A center for the Queer Resistance – #MMRomance #DystopianSciFi #MFRWHooks

For today’s Book Hooks blog hop, I have an excerpt from my MM dystopian erotic romance, The H Gene – highly appropriate for Pride Month. In the near future, post-plague world of this novel, being gay is literally a crime. Lovers Dylan and Rafe are on the run and fighting for their lives.

Blurb

When love is forbidden, the whole world’s a prison.

Dylan Moore will do anything for freedom. Seven years ago, a gay plague spread to heterosexuals, killing millions and sparking brutal anti-gay riots. The Guardians rounded up men who tested positive for the homogene and imprisoned them in remote quarantine centers like desolate Camp Malheur. Since then, Dylan has hacked the camp's security systems and hoarded spare bits of electronics, seeking some way to escape. He has concluded the human guards are the only weakness in the facility's defenses.

Camp guard Rafe Cowell is H-negative. He figures the lust he feels watching prisoner 3218 masturbate on the surveillance cameras must be due to his loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young queer, he discovers that Dylan is brilliant, brave, sexy as hell — and claims to be in love with Rafe. Despite his qualms, Rafe finds he can't resist the other man's charm. By the time Dylan asks for his help in escaping, Rafe cares too much for Dylan to refuse.

Dylan's plan goes awry and Rafe comes to his rescue. Soon they're both fugitives, fleeing from militant survivalists, murderous androids, homophobic ideologues and a powerful man who wants Dylan as his sexual toy. Hiding in the Plague-ravaged city of Sanfran, Dylan and Rafe learn there's far more than their own safety at stake. Can they help prevent the deaths of millions more people? And can Rafe trust the love of a man who deliberately seduced him in order to escape from quarantine?

The Hook

“You’re not the first.” The three of them sat once again at the kitchen table, which held the remains of wild mushroom omelets and fried potatoes. Artemis was an amazing cook. Even the soy-based sausage links had some taste.

“What do you mean? You’ve met other men who’ve escaped from the quarantine camps?” Dylan asked, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Some from the camps. Some from the eyePorn studios, which supposedly are even worse. Basically sexual slavery.”

“They say all eyePorn is consensual,” Rafe objected. “That the stars make good money, too.” He realized he hadn’t had an eP session in weeks. Probably the first time since he’d reached eighteen and been given his pod that he’d gone even twenty-four hours without eP. And he hadn’t missed it.

“Maybe that’s true of het eP, though I wouldn’t bet on it. But gay eyePorn’s a different situation.”

“There’s gay eP?” Dylan asked. Rafe wasn’t sure he liked the gleam in Dylan’s eyes. “I thought that was illegal.”

“Completely. Possession can get you fifteen years and a memory wipe. Being involved on the—um—creative side is viewed as equivalent to spreading the Plague. These days that means death.” Artemis sighed. “Of course, there’s a huge black market in the stuff. Attractive men with homoerotic inclinations are in high demand as performers. Since few, if any, of them would deliberately risk the penalties, they’re either tricked into it, or forced. Sometimes studios even raid the camps.”

“Hmm.” Dylan’s brows knotted. “There were some guys at Malheur Camp, over the years, who simply disappeared. The Robbies took them away, and we never saw them again. Good-looking men, usually.”

“I’m glad they didn’t take you,” Rafe commented. The notion terrified him.

“Maybe they knew I’d cause trouble,” Dylan laughed. “Or maybe I just wasn’t hot enough.” He ducked Rafe’s playful swat. “So you say that you’ve met other fugitives. What happened to them?”

“Sometimes we managed to help them escape—to Brazil or Korea or Spain—somewhere being gay isn’t a crime.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted into knots. Sure, the system had treated him like shit, but he was still American, through and through. Could he really live in one of those countries who’d robbed the U.S. of its power and glory?

“Sometimes we weren’t so fortunate.” Rafe read sorrow and odd guilt in their host’s expression. Her grave tone suggested that the alternative to exile was far worse.

“Sanfran may be the national headquarters for the Guardians of American Greatness, but it’s also a center for QR. The Queer Resistance,” she added in clarification. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to help you.”

“How can we contact them?” Dylan asked. He seemed unconcerned with the notion of leaving the country of his birth.

“There’s an old bathhouse, in the Castro exclusion zone. I’ll give you directions. I can’t go with you. I’d be too conspicuous. Officially, the Castro’s a contaminated area, completely off limits. It’s in ruins anyway—even worse than the rest of the city.”

She sipped her dandelion tea. “The area’s a last refuge for the tattered remnants of Sanfran’s gay community, the few men who survived the Plague and the riots. Sort of a ghost town for gays. The authorities say that the prion level there is high enough to infect anyone who enters. Even the gangs avoid it. But that’s just hogwash. Nobody’s contracted the Plague in Sanfran for more than two years. Some people have suggested that the Castro should be razed. But the powers that be want to keep it, to remind us how much we need the Guardians.”

“We’ll get in,” Dylan swore. “We’ll find the bathhouse. But what then?”

“Ask for Hammer. He’s the current leader of QR. If anyone can help you, he can.”

Artemis stopped, as though her energy had suddenly deserted her. Rafe thought she’d gained decades of age in an instant. “By now, I expect the Guardians will have your faces plastered on every vid screen in the city. You’re in great danger and there’s a limited amount I can do to help.”

Dylan took her hand but it was Rafe he was looking at as he answered. “Believe me. I know.”

 

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/thehgenebook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

Review Tuesday: Tiny House, Big Fake Fiance by Sadira Stone -- #SecondChanceRomance #EnemiesToLovers #ReviewTuesday

Tiny House, Big Fake Fiance by Sadira Stone

May, 2026

After years on the road, selling her artisanal leather products at craft shows and Renaissance Faires, Lilah Avo – aka Lilith’s Leathers – longs to put down some roots. The tiny house she’s contracted for in rural Washington seems like the perfect place to start her new life. Too bad that it has been taken over by a man whom she both desires and despises.

Zax Dupré is building a new career, using social media to market his carpentry and design skills. He wants to transform his aunt’s run-down holiday park into a tiny house community. As a first step, he’s in the process customizing his own tiny dwelling when Lilah shows up to claim it as her own.

Neither Lilah nor Zax can forget the night of intoxicated passion that first brought them together. At the same time, neither can quite forgive the other for apparently stealing their respective dreams. A fake engagement seems like a clever way to buy time in order to finish the house and work out their conflicts, but the ruse just leads to more complications.

Tiny House, Big Fake Fiance is a classic Sadira Stone romance. Two distinctive and sexy protagonists with off-the-charts chemistry, a gorgeous Pacific Northwest setting, a crafty elderly aunt, a host of colorful secondary characters and a lusciously romantic happy ending... what's not to love?

Sadira Stone's latest book has all the features that make me her fan. Her characters feel real, with families, histories, conflicts and secrets. Oh, and occupations they love. It's rare to read romance where the story is driven at least partly by the main characters' career aspirations, but Sadira Stone excels at portraying this very realistic situation.

I had two minor criticisms. First, the beginning of the story felt rushed. The fake engagement happens in the first or maybe second chapter, before we have any real feel for the characters or their histories. Furthermore, I didn’t follow the reasoning behind Aunt Aggie’s deadline for finishing the house. Second, I think the author assumes that the reader knows something about the "tiny house" movement, but that's not really true of me. So I had some trouble imagining just how "tiny" this house might be... with a loft and a full kitchen, it struck me as larger than I would have expected.

All in all though, this is a steamy and satisfying read. Recommended!

When an Enemy Becomes an Ally

By Kayelle Allen (Guest Blogger)

My Bringer of Chaos series features moral complexity, emotional tension, relationship dynamics, and survival through alliance without becoming plot-heavy.

Stories often divide people neatly into categories:

Hero. Villain. Ally. Enemy.

Real survival rarely works that way.

One idea that shaped the Bringer of Chaos series was what happens after systems defining those kinds of categories disappear. Not in a dramatic “collapse of civilization” sense, but in a quieter, more dangerous fade. What happens when the institutions enforcing morality, loyalty, and order no longer exist? When survival depends not on rules, but on individual choice?

That’s the situation facing Tornahdo in Lights Out, the opening story in the Fallen Empires saga.

The Ghost Corps exists because humanity is losing a war against immortals. How do you fight a soldier who doesn’t stay dead? Not zombies. Flesh and blood people with goals and principles different from your own—but who are so enhanced that almost nothing can kill them.

To fight them, human soldiers volunteer for service in a military system built around rebirth. But rebirth using the immortal blood of the enemy.

Now, humans can fight immortals. But what happens when the enemy blood in your veins brings you abilities you never knew you could have?

Service in the Ghost Corps isn’t heroism in the romantic sense. It’s endurance. Obligation. Survival under pressure.

And eventually, it leads Tornahdo directly to Pietas.

Pietas, known as the Bringer of Chaos, is not comfortable to be around. He’s powerful, dangerous, manipulative, emotionally controlled, and entirely certain of his own authority. He was raised in a civilization where command was absolute and loyalty enforced. Mercy was conditional. Weakness invited destruction.

He also understands survival better than almost anyone alive.

Which creates the real problem.

Because sometimes the person most capable of keeping you alive is also the person you should absolutely never trust.

That tension became one of the emotional foundations of the series. Not simply “enemies forced to cooperate,” but the gradual realization that trust isn’t always built on goodness. Sometimes it’s built from consistency. Competence. Shared danger. The recognition that another person sees the world clearly, even if you don’t like what they see.

Especially if you don’t like it.

That may be one reason readers often describe Pietas as both frustrating and fascinating. He doesn’t behave like a conventional villain because he doesn’t see himself as one. From his perspective, survival requires hard choices and emotional restraint. Compassion without strength is meaningless. Promises matter. Loyalty matters. Control matters.

And yet, over time, the people around Pietas begin making choices he never expected. When an enemy doesn’t fight, doesn’t run, doesn’t hide, but instead stays at his side.

The enemy stays not because Pietas becomes harmless, but because they begin to recognize the difference between cruelty and necessity. Between chaos and transformation.

Cruelty, Pietas can handle. But how does he handle the one thing he refuses to give?

Mercy.

Lights Out begins the Fallen Empires saga, where survival, consequence, and continuity matter more than heroics—and where the dead do not always stay dead.

If you'd like to begin the journey, you can start the series with Lights Out.

Watch Your Six, the final book in the Bringer of Chaos series, is out August 14, and can be pre-ordered now.

About Kayelle Allen

Kayelle is a worldbuilder who writes with a scalpel, a strategist of tenderness, and who understands that the most dangerous thing in any universe isn't power—it's attachment. To sum it up: “Epic scale. Microscopic pain. Absolutely intentional.” Claim your immortality and enter the Empire.

Dark Corporate and Institutional Romance

By A P von K’Ory (Guest Blogger)

Some new readers ask me who my favourite writers are in my genres and whether I write erotica – a genre defined as “a story in which sex is the central plot”. I have absolutely nothing against erotica. It just happens not to be my cup of Orange Pekoe, which is another way of saying I believe I’d be lousy at writing it.

This led me to think particularly of my latest and on-going series, UNTAMEABLE and LETHAL ENCHANTMENTS. Adrian Cranford and Damien Galbraithe don’t feel like typical dark-romance MMCs. The difference between chaos masculinity and institutional masculinity produces different vibes. It’s “street-dangerous” versus “state-trained dangerous.”

Adrian Xerxes Cranford and Damien Fenwick Galbraithe are two secret Crown operatives trained by the Royal Marines Commando. They earn hundreds of millions per single assassination for the Crown. Adrian’s and Damien’s danger comes from training, discipline, conditioning, strategy, and operational violence. Adrian’s and Damien’s authority comes from competence. They don’t need to posture much because they have actual operational capability. It’s not sexual swagger or street instinct.

They’re aristocratic, civilized, financially sophisticated, socially elegant, and terrifyingly capable of violence. That combination only really emerges from elite-state grooming structures. That’s why their mere calmness feels dangerous. Their strongest quality is professional restraint under pressure. That’s where they’re glamourized, not through violence alone. Even their obsession (Adrian with Leo and Damien – eventually – with Ambrosia) becomes more compelling because their women break through military-grade internal control systems.

That’s fascinating psychologically. And the women aren’t “sassy” – both Leo and Ambrosia, in their own individual ways, become the only people capable of destabilizing men trained not to destabilize. That’s why their relationships work so well. Not because “she tames him” but because “she bypasses military/institutional/corporate conditioning”, not gangland muscle and raw dominance.

And that’s WAY more interesting, IMHO.

Trained restraint is more frightening than impulsive aggression, the appeal of competence versus swagger, why intelligence-agency / military-conditioning archetypes create different erotic tension than mafia or street-crime archetypes do. “Weaponized civility”, the fantasy of a man who can remain calm under catastrophe as an attraction mechanism is more mind-boggling – you don’t expect it. Aristocratic polish combined with operational violence feels psychologically most dangerous because most dark romance heroes threaten the world around them.

Adrian and Damien threaten systems because they understand systems from the inside. That’s a very different fantasy, not that of the emotionally chaotic antihero versus the disciplined operative whose control fractures only around one woman. That’s a much more distinctive conversation than “who is hotter.”

My métier is romantic suspense/romantic thriller sprinkled with steamy, super spicy and racy stories. My heroines struggle with a ton of things but are always independent financially, even if they start out as students serving in cafés. Meaning, they’re no damsels in distress waiting to be rescued by that cocky billionaire scoundrel of dubious morals. She can do dubious morals too, right? Two of the authors I like reading in the steamy/spicy NA genre are Shen (I’ll never be able to match her talent for street-smart snarky MMCs) and Huang, who aces it in steamy clean commercial polish.

Most commercial dark romance male leads derive danger from criminality, street survival, gang violence, emotional recklessness, raw dominance. I steer away from street alpha, mafia brute, the tattooed nightclub predator, or the sarcastic chaos-boy archetype. My MMCs are something much rarer in dark romance because they’re state-manufactured predators. They have a completely different psychological texture and much more gravitas, IMHO. They move outside the systems while exploiting those systems because their real power operates parallel to official structures. 

That’s much more frightening because they are (self) controlled. Or at least trained to appear controlled. That distinction is enormous. A man who loses control naturally is dangerous. A man specifically trained to maintain control under extreme violence is another category of dangerous entirely.

Adrian and Damien, be it on official duty or a personal vendetta, don’t act randomly out of testosterone and some pissing contest or street turf wars. They apply situational awareness, tactical scanning, threat assessment, emotional compartmentalization, movement precision, operational patience, cleanup instincts, reaction speed, observational habits, and violence thresholds. All of that honed in military/ intelligence-adjacent context. To me, they aren’t simply more frightening, they also feel more convincing.

My prose has my literary voice underneath it. I weave in more texture and danger and sensuality underneath the obligatory intelligence I demand from and for my protagonists. I need to be the version of myself that's accessible to the commercial readership without abandoning what makes my prose distinctive – my “rich, intelligent, sophisticated voice with genuine heat and dark glamour” as one reader puts it.

That sums up my prose, voice, and style.

Since I entered the dark romance arena a couple of years ago with my two distinct dark romance series – UNTAMEABLE and LETHAL ENCHANTMENTS – I maintain the intellectual register because it's me and mine, real for me, with desire, lust, and longing running underneath it like a current rather than arriving as a separate event.

 

Trauma and memory, belief and betrayal – #LiteraryFiction #Suspense #Giveaway

Blurb

Some stories do not end when the danger passes.

Beth Clark has not returned to her hometown in decades, since the childhood she survived there nearly destroyed her.

When her estranged mother dies, Beth comes back to rural Alberta for a funeral that feels carefully rewritten. The eulogies are tidy. The past is sanitized. But inside the abandoned bungalow where she and her brother once lived, Beth finds objects that shatter the illusion—and awaken memories of abuse, neglect, and the systems that failed to protect her.

When Beth's younger brother is critically injured in a sudden accident, the present collides with the past. Keeping vigil at his hospital bedside, Beth is drawn back into the summer that changed everything: the violence in their home, the silence of those who should have intervened, and the foster family whose quiet faith offered the first real safety either child had known.

Told across dual timelines, What Remains After is a literary psychological suspense novel about trauma and memory, belief and betrayal, and the long, unfinished work of survival. It asks what it truly means to forgive—and what remains when the truth is finally spoken.

Excerpt

Coverville Baptist Church smelled musty and old, like the memories trying to escape the recesses of Beth’s mind. That’s all that remained now of her mother. Like her life, nothing at the church had changed in over forty years. It had simply aged, with splintered oak pews and grubby carpets that had been there when she was growing up.

It was unnaturally quiet in the church, which she remembered used to almost roar after a service with the lively voices of congregants discussing the sermon or what was coming up in their week. Children used to run around, shrieking and squealing in both joy and frustration. Now, it was still. Eerily so.

Beth ignored the stares from the other mourners who had arrived early for the service. When she tried to meet their gazes to say hello, they looked briefly, with pity, before looking away. She stopped looking at people. She had only arrived when she had to so she could find Otto and talk to him before it started. He wasn’t in the lobby. Maybe he was in the sanctuary.

She waited in line at the guest registry, attended to by one of the funeral directors. When it was Beth’s turn, her hand trembled as she picked up the ridiculous feathered pen and hesitated before writing down her name. Should she use her married name or her maiden name? Her ex would have a conniption if she wrote down his, and she was changing her name back anyway, so she entered “Elizabeth Clark.”

When Beth had seen her mother’s obituary on Facebook, she’d realized that, despite her hesitation, she would go to the funeral. The only other attendees were townsfolk—mostly members of Virgie’s church—and family. She suspected that most came out of curiosity rather than grief. Beth’s reasons were less clear. Her hatred for her mother had lessened over the years, but had never completely gone; still, she felt an odd urge, almost a duty, to attend. She told herself it was just an excuse to see her brother, Otto, not the urn.

About the Author

Pauline J. Grabia is a Canadian novelist whose work explores trauma, memory, faith, and the moral consequences of silence. Writing under the Stories of Consequence banner, she is drawn to stories that face difficult truths without spectacle and seek light without sentimentality. What Remains After is a literary psychological suspense novel rooted in rural Alberta and shaped by questions of survival, forgiveness, and what endures.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/paulinejgrabia/

Website: https://paulinejgrabia.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/70032333.Pauline_J_Grabia

 

Book Link

https://amazon.com/dp/1834384516

Pauline J. Grabia will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

A Visit from the Ladies’ Welcome Brigade – #PrideMonth #SapphicRomance #MFRWHooks

Gloucester Harbor (photo by Lisabet Sarai)

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! It’s finally June, which means it is Pride Month. Over the next few weeks I’ll be celebrating by sharing snippets from my (many and varied) LGBTQ titles.

Today I’m featuring The Witches of Gloucester. It’s an FFF paranormal erotic romance that’s very dear to my heart, at least partly because it is set in one of my favorite places, the coastal town of Gloucester, Massachusetts. I’ve always felt there was something magical about Gloucester. In this book I indulged myself imaging just where that magic might have come from.

By the way, I’ve extended my sale on this title from last week. It’s still available for only 99 cents, until next Sunday.

Blurb

It’s not about power. It’s about love.

The historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.

Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.

The Hook (Rated R)

Emmeline perched on the rail of her tiny porch, watching the gulls wheel and swoop among the masts crowding the sky. A man in a knit cap and tall rubber boots balanced in a dingy, shouting to someone who looked like his twin back on the wharf. One of the town’s many churches rang six PM, but the sun still rode high above the inner harbor. Honeysuckle blossoms growing across the narrow bay scented the air, mingling with the closer odor of raw fish.

She loved the sea, always had. Renting a cottage right on the water, a space of her own where she could work on her dissertation in peace and privacy – that had been her one dream after the nasty break-up with Tim. Okay, so the place was hardly more than a shack, one room plus a cramped bath with a cold shower, but it was painted lemon yellow and had pansies in the box beneath its one front window. Not to mention this back porch, the ideal place for her to hang out and enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the ocean. At night, little waves lapped at the pilings that supported the rear half of the building, lulling her to sleep. It was hard to imagine an environment more conducive to study.

She couldn’t seem to relax, though. She couldn’t focus on her work. Since she’d arrived a week ago, there’d been a constant undercurrent of tension running through her, a sort of mental itch that made it difficult to sit in one place for any length of time. Like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm, she bristled with electric potential, with a sense of impending change.

Maybe I just need sex. She’d brought her vibrator, of course, but the recollection of Tim’s ugly accusations held her back from indulging. “You’re a nymphomaniac,” he’d complained. “An addict. Sex is all you think about. You’re sick, Emmeline. You need professional help, girl.”

Was it true? Was she really sick? Nonsense! Sure, she needed help – in the form of a man who wouldn’t reject her just because she had strong physical desires. Wasn’t that what most guys pretended to like?

What about that guy with the boots? Would he be interested? She imagined pulling her top over her head, exposing her bra-less tits to the sun and his eyes. The denim between her thighs dampened as she imagined the scene. He’d row his dingy over to her porch and gaze up at her like Romeo adoring Juliet. A rickety ladder led down to water level. She’d descend to his boat, kneel on the waterlogged planks at the bottom, unzip him...

Bang! Bang! What the heck? Who could be knocking on her bright yellow door? No one but her mother knew Emmeline was hiding out here, and Mom had sworn to keep the secret safe. In particular, she didn’t want Timothy showing up, begging for another chance. Everyone had told them that they made a perfect couple, but she understood now just how false that perception was.

“Go away,” she muttered to herself. “Nobody’s home.” The banging continued, however. Maybe whoever was out there had caught a glimpse of her out here behind the building.

Bang, bang! The window rattled in its frame. Would they kick the door in if she didn’t answer?

“Okay, okay – I’m coming.”

The door didn’t have a peephole. Hiding herself behind the door, Emmeline peeked out through the wavy glass of the old windowpanes.

Two women stood side by side on the short path that led from the street to her door. Two very remarkable women.

The one on the left made Emmeline think of a lioness. A gleaming black mane framed her face, which featured high cheekbones and unusually plump lips. Her caramel-hued skin flowed over finely balanced muscle, alternately hidden and revealed by the royal purple cape that fluttered from her bare shoulders. Underneath, she wore a brief, sleeveless black dress that molded to her generous curves. As unlikely as it seemed on a steamy June day in New England, the dress appeared to be made of leather.

The one on the right was as fair as her companion was dark. A storm of red curls tumbled over her shoulders, catching glints from the afternoon sun. Her chin was perhaps a bit too sharp, her nose a little too prominent, for her to be called classically beautiful, but she had a sort of presence that drew the eye and the mind. Like the Amazon queen at her side, the redhead was taller than average, but she had a slighter build, compact and athletic rather than voluptuous. She was clad in a long Indian print skirt that grazed her instep and a green cotton halter top which made it abundantly clear she wore no bra. Brass bangles circled her wrists and her ankles, tinkling softly when she shifted her weight. Perhaps it was just her classic hippie image – though she could not have been older than thirty – but Emmeline thought she looked familiar.

Both visitors wore smiles of such warmth that Emmeline felt embarrassed. How could she be so suspicious and inhospitable? She unlatched the bolt and swung the door wide.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Good afternoon.” The redhead glanced at a scrap of paper she carried. “Ms. Emmeline Scott?”

Suspicion tugged at Emmeline’s spirit. She ignored it. “Yes, that’s me, though I can’t imagine how you would know.”

“Electric company records, Ms. Scott.” The lioness had a musical voice that soothed away all Emmeline’s concerns. Indeed, when the woman paused for breath, Emmeline ached for her to continue, to hear that melody again. “Forgive us for what may seem like an invasion of privacy, but we’re from the Ladies’ Welcome Brigade. When we heard through the grapevine that a young woman had rented old Flaherty’s cottage, we felt we should drop by and say hello.”

“Um – that’s very kind of you. Thanks very much.” Emmeline suddenly remembered how scantily she was dressed. Hot blood climbed into her cheeks. She was annoyed to realize that her nipples had beaded under her thin shirt and that her denim shorts had stuck to her skin.

“We wanted to make sure you have everything you need.” The copper-haired hippie picked up where the lioness left off. “We thought you might be lonely out here by yourself.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I need the quiet, the privacy. I’m working on my doctoral thesis.”

“Ah! That’s why you were looking for those old books. In my shop, over on Main Street,” the hippie added.

“Oh, right! I knew you looked familiar. I’m so sorry!” Emmeline had thought the proprietress acted a bit odd that day, but she’d put it out of her mind. Now she recalled how the inner itch had intensified to a near-unbearable level under the woman’s stare. In fact, she’d left the store without finding any of the titles she was seeking. She’d been too uncomfortable to stay.

“We brought you this.” From somewhere in the folds of her cape, the lioness produced a pastry box. “Baked especially for you.”

“How – how incredibly sweet...”

“They are indeed sweet. Oatmeal, almond and honey bonbons. They’re my special recipe. Good for you, too. I’m Beryl, by the way. Beryl Robinson. And this is my dear friend Maguerite da Silva.”

Strangely reluctant, Emmeline grasped Beryl’s outstretched hand. Weird electricity buzzed through her as their skin made contact. She pulled away as though she’d been burned, then blushed further at her lack of politeness.

Find all the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/witchesofgloucesterbook.html

Remember, the novella is currently marked down from $2.99 to 99 cents at all outlets.

I hope you’ll visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks.

Love and memory – #WomensFiction #Giveaway

Blurb

A fictional story with a memoir overlay as narrator Katie Blake reflects on life in small town America and the principles, influences, and big personalities she wants you to never forget.

It’s Memorial Day weekend, 2009, and the town gossips have their shorts in a twist about a mysterious newcomer who wears tie-dye, colorful headbands, clunky necklaces, and rings on every finger.“Who installs a ceiling fan on a Victorian porch?” cries Ned Boomer, Woodburg’s grumpiest man, and the town gossips concur, “She must be a hippie, witch, or maybe worse . . . a socialist.”

Hell-bent on preventing a neighborhood blow-up, precocious, nine-year-old Katie Blake launches a covert investigation to gather the truth about the enigmatic Rose. But when she discovers a decades-old secret binding her, Rose, and bad-tempered Ned Boomer, her world takes a turn.

Penning a memoir sixteen years later, Katie is forced to reconsider whether the real proof of love was in preventing a neighborhood war or finding friendship and comfort among three unlikely grief-stricken souls who should never be forgotten.

Excerpt

Gram taught me to be independent, manage my anxieties, and have confidence in myself, showing me how to use my imagination to wiggle out of a jam or face the “grim crossroads” when confused or sad.

The first time I cried and lost it over a complicated computer problem, she said, “Be inventive, Katie! What can you do to calm down and think things through?”

We put our heads together to come up with ideas. Gram said she brewed herself a cup of tea when needing a break. Mom worked on crossword puzzles. Dad played solitaire. My one decadent delight was a FatBoy ice cream, and that’s how Gram and I hatched the plan of taking two ice cream sandwiches and hiding them under the frozen vegetables to create my private emergency stash.

“Close your eyes, breathe, take a bite, and replace the leftovers. No one will suspect anything. Our little secret. . .”

About the Author

At heart, I am a storyteller who writes women’s fiction and stories of courage and discovery, showcasing the protagonist’s journey toward a more fulfilled self.

My passion is writing women’s fiction and exploring the human experience—how ordinary people tackle challenges, endure sorrow and betrayal, wrestle with doubt, and act on their aspirations to achieve flourishing lives.

My insight into the power of fiction came during a conference call in late 2017 with a group of fellow life coaches. “What would it be like to help women and men achieve a flourishing life through storytelling?” I asked them.

After that phone call, I got started answering that question. The result was my debut novel titled Blackhorse Road, a compelling story of womanhood and the power of choice, gratitude, and forgiveness, published July 21, 2020, by Coffee Cup Press, followed by Flower Girl (2022), Flawless Witness (2023), and now A Proof of Love (2026)

Before embracing writing fiction, I was the author of health informatics and leadership textbooks. Later, I put my leadership experience to use as a leadership coach, focusing on supporting others to fulfill their leadership and economic potential. My range of nonfiction is available on my Amazon Author Page.

Substack: https://meridajohns.substack.com/

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Website: https://www.MeridaJohnsAuthor.com

 

A randomly drawn winner will receive a $25 Amazon/BN gift card.