belonged.
“It’s good to see you, Father.” Irewen said, being sure to keep the distance
between them.
“Likewise, my daughter.”
She smiled, remembering when he’d first tried to speak to her in the Spirit World.
The words wouldn’t come and he’d been forced to show her images in order to help her
understand his message. Now, he spoke in death as effortlessly as he’d done in life.
“What do you wish to tell me, Father?” She didn’t waste any more time with
niceties. Chatting in the Spirit World, even between father and daughter, wasn’t
welcomed among the dead. He’d come to give her information. Nothing more.
“The Drulaack. There are six of them. They passed through Mistwood
undetected, avoiding Silverden completely. The elves sent you to your death. You will
not reach the border of Lündvelle.”
“No!” Irewen insisted even though she’d had that very thought only hours before.
“There must be a way I can defeat them! I did before with the magic of the Sea Elves.”
“That magic is unpredictable and unreliable. Until you are taught how to use it
properly, it is useless. It came to you before out of desperation. It may come again. It
may not. You cannot depend on that to save you.”
“What can I do, Father? I’m alone. My Guardian was ordered to remain behind.
None of the Elven Knights or Protectors were sent to escort me. Thanks to Laegon, I’ve
had some training with weapons, but my skills aren’t great enough to defend myself
against six Drulaack. Their speed alone would see me dead in a matter of minutes. I
can’t outrun them—even with the remarkable speed of Lord Brandir’s horse Melldren
who he was gracious enough to lend me for the journey.”
“You can stand your ground, Irewen, or you can flee. No matter how each choice
is weighed, the outcome will be the same. They will both end in death.”
“I refuse to believe this is the end!” Irewen balled her hands into fists, channeling
her mounting frustration into the fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. “I
refuse to believe my fight is meant to end even before it’s truly begun! Elthad cannot be
left unchallenged, Papa! By his hands, the entire world of Vaelinel will be destroyed!
There must be a way for me to finish what I started!”

Her chest heaved with each quick breath as she tried in vain to control her
frustration. She could hardly believe the words had sprung from her lips. Hours earlier,
she had given up on her convictions, surrendering to the death she knew awaited her.
But hearing her father speak so candidly of her demise as if her existence had never
mattered sparked an intrinsic determination to prove him wrong—to prove herself
wrong.
Her father’s grey eyes, once vibrant and full of life stared at her from behind the
mist, completely devoid of emotion. “There may be a way.”
She had to fight to control her excitement. “Tell me.”
“It is dangerous and will most likely still end in death.”
“That’s a risk I must take.”
“There is a place where the enemy cannot sense you. There is a place where
Elthad’s bond cannot reach you. Walk in the shadows.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, irritated at her father’s answer and
subsequent silence. “I don’t understand!”
A faint trace of a smile flitted across her father’s lips and disappeared before she
could be sure it ever existed. “Let the dead keep you.”
She didn’t have time to react. Her father’s apparition faded into the darkness,
once again assimilating with the one and the many.
She spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her father hovering somewhere
else in the abyss. “Papa! Wait! Don’t leave me!”
Her cries were useless. He was gone. No explanation would come. He’d left her
to figure the rest out on her own.
She sank to her knees, going over his words in her head. It seemed like absolute
drivel. There wasn’t anywhere she could go where Elthad and his army wouldn’t be able
to sense her. Walk in the shadows. Her father’s thin voice seemed to echo throughout
the Spirit World. Let the dead keep you.
“No,” she whispered. “He couldn’t mean…” Her voice trailed off. The penetrating
cold lessened, and a friendly warmth filtered into her body. A faint breeze floated about
her, carrying the soft murmurs of the dead. She couldn’t make out any distinct words or
phrases, but she somehow understood their message.
She studied the blackness, searching for the strange white light and violet mist. It
wasn’t there. No one had come. She remained alone. But for the first time in all of her
visits to the Spirit World, she didn’t feel like an outsider. The dead reached out to her.
Caressing her, they welcomed her into their community. Tears filled the corners of her
eyes.
Let the dead keep you.
The meaning of her father’s words was suddenly as clear as if he’d written it out
for her and handed it to her in a sealed envelope. The dead were offering her safe
passage through their world.
They were giving her their protection.
Yet, that didn’t feel quite right. Something else her father said tugged at the back
of her mind. Then she felt it—the slight hint of hostility. It only came from a tiny, distant
section of the many, but it was there all the same. Not everyone in the Spirit World felt
she deserved their safekeeping, and rightly so. She was of the living. They owed her
nothing.

If she accepted her father’s proposal, their hostility would fester and propagate.
Asking for their aid would instigate war among the dead. And her life would be the price
of victory.
The tears finally glided from her eyes, disappearing unnoticed into the blackness.
If she said yes, she would bring war to a world she had no right to enter. If she said no,
the Spirit World would remain untouched, but her death would allow the Drulaack to
roam unchallenged and destroy the world of the living.
Hugging her arms to herself, she tried to control the growing sense of defeat. No
matter how she analyzed the situation, all she saw was death. She didn’t want either
option. But while one was certain, the other gave the people of Vaelinel a slight glimmer
of hope.
“What choice do I have?” she whispered.
None.

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City of Gold Matthew Connor Adventure Series, Book 1 by Carolyn Arnold Genre: Action, Adventure

Finding the Incas’ lost City of Gold would be the discovery of a lifetime. But failing could mean her death… Archaeologist Matthew Connor and his friends Cal and Robyn are finally home after a dangerous retrieval expedition in India. While they succeeded in obtaining the priceless Pandu artifact they sought, it almost cost them their lives. Still, Matthew is ready for the next adventure. Yet when new intel surfaces indicating the possible location of the legendary City of Gold, Matthew is hesitant to embark on the quest. Not only is the evidence questionable but it means looking for the lost city of Paititi far away from where other explorers have concentrated their efforts. As appealing as making the discovery would be, it’s just too risky. But when Cal’s girlfriend, Sophie, is abducted by Matthew’s old nemesis who is dead-set on acquiring the Pandu statue, Matthew may be forced into action. Saving Sophie’s life means either breaking into the Royal Ontario Museum to steal the relic or offering up something no one in his or her right mind would refuse—the City of Gold. Now Matthew and his two closest friends have to find a city and a treasure that have been lost for centuries. And they only have seven days to do it. As they race against the clock, they quickly discover that the streets they seek aren’t actually paved with gold, but with blood. What to expect from the Matthew Connor Adventure series: Action-adventure books for the mystery lover. Does treasure hunting excite you? What about the thought of traveling the globe and exploring remote regions to uncover legends that the world has all but forgotten? If so, strap yourself in for an adventure with modern-day archaeologist Matthew Connor and his two closest friends. Indiana Jones meets the twenty-first century. This is the perfect book series for fans of Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, National Treasure, and The Relic Hunter. Read in any order or follow the series from the beginning. Add to Goodreads Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh Matthew Connor Adventure Series, Book 2

In Egypt’s Western Desert lies the tomb of an unnamed pharaoh that hides a secret so powerful, it could destroy the world as we know it. Archaeologist and adventurer Matthew Connor has made a career of finding legends the world has all but forgotten. Though there’s one in particular that has fascinated him for years—the Emerald Tablets. Myth says that they possess the knowledge of the universe, allowing humankind to traverse Heaven and Earth, and have the power to bestow wealth and wisdom upon whoever possesses them. But if they fall into evil hands, it could cause a global disaster.So when a former colleague stumbles across an ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic map that promises to lead to a pharaoh’s tomb and the Emerald Tablets, there’s no way he’s turning down herinvitation to join the dig. He only has one stipulation: his best friends Robyn Garcia and Cal Myers come with him. The road ahead isn’t going to be an easy one, and their shared dream of recovering the Emerald Tablets is being crushed at every turn. And just when they think it’s all over, they learn there are a few clues they have overlooked. But they’re no longer the only ones searching for the Tablets. Now, the fate of the world hangs in the balance, and soon they’ll find out that when it comes to hunting legends, they can’t trust anyone. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

CAROLYN ARNOLD is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series—Detective Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher FBI, McKinley Mysteries, and Matthew Connor Adventures—and has written nearly thirty books. Her genre diversity offers her readers everything from cozy to hard-boiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures. Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark: POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENTTM. Carolyn was born in a small town and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city. Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower. She currently lives in London, Ontario with her husband and beagles and is a member of Crime Writers of Canada and Sisters in Crime. Website * Newsletter * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Excerpt from chapter 3 of The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh (Matthew Connor Adventure series)
“I received a call from Egypt and…”
Matthew continued to talk, but she was stuck on Egypt. Because the child in her, the one whose life
plan was to work as a curator in a museum, also had grandiose dreams of visiting Egypt before she died.
But it hadn’t happened yet.
“…So we’re all vouched for.” He stopped talking, and his serious expression gave way to a smile that
touched his eyes. “Were you listening to anything I said?”
“I heard ‘Egypt,’” she confessed with a wince.
“And women say men don’t listen,” he teased. “Alex has found evidence that’s led her to believe that
she and her team are on the verge of finding the Tablets.”
“And this evidence?” The pitch of her voice carried a plea. “You still haven’t said what it is exactly.”
“Well, I did, but apparently, you tuned me out completely.” He tsked. “She found hieroglyphics that
mentioned the Tablets.” He paused, seeming to notice her confusion. “You didn’t hear that, either?”
“Sorry.” She winced again.
He smirked, not seeming to take the fact that she’d zoned out on him personally. “You’ve always
wanted to go to Egypt. Now’s your chance.”
“Let me think about it.” The words sank in her gut. Maybe this was her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Matthew laughed. “You really didn’t hear a thing I said, did you? If you had, you probably wouldn’t
have anything to think over. There’s also an indication that a son of Khufu might be buried in the Western
Desert, over one hundred and fifty miles from the Great Pyramid.”
How in the world had she missed that?
“A son of Khufu?” She leaned forward, perching on the edge of the couch cushion. “History indicates
that two of his nine sons served as pharaoh: Djedfera and Khafre. But their tombs have already been
found. That leaves Kawab, Djedfhor, Baufra, Babaef, Khufukhaf, Minkhaf, and Horbear. Of these, Baufra
has never been archaeologically attested to. He was only mentioned in a couple of unverified documents.”
Matthew leaned back in his chair. “No one can say you don’t know your Egyptian history. You’d be
perfect to have on this trip.”
She was too concentrated on Khufu’s family line to fall victim to his flattery. “Two of Khufu’s sons
proceeded him on the throne but not his eldest. Kawab died before the end of Khufu’s reign.” She paused,
meeting his eyes, and they were sparkling. She was certain they were mirroring her own excitement. “I
don’t understand why a son of Khufu would be buried so far away from the Great Pyramid…”
“Exactly. And there’s only one way to find out for sure.” Matthew’s hook was baited again, and she
was circling.
Damn him. She was intrigued by the mystery, and mysteries needed to be solved.
“Don’t take too long to mull this over,” he said.
“Why?”
“The plane leaves tomorrow morning at eight.”
“Tomorrow?” Anxiety ratcheted up in her chest.

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Birth of the Bacchae Immortal Relics Book 1 by Stephanie Mirro Genre: Urban Fantasy “Vampires, Immortals, Bacchae—they’re all the same. The name may change, but their appetites never do.” Ever since archaeology student Serafina Finch found an ancient Roman amulet on a dig in Italy, she’s been having dreams. Strange dreams that leave her with an eerie sense of foreboding. But between a busy college schedule and a boyfriend she’s hoping to marry, she doesn’t have time for strange. Then a mysterious cult takes an obsessive interest in the artifact. Serafina finds her life in chaos as she’s thrown into the supernatural world, where Immortals and witches alike claim ownership of the amulet. Her amulet. As her connection to the amulet grows, she discovers a dark secret about her past. Serafina realizes she must protect the powerful relic at all costs–even if it means losing one of the people she loves most. “ Invisible. Powerful. Immortal. We are Bacchae.”BIRTH OF THE BACCHAE is a New Adult Urban Fantasy novel exploring the origins of vampire lore in a modern setting. Where do the stories come from? How were vampires created? Do they still exist today?Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo

Stephanie Mirro’s lifelong love of ancient mythology led to majoring in the Classics in college, which wasn’t quite as much fun as writing her own mythology stories as she did as a child. But that education, combined with an overactive imagination and being an avid fantasy reader, resulted in a writing career. Starting her days with coffee and ending them with wine means Stephanie can usually be found juggling household chores, keeping the kids alive, and trying to write, edit, publish, and market the stories that haunt her dreams. Born and raised in Southern Arizona, Stephanie now resides in Northern Virginia with her husband, two kids, and two furbabies. This thing called “seasons” is still magical. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. An aging, musty scent wafted off of the
older man, along with a thick layer of cologne.
“Do not play games with me, girl. You will not like losing.” His face contorted with a
snarl and his eyes flashed red, as if he suddenly wore a hideous mask. It was startlingly
familiar, like how Octavia looked during her late night visit to her sister.
Sera jumped back, the arm of the couch stopping her from going any further. “What the
hell was that?”
The sound of fabric ripping filled the air as his nails dug into the couch. He growled,
low and menacing.
“I’m-I’m not playing games,” she managed to stutter as she cowered before him. “I
assumed you had stolen it.”

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The Blood Lights by Elaine Pascale Genre: Horror

The Blood Lights are the last thing you’ll see… They victimize all… Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life? Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time? Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic… Goodreads * Amazon

Elaine Pascale has been writing for most of her life. She took a break from fiction in order to give birth to two children and complete a doctoral dissertation. She lives on Cape Cod, MA, with her husband, son and daughter. She teaches a variety of courses at a private university in Boston: from English Composition and Communications to a Vampire Seminar. Her writing has been published in Allegory Magazine, Dark Fire Magazine, and several anthologies. She is the author of If Nothing Else, Eve, We’ve Enjoyed the Fruit, and is also the author of the nonfiction book: Metamorphosis: Identity Outcomes in International Student Adaptation–A Grounded Theory Study. She enjoys a robust full moon, chocolate, and collecting cats. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

The boy knows he is lost.
He is lost, and his former sense of normalcy has completely vanished.
He feels abandoned.
The irony, if he were old enough to understand the term, is that he is lost inside of a closet that is only six
feet in length. In the dark, the closet feels cavernous, endless. The closet provides adequate space for a
trauma that will remain with him throughout his adult years.
His fear is nearly smothered by the heavy olfactory smog of mothballs and cedar chips, yet the fear
constantly recuperates: a phoenix with dread for wings.
The boy’s face feels tight from the dried traces of tears that etch his cheeks. The hot air rushes his
nostrils which are clogged with mucous; the hot air is working against him, forcing him to
hyperventilate. The entire house is unfamiliar to him and his eyes, in the darkness, struggle to make out
the walls and ceiling of the place where he is being held captive.
He is not alone.

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