A storm of passion – #ParanormalRomance #Elementals #MFRWHooks #Giveaway

 

Welcome to this week’s edition of MFRW Book Hooks! Today I’m showcasing my summery, steamy paranormal novella, Rough Weather, which is set in Martha’s Vineyard – one of my favorite places.

Want a free copy? Leave me a comment. I’ll randomly pick one commenter as my winner!

Blurb

Destiny hides in the tempest’s heart

A fated encounter. A familiar stranger. A storm of passion. Can Ondine release her fear, surrender to Marut’s power, and claim her own?

Marine biologist Ondine Ambrose has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents—aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. When he insists that they are both more than human, and that she is his destined mate, Ondine responds with skepticism. She tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately she cannot deny the evidence of her senses—and her heart.

Excerpt (PG)

Rousing herself from her musings, she sipped her own tea and nibbled at one of her ginger snaps. “Of course. Oil, gas, coal—they’re bad news. But why not build your wind farm on dry land? You’d have a much smaller ecological impact.”

“Nobody wants a ninety meter steel tower in their backyard.”

“So you put it where there’s no one to object!”

“In many cases the winds are stronger and more reliable offshore too.”

“And that justifies the cost to wildlife?”

“Global warming’s a bigger threat to ocean life than any wind farm.” Marut’s abruptness suggested annoyance.

Smug satisfaction warmed her, though she recognized that reaction as childish. As a scientist, she was well aware that the tradeoffs and issues were complex. There was no simple answer to the problems facing humanity. Somehow, though, she couldn’t stop herself from baiting him.

“That’s a research question, I think.”

“Look.” He flashed a conciliatory smile that lit up his strong, even features. “Let’s call a truce. My company is in the preliminary stages of design, just studying feasibility and cost-effectiveness for different locations. The installation might turn out to be totally impractical.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Marut chuckled. “Okay, okay! You’ve made your point, Ondine! So do you think my clothes are dry yet?” She’d hung his jeans and shirt out in the hot sun that had followed in the wake of the freak storm.

“Probably. I’ll check.”

“No, I’ll go.” He reached out to arrest her progress. She shrank from his hand.

“Don’t touch me. Please.”

A look of raw pain crossed his face. He sank back into his chair, his fists clenched on the table as though he wanted to smash something. “Do you – do you regret this morning? Because I swear, woman, I don’t.”

“This morning was…I don’t know, an aberration of some sort. I honestly have no idea what happened between us. It was like some drug.”

“It was your nature, calling to mine.”

“What are you talking about? That’s not me. I don’t fuck strangers—men I’ve known for less than ten minutes.”

Marut released a heavy sigh. He opened his hands and stared at his pink-brown palms. “I know you, Ondine. The instant we touched, I remembered.”

“Remembered what? I’m sure we’ve never met.”

“Not in this life. But before.”

Uneasy doubt stirred in her chest. There had been something about him, in that first instant when their eyes met, something hauntingly familiar. She pushed the thought away, focusing her attention on her bandaged knuckles.

“Nonsense. You’re an engineer. I’m a scientist. How can you say such things?”

“There is much in this world that science cannot explain. You know that as well as I do. I saw you out there, diving and surfacing like some flying fish. Incredible.”

He was watching me? Did he see me masturbating, too?

She shrugged, pretending indifference she didn’t feel. “I’ve always been comfortable in the water. I was born right here on the edge of the Atlantic. I could swim before I could walk.”

“Does that explain why you can remain below the surface for ten minutes at a time? That’s not normal, Ondine. No human swimmer could hold her breath that long.”

“Human abilities cover a wide range.”

His hand covered hers. Fluid heat washed through her, rippling from the point of contact to flood her pussy and turn her nipples to stone. “You’re not human, pitit, not completely. And neither am I.”

Buy Links

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1490-rough-weather-elemental-passions-book-2/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09Y2P7741

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09Y2P7741

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1142402

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165838149

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rough-weather-elemental-passions-book-2

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1619557657

Add on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60820375-rough-weather

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s blog hop. And don’t forget to leave me a comment, if this book sounds like something you’d enjoy!

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Finding love in an existential crisis ... @AriniVlot @PublishConquest

Blurb

Society should agree that growing up was a scam. One giant experiment that failed..

Esha More is celebrating her 35th birthday and her quick fix of hair dye and champagne only leaves her with a hangover and more problems. When she asks for excitement, getting thrown in the deep end of a corporate scandal is not what she meant.

Kane Mittal has been called in as a consultant to manage yet another crisis. Kane has enough women making demands, but after Esha tumbles into his life he can't stop thinking about her.

On a mission to save Esha's career and Kane's family business, together they navigate an inept flock of managers while faced with a mounting deadline, their powerful attraction, and a pandora's box of secrets.

Join Esha and Kane in their adventurous meet-cute, a workplace romance filled with laughter, and a hefty dose of intrigue.

Available from:

Ingram: https://shop.ingramspark.com/b/084?m85tyNocZB4qMFqcFJvarH8nEUFJByquPCQkx6iwmLJ

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Pretty-Average-Arini-Vlotman/dp/1962739023/

TakeAlot: https://www.takealot.com/pretty-average/PLID95437049

Smashwords: https://books2read.com/u/boMEva

Excerpt

The root of all evil was age. There was no way around it. Everyone said you should know what you’re doing, but there’s a little voice in your head, always there, always whispering, ‘Are you sure?’.

Society should agree growing up was a scam. One giant experiment that failed.

That sounded right.

Esha picked up her cell phone and recited the words into her Deathbed app, nodding to herself in satisfaction. The invention was her special project in the making. An app designed to prepare for one’s death; it was genius. One day her family and friends would read those words at her funeral and lament at her wisdom.

That’ll show them.

Of course, she’d be dead and wouldn’t be around to witness that profound moment. But she could remind them it was predicted before her death. She typed out a quick note on her phone, Add deathbed reminders from predeath musings.

The sound of a child’s high-pitched shout outside her car window brought her back to the present. With her phone tucked into her handbag, she took one last look at her fluffy curls in the rear-view mirror. Satisfied, she slid out of her beat-up Toyota and tapped the steering wheel for good luck. She’d read that finding a grounding symbol kept you, well... grounded. So, she tried to find as many symbols as she could.

Out from the stifling heat of the car, her arms and shoulders tingled from the warmth of the summer sun, the scent of freshly cut grass tickling her nose. She needed to add antihistamines to her next pharmacy run, the pollen was heavy enough to taste. The familiar sound of the golfing wannabe's hitting their balls in the driving range, laughter from a family getting out of their massive SUVs, and the hollers of fans cheering to a rugby match in the bar made her smile. Filled with a reviving energy that added a bounce to her step, a buzz of excitement ran through her, shaking her from her birthday funk.

While meeting her friends at the local drinking dive for celebratory birthday drinks was a steadfast tradition, she had felt less than enthusiastic this year. Death was one year closer, what was there to celebrate? The only reason she looked forward to the day was the thought of spending it with her two best friends. Getting together for a few hours was becoming harder and far between, so she cherished every moment with them.

“Oi! Ash! Stop staring at the paving and get over here.”

Esha saw her friend Amy who hollered over the cars and sounds drifting from the restaurant, making a beeline in that direction.

Amy had a set of lungs to be reckoned with, being a mum of three kids, and Esha always marvelled at her friend’s contradictory nature. A full head shorter than Esha, Amy was petite in a Bernadette from The Big Bang Theory kind of way. Like her favourite character, Amy was also a firecracker. While Esha was all thighs, hips, and bum; Amy was all boobs, chin, and smiles.

Picking up her pace, Esha dove at her friend for a hug.

“Girl, you did it!” Amy tilted Esha’s head left and right while running her fingers through her hair. “Was it worth it?”

“Hell yeah! It was torture. Six hours in that chair was a pain, but I finally got a change, like a real, noticeable change.”

Esha grinned, swinging her head like a shampoo ad model, and giving herself a surge of confidence. The week leading up to her 35^th birthday was a whirlwind of activity. All the updating of wills and policies tired her out. A few days of soul-searching combined with lack of sleep gave her the perfect solution: change. A change was as good as a holiday, right? After adding turquoise streaks to her long, normal brown hair and buying a new shade of pink lip gloss that clashed with her brown skin tone, she felt not a single day younger. So, more change next time. Or a different change.

“Short of cutting the whole lot off, this is about as noticeable as it gets.”

Always adventurous with her hair, Amy sported a pixie cut with detailed etching behind her ears.

Esha caught sight of her reflection in Amy’s sunglasses, admiring the sight of the myriad of blue shades that shone back at her. The shiny strands were highlighted by the early afternoon sunlight, creating a pleasing cascade along her shoulders. Not too shabby, not too shabby at all. Too bad her hair was all going to fall out one day. Bad genes.

About the Author

A romance fanatic, book worm, book hoarder, and writer, Arini Vlotman is a people’s person and a wordy nerd. She finds comfort in almost any space, but there is nothing quite like being with her husband, son, and fur babies. Where writers are her superheroes and readers are her tribe, Johannesburg, South Africa is where Arini calls home.

One of Arini's favourite hobbies is Fangirling (is that a thing?), musicians, books, movies, and obscure characters. When Arini finds something she loves, she delves into it like Harry Potter dives into the Whomping Willow.

Catch Arini on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Tiktok so you can share your journeys together.​ Arini's debut novel, Pretty Average, hits shelves March 2024.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/arinialwaysbeyou

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AriniVlot

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@arini_author

Threads: https://www.threads.net/@arinivlotman

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Charity Sunday: For Women’s Health and World Prosperity – #CharitySunday #PlannedParenthood

Today is the last Sunday in July, which means it is Charity Sunday. Each month I reserve one day to blog about some worthwhile cause or organization that contributes to improving the world. Then I make a donation for each comment I get on the post.

Some months, I have the company of other bloggers. What I’d really love is to see Charity Sunday go viral. Imagine hundreds – or thousands – of people on social media, giving to causes they feel are important. That’s a dream that probably won’t happen, given my ineptitude and disinterest in social media. Still, every time you share one of my Charity Sunday posts with a friend, a relative or your fans, you’re helping spread the light and maybe realize the dream.

Anyway, today I am featuring a much-maligned but thoroughly worthwhile organization, Planned Parenthood. I say “much maligned” because PP has for some people become synonymous with abortion, an extremely emotional and divisive topic. In fact, PP offers a wide range of reproductive health and wellness services, including pregnancy testing, fertility counseling, prenatal care, contraception, STD diagnosis and treatment, and so on. They also provide objective, medically- accurate education abut topics related to sex and reproduction.

 

To some people (in particular, to some men in positions of power), this seems unimportant or even threatening. However, women’s health is in fact a global issue that affects not only quality of life, but also level of economic development. According to the World Economic Forum, reducing the women’s health gap can potentially unlock a $1 trillion GDP opportunity annually by 2040. Women’s health, including planned families and reproductive health, offers a huge payoff for everyone.

Anyway, I’m not here to lecture, though I do hope you agree with me that helping women achieve better health outcomes, including healthier children, makes both humanitarian and economic sense. Today, up until the August Charity Sunday, I will donate two dollars to Planned Parenthood for every comment I receive. So please, don’t be shy!

As usual, I also have an excerpt from one of my books for you to enjoy. This is from the prequel to the romance novel I featured in my last MFRW Book Hooks post, The Ingredients of Bliss (https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2024/07/whatever-am-i-going-to-do-with-you-two.html). Today's book, Her Secret Ingredient, is a story that introduces the characters Emily, Harry and Etienne and gives the reader a spicy taste of what’s to come in the novel.

Blurb

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion.

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee ‘Emily’ Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is sceptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting M Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

Excerpt

“Ginger? Do I taste ginger?”

“Uh—yes, that’s right, sir…”

“Ginger in coq au vin? That’s practically sacrilege, Ms Wong.”

Etienne Duvalier fixed me with a look that would have withered spinach. I straightened my spine, smoothed my apron and attempted a placating smile.

“It’s good, though—isn’t it? One of my signature dishes at Le Belvedere.” It had come out perfectly, the succulent meat melting off the bone at the first touch of a fork. I held out another portion, my own mouth watering at the rich, complex aroma. I wasn’t about to mention the hint of cloves to a traditionalist like Etienne.

He shook his head and wagged his finger at me like some cartoon schoolmaster. “A French restaurant in Hong Kong! Not exactly the place I’d recommend for the experience of classic Gallic cuisine.”

“A restaurant with three Michelin stars.” I wanted to go on, to cite the awards we’d won since I’d taken over as head chef, the praise heaped upon us by the local media, the favourable review in last month’s Gourmet magazine. But what was the point? He’d seen my résumé. Indeed, he’d signed the letter inviting me to the U.S. for a series of guest appearances on his precious Taste of France channel. Now that I’d arrived, was he having second thoughts?

My silence must have recalled him to some sense of etiquette. He leaned toward the morsel I offered, sniffing it before taking it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. His full attention appeared to be focused on the flavours unfolding on his tongue. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and swept a stray lock of hair back under my cap, awaiting his verdict.

I’d known what I was getting into. Etienne Duvalier was legendary as much for his perfectionist dedication as for his culinary prowess. He took a purist’s approach to French cooking. As far as Etienne was concerned, fusion was a dirty word. He eschewed the creative syncretism practised by the latest generation of chefs, preferring to stick with the time-honoured recipes that had made French cuisine arguably the most famous in the world.

Given his conservative attitude, I’d been surprised to learn he was so young—barely forty, I guessed. And I definitely hadn’t expected him to be so devastatingly good-looking. After the letter had arrived, I’d watched a few clips from his Toutes Saveurs Francaises show on YouTube. I’d been too distracted by his lean form and expressive face to concentrate on his ingredients or procedures. And yes, I admit that I’d agreed to travel halfway around the globe to take up his invitation at least in part because I wanted to find out if he was really that dreamy in the flesh.

Alas, he was. This was going to complicate my career ambitions considerably.

At last he swallowed the savoury bit of stewed fowl. He licked his lips. My breath hitched at that brief flash of tongue. A bit of warmth softened his wintery blue-grey eyes.

“Quite delicious, I agree. However, it doesn’t taste like coq au vin.”

His accent set up disturbing flutters in my stomach, with its echoes of Jean Paul Belmondo and Vincent Cassels.

“It doesn’t taste like your idea of coq au vin, perhaps…”

“This is my channel. Therefore, my standards, my notions about taste, carry more weight than your quest for novelty.”

His smile was dazzling, despite its hint of superiority. His prominent Gallic nose and cleft chin formed a luscious contrast to his ripe, almost boyish mouth. Spotlights hanging above the studio kitchen glinted in his meticulously groomed auburn hair. The open collar of his fitted Saint Laurent dress shirt—black like the rest of his clothing—drew my eyes. My fingers itched to undo another button or two and check for matching fur on his chest.

It was no wonder his show had the highest ratings of anything produced by the Foodie Fans Network. I was pretty certain this popularity wasn’t entirely due to his famous cooking expertise.

“Do we understand one another, Ms Wong?”

Maybe this was a big mistake. How was I going to make a name for myself if I couldn’t act on my culinary inspiration? Unless I could soften him up a bit, it seemed I was doomed to frustration here at the Tastes of France channel. Frustration in more than one sense.

I placed a casual hand on his arm. His muscles shifted under the silky fabric. “Please—you should call me Emily. After all, we’re going to be working closely together.”

His brows drew together in a frown, as though my familiarity bothered him. Meanwhile, the heat seeping through his expensive shirt had me close to melting.

“Very well—um—Emily. I’d like you to do your boeuf bourguignon for me next. Genuine beef burgundy, understand? None of your Asian flourishes.”

“Yes, Etienne.”

He cocked an eyebrow. We both knew he hadn’t invited me to call him by his first name.

To sack a city takes a whole regiment, my Hokkien grandmother would have said. In for a penny, in for a pound. I didn’t doubt he’d let me know if I’d offended him. 

 

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/secretingredientbook.html

Be sure to leave me a comment! And I hope you’ll visit the other blogs participating in today’s Charity Sunday, leaving comments there as well.

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They told us monsters weren't real -- – #Horror #DarkSciFi #ComingOfAge #Giveaway

By Shelly Campbell (Guest Blogger) 

Welcome to Beyond Romance, Shelly! When I read the description of Dark Walkers, it reminded me a bit of C.S. Lewis' Narnia (albeit darker). What books or other sources influenced this series? ~ Lisabet

Thank you so much for having me on the blog, Lisabet!

I’m glad the Dark Walker series brought C.S. Lewis’s Narnia to mind for you as that’s one of the inspirations for Gulf. What if there were doors that led to other worlds, but it was no fairytale on the other side?

I was also fascinated by Stephen King’s 11/22/63 with its portal that led to the same setting in a different time. Jake Epping stumbles into a world with very specific rules about how it works, and finds out that there are unavoidable consequences to making ripples somewhere you don’t belong. I wanted my MC David to feel that too, and I thought it would be interesting to play with the idea: what if you felt more at home on the other side—the wrong side—than you did in the world you grew up in?

Horror, in general, does a wonderful job of isolating its main characters. The phone goes dead. The dark alley dead-ends. The car runs out of gas on an abandoned, foggy road and there’s no one you can call for help. Us humans are herd creatures. Being singled out and isolated from the pack is a visceral and ancient fear for us. I wanted to amplify that for David.

He comes from a big family, never alone, but always isolated. At first, it seems like the regular sort of obscurity, the kind that makes you overlook the quiet kid in a loud crowd, but I try to make it obvious early on that David’s invisibility has escalated into something more than that. He’s fading from his world like a Polaroid picture in reverse. His world is trying to erase him, and his family is forgetting him.

Worse yet, something alien the other side of the door is trying to get through and devour everyone he loves. He has to save his world alone because nobody can see or hear him. No one is there to help. In that way, the Dark Walker series was inspired by that isolation horror movies and books do so well.

Gulf is set in the late 80s and early 90s. That’s the era I grew up in. Not only did it allow for that ‘there’s no cell phones’ type of isolation, but it was nostalgic to have David growing up in the same decades as I did. And it inspired those 80s horror movie poster style covers I got to design!

Breach, the sequel, is a bit of a different beast. No longer a coming-of-age horror story about a boy and his family against an evil alien world, it expands into multiple dimensions, like Doctor Who. David is no longer alone, but becomes part of a team—or so he thinks. And readers get a bit more insight into how the worlds we glimpsed in Gulf were formed, and the origin of the aliens.

David is definitely not in Kansas anymore.

And, of course, everything gets exponentially worse in book three, coming in early 2025. I can’t wait to share David’s messed up worlds with you all!

Series Blurb

When we were children, they told us monsters weren't real. They were dead wrong.

It’s just a closet door with a skeleton key, but when David opens it, he unlocks a gateway to a sinister world that’s bent on destroying everything and everyone he loves. Some doors are better left closed.

Embark on a thrilling journey with the Dark Walker Series, and be transported into an interdimensional tale of monsters, lies and self-discovery. Where the terror of darkness is real and the line between ally and enemy is as thin as a blade.

"Equal parts coming of age story and otherworldly horror, Gulf probes the depths of loneliness, loss of identity and childhood trauma. It is a true treat for fans of the genre and had me clutched in its razor-clawed hands from the first word to the last.” -C.M. Forest author of Infested

 

Blurb for Gulf

Seventeen-year-old David is fading from his world, like a Polaroid picture in reverse. He longs to feel connected to something bigger.

When his brothers discover the new extension at the rental cottage comes with a locked door, David finds the key first. Expecting to claim a bedroom, he opens a dimensional gateway instead, exploring abandoned versions of his world in different timelines, 1960s muscle cars alternating with crumbling cottages.

Except now the dimensional bridge won’t close, and something hungry claws the door at night. David scours for clues to break the bridge, but each trip to the other side makes him fade more on his. Even if he succeeds, he risks severing his connection to his own world, and dying on the wrong side, forgotten.

 

Blurb for Breach

There are doors that open to other worlds, but it’s no fairytale on the other side.

I thought otherworldly monsters bent on devouring my whole world starting with my family trumped everything. Turns out, I was wrong. My world's only one of thousands facing annihilation from the maneaters that tried to eat me alive. Charlie saved me, rolled into my life on a motorcycle, and rescued me.

Problem is, I’m the Embassy’s property now. They’re the interdimensional agency tasked with stemming the flow of ravenous aliens into our universe, but they seem more interested in studying me. I crashed a gateway in a way they’ve never seen. The Embassy wants to replicate that. I think they want to use me as a war weapon.

If I don’t convince Charlie to help me escape, I’ll be an Embassy science experiment for the rest of my short life, or worse, eternally trapped in the dark hell that fills the spaces between worlds.

Excerpt (from Gulf)

Certain my family is gone, I cross to the five-panel in two strides, twist the key into the lock, and push the door.

It doesn’t open.

Of course it doesn’t, idiot. It’s still hung like a closet door. It opens out, not in.

I pull.

Mirror.

That’s the first thought that strikes me as I take in the exact duplicate of the living room I’m standing in. Same green, crushed velvet sofa bed sagging behind me. Identical chipped melamine cabinets. Same painted windmills on the porcelain tile backsplash—wait.

No me.

No reflection of me. Tentative as Alice in bloody Wonderland, I pull the black skeleton key from its hole and crane my head through the doorway. No dirty breakfast dishes, but when I look over my shoulder, there’s still stacks of egg-yolk spackled tin plates beside our sink. Crumpled under one arm of the hide-a-bed is my plaid blanket, but the one in front of me is empty. Looks dusty.

“What the hell, Everett?” This is creepy.

The ole bugger’s built an exact mirror image of the room next door. Where on earth did he find the twin to that green monster of a couch? There’s even a spring beckoning through the same spot in the back cushion.

Got an eye for detail, hasn’t he?

Same woodstove too, only this one has a cold, crusty frying pan on it. I can still feel the heat on my back from ours across the wall.

The pine planking creaks under my next step, and I jump and then smile, but I’m pretty sure it ends up as a snarl. An odd feeling consumes me whole, the one I had just before Sam Ren and his gorilla wingmen beat the piss out of me behind the Dairy Queen. A curdled sense of approaching doom slithers through my lungs.

Get out.

Primal instinct presses me back a step toward the door, but I hold fast there, like a dumbass, like I waited while Sam Ren eased toward me in the Dairy Queen parking lot.

Shaking out my hands and hissing through my teeth, I scan the room trying to identify what’s wrong, because something is. Something is very wrong, and it’s not just the duplicate room, or the draft emanating from here at night. It takes a few seconds to pin it down. The out-of-place thing. My throat spasms when I see it. I swallow and shift to the balls of my feet.

“Window,” I whisper.

About the Author

At a young age, Shelly Campbell wanted to be an air show pilot or a pirate, possibly a dragon and definitely a writer and artist. She’s piloted a Cessna 172 through spins and stalls, and sailed up the east coast on a tall ship barque—mostly without projectile vomiting. In the end, Shelly found writing and drawing dragons to be so much easier on the stomach. Shelly writes speculative fiction ranging from grimdark fantasy, to sci-fi and horror. She’d love to hear from you.

http://www.shellycampbellauthorandart.com

https://twitter.com/ShellyCFineArt

https://www.instagram.com/shellycampbellfineart

https://www.facebook.com/shellycampbellauthorandart

https://www.tiktok.com/@shellycampbellauthor

The author will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Join us for Charity Saturday, 28 July 2024 #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

Image by Evgeni Tcherkasski from Pixabay

Since 2017, I’ve been devoting the last Sunday in each month to a post which features some worthy cause. Often, other bloggers join me in this effort, turning the event into a blog hop. This month’s Charity Sunday blog hop will take place this coming Sunday, the 28^th of July.

Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give authors and bloggers a chance to give back to the world, as well as to attract new readers.

How does it work? Each participant selects a favorite charity. Before the date, you should prepare a blog post that: 1) talks about the charity and why you support it; 2) provides a link to the charity; 3) includes an excerpt from one of your books; 4) includes the code to show links to other participating blogs.

It’s fun if you can make the excerpt relate somehow to your chosen charity, but this isn’t required.

For every comment left on your post, you commit to giving some amount to the relevant charity. The specific charity and the amount to donate are up to you. You can set an upper limit to your donation if you want.

If you’d like to participate in the next Charity Sunday on July 28th, sign up using the Linky List below. Please be sure that the link you enter will lead directly to your Charity Sunday post, not just to the home page of your blog.

You can get the 2024 Charity Sunday banner here:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2024CharitySundayBanner.jpg

For an example post, check out this link from my last Charity Sunday:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2024/06/charity-sunday-fighting-for-right-to.html

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Snatched from the clutches of the Angel of Death - The Physician by Magdalene Dietchka (@PublishConquest @MDietchka)

Blurb

Jake Perlman’s fate changed forever as a child when a dam broke on the way to school, washing his bus over a bridge. Before the Angel of Death could claim him, a Shepherd named Omiel stole Jake from his fate. Now as a Stolen in his adulthood, Jake uses his powers under Omiel’s guidance to assemble his coterie, a group of Stolen with abilities like his.

Yael Taube learned in her youth she would become a Companion, the soulmate to a Stolen. After an unfortunate event finds Yael in the presence of her Stolen, Jake, things take motion.

Jake and Yael learn of their fates and see hope for their future. However, pulling the coterie together is anything but easy. Between their shared trauma, doubt in their fate, and evil beings called Sirens trying to harm them, the coterie’s future is anything but certain. Despite the Shepherds’ direction, there are dangers ahead. If the Stolen and their Companions come together too soon, it could lead to their undoing, but the world and the coterie are counting on their success.

If you enjoyed reads such as The Irin Chronicles by Elizabeth Hunter and Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick; you won't be able to put this one down.

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Excerpt

The landscape was littered with nature’s destruction. Last night’s storm matched Jacob Perlman’s dark mood. He hated his rural middle school and his freshman year sucked. Jake stared out of one of the closed bus windows at the downed limbs and flooded lawns. He was so sick of assholes destined to peak in high school and go nowhere in life. Getting shoved into another locker because he aced a test everyone else failed got old. Yeah, they called him a nerd, but his ambition forced him to be the best at everything he did. He had to be. Being the son of two leading pharmaceutical researchers already placed pressure on him to achieve academic excellence. Jake would graduate in three years and could not wait to spend the new millennium away from here.

The bus driver slowly wound his way down the road, cursing the school not so quietly for not closing due to the flooding and debris clogging the roads. Jake agreed with the old man. He didn’t want to look at his schoolmates, the day had been rough enough already. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Shepherds near each student, which concerned him. The Shepherds were humanoid, almost translucent, and glowed with a golden hue. They bore two wings on their back, and their hair flowed like fire. The creatures rarely stayed near their charges for long. He had always been able to see them and talk with them whenever he wanted, but no one else could. The Shepherds had told him they lived between the worlds of the living and the dead.

When Jake was a child, his parents thought the Shepherds were just imaginary friends. By the time Jake turned ten, he realized adults became uncomfortable when he spoke to the Shepherds or talked about them. His parents told him he was too old for imaginary friends and took him to child psychologists. Jake quickly learned to shut up and limit his interactions with Omiel, his Shepherd. Omiel was a constant presence in his life and taught him to cope with his ability to see into the Veil between worlds. Over time, Jake learned to block out the Shepherds as just another part of the terrain, but if he focused, he witnessed them appearing and briefly following their charges.

Today, every student on the bus had a Shepherd near them, another reason he stared out the window. Normally, he might see two or three. Omiel floated particularly close to him today. Jake’s friendship with his Shepherd had become strained as of late, and he avoided speaking with the creature.

When the time comes, grasp my hand,” Omiel whispered to him, which alarmed Jake.

He scanned the bus, but as usual no one else heard a thing. The language used by the Shepherds wasn’t English or Hebrew. He knew both, albeit his Hebrew was rudimentary at best, as he had only learned what he needed for his bar mitzvah. Yet, he could understand the beings when they spoke. He wanted to respond, but hell, that would paint a bigger target on his back.

Just as the bus driver crossed the bridge taking them over the river, Jake saw a wall of water and storm debris rushing toward them.

Watch out!” he yelled at the driver.

Instead of gunning it, the bus driver panicked and hit the brakes. The water slammed into the bus, shoving them to the opposite side of the bridge. They crashed against the guardrails, breaking them like toothpicks. The bus plunged over the edge into the water with a crash, tossing students in all directions. The middle schoolers cried in fear as the bus bobbed upright in the water. The driver was slumped over the wheel unconscious. A tree the floodwaters had ripped up torpedoed through the glass door of the bus. Water roared inside, and everyone’s screaming and panicking hurt Jake’s ears.

He scrambled to the emergency exit window, but the bus spun around in the torrent, slamming into large debris and the underwater riverbanks, tossing him into the seat. Jake was finally able to reach the window and tried to get it open. One girl, Deanna, recovered her wits and helped him yank on it. Deanna was a serious girl who normally left him alone. Jake didn’t know if it was a good idea or a bad idea to open the exit; all he knew was staying inside the bus was a death sentence. The Shepherds stayed with their charges, but again, no one could see them. He wanted to yell at them to do something, but he didn’t have time. The bus was sinking quickly.

About the Author

Magdalene Dietchka was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania to a large, loving, and crazy family. She is an avid reader, storyteller, and gamer with a deep passion for Dungeons and Dragons. Always proud of her Eastern European heritage, Magdalene studied international relations with a specialization in Eastern European studies. After living in Moscow for a summer in the late nineties, the following year Magdalene met her husband online, and it was love at first sight.

Magdalene Dietchka now spends her days in West Virginia with her husband and two dogs.

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