Ripple Effects by Alex Winters #contemporary #romance #excerpt #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

Contemporary Romance, Multiple Partners

Date Published: June 21, 2024

 

 

Brady Sampson and Myer Joyner met in college, quickly bonding in their business classes and both landing gigs at nearby Global Initiatives in
scenic Lost Lake, Tennessee. Combining their signing bonuses to invest in a rental house beside the lake together, the two take to being roommates the way they have every other challenge they’ve faced over the past two years — secretly pining for one another while never speaking a word about it.

That is, until their sexy new coworker, Carly Carmichael, produces an uncommonly sensual stirring in both men. When Brady invites their new neighbor over for a meet and greet, she takes him up on the offer on the one day he’s out. While she and Myer sip wine and get to know each other better, both let it slip that they have a crush on Brady, unleashing a series of events that threaten to topple everything they thought they knew about each other.

 

 

EXCERPT

“White or red?”

Brady Sampson glanced over at his new roomie, Myer, holding up two wine
bottles and wearing an almost face-splitting grin. He struggled to ignore
the equally cataclysmic ripples of desire that rang through his body as he
kept a placid look on his face.

“Which do you prefer?” Brady answered.

Myer glanced from bottle to bottle as if he’d never seen them before,
giving Brady time to openly adore his big, veiny hands as he held each
aloft. “I always drank beer before now.”

Brady chuckled, never less than amused by Myer’s vaguely off-kilter
outlook on life. “So why don’t we grab some beer
then?”

Myer wrinkled his nose, nostrils flaring under a spray of cheery soft
freckles to go with his mop of strawberry blond stubble. “I dunno,
this seems so grown up right now, you know?”

Brady steered his own shopping cart closer, inching into the liquor aisle
to join his new roomie. “Beer is grown up,” he suggested,
studying the labels next to the shelf where Myer lingered. “And
cheaper, too.”

Myer gave him a “spoilsport” frown but set the bottles back
just the same. “Dude, you’re not going to be one of those
cheap-ass roomies who puts his food on one shelf and mine on the other and
pro-rates the rent if I happen to steal a grape or two, are
you?”

Brady chuckled. “No, of course not. I just don’t really feel
like paying for stuff I’m not going to drink, you know?”

Myer considered this as if he’d never thought of it before.
“Valid point, I suppose.” His big fingers did unspeakable things
to Brady’s already lurid imagination as he moved down the aisle, touching
several brands of champagne. “Bubbly then?”

Brady nodded, as if equally inspired. “That’ll work,” he
agreed, taking one of the two bottles from Myer’s hand.

“Hey!” Myer’s youthful face — oh yeah, he was definitely
getting carded, for sure — broke into a surprised grin. “I thought I
was in charge of alcoholic beverages this time.”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you’re paying for it
all.”

Myer’s gaze quickly assessed the running total of Brady’s
half-full shopping cart. “You’re paying for the steaks already,
though.”

“Cuz they come in a two-pack. You want me to tear them in half and
get the butcher to rewrap them?”

Myer frowned, looking effortlessly casual in a mustard-colored V-neck and
striped blue Madras shorts, the clothing seeming to hang off his lean, rangy
frame the same way his shirt and ties did at work every day. “Fair is
fair, though.”

“Now who’s the cheap one? Huh, Myer?”

Myer glanced at his own cart, only slightly less full than Brady’s.
They were facing each other in the liquor aisle, carts side by side, just
two bros out shopping like any other two bros out shopping. And yet, to
Brady at least, the seemingly humdrum errand had such an intimate feel to it
he had to struggle to keep from sweating.

“I mean,” Myer teased, nudging Brady’s elbow with no idea
of what that little tremor from his touch felt like racing through
Brady’s body. “Have you seen the price of yogurt
lately?”

Brady snorted, romantic reverie suddenly broken. “No, Myer, because
I’m not a retired housewife on a diet.”

They chuckled together, drifting onto the next aisle and quibbling over
potato chips and pretzels like an old married couple. Brady struggled to
keep things light when all he wanted was to reach out and grab Myer’s
hand and cling to it like they were an actual couple.

He swallowed the desire, as he had all his life, and played it cool
instead. Said the right things. Glanced Myer’s way just long enough,
but never too long. Walked just close enough to him as they argued over
wheat bread versus rye, and never too close. Laughed just hard enough,
smiled just wide enough, sending all the right signals like he always
had.

He’d leapt at the chance to room with Myer when they both got transferred
to the Tennessee branch of Global Initiatives after their internship at the
corporate offices in Latham, Georgia. They’d hit it off as interns,
sharing lunch breaks and chatting it up in the campus gym after weekend
workouts. Brady thought it would be the perfect way to solidify their
friendship, even if he knew they could never be more than that. He thought
he could be strong, thought he could fight the temptation, thought it would
be easy, like it had been back when they’d just shared a
cubicle.

But now? Sharing a sprawling house out on secluded Lost Lake, shopping
together, padding barefoot down the same halls in various stages of undress?
Suddenly Brady wondered if he was strong enough to weather the ups and downs
of living with someone who only wanted to be friends.

When obviously, achingly, frustratingly, Brady wanted to be so much
more.

 

 

About the Author

Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies and smooth jazz. Visit him online to see what stories are brewing up next!

 

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@changelingpress

 

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Morgue by Marteeka Karland #comingsoon #motorcycleclubromance #romance #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

A Bones MC Romance

Iron Tzars MC, Book 11

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 14, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Dorothy: Spring Break turned into my worst nightmare. Drugged and held against my will, the brutality I witness seems too horrible to be real. Unable to escape, unable to do anything other than await my fate, I nearly gave up hope. Then he burst through the door like an avenging angel. My very own angel of death.

Morgue: I’m a straight-up killer. It’s what I’ve trained for my entire adult life. I got my road name because I’ve put more men in the morgue than all my brothers combined. So when we rescue a group of women being held by human traffickers, I did what I do best. I killed. But not for all the women we rescued. For her. Dorothy. My very own angel of mercy. Now that I have her, I’ll do anything to keep her. I just hope she can accept what I am and not condemn my soul to hell.

 

WARNING: Morgue includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations including those that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No cheating, as always.

 

 

Excerpt

 

Dorothy

Moans of the other women in the shitty little shack filled the air. I knew
the feeling. My head throbbed and every muscle in my body ached. The rooms
were paper thin so we all could hear the screams of the others around us.
The cruel laughter of men. The frightened whimpers of the women. And girls.
I had absolutely no idea where I was or how long I’d been there, but I
knew it wasn’t Kansas.

“Levántate, perra. Afuera.”

“I don’t understand.” It wasn’t a new thing. And
I’d paid for not knowing Spanish more than once since I’d been
taken.

“¡Ahora!” The guy knew I didn’t understand. It felt
like he took pleasure in the fact I didn’t understand so he could
single me out. I shrank back, trying to make myself smaller in the face of
the brutality I knew was about to happen. He lunged forward and backhanded
me before grabbing my arm and shoving me out of the tiny room I shared with
five other girls.

I hit the floor, my knees slamming onto the hard dirt. Pain shot from my
knees up my thighs, and I cried out. When I tried to get up, the guy kicked
me in the side. My head spun with all the sudden movements. I thought it was
also some kind of lingering effect of the drugs they kept shooting me full
of. They did it to everyone who fought. Unless they wanted us to fight. I
got dosed often.

“Perra estúpida,” he muttered. I got the
“stupid” part, and I could only assume the other was
“bitch,” but it could have been anything. The kick knocked the
breath out of me and sent pain exploding through my ribs. I groaned but knew
better than to make too much of a fuss. Noise drew attention I didn’t
want. Attention meant someone was about to hurt me worse than I already
was.

“¡Escuchen!” The big brute swept his hand through the
air, obviously wanting everyone’s attention. He spoke in a string of
rapid-fire Spanish I didn’t understand. I was pretty sure something
horrible was about to happen and I sincerely hoped it didn’t have
anything to do with me. I’d been here maybe a week. Seemed like
longer. I was surprised this guy or the men and women with him hadn’t
done more than terrorize me or the other women. Though I was sure the
qualifier “yet” needed to be added. There was no way
they’d brought us here for tantalizing conversation. Though I’d
been smacked around a lot and was covered in bruises, they hadn’t
seriously harmed me. Again, there was that fucking qualifier hanging over my
head.

I crawled very slowly to the wall where the other women were, trying not to
make sudden moves so he didn’t bring his focus back to me. The one
thing I knew for sure — in spite of the language barrier — was that I
absolutely did not want any of these men to focus on me for too long.

All the women around me were whimpering and trembling, looking as terrified
as I felt. A few looked like they might have checked out and I didn’t
blame them. If I knew how, I probably would too. Fighting back didn’t
seem like the smart thing to do if I wanted to live. While I knew there were
fates worse than death, I wasn’t ready to contemplate them just yet. I
was sure, at some point, I’d have to face that decision, and I
wasn’t looking forward to it.

More rapid-fire Spanish followed as one of the other men dragged a young
woman down the hall and tossed her to the ground so she skidded several feet
before rolling to her knees with a whimper. She’d been beaten, one
side of her face swollen. I hadn’t seen her before, but, given the
track marks on her arms and how badly she’d been beaten, I was certain
she’d attempted to escape. They’d likely dosed her as much as
they’d dosed the rest of us when we got out of line. Only, this time,
I got the impression this guy was done taking shit.

“Esto es lo que les pasa a las perras que no me obedecen. Si no me
obedeces, esto te pasará.”

I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to. The next thing I
knew, he’d drawn out a machete. The girl screamed and tried to
scramble back only to be held in place by two more men. A third helped them
wrestle her to the ground onto her back. Once they had her down, the third
guy held her legs at the ankles. There was a whoosh as the blade cut through
the air and came down on her right thigh.

Blood arced when he raised the machete and brought it down again on the
same leg. It took three more tries before he hacked her leg off and started
on the other one. Everyone screamed, myself included. When anyone turned
away, there were men to force them to turn back. And watch.

Before he got her second leg hacked off, the woman was unconscious. There
was blood splatter everywhere, but once a limb was completely severed, the
bleeding slowed dramatically. Still, the men tied tourniquets above the
stumps.

I’m sure I was one of the women screaming. If I was, though, I had no
memory of it. All I could process was a young woman getting her legs chopped
off.

“Esto es lo que sucede cuando intentas escapar.” He spat on
her. “Una puta sin piernas es más fácil de follar.
¿Sí?”

I stared at the unconscious woman. Though he hadn’t killed her
outright, I was sure she wouldn’t last long. One of the men grabbed
her wrist and dragged her out of the room, leaving a trail of blood as he
went.

As I watched, one of the men approached me with an evil smirk on his face.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said in thickly accented
Spanish, “He said this is what happens when you try to escape,
Americana.” He grinned. “And a whore without legs is easier to
fuck.” He snorted a laugh. “I happen to agree. So, I’m
really hoping you try to escape too.”

I barely held back a sob of despair. I knew he was trying to elicit a
response from me, likely to give him a reason to hit me. There were some of
us who tried to fight back when they came for us, but we were always
overpowered. So far, all they’d done was beat me, but most of the
others had been brutally raped and I knew that’s what they were
building up to. This was a whorehouse of sorts. Only, the women didn’t
get paid. The men who “owned” us did. A place where we were all
used and trafficked.

The guy backhanded me when I didn’t respond to him. I fell back with
a cry, covering my head with my arms and whimpering.

“Don’t worry, bitch. You won’t suffer long. I doubt you
make it a month once we start breaking you in.” He gave a bark of
laughter before kicking me.

My head swam from both the blow to my face and the remaining drugs in my
system. More men crowded us in the tiny corridor only to shove us into
various rooms. There were five more women in the room I landed in. Three
filthy mattresses lay on the floor and a bucket sat in one corner for us to
relieve ourselves. That’s the way it had been since I’d been
here.

The next thing was the men coming to shoot us full of whatever drug they
were using. I suspected it was heroin. A couple of the girls screamed while
the other three complied easily. Probably because they were addicted or
figured it was better to endure whatever happened next while blissfully numb
than stone-cold sober. I understood. While I couldn’t put up much of a
fight this time, I wanted to. Desperately. I hadn’t given up hope of
getting out of here alive. Not really. Not yet. But I wasn’t too
ashamed to admit I was fucking close.

A man held my arm while another jabbed a needle into my arm at the bend of
my elbow and pressed the plunger. The pain of the dull needle sinking into
my arm was soon replaced by a sickening euphoria. My eyes glazed over and my
body went limp. I was still conscious, but… detached.

That was when one of the men shoved me onto a mattress and pulled at my
clothes. He was breathing heavily and talking in Spanish, but I got the gist
of what he was saying. He was going to fuck me. I caught the word
“Americana” and figured he was taking bragging rights by fucking
the American woman. They all looked at my blonde hair and blue eyes, going
so far as to pry my eyes open and touch my eyeball, like a child testing if
something was real. Maybe they thought I had contacts or something. Many of
them felt my hair, fisting it and mimicked wrapping it around their cocks. I
imagined far worse was going to happen shortly.

I whimpered but couldn’t even form words to tell the guy to stop. Not
that it would have done any good. I batted at him weakly, but he
didn’t seem to notice much less even acknowledge I was trying to fight
him off.

Once he had me naked from the waist down, the guy crawled on top of me,
pressing me into the filthy mattress. He reached between us and freed his
cock. I could feel the head of it touching me. I shuddered, gagging as I
pushed at him weakly.

“No!” I tried to shout the word at him, but it was a whisper at
best. Just as he was about to penetrate me, there was a huge bang and the
door splintered, throwing pieces of wood all around the room. I was sure
some were embedded in my skin, but I still couldn’t do more than try
to roll away from the man on top of me.

He shouted, pushing himself to his feet. Once his weight was off me, I
crawled as best I could to the corner of the room and tucked myself into a
ball. It was all I was capable of. I couldn’t even cry. Oh, tears
poured freely from my eyes, but I didn’t have the strength to sob out
my fear and frustration.

I thought there were screams all around me, not only in this room but in
others nearby, but it was hard to tell. The more I tried to move, the more
the room spun. Somewhere in the background of all that, and the ringing in
my ears, I knew a fight raged. Was it more men coming to chop off the legs
of someone else? Oh, God!

Then someone grabbed at my arms. I was helpless to stop them. I thought I
was even more groggy than I had been when I was about to be raped. Whatever
drug they’d given me had started to take hold. It was only the
adrenaline coursing through my veins that kept me conscious.

“Hold on, honey. We’re gettin’ you outta
here.”

 

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

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Fallen: Of Outer Gods and Fallen Angels ANTHOLOGY from Dragon Soul Press #excerpt #comingsoon #preorder #fantasy #anthology #rabtbooktours @ReadersRoost @RABTBookTours

Fantasy Anthology

Date Published: March 30, 2024

 

FALLEN ANTHOLOGY

 

Fall from grace…

In a twist of fate, these angels have done the unforgivable and have been kicked out. Some are left to roam freely while they plot their revenge. Some are immediately given a new job as a form of punishment. Some are even innocent and try to prove it themselves. But can any of them find their new
purpose in the end?

Featuring stories by Michael Paige, Matthew Fryer, Bruno Lombardi, Barend Nieuwstraten III, Kelly Barker, A.E. Lowan, C.L. Hart, and J.E. Feldman.

 

Of Outer Gods and Fallen Angels by C.L. Hart

 

Story Genre

Lovecraftian Fantasy, Judeo-Christian Mythology,

 

Tropes

Friendship, Lost Love, Reincarnation

 

Gerry Clifford appears to be simply a small, frail older man who has fallen victim to early-onset dementia.

Yadira Root appears to be an impossibly ancient woman who volunteers her time at the care center where people like Gerry live out their final days.

A conversation between the pair reveals unexpected truths about both of them.

Excerpt

For eons, I have been looking for a way to right the wrongs committed at
the time of my birth. I have once again encountered Malak, son of Lucifer;
he with his heart burst open like a snowdrop’s pouting petals.
However, to my dismay, Malak, the world-builder and shadow-weaver, has
forgotten who he was. He is bound to a broken, dying body, although at
night, his soul roams free.

In our first meeting at the care center where he now resides, I approached
Malak cautiously, unsure of how he would respond to my presence. Bewildered
disorientation had replaced the once alert, inquisitive look in his eyes.
Like a spark struggling to ignite, I noted a faint glimmer of recognition,
but it was obscured by the murk of confusion overtaking his decaying
memory.

“Malak,” I said softly as I took his hands in mine. “It’s
your old friend Yadira. Do you remember who you once were? World-builder,
shadow weaver, beloved son of Lucifer.”

It was evident from his expression that his mind was seeking an elusive
memory. A longing for understanding replaced his puzzlement.

“Who… who am I?” he mumbled, his voice feeble and uncertain.
“I feel like fragments of a shattered mirror, lost in a labyrinth of
forgotten dreams.”

A pang of sympathy pierced my heart. Seeing this brilliant being trapped in
a decaying vessel, his bright, inquisitive soul longing for release, was
tragic. I took his trembling hand in mine, hoping my touch would serve as an
anchor, reconnecting him to his forgotten self.

“Malak, you were once a weaver of worlds, a creator of infinite
possibilities,” I explained. “Your mind held the secrets of the
cosmos, and your hands shaped realms beyond imagination.”

Despite the fragility of his body, a spark of ancient power flickered
within him as he struggled to break free from the fog of
forgetfulness.

“I remember whispers of worlds born from the rhythm of my
thoughts,” he murmured. “Visions of beauty and darkness once
flowed through me like a river of eternal creation.”

I continued to paint a picture of his former existence, hoping to unleash
the dormant power lying buried deep within.

“Malak, reclaim your identity,” I urged. “I will help you
mend the fractures in your soul, reuniting the shattered fragments, and
restoring the balance disrupted long ago. The broken body that confines you
is insignificant compared to the boundless potential within. The key to
redemption and rectification lies in you. Please assist me in redressing the
wrongs of the past. With you healed and my parents reunited, we will forge a
future where your power, reclaimed and revitalized, can help restore balance
to the cosmos.”

 

 

About the Author

C. L. Hart, the owner and sole employee of Naughty Netherworld Press, is spoken of in hushed tones. She is described as The Mad Scribe of the Northeastern Colorado Plains, The Terrible Old Woman, and The Author That Should Not Be.

When not penning sanity-destroying works of dystopian fiction, Lovecraftian fantasy, or old-school horror with the occasional sweet romance thrown in to upset the cosmic apple cart, Ms. Hart enjoys creating baked goods she hopes will be considered palatable.

Ms. Hart shares a home in a remote rural town of 134 souls with her adult son and three cats. Her sense of fashion is best described as Early Twenty-First Century Unmade Bed. This disabled former nurse can usually be found arguing with herself about subplots or rehabilitating eldritch
horrors.

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Northman’s Pleasure by Kate Hill #comingsoon #excerpt #historical #romance #rabtbooktours @katehillromance @RABTBookTours

Northman’s Brides 2

 

Historical Romance

Date Published:  03-02-2024

 

 

Stories say that in the heat of battle, Grim Hammerhand becomes a two-legged wolf. His prowess prompts the king to send Grim after his daughter Asgerd who has been captured by the brutal warrior Stein. In return, the king offers Grim Stein’s land as well as Asgerd’s hand in marriage. Mistrusting of all women, Grim vows never to marry. He reserves his passion for battle and the forge.

Asgerd has loved Grim for years, but the handsome red-haired warrior has never noticed her. Defiled by Stein, Asgerd doubts she could ever desire any man again, but when Grim defeats Stein and claims Asgerd as his wife, she realizes her feelings for Grim are stronger than ever, but can she win the trust and heart of her reluctant husband?

 

Excerpt

 

“Come face your destiny,” Grim bellowed. “I grow tired of
waiting.”

A moment later, Stein and Asgerd emerged from the longhouse. She was more
beautiful than ever. Even her worn tunic couldn’t hide her generous
curves. What impressed him most was that her eyes shone with rage instead of
fear despite the rough hold Stein had on her and the threat of his blade
against her throat. She had always been an uncommonly beautiful woman. Now
he saw that she had courage as well.

“You know why I’m here, Stein.” Grim tightened his hold
on his sword. “You have cheated the king and abducted his daughter.
Now you’ll pay your debt.”

“If you want to kill me, Grim, you’ll have to go through
her—the king’s daughter.”

Stein’s attraction to a woman as luscious as Asgerd was
understandable, but it was no reason to abduct her, and nothing could excuse
his behavior at this moment.

Grim had once fought alongside Stein years ago, but the man who stood
before him was a shadow of that young warrior. Dressed in filthy clothes,
his hair and beard matted, he stared at Grim with eyes glazed from too much
drink. What had happened to him over the years Grim couldn’t say, and
he had no time to ponder it. Asgerd’s safety mattered more than
figuring out the reason for Stein’s downfall, as did reclaiming this
land that the king had given to Stein when he’d been in favor. Clearly
the king hadn’t realized how low Stein had sunk over the years.

“You call yourself a warrior?” Grim curled his lip in disgust.
“What manner of man hides behind a woman? It seems you haven’t
lived with dignity, Stein, but perhaps you can die with it. Release her and
face me.”

A look of defeat and terror passed across Stein’s face. A bit of
reality must have penetrated his madness and made him realize that no matter
what he did there was no escaping Grim’s blade.

Surprisingly, Asgerd took advantage of her captor’s moment of doubt.
With a mighty effort against the hold of Stein’s burly arms, she
managed to thrust all her weight to one side and slam her fist between his
legs.

Grunting in pain, he loosened his grip. She tried to flee, but only managed
a few awkward steps before tumbling to the ground.

Grim howled, a battle cry that never failed to instill fear in his enemies.
He raced for Stein who managed to deflect several blows before Grim’s
blade rammed his gut.

The defeated warrior’s eyes bulged. He dropped his weapon and sank to
his knees.

With a fierce tug, Grim withdrew his bloodied weapon from its cocoon of
flesh and bone. Stein fell to the ground, dead.

Grim turned to the crowd of villagers who had gathered to watch the
spectacle.

“By order of the king I lay claim to this house and lands,” he
said in his most resonant voice. “Obey me and we will live in peace.
Cross me and suffer Stein’s fate. Now go about your
business.”

The crowd dispersed, and his men went about interrogating Stein’s
warriors, deciding who would take orders and who might cause problems.

Grim turned to Asgerd who had risen awkwardly to her feet, her face and
tunic stained with dirt from her fall. She stared at him warily. The
delicate tip of her tongue moistened her full pink lips and her blue eyes
gazed into his.

For years he had tried to ignore her. Grim wouldn’t allow a
woman’s claws to sink into his heart. Bedding them was one thing, but
caring for them was another. Something about Asgerd had always tempted him
far too much, which was why he paid so little attention to her. She was
almost irresistible, and that made her dangerous.

Now he realized her beauty was only a small part of her charm. The way
she’d used her wits and meager strength against Stein inspired his
admiration, and he wasn’t easily impressed. Still she was a woman and
they were crafty.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Then we should go inside and talk.”

Asgerd nodded and took a few awkward steps. It was then that he noticed the
chains on her ankles.

“Wait,” he ordered, placing a hand on her shoulder. When she
stopped, he squatted in front of her. His hand curled around her slender
ankle that was luckily protected by a boot. The soft leather was worn from
the shackle. He checked the strength of the chain and realized he would need
tools to free her.

Grim lifted his gaze to her face. “He kept you like
this?”

She nodded, staring at him. He imagined looking into her large blue eyes
while coupling with her. Those beautiful eyes looked wary, but deep inside
he saw a spark of desire. No doubt Stein had used her badly, but he
hadn’t killed her passion.

Grunting softly, he stood again and swept her into his arms.

 

About the Author

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby

 

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Cressida’s Betrayal by Mikala Ash #steampunk #excerpt #comingsoon #romance #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress @ash_mikala

A Steam and Spells Steampunk Adventure

 

Empire of the Sky, Book 2

Steampunk Romance

Date Published: March 1, 2024

Publisher: ‎Changeling Press LLC

 

Things are going well for Cressida. Egged on by Marjorie, the spirit who has taken shelter in her mind, Jacob proposes marriage as they flee the moon and its goblin king. However bigger things are at stake, and their mission to save all of humanity is jeopardized by mistrust and magical chicanery. Sexual energy flares as the danger to the empire overflows in an orgy of lust and violence. Can Jacob and Cressida’s love survive?

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Mikala Ash

 

December 1865 — Earthbound

Making love in the absence of gravity is a pleasure experienced by few. In
this regard my beloved fiancé Jacob and I, and of course Marjorie,
made full use of the three-day journey from the moon. Whenever the mood to
clicket like a pair of foxes took us — as it often did — we’d strap
ourselves into our cocoon — the Lunarians’ term for the soft woollen
bag designed to keep slumbering space travellers from drifting about — and
had at it with unbridled enthusiasm.

We were not the only ones. The dozen or so “marionettes” — as
Jacob termed the human bodies possessed by the spirits of goblins — also
took every opportunity to experience the joy of sex. In their natural form,
the small leathery-winged creatures, which resembled the ugly statues of
gargoyles, were denied by their nervous systems the ability to derive
pleasure from copulation. For them, the act of coitus was simply a
procreational chore, and so the ecstasy of sexual intercourse that the human
body provided was to them as addictive as laudanum is to opium eaters.

Thus, the mid-section of the ship presented a scene straight from a
nightmare. Cocoons bolted to the metal wall jostled their neighbours as they
twisted and bucked like angry caterpillars. The contortions were accompanied
by a discordant symphony of grunts, groans, and ultimate cries of climactic
release.

I blush to recall that Jacob and I were no different. I was in seventh
heaven with his cock relentlessly sliding, piston-like, in and out of my
accommodating quim, causing my heart to gallop and my breathing to quicken
into ragged gasps. I wasn’t alone, of course. Marjorie was enjoying it
as well, albeit deep inside my head.

Oh, his cock is so very hard, she bellowed.

She didn’t have to tell me that. I could feel every inch of his rigid
shaft stretch my tight fleshly sheath. Having a ghost possess me had added a
new dimension to the constant monologue people conduct with themselves in
their heads. Marjorie knew my thoughts before I could even express them to
myself, and she had access to all my memories as well. The most amazing fact
of her residency in my mind was that she could “feel” everything
I did, from stubbing my toe to the ecstasy of sexual climax, and everything
in-between.

Marjorie could also massage my body from the inside, as it were,
stimulating my nipples and nub, and creating the sensations that Jacob would
make with lips, tongue, fingers, and cock. She was thoroughly enjoying her
demise, making liberal use of this ability, and wasn’t a passive
member of our unconventional ménage which united the living and the
dead.

I’m not dead, she would protest. Just misplaced, and very grateful I
found you.

Murdered while she was a virgin, Marjorie’s spirit had, for some
unknown reason, been irresistibly drawn to me, and had possessed my body to
alert Jacob and I that her corpse had been stolen from her grave.
Marjorie’s body was now possessed by a goblin who named herself
Esther. One of our goals once on Earth was to return Marjorie to her
rightful home. We were confident that I could perform the swap, as I had
successfully done the same for Jacob in the chamber of the dead on the
moon.

That Esther was writhing in ecstasy in the cocoon next to us, being
ploughed enthusiastically by her so-called husband Warrick, both angered and
intrigued her. He’s fucking her now, she said bitterly. I wonder what
his cock feels like.

“Ugh!” I groaned, as much in disgust on her behalf as from the
jolt of Jacob’s thrust. A half dozen followed, and my rising
excitement was reflected in the increasing cadence of my whimpers and
moans.

Jacob paused, his body tensed, but not from imminent climax.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Something’s changed. I’ll have a look.”

Now that we were not wholly engaged in pleasure, I noticed that the
previously muffled grunts and groans were no longer stifled, but clear as a
bell. I lifted Jacob’s arm so I could see out of our woollen shell.
The agitated caterpillars, not content to remain in their cocoons, had
erupted like butterflies from their chrysalides. With no gravity to keep
them to the floor they twisted and tumbled through the air until the space
became a mass of undulating human flesh. Jacob and I remained inside our
woollen bag. The thought of intimacy with stolen bodies repelled us.

I shuddered at the memory of fucking the king of the Lunarians, Mon Ilson,
and his concubine Gloria, but that had been in the cause of buying time and
favour till our escape. I had only suffered the act by imagining I was
making love to Jacob and Marjorie.

My memory of that awkward situation was suddenly interrupted by our cocoon
being ripped open, and before I could react, Jacob and I were separated by
gentle but insistent hands. In an instant Esther was kissing Jacob full on
the mouth.

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags
of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

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Ornery’s Gambit by Cara Hartley #promo #teaser #excerpt #giveaway #poetry #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ReadersRoost

Ornery Owl’s Poetry Collection

Poetry

Date Published: 02-15-2024

Publisher: Naughty Netherworld Press

 

 

The poems, story, and thoughts included in this brief volume were inspired by the independently produced album Wayward and Upward by Spinoza Gambit. The story Prodigal Moon and the poem 401 Rush were included in the Wayward and Upward anthology published by Off Topic Press.

I opted to publish this book on my 59th birthday. It would be a wonderful gift to learn that my work inspired you or led you to learn more about the Wayward and Upward album and anthology.

 

With love,

Ornery Owl 

 

Excerpt

About Prodigal Moon

I was inspired by the idea of something that disappears and returns on a predictable schedule (the visible moon) and something that cannot return (a lost love.)

 

Prodigal Moon

Prodigal moon

You can spin me a silent tune

But you can’t return my love to me

I dare you to try

Catch him on the fly

Before he escapes ‘cross the sea 

 

Prodigal Moon

A short story about a long-lasting friendship.

Deborah Virgo and Valentins Hines met on the first day of summer 2017. The youngsters lived at the wrong end of Fox Avenue. The electricity had been turned off in Valentins’s house, but he didn’t mind sitting on the covered porch painting figurines. His mother, Doriend Hines, was gone most of the time, working at the Daily Grind Bistro or The Zealous Whistle Tavern or staying overnight with old folks who paid her under the table for her caregiving services. Doriend was a workaholic who would have been thriving monetarily if not for being a functional alcoholic and opioid addict with a love of gambling. 

Valentins was sitting on the porch at dusk, painting a vampire figurine for his haunted house, when a wraithlike girl with an alabaster complexion and waves of xanthic hair flowing to her mid-back entered the gate. She was wearing a knee-length olive-green gown that looked like it might have been all the rage in the 1920s and a pair of shiny, malachite-green shoes. 

 “Hello,” the girl greeted.

 “Hi yourself,” Valentins returned. 

“I’m Deborah Virgo. My family just moved into the house across the road from you.” 

“Valentins Hines.” 

“Could I see what you’re working on?” 

“Sure. Come on up.” 

The girl appeared to float just above the ground as she crossed the lawn. Her rose-colored lips bowed in a reserved smile. As she drew closer, Valentins noticed her unusual eyes. At first, he supposed that the rufous shade was a trick of the light, but the color remained constant when the battery-operated lantern shone directly on the girl’s face.

About the Author

Ornery Owl is a wise old bird who seeks the truth behind the lies. She uses her observations to heal the wounded soul. In essence, she is the spirit of an odd little bird whose wings were clipped at a young age. She is at once a whimsical manifestation of poetic expression and a fierce protector of those targeted for derision by an angry and unsympathetic world. Depending on how you perceive her, she can be either a goddamned delight or your worst nightmare.

 

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Profitable Usherpreneur by Clementina Busayo #teaser #giveaway #nonfiction #excerpt #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

How To Start And Grow A Successful Ushering Business

Nonfiction

Date Published: 09-06-2022

Publisher: MagicWand Publishing

 

 

Profitable Usherpreneur: How To Start And Grow A Successful Ushering Business is a book for anyone who wants to build a successful and profitable ushering service business. The book aims to promote ushering service as a business.

In this book, Clementina explains the concept of Usherpreneurship, misconceptions about the ushering business, pricing, and more. PUBook provides practical insights on team building, pricing, and client attraction strategies.

The book offers a way for new and existing agency founders to build a profitable ushering business.

 

 

 

EXCERPT

 

Chapter 1

Green Grass

 

The grass is greener where you water it

-Coming Up Roses Blog

 

Being a sales representative with one of the fastest-growing food and beverage companies. I learned from my boss what it’s like to treat both clients and employees with excellence.

The company invested its time into getting potential clients to taste their products for free to get leads for sales.

My Boss did not just focus on the big events, he further extended the allocated free sample product to lots of social events by individuals.

In case he learns that someone is getting married, he approaches the individual saying, “Congratulations, our company will like to provide free sample drinks at your event”.

For the times I served with him I haven’t heard anyone turn down his offer.

Then he proceeds to say we have table water, and we could provide them to you at a discount if you buy more than twenty packs.

He still doesn’t stop there, he further goes on to say, “we can also customize the table water to bear your names and pictures or any details you like”.

What I found is that, so many customers follow through with all the offers he provides, others may not but no one has ever denied him access to their events.

He then approaches the sales representatives and says we are attending this event and we will have not just our free samples displayed but our products.

Also, we will tell people that visit our product stand what other products they can buy.

So when an attendee visits our stand to get a cup of cold or hot drink. We tell him that if he buys three canned drinks, he gets one free. Plus, we have table water for purchase.

Furthermore, each sales representative gets a commission payment based on the number of purchases he or she closes out aside from the basic pay for showing up to the event.

Many times, at the end of these events we end up not only raising awareness for our products or telling people to invite us for their next events.

We also sell out our products and have people who were only attendees at those events call or refer us for other jobs.

The above principle can work for any Ushering business when service is treated as a two-way street.

I will be back with the story of where I got my ushering business idea from.

Remember: Service is both, how you treat your clients and how you treat your team.

About the Author

Clementina Busayo is an Author, Usherpreneur, & Project Manager.

She is the Founder of Gloriouswills Ushering Services GWUS an ushering agency that teaches the business of ushering, trains ushers to be professionals, and provide ushering service for corporate and social events.

When she is not teaching about the business of ushering via Clementina Busayo’s YouTube channel, She loves to moderate events and learn the French language. Clementina believes in

“Service A Tangible Experience” she co-founded Professional GroomsMen – a place for grooms to choose their wedding groomsmen. Through these businesses she is addressing the

sustainable development goal 8 of providing decent Jobs and economic growth. She is the convener of Usherpreneur Summit and she is open to cross-country collaboration.

 

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Grimdarke by AK Nevermore #shifter #romance #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @AkNevermore @Changelingpress @RABTBookTours

Maw of Mayhem MC, Book 1

 

Shifter Romance

Date to be Published: February 2, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Out of options and on the run after her psychotic father’s released from prison, Kit Parson heads to the only place she might be safe from him, the Maw of Mayhem MC. The unexpected move buys her time, but also puts her at risk. Surrounded by shifters, her inner cat begs to be released, and after witnessing a brutal attack on her mother as a child, she refuses to let the monster out. Totally doable, provided no bodily fluids are ever exchanged.

That takes the MC’s hot-as-hell VP, Grimdarke James, officially off the table. Mourning the recent murder of the club’s alpha and struggling to control his inner cat, the tattooed Viking god is on thin ice. If he goes feral again, he’ll be put down. Which makes his cat’s insistence that Kit belongs to him problematic, upsetting the delicate balance of the MC’s internal politics, and the woman blackmailing Grim.

But when Kit’s father catches up with her, Grim has no choice but to trust his cat, and Kit can’t deny their chemistry. Can they hold on to each other when everything is trying to tear them apart? After a gruesome triple murder propels them deeper into the paranormal world, they find
themselves with unlikely allies, even as their enemies threaten to destroy everything they hold dear.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 AK Nevermore

 

Upstate New York in the fall was beautiful, and it made Kit want to
puke.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her sweaty palms slicking the
leather, and glanced in her rearview, then at her phone’s GPS. No
service — again. Damn it. This was not where she wanted to be…

Wait. Signs for a trailhead were coming up. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
She pulled onto the shoulder, staring blankly at the plexi-covered map
tacked onto the tiny shelter in front of the car. Woodbine Swamp Trail.
Shit. She’d missed the turn-off for the house. Ugh! How could
everything in this shit town look the same and so frickin’ different
all at once?!

Fifteen years will do that, genius.

Her forehead dropped to the steering wheel, bumping it thrice. Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t —

Goddamnit, girl, grow a pair!

Enough. Wasn’t like she had a choice. She pushed back in her seat and
slapped the car in reverse, hoping like hell there wasn’t anything
behind her. Frickin’ hatchback was stuffed to the gills with the sad
remains of her life, and she wasn’t up for losing any more of
it.

Kit dashed away a tear. And whose fault was that?

She just had to blow shit up. Couldn’t duck her head and keep
punching numbers, because lay low was too big of a fucking ask. Nope, fuck
overtime at the accounting firm, had to go out there and twerk her ass at
the club, knowing full well that milkshake wasn’t gonna bring anything
but trouble to her yard.

Her mind leapt to that tall drink of golden Viking god pissing in a sink,
covered in tattoos and oozing temptation. Yup. Case in point, and as much as
it shocked the shit out of her, she’d been into him.

So fucking into him, like, wanted him into her.

Not happening.

She bit at a cuticle, trying to ignore the very real possibility she was
about to deliver herself to his doorstep, and the fact that her panties had
just soaked clean through.

Son of a — Chanté would quip something about chickens coming home
to roost, but they weren’t even Kit’s damned chickens. And why
the fuck chickens? Woman was NYC born and raised, you’d think
she’d have useless witticisms about pigeons.

Damn, though. He was fiiine…

Stop it.

You’d think she’d be more concerned about the shifter shadowing
her for the past two weeks… the one whose face starred in her
nightmares. Reaper hadn’t approached her, but his message was clear,
and like a fucking cat, he’d been playing with her.

… Run, little mouse…

Kit’s teeth clenched at the memory of her father’s gravelly
twang. She put the car in gear and kept driving in the wrong direction. Away
from the house, toward the last damned place she wanted to go, and the only
place she had left. Two weeks of couch surfing and shitty motels had made
that abundantly clear, and her flat fucking broke.

Back to the scene of the crime, the one place she hoped like hell he
didn’t have the balls to go back to.

Motorcycles rumbled in the distance and her gut threatened to rebel, cold
sweat pebbling her skin. She licked the anxiety from her lips.

The rumble grew, and a moment later a stream of leather and exhaust whipped
by her as a convoy of bikes sped past, heading back toward civilization. A
manic giggle burbled from her throat, and she took a slow —

Shit! Gas pedal, girl, you gotta keep your shit together…

Focus. Drive to the damned compound. One more mile.

… And keep it together. Hah! Fat fucking chance. She blew out a
breath, her temples thudding with the beginnings of a migraine. Goddamn.
After all those years of praying to be out from under Claymore James’s
thumb… this had not been part of the fantasy.

Getting shit-faced, twerking on his grave, and then setting the MC’s
compound on fire, yes. Pulling up to the chain-link gate and asking to see
Mud Knuckle?

Nope. Can’t say that’d made the list, but here she was.

I mean really, Mud Knuckle? Kit sighed, rubbing a temple. If she needed any
further confirmation her life had officially gone to shit:
Ta-frickin’-da.

One of the dopey-looking prospects manning the gate eyed her, pursing his
lips. The scraggly little pornstache he was rocking made his mouth look like
a porcupine’s asshole.

Moron leaned in her window. “Ain’t no muddy knuckles
here.” He snickered, shooting his zit-infested buddy a look.

Kit sighed. Great, they were gonna fuck with he

“Nah,” Zits said, ambling closer to leer. “But I
ain’t opposed to rectifyin’ that situation.” He grinned,
making a lewd gesture.

Whoo. Ten points for originality there, son. She rolled her eyes and
unbuckled her seatbelt. It was showtime. The two high school rejects
scrambled back, wide-eyed when she threw open the door and got out, leaving
the hoodie she’d permanently borrowed from Chanté on the seat.
Fuck, it was hypothermia cold.

“What? I thought we was ‘wreck-t-fyin’ that
sits-e-ate-shon,’” she finger quoted, mimicking his dipshit
twang and cocking a hip.

Pornstache’s throat bobbed, taking in her tight tee and yoga pants.
God, men were pigs. Pathetic, predictable pigs. Flash them braless DDs, and
their brains shorted out faster than a hairdryer in a bathtub. Add the fact
that her nipples were hard enough to cut glass, and the poor boys
didn’t stand a chance.

“Uh, yeah.” Pornstache tugged on his cut and cleared the squeak
from his throat. Slack-jawed, Zits smacked his shoulder, earning himself a
glare. “I mean, hell yeah. We’re down, baby.”

Kit arched her back, stretching. Damn, that felt good after five hours
behind the wheel. Pornstache groaned like he was about to wreck-t-fy in his
pants. She sauntered over and ran a finger down his sternum.

“Then how ‘bout you boys open the gate so I can move my car out
of the way and get down to business.”

Zits moved so fast he just about face-planted rushing to unlatch the big
chain-link section on wheels blocking the compound’s access road.
He’d pulled it halfway across the pavement by the time Kit got back
into her car. Pornstache shook his head like a dog, blinking as the door
clunked shut, and he stumbled over to help his buddy.

Suckers.

Kit almost felt bad as she drove past, waggling her fingers.

Okay, no, she didn’t. She wriggled back into the hoodie, one hand on
the wheel and shivering. Her stomach churned as she drove around the last
bend to the chapter house, half expecting the entire club to be out there
waiting for her. The woods opened up —

And the lot was empty.

Of frickin’ course it was empty. The funeral was today. Now. She
could still make it. Wasn’t that why she’d blown out of the city
so fast? To spit on Claymore’s grave like she’d told
Chanté she was going to? Get some kind of fucked-up closure?

Yeah, has nothing to do with the fact you’re being stalked by a
psycho.

Kit bit back a sob, coasting the last few hundred feet to a stop in front
of the long, two-storied building. It was ugly. A dark, cinderblock gray,
squatting against a barren hillside. She bit her lip, eyes flicking to the
last window on the left, waiting for the shitty mini blinds to part.

They didn’t. Wouldn’t.

Dead. Everything looked fucking dead. Probably because it was.

Fuck this shit. She jerked up the emergency brake and killed the engine.
Slammed the door open, then shut. Stomped across the half-frozen muddy lot,
odd bits of gravel and glass crunching beneath her boots. Eyes fixed on the
burnt-out jaws scored into the surface of the MC’s chapter house door,
she approached the belly of the beast — and stepped into the Maw of
Mayhem.

 

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

 

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Shooters! by Thomas A. Burns, Jr. #promo #crimefiction #crime #giveaway #excerpt #teaser #rabtbooktours @3Mdetective @RABTBookTours

A Natalie McMasters Mystery, Book 8

Crime Fiction

Date Published: 1/8/2024

Publisher: Tekrighter, LLC

 

 

Award-winning author Thomas A Burns Jr. spins another mind-blowing tale about twentysomething detective Natalie McMasters and her unlikely family that’s torn from today’s headlines This time Nattie is preggers (?!) and unsure of the father. The candidates? Her husband Danny, the love of her life, or her biological father, who cruelly had his way with her.

Complicating the situation, her Uncle Amos’s 3M Detective Agency is hemorrhaging money, and even the estate that houses Nattie, the agency and the fam is at risk.

Her quakeworthy solution? An infamous social media influencer and unapologetic misogynist is bringing his totally unwoke nude beauty pageant to Capital City and wants to hire 3M to provide security for its million-dollar prize. Her hormones raging, Nattie gets it that a cool mil would make all her money troubles vanish. But she doesn’t know that a malevolent enemy from her past is back and gunning for her…

Meanwhile, her foster son Eduardo has his own problems. Humiliated at school, he falls under a deadly influence that sends him racing toward an unimaginable act of violence that will change his young life forever. The astonishing ending is like nothing you’ve ever seen in contemporary crime fiction and will totally leave you reeling.

You’ll truly get why Natalie McMasters is “a detective for the new millennium”. 

 

Excerpt

 

 It takes me almost three months to get up the nerve to tell the fam I’m preggers. I spent all that time doing my best not to think about it, hoping that it would just go away. Finally, the growing bump in my belly forced me to say something. 

“Holy shit!” says Danny. “Nattie, that’s outstanding!” 

Obviously, there’s something else I didn’t tell them. 

“It’s wonderful,” echoes Lupe. “Now Eduardo and Shannie will have another brother or a sister.” 

I should have expected this reaction. They think it’s Danny’s baby! 

“We should tell the kids right now,” Lupe goes on. 

“And have a celebration,” says Danny. “Why don’t we call Mom, Amos and M.B., round up the kids, then all go out to dinner tonight? We can tell everybody at once.” 

“We can go to that new seafood restaurant that just opened,” adds Lupe. “You know, Nattie, the one you said you really wanted to try.” 

Come to think of it, it could be Danny’s. I’ve never been religious about taking my pill every day. It didn’t seem to matter much when he was the only guy I was with. Danny looks at me and suddenly looks alarmed. “Nattie, you’re crying!” 

Of course, I’m crying, you idiot. How can I tell you this baby might be my biological father’s? 

“Of course, she’s crying,” says Lupe. “Hormones! It’s what new mothers do.” 

 

 ***

About the Author

Thomas A. Burns Jr. writes the Natalie McMasters Mysteries from the small town of Wendell, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and son, four cats and a Cardigan Welsh Corgi. He was born and grew up in New Jersey, attended Xavier High School in Manhattan, earned B.S degrees in Zoology and Microbiology at Michigan State University and a M.S. in Microbiology at North Carolina State University. As a kid, Tom started reading boys’
mystery series such as the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant, then graduated to the classics by authors such as A. Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to name a few. Tom has written fiction as a hobby all of his life, beginning with Man from U.N.C.L.E. stories in marble-backed copybooks in grade school. He built a career as technical, science and medical writer and editor for nearly thirty years in industry and government. Currently a full-time novelist, he’s excited to publish his own mystery series, as well as writing stories about his second most favorite detective, Sherlock Holmes. Tom’s Holmes story, The Camberwell Poisoner, appeared in the March–June issue of The Strand Magazine in 2021, and many of his other Holmes stories have been published by MX Books and Belanger Books. The sixth book in the Natalie McMasters Mysteries, Killers!, was released in September, 2021, and won the Silver Falchion award for best action/adventure book of 2021 at the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference. His latest Natalie McMasters Mystery, Sister!, was published on December 5, 2022, and was chosen as a finalist for the Silver Falchion award in 2023. Tom has also written a Lovecraftian horror novel, The Legacy of the Unborn, under the pen name of Silas K. Henderson‒a sequel to H.P. Lovecraft’s masterpiece At the Mountains of Madness. Tom also published his first volume of Sherlock Holmes stories, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: Ten Steps from Baker Street, on March 1, 2023.

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Neanderball by Sofia Diana Gabel #promo #teasertuesday #excerpt #comingsoon #thriller #rabtbooktours @sofiadianagabel @RABTBookTours

Thriller

Date Published: 01-15-2024

 

 

Geneticist Lucien Roux’s cutting-edge experiment to clone Neanderthals blurs lines between ambition and ethics after the clones are stolen and forced to play a brutal and violent game dubbed Neanderball. Haunted by the realization that his hubris overpowered his morality, Lucien knows he must fix what he’s done.

Racing against time as a military faction and a sinister adversary close in, he has one chance to expose the real reason his research was taken. With his ex-Marine girlfriend, he sets out on a dangerous journey to save the Neanderthals before it’s too late. It’s an all or nothing fight for
redemption, leading to a showdown for his survival, and freedom for the Neanderthals.

 

EXCERPT

Lucien stood outside his lab door, hoping his Neanderthal clones had
survived to reach the five-day blastocyst mark. What made his cell phone
alarm go off? He placed his chin on the plastic extension to the right and
pressed the red button. With his retina scanned, a chime sounded. He
straightened. Next came fingerprint verification. He placed his thumb on a
small pad next to the retinal scanner and waited for the second chime. Last
came the voice verification.

He stepped back and spoke, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Lucien
Roux.”

A split-second pause. “Bonjour, Doctor Roux.”

Third and final chime. The door slid left into the pocket slot and closed
after he entered the lab. For a moment, he stood and enjoyed the cool,
unobtrusive, sterile comfort of the place where he’d spent most of his
time over the past three years. His second home. Come to think of it, it was
more accurate to call it his first home.

“Lights.”

The fluorescent lights flickered on and illuminated the countertops crammed
with glassware, notepads, microscopes, and computers. He dodged around the
benches and stools to the incubator room at the far end of the lab.

He pressed a button beside the door. “Release incubator
lock.”

As he wrapped his hand around the incubator’s door handle, his foot
tapped. “Come on, come on.”

To anyone else, it would look like a commercial refrigerator door, but
looks were deceiving. He kept his incubator out of view in a separate room
where only his voice would unlock it, tucked away from the potential prying
eyes of the techs and cleaning crew.

The lock clicked open.

What had happened? Nutrients he’d deal with, but if he’d
miscalculated the growth enhancers, it meant he’d lose the entire
batch of Neanderthal specimens. If they lived, all sixteen would have
developed further than any of the other clones that failed to thrive.

He swung the stainless door wide and hurried in. The interior lights
flooded the cool, small space. There they were, his sixteen specimens,
mounted vertically in silver-sided test tubes holding the growth medium,
four high with four side-by-side, all males to reduce the variables that
might come with both sexes. He peered closely through the small magnifying
window in the first growth tube and then the next and the next.

 

I’m a multi-genre author and have been writing for as long as I can remember, and try to attend as many writing workshops and conferences as possible.

I was born in Sydney, Australia, but have lived in the United States for most of my life. I have two undergraduate degrees in archaeology and environmental resource management (wildlife biology) and a master’s degree
in public archaeology, as well as a host of courses in writing, editing, and even criminal justice. We can never learn too much, right?

In addition to writing, I absolutely adore traveling. I’m definitely a wanderer at heart and find it hard to settle in one place for long. And why should I? There are so many places to explore!

 

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