A Chatter of Bones & Baby’s Breath Suzanne Phillips Publication date: April 21st 2026 Genres: Young Adult
From acclaimed author Suzanne Phillips comes this compelling novella collection–gritty coming-of-age stories in narrative and verse that Kirkus Reviews calls “haunting and heartbreaking. . .an unflinching look at surviving trauma.”
A CHATTER OF BONES
Kaitlyn has come to rely on Olivia, the woman who rescued her from human trafficking, but is learning to trust her instincts and lean into her hard-earned strength. All of this will be challenged when a monsoon bears down on their remote spread, a mountain lion, flushed out of the surrounding hills by the weather, attacks, and human visitors push Kaitlyn to face her deepest fears.
BABY’S BREATH
Teen poet bares the geography of her heart and the “no care” foster care system as she mourns the mother she lost, releases dreams of reunification, and accepts that the only life she can live is the one in front of her.
TRAFFICK
The world is not safe for girls
Broken
Beaten
Forgotten
Sweetened
The world is not safe for girls
Not in twos
Or with mace
Not screaming for help
Or stony-faced
The world is not safe for girls
With pretty hair
Or pocked skin
With muffin top
Or perfect teeth
The world is not safe for girls
Not in your home or mine
Not in school
Or after
Not with two parents
Or none
There’s someone
Always waiting.
Stroked
Or snatched
Held by the hand
A picked flower
Sold
Bartered
Rented by the hour
Always someone waiting
In the shadows
Or under street lights
In the school cafeteria
At the family BBQ
A friend’s father
Favorite uncle
Colleague
Cop
Neighbor
Father
To prove
The world is not safe for girls.
Author Bio:
Suzanne Phillips is the author of YA fiction, the Nicole Cobain mystery series (writing as Emery Hayes), and upmarket fiction. For a peek into the writer’s life and updates on book releases & events check out her website.
Sins of the Fire: Purgatorio Phoenix Ward (Sins of the Fire, #2) Publication date: December 18th 2025 Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Young Adult
The Church of New Haven extends its reach to those in need, however there are some lost souls that require more direct guidance, as their sins must be met with strong redirection. Thus, Jonah was created. Originally a man named M█████ ████, he contains over two-hundred thousand sinners. Until they reconcile with their offense to God, they are to fast and pray for their salvation for as long as it takes them to realize their folly, and call upon us.
The boy will be saved from the Dragon, even if he must waste away to understand their danger.
This morning was a reminder that not only was sleep important, but so was waking up before 10am.
Between the heads of bed hair, scruffy clothes and flip-flops, there were black suits, floral dresses and sweet smelling perfume clouding the entrance of the store. Conversations were held in front of the doorway, carts were being pushed around like they were going out of style, and somehow that wasn’t the thing that made us second guess our trip to getting our travel items here. No, that all paled in comparison to the white van-bus with the words “Destiny Baptist Church”, written in Times New Roman on the side.
It wasn’t the church we had a problem with— it was the fact that it was Destiny, a local mega church that made their way through the doors. The same Destiny that would play on my grandmother’s radio, from preaching almost twelve hours of gospel to choirs capable of going seven octaves without any pause for breath. For whatever reason, they were here. Maybe it was some food-based event, or some donation cause, or maybe someone felt the ‘Holy Spirit’ invade them to help out a few families with groceries— either way, it was crowded. Worse yet, the congregants brought their kids too. One wrong turn with a cart and we’d be anointed with oil and made to play the burning bush. Imani and I both shared wary gazed with one another as the chatting church folk mingled with folks that just wanted to get their groceries.
I was the first one to take the initiative, but Imani was quick to hold me back from going too far.
“Hang on, no plan?” She asked, “We’re just going to go in?”
I shrugged, scooting aside as a family of three slipped past us. “Yeah. We just gotta make it through the doors. We’ll probably just grab baskets and split. When we’re done, we’ll meet right by the self-checkout, next to the gift cards.”
Her eyebrows looked like they’d fly away. She released her gentle hold of my arm. “I guess I shoulda known you’d know how to handle yourself, considering the stuff you dealt with.”
“Is it weird to admit that the cult shenanigans actually wilder compared to this?”
Imani sped ahead of me, playfully pushing me out of the way. “Just pray you don’t get lost in here!”
“Ah, pray! Good one.”
The doors opened, our opportunity for a clear entry inside revealed itself. With clergy folk standing by the door, we said our ‘Good mornings’ and kept it moving. Basket procured, we both split up and went our separate ways. I immediately made a beeline to the deli. Three pre-packaged sandwiches were perfect carry-on for the long trip. From there, I shot for the snacks aisle. Chips, protein bars, and those salty peanut butter cracker packages were all loaded up in the basket with haste. I said my ‘hello’s, and my ‘excuse me’s to any passerby, some people greet me, others regard me with a nod.
I wanted to be away from the churchgoers. They didn’t take up the store, but they were too permeated— too mixed in.
Too indistinguishable.
I wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal. That after all of the conflict, the fears, the crying, the fighting, things were safe again. Two months of nothing should have been enough to convince me, but I knew better. Every aisle I walked down, there was a body dressed in black or white—formal clothing or just plain clothes. Without touching Mysherra, I couldn’t tell which was a Havenite and which wasn’t. Even outside of the store, regular people, clerks, judges, beggars, anyone could be a Remnant out to get me, or one to watch me.
I put my hand in my pocket and stood in front of the line of power-drinks. My fingers grazed over the surface of the pen.
The hairs on my neck stood up. Goosebumps bristled along my arms. Piercing spheres of heat sandwiched both sides of my sides.
I didn’t dare turn my head—Peripherals attuned to the presence of two white-robed Remnants on opposite sides of the aisle.
“Kane.”
“I know.”
Slowly, I inched my arm out of my pocket, pen wedged between my fingers. They wouldn’t be able to fight me, not with eyes watching them from the ceiling. They didn’t want their secret to be discovered just as I didn’t.
“Do not acknowledge their presence,” Mysherra spoke to me, “Walk with me down the aisle.”
My legs walked me sideways. I didn’t want my back turned to either one of these things. The power drinks transitioned to the flavored powders. Flavored powders to sparkling sodas. Neither one of the beings made a move.
“Once you get close, fire me.”
Senses were screaming at me to run or fight the closer I got to the remnant. My heart was thudding against my ribs.
“Just a little closer.”
Light conjured at the tip of the pen. The burning spread along my entire right side.
“Okay, the fires should be quiet enough to—”
“Excuse me.”
Someone bumped against my back, cutting off my focus. “Ah, sorry about th—”
All I did was turn my head. I had seconds, milliseconds, microseconds to process the burgeoning man unlatching his jaw in front of me. Ropes of saliva separated a hollow light at the back of his throat. Flesh, wet, and acrid already surrounded me, sounds of the outside muffled by the remnant’s mouth closing behind me. I must have fired four times— twice to the ribcage roof of the mouth and twice towards the light. Footing vanished, the dark closed in, and the door to the outside slammed shut behind stone teeth.
And I fell.
Author Bio:
Phoenix Ward is an indie black writer, and educator from Philadelphia. He has worked in the field of education for over five years, teaching all grades Mathematics and English. When he’s not writing, he is composing music using Logic Pro X, or tutoring children on subjects they struggle in. Currently, he lives in Philadelphia with his dog and cat.
An avid world-builder, Phoenix has created many stories from youth to adulthood, but none have captivated him as much as his latest work Sins of the Fire, which combines his passion for storytelling with his deep understanding of human nature. He draws inspiration from the vibrant city life of Philadelphia and his own experiences as an educator, infusing his narratives with authenticity and depth.
In addition to his work as a writer and educator, Phoenix is committed to supporting young creatives in their journeys. He actively encourages students and adults alike to seek a way to create their own stories. Everyone has a message to share, and doing so in story is the best way to do so.
A Tiny Little Favor Peyton Banks Publication date: April 17th 2026 Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
From USA Today bestselling author, Peyton Banks, comes a steamy rom com about second chances, accidental families, and the most unexpected proposal of all.
He was supposed to be a one-night stand… Now she’s asking him for baby number two.
Five years ago, Tachina Winston made one impulsive decision—a one-night stand with her former client, Vic Maxwell. The result? The world’s cutest little boy and an unconventional but surprisingly seamless co-parenting setup. No drama, no strings, no regrets.
But Tachina has a tiny little problem…
She wants another baby.
Dating apps? Disasters. Blind dates? Even worse. There’s only one man she trusts enough to do this with again: Vic.
Vic isn’t looking for love after a messy breakup. But when Tachina proposes her plan, he can’t deny it—he’s tempted.
And if he agrees, it will come with one condition: he wants to experience everything he missed before.
Easy, right?
Wrong.
Because soon, things get complicated. They’re having adult spend-the-night dates, sharing kisses that last too long, and stirring up feelings neither of them expected.
Then Vic’s ex returns wanting him back, they are forced to decide: was this just a favor with benefits… or the beginning of something real?
“A mood?” Tachina looked up from the menu at her longtime friend. There goes that nose of Addison’s. She had figured out that Tachina was keeping a secret.
“A mood. An energy. An aura. Something is going on in that big, beautiful head of yours.” Addison folded her arms across her chest and stared at Tachina.
“My head is not big,” Tachina muttered. She shrugged. “I’m just hungry.”
“Nope. That’s not it. You’ve got that look on your face. It’s the ‘I’ve been thinking too much about something’ expression.”
“Do I really have a ‘I’ve been thinking too much about something’ look?” Well, that was news to her. Tachina reached up and tucked her thick hair behind her ear.
“Yes, ma’am. Your forehead gets all serious. A long line appears across it.” Addison drew a line across her own forehead.
Tachina grimaced and waved her off. “Stop trying to read my face.”
“Just spill it already.”
Monica, one of their favorites waitresses, arrived at the table. She wore bright-pink lipstick, short pixie blonde hair, and had a personality big enough to fill the café. She pulled out her notepad and flashed them a grin.
“What can I start you with, darlin’? Tea? Coffee? Wine? A little Jack?” She chuckled and motioned to Addison and Tachina. “You two are over here whispering fierce, and by the looks of it, you should order the Jack.”
“It’s her.” Addison pointed to Tachina. “She’s the problem.”
“Woooow…” Tachina shook her head. How was she the problem?
“She sure threw you under the bus. Bless her heart. What’s wrong, babe?” Monica turned her kind eyes on Tachina. She had been working at The Iron Kettle for as long as Tachina and Addison had been coming there. She always tried to help and offer motherly advice. She was in her early sixties and didn’t bite her tongue when it came to nonsense.
“Nothing is wrong,” Tachina said quickly.
Two sets of eyebrows lifted at her.
Liars were rarely safe around women who made it their business to be in other’s people’s business. A best friend and a waitress were two of the most dangerous species to try to get away with something. They would figure it out.
“It’s no big deal,” Tachina stressed, but it seemed neither of them believed her.
“Well, I see she doesn’t want to talk in front of me. Let me take your order so she can spill her guts to you, Addy.” Monica turned to Addison who promptly gave her order.
Tachina glanced back down at the menu. Mind made up, she waited her turn.
“And Miss Tachina, what will you be having?”
“I’ll take the Reuben with extra cheese, extra mustard on the side, make sure they give me the biggest slice of pickle they have, and no chips, I’ll have the house fries instead, please.” She placed her menu back down on the table and again found two sets of eyes on her. She shrugged, unapologetic. “I said I was hungry. Oh, and for a drink, I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
“Really? A diet?” Addison muttered.
“Shut your face.” Tachina blew a kiss at her bestie who rolled her eyes at her.
“I don’t judge. I’ll get your order in and I’ll be back with your drink, babe.” Monica offered her a wink as she collected their menus. She spun on her heel and beelined it through the busy establishment.
“Okay. Now spill it.” Addison was not going to let up on her.
Tachina blew out a deep breath.
It was now or never.
Author Bio:
USA Today best selling author, Peyton Banks, is the alter ego of a city girl who is a romantic at heart. Her mornings consist of coffee and daydreaming up the next steamy romance book ideas. She loves spinning romantic tales of hot alpha males and the women they love. She currently resides with her husband and children in Cleveland, Ohio.
The Cardinal Code: Absolution Avery Sterling (The Cardinal Code, #2) Publication date: April 17th 2026 Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
The Cardinal Code: Absolution continues the dark, seductive saga of the Cardinales—an elite society of vampires whose influence shapes governments, history, and the hidden world beneath human civilization.
Paislee Sullivan never wanted power. She only wanted Michael. But loving a man born into a secret dynasty of blood and control means standing in the shadow of everything he represents.
When Michael Chamberlain is summoned to London, he’s pulled into a political struggle rooted in ancient bloodlines and forbidden truths. As old laws are challenged and long-buried secrets begin to surface, Paislee finds herself no longer at the edge of his world—but at its center.
The deeper she is drawn into Cardinales society, the more dangerous her presence becomes. To some, she is leverage. To others, a threat. To Michael, she is the only thing that has ever mattered.
Bound by love and hunted by forces determined to preserve the Order’s control, they must confront a truth the Dominium has spent centuries suppressing.
Because some bloodlines were never meant to merge.
“An invitation,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers and brushing her knuckles with his lips.
Her head lifted. “An invitation for what?”
“To Etxe Bakarra.”
“What’s that?”
“A celebration they hold every year—but barely understand. It was hand-delivered. Required my signature. Which means I must attend or face consequences.”
She studied the envelope, running her fingers over its embossed seal. “It’s beautiful. What is Etxe Bakarra?”
“A celebration of unity. Of peace.”
“Are you required to attend every year?”
“No.”
“Then why now?”
“Because the harvest moon aligns with the autumn equinox. It’s incredibly rare.”
She blinked. “Harvest moon, autumn equinox . . . the Order sounds mystical.”
He chuckled. “It’s their favorite bedtime story.”
As the car hummed down the avenue, she turned the envelope over in her hands.
“You didn’t even open it.”
“I know what it says.”
“I’ll open it, then.”
Her eyes skimmed the elegant script inside. Then she paused. “Michael . . . why is my name on it?”
He went still.
“Right under yours. It says the invitation extends to ‘Michael Chamberlain and companion, Paislee Sullivan.’”
He reached over and took the invitation from her hands. His easy charm shuttered, replaced by something darker. Calculating.
Michael stared out the window for a long moment.
“They want to see you,” he said quietly.
Paislee frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
A pause hung between them.
She rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath the fine weave of his jacket. He didn’t speak again, but he didn’t have to. She could feel it in the way he held her hand tighter than before—the silent promise tucked into his touch.
Whatever this celebration meant, whatever game the Order was playing, she was now a part of it.
Author Bio:
Avery Sterling’s love for the romance genre began in her teen years when she picked up her first novel. She was captivated by the sweeping scale of emotions brought about by the words. The experience catapulted her towards learning the art of wielding a breathtaking adventure, with a love that felt authentic. Wanting to inspire people with her own thoughts and words, she finished her first novel at sixteen. It was a step towards understanding the essence of what she wished to create.
Most of her youth was spent traveling, searching out the romance and beauty in her everchanging world. From the waves that crashed against the rocky shores of Downeast, Maine, to the warm breezes of the Caribbean, she discovered that love was universal, apparent in its grandest and simplest of forms. Her goal is to write novels an audience can relate to, one that conveys the truth and nature of love… with all that steamy romance.
Fracture Basar Gorur (Shadow Sovereign Series, #1) Publication date: April 17th 2026 Genres: Adult, Techno Thriller
A murdered diplomat. A dying man’s cryptic message. A conspiracy that could shatter NATO.
When U.S. geopolitical strategist Roger ‘Simms’ Osbourne receives word that his colleague and friend Aslı Green has been killed, he inherits more than grief. He inherits her secret: evidence of a sophisticated Russian operation that sank a Ukrainian tanker and made it look like an accident.
Sent to London to sell a critical NATO surveillance system, Simms quickly discovers his official mission is compromised. A powerful British political faction, backed by shadowy money and royal connections, is determined to see him fail. The deeper he digs into Aslı’s murder, the more he realizes the two threats are connected.
Forced to abandon the rulebook, Simms assembles an unlikely alliance: his embattled team, a mysterious operative named Katya who knows too much, and assets on both sides of the law. Together, they uncover a sprawling network funneling Russian profits through international shell companies to fuel a political war against the West.
But Russian Admiral Sidorov isn’t waiting for the dust to settle. His devastating military demonstration exposes NATO’s vulnerabilities and humiliates the alliance on the world stage. And lurking beneath it all is an even darker secret: Chinese technology at the heart of Russia’s most advanced weapons.
Now Simms must wage war on three fronts: political, financial, and military. Because if he fails, his friend died for nothing. And the next strike won’t be disguised as an accident.
For fans of Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney, and Brad Thor.
Ankara. Surveillance van outside Mikhail’s apartment. Evening.
Jack adjusted the lens for the hundredth time. Jones was sorting sunflower seeds by some private system known only to God and possibly his therapist.
“Stilettos,” Jones said.
“We’re not doing this.”
“We’re absolutely doing this. We’ve been here four hours. I’ve counted the bricks on that building. There are 2,847. I’ve earned a conversation.”
“You counted wrong. There are 2,846.”
“You counted them too?”
“Shut up.” Jack refused to look at him. “What about stilettos?”
“Women wear them voluntarily. On purpose. They pay extra for the privilege of balancing on pencil erasers.”
“Groundbreaking analysis. Call the sociology department.”
“I’m serious. Men’s fashion evolution went: uncomfortable, less uncomfortable, sweatpants. Enlightenment achieved. Women’s fashion went: uncomfortable, more uncomfortable, here’s a torture device from the Spanish Inquisition, but we made it beige.”
Jack checked the window. Nothing.
“Maybe they like being tall.”
“Platform sneakers exist. Wedges exist. Sensible block heels exist. Those chunky things that look like orthopedic equipment for fashionable astronauts.” Jones cracked a seed with surgical precision. “The stiletto isn’t about height. It’s about violence.”
“Violence.”
“Think about it. Historically, women couldn’t carry weapons. Swords, daggers, frowned upon. Very unlady-like. But shoes?” Jones gestured broadly, scattering shells. “Nobody regulates footwear. So some genius says, what if we put a three-inch steel spike on a pump and call it couture?”
“That’s actually not terrible.”
“I’m occasionally not terrible. Mark the calendar.”
The radio crackled. Static. The universe’s way of saying nothing was happening, and nothing would happen.
“You know they were daggers first,” Jones said. “Fifteenth century. Little needle-point shivs for punching through armor gaps.”
Jack checked the monitor. Still dark. “We are not talking about fashion history.”
“It’s tactical history. ‘Stiletto’ comes from stilus. The little metal spike Romans used for writing.” Jones pointed a shell at Jack. “It literally means ‘angry pen.’ The shoe is just a knife you can walk in.”
“You made that up.”
“Look it up. CIA even tried to weaponize them in the fifties. Program called Stiletto Rose. Pop-out blades in the heel.”
“Bullshit.”
“Swear to God. Total failure. Mechanics didn’t work. But someone tried.” Jones grinned. “Boredom is the mother of weapons development.”
Jack massaged his temples.
“Your ex-wife had stilettos, didn’t she?”
“Louboutins. Red soles. Cost more than my first car.” Jones found a seed worthy of consumption. “She never wore them. Kept them in the box. I asked why. She said they weren’t for wearing, they were for knowing she could wear them.”
“That explains the divorce.”
“Many things explain the divorce. Most of them are my fault. Some of them footwear-adjacent.”
The window remained dark. Jack was developing a personal vendetta against it.
The radio crackled.
“All teams, target vehicle approaching.”
Jack grabbed the camera. Jones swept the sunflower seeds aside.
“Finally,” Jones said. “I had a whole bit about platform shoes being siege equipment.”
“Save it.”
“Battering rams for the fashion-forward.”
“I will leave you here.”
Author Bio:
Başar Görür;
Writes geopolitical techno-thrillers grounded in institutions, leverage, and the real mechanics behind modern power. He has a BA degree in International Relations.
During his military service, he served on the personal staff of the Commander of the War Academies, working directly for a four-star air force general as an aide and translator. That experience informs how he writes briefings, decision cycles, and pressure under uncertainty.
He later held senior executive roles at PwC and at 3M Corporation headquarters, operating in multinational environments where cross-border incentives and capital flows shape outcomes. He now leads a private asset-management business.
Outside of work, he is a licensed captain and avid scuba diver who spends several months each year at sea and has traveled extensively. These experiences shape the Shadow Sovereign series.
The Magical Library Aimee O’Brian (Charmed Love, #4) Publication date: April 16th 2026 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
In the small town of Hazard, the past never stays buried—and love may be the most powerful magic of all.
Whitney Hopewell, Hazard’s newly elected mayor and former librarian, is determined to protect the town she loves. When a smooth Boston developer offers a sleek solution to Hazard’s affordable housing crisis, she’s cautiously hopeful. Derrick Cross is charming, intelligent, and undeniably intriguing. Convincing the local innkeeper to rent him a room feels practical. Helping him with his historical research feels personal.
But Derrick hasn’t come to Hazard to help. He’s returned to settle a centuries-old score. His family’s downfall is tied to the town’s founding, and transforming Hazard’s quaint charm into soulless urban sprawl is his long-planned revenge. Falling for the woman fighting to save it threatens everything.
As Whitney and Derrick grow closer, sensing a deep connection neither can explain, secrets surface. A hidden tunnel, a looming hurricane, and a magical heritage quilt that reveals dreams of true love force them to confront history, heartbreak, and desire.
This enchanting small-town, enemies-to-lovers romance weaves family feuds, magical realism, and heartfelt emotion into a story about forgiveness, fate, and choosing love over vengeance.
Whitney looked up and up at the tall, dark-eyed man before her, and her heart beat just a tad faster…well, galloped actually, even as she sought to rein in her reaction. What was it about this man?
The man of her dreams.
She shook her head at the thought. Ridiculous! Obviously, she needed more sleep. She drew in a sharp breath and gripped her desk to pull herself together.
“Good afternoon, Mayor Whit.” The quick flash in his dark eyes told her he was mocking her. But to be fair, she had mixed feelings about the moniker she’d been gifted by the town.
She gave a small headshake. “Stop.” She motioned at the guest chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Cross.”
His eyes took in the vinyl-upholstered, armless chair. It wasn’t the most inviting, looking as if it was there by design to discourage lengthy visitations.
With a glance at her, he sat, leaned back, and steepled his fingers.
Aware of his penetrating gaze, Whitney looked down and arranged the papers scattered over her desk into neat little piles. “I haven’t finished studying the bids yet. Your visit is premature.” She swallowed, hard.
He raised a brow.
Whitney cleared her throat. “What I mean…”
“I know exactly what you mean.” He directed his attention on her now neat stacks of documentation. “Do you have any questions? Concerns I might…alleviate?”
Whitney caught her breath and stopped herself from leaning forward. He was being persuasive, cajoling, and for an instant, it had worked.
And that just irked her.
Oh, not that he’d employ tried-and-true sales techniques on her, but that such behavior was beneath him. She recognized in him a strength and a clarity of thought that rivalled her own. The man exuded decisiveness. This conciliatory manner didn’t suit, not at all, and worse, it chafed at her.
Fine…he wanted to play? She would take charge of the meeting. “Tell me why you believe H.A.S. Homes is our best option for the housing mandate?”
He raised a brow and launched, running down the superiority of the company over all others. This was better; biased, certainly, but a presentation of definitive ideas on what H.A.S. would bring to the community of Hazard.
And yet, even when he was outlining all the reasons she should choose his bid over all the others, something tickled the back of her mind until, in a flash, it became clear why it wasn’t quite right. Everything he said only highlighted what Mackenna had called his designs—cookie-cutter. “Your designs are unimaginative.” The words popped out at his pause before she could edit her thoughts. With the words flung out there, his pause lengthened, and Whitney held her breath. Would he fill the silence?
Or should she?
Before she could come up with something to say to lessen the impact of her last comment, he spoke. “Is that what you need? Imagination?” She heard the subtle teasing, as if she had missed entirely what she should have been focused on. “How about, instead,” and now his tone grew serious, “how about homes people can afford?” He had a point, and Whitney was willing to concede him that, but she missed the enthusiasm he had exhibited before, and his next words dampened his entire presentation, as recrimination hovered within them. “This town has imagination to spare. What you need is the practical.”
Did she? Because Whitney felt like she lived her life in the practical and what she craved was creativity. She released a slow sigh. She couldn’t help it. She tried to keep the disappointment off her face. Ah, well, balance then, she thought. What she said was, “Is that right?”
Silence stretched between them.
Whitney felt unbalanced suddenly, talking to him alone in her office. What had been businesslike before now felt intimate, just the two of them intent on each other. She found herself hyperaware of his masculinity, seated as he was, a mere three feet from her on the other side of her teakwood desk. She gave a tiny cough. “Well, I need more time, and the council hasn’t met to discuss the bids yet. We will vote.”
“At the next city council meeting.” His gaze on her was unwavering.
“Of course.”
“In a month.”
She nodded.
“So…”
He was watching her, waiting. She shifted in her chair. Suddenly, despite the air conditioning blasting out of the vents, the room was too warm, the heat of summer overwhelming. She had no idea now what she could give him. It wasn’t her place to make promises on how the council would vote. She…needed a moment. “I’m going to walk to the library and let everything you shared with me settle in. I’ll consider your points and study the bids again tonight.”
“Over dinner?”
Her eyes jerked back up to his, even as they both stood. She placed a hand on her desk to maintain her balance. “Dinner?”
Author Bio:
Having lived in both California and Texas, award-winning author Aimee O’Brian now resides in the beautiful wine country where she writes dark, sexy, funny romance. With her three children grown and experiencing their own adventures, she and her husband are free to explore the world. When she’s not reading, writing, or planting even more flowers in her garden, she can be found stomping through ancient ruins and getting lost in museums.
Royal Mayhem Samantha Jayne Grubey Publication date: April 15th 2026 Genres: New Adult, Romance
Part one of a duet.
Melinda Brown doesn’t want much in life, graduate university and survive.
Prince Alexander has everything, surrounded be riches and spoilt to the core. Everything he’s ever wanted has been at the tip of his finger due to his prestigious status as future King of England.
Despite coming from two different worlds, they share the same university. One day everything changes when the two crash into each other’s lives, literally.
As they both enter each other’s worlds, they’re forced to make compromises for the sake of their growing attraction.
Will Melinda and Alexander be able to win people with their love, especially when it becomes clear that they both hide secrets? Or will Prince Alexander by denied for the first time by the first woman that he truly wants? Not everything is as it seems in Royal Mayhem.
Rolling onto my side, I was met with thin air falling to the floor letting out a groan as I hit the floor.
How did I fall out of bed?
I opened my eyes seeing I was in the living room. The memories of last night finally came rushing back to me. We had been binge-watching my favourite reality television show and fell asleep.
Looking behind me, Alex was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful. With him asleep, I had time to admire him without him knowing it. It had taken a bit for Alex to get comfortable after the incident again. I could tell he was fighting with himself. There must’ve been a huge part of him that wanted to run and hide, whilst the other part of him wanted to stay.
What scared me the most is that I wanted to know both of those parts of him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I wanted to know it all. I wanted to know him.
Then, there’s the secret.
Could I cope with not knowing what his secret was?
It was obvious he had one, no adult had a grown babysitter without a reason. The security that had suddenly appeared around the campus, it all coincides with when Alex started at university.
I couldn’t figure out what the reason was.
Did he have a famous and important family?
Was he secretly a political figure?
Would I end up hurt?
I wanted to google him so bad. I reached for my phone, opening up the browser and stared at it.
Could I break my promise?
I told him I wouldn’t.
I let out a groan, throwing my phone back on the sofa.
I stood up, made my way to the bathroom, and showered quickly. I wrap the towel around me heading to the bedroom changing into some clean clothes. My body ached so much. Sleeping on a small sofa with someone else was not the best way to sleep.
After finishing getting ready, I made my way downstairs, Alex was still asleep on the sofa, and into the kitchen. I grabbed a can out of the fridge, opening it and taking a small sip.
Maybe I should prepare some breakfast.
I know Alex brought breakfast things I couldn’t believe he went shopping for me. I don’t think anyone would top what he did for me. I walked into the living room and saw he was sitting up looking confused.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” he said. “I was really confused about where I was then.”
“Do you often wake up at random houses not knowing who you’re with?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not happened in a few years,” he admitted. “Do you have plans today?”
I shook my head.
“Do you want to go on that date?”
“I’d love to.” Butterflies filled my stomach, this was my first real date.
“Great,” he smiled. “I’m going to go home and then I’ll come pick you up” he looked at his phone “around midday if that’s alright with you?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. He stood up, stretching his arms out.
I made my way over to the door and let him out. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, you will. Just so you know, I had fun last night,” he said.
“Me, too.”
He got into his car and drove off.
I headed into the living room, grabbing my phone.
Megan answered straight away. “If this isn’t life or death, I’m going to fucking kill you, Melinda,” she mumbled.
“Does Alex asking me on a date count?”
Author Bio:
Samantha Jayne Grubey is an author of new adult romance.
When she’s not writing or reading, she will be playing sims or doing some diamond art and if she isn’t doing any of that she could be pole dancing or most likely working.
Nocturne Tricia D. Wagner Publication date: April 14th 2026 Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
In NOCTURNE, sixteen-year-old Livi learns the truth of who she is—a Siren, her people known only to legends. She must learn to master her powers of influence, strength, and destruction to stop a warmongering Admiral from drafting her best friends, capturing and killing her people, and decimating her homeland of Nocturne.
Livi stood before the tavern’s bleak threshold, its heavy door cobbled of wrecked ships.
She peered through its ragged window, quieting the wiser part of her, an inner voice calling for her to turn back. And truly, she was stunned that she’d mustered the daring to try this.
There were dozens of men here—sailors all brooding over their flagons, many looking to be harboring grudges.
The tavern’s splintery walls were studded with trophies—toothy payaras, dry in their death throes, tacked beneath golden portraits of infamous Korps Mariner ships and their dread captains.
The men frequenting this sand-dusted, fish-pongy tavern—The Orphic, were the sun-beaten sailors and damaged soldiers of Merritaine, mercenaries and relieved fighters who’d reached the shore of old age still breathing.
No one dared step a toe in The Orphic unless he bore epic tales—bloody acts of acclaim on the baleful blue seas.
Many here had killed. Some for honorable causes in noble wars, yes. But they’d killed.
For all their savagery, though, they were brave.
Livi had heard enough stories to understand them as uniformly dauntless and skilled. If anyone could help her skip Merritaine’s coast and reach Nocturne, he’d be drinking here.
Through the brume of pipe smoke, she measured each face for hints of affability. Or at least for traces of good humor—signs that someone might consider her offer. If she could just single out one sailor more approachable than not, perhaps she could move to him unnoticed.
But that wouldn’t happen. Women scarcely set foot here, and sixteen-year-old girls certainly didn’t.
A few of the sailors came across as jovial—but even they harbored an undercurrent of trouble in their looks, their ease striking like a gusty southerly bathing the seaside, forecasting a typhoon’s assault.
The afternoon seemed all at once to grow late, a shaft of misted sunlight sluicing through the windows and casting the place in watery relief.
In fixing on that panorama of ocean, Livi could almost see Nocturne’s peaks in the deep west, its moonstone shores marbled with the shadowy ash given by its volcanic chain.
Those heights, she had to reach. For it was said that Nocturne’s high places were hived with sea caves—chambers shining with waters rumored to have healing properties.
Some believed those springs could stave off even death.
Livi eased from her jacket a small jar of pearls, each perfect, as plump as a blueberry—these a mere sampling of the trove she’d collected. They ought to be more than enough to buy passage to Nocturne from someone here bearing the skill, and the gall, and the ship, and the time to set sail for the Isles, along with some assurance that he could ferry her through storms, over waters where lurked sharks and killer whales and squids that tore up boats, and finally beyond the dread Maelstroms.
Livi had imagined this moment many times—making her bold approach in The Orphic, striking a deal. She’d imagined that arriving at this brink would feel like the onset of her escape.
But in finally standing here, readying to approach men alleged to be the most barbarous in Merritaine, the idea seemed beyond reckless.
Célian, her best friend—maybe more—would be sick at the thought of her here. And truly, in darkening this threshold, she felt she was skimming the rim of the Maelstroms, those great whirlpools unceasing in their churning, twisting what strayed near straight down in a tempest, claiming ships and seafarers alike as a part of themselves.
The bright Merrow Ocean glinting in, though, delivered some steadfastness. For at the sight of its rolling, Livi could gather a sense of what it might feel like, teaming with someone here, cruising on his scabrous ship to the treacherous west.
A man seated at the tavern’s back corner stood out a touch.
He looked a decade younger than the rest, and he had all his limbs, which was saying something. He seemed not resentful, or affable, or angry—just somber. His solemnity made it clear that he wanted to be left to himself.
But it also lent an impression of patience. Maybe he’d listen.
She edged open the tavern’s door and crept in. She eased behind a column in the entryway and held still.
She’d have to get to the somber man quick. If she drew too much attention, the barkeep—a tall man, his eyes sharp to check all the action, his manner busy and swift with his bottles—would cast her out before she could lay down one word of her offer.
Or worse—he’d let the men handle the disruption.
Livi stepped from the shade, into the amber light of the tavern.
Author Bio:
As a young reader, writers were like gods and goddesses to now author Tricia D. Wagner. She never could have imagined weaving tales like her favorite storytellers, until a fateful April dinner conversation with her husband about a lecture he attended got her mind whirling. By the end of that summer, she’d written 400,000 words: a speculative fiction trilogy. Wagner felt as if she’d emerged from a cocoon as some new sort of creature. She was hooked.
It was important to Tricia to sharpen her skills, and she immersed herself in workshops, guides, and writing communities, learning from editors how to hone her craft. She did this for years, and the result is her newly released novella The Strider and the Regulus, two independently published novelettes, four soon-to-be published novellas, and five as yet unpublished novels. She found writing to be a method for becoming the person she felt she was born to be. Wagner finds that writing inspires her to be a better person, truer to herself.
The ideas and substance of Tricia’s writing comes from a very deep place that is strongly stimulated by setting. Often, when she has completed a story, she feels as if she’s been to her story world, whether it’s on the map or not. She likes to believe all the places she writes about exist somewhere, somehow.
In writing her stories, Wagner was surprised and delighted to discover how real the characters become to an author; that for many writers, their characters end up as their most treasured friends. She loves to delve into them to mine their natures, secrets, and desires—to tell their stories with the legitimacy they deserve. In studying her characters, she finds she has the opportunity to shape herself, inching closer to the person she wants to become.
Wagner believes revision is magical in its power to make a good book great, and early drafts are only the beginning of a story’s journey. Any idea can wind up a good story, but with reflection and time and improvement, it can become art. Once Wagner completes a revision project, it feels miraculous how many fresh approaches have manifested and how much truer the story feels.
Wagner hopes her readers feel enchanted when they read her stories; that after completing one, it seems they’re drifting out from under a spell. This is exactly how she feels when she finishes writing a story. She hopes to that her writing might expand their minds, spirits, and worlds a bit, and she hope they fall in love with her characters and are moved by her artistry of language.
When she isn’t writing poignant works of literary fiction, Wagner is a Director of Adult Education – ESL Programs at a community college, a job and staff that she loves. In her spare time she enjoys refining her writing craft to discover new angles and landscapes that might enrich her writing palette. One such example is a recent course she took in learning to read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, something that’s sure to end up in a story at some point. Wagner lives in Rockford, Illinois, with her husband and three darling cats.
On her tenth birthday, Marty Oakley expects comfort and celebration, not a city tearing itself apart. As Velarisca trembles and steam-powered defenses spiral out of control, Marty flees through chaos with her father, only to discover he is not who she believed him to be.
With the city collapsing around them, long-buried secrets surface and a hidden legacy awakens. Caught in a conspiracy stretching from the depths below to the skies above, Marty must face truths no child should ever carry, or lose everything she loves.
Broken Wings is a heartfelt steampunk fantasy prequel filled with wonder, danger, and unexpected adventure.
Why the kickstarter collector’s edition is special.
This is not just a book. It’s the beginning.
Broken Wings is a 20,000 word prequel novella and the very first story in the Enchanted Skies universe. It introduces Marty at age ten and her father who tried to protect her from a truth that was always going to catch up.
This edition will never be sold through retailers. It is only available through this Kickstarter, and later Miloa’s direct store. No algorithms. No middlemen. Just readers who chose to be here from the start.
Backers of this campaign will have their names printed in the book as founding readers, permanently recorded as the ones who helped this world take its first breath.
Miloa Scape is a speculative fiction author writing genre-blending stories that combine fantasy, science fiction, and steampunk with a strong emphasis on found family and character-driven storytelling. With an engineering background and extensive gaming experience, she brings a systems-focused approach to worldbuilding and narrative structure. Her debut project, Broken Wings, introduces a steampunk-inflected world that serves as the foundation for a larger speculative fiction series in development.
Josh Hurst was supposed to be my forever. Instead, he became the villain in my origin story.
I gave him my heart. He broke it without flinching. So, I did what any self-respecting, heart-shattered girl would do—I declared war.
Our revenge game? Legendary.
Until I left for college and swore I’d never look back.
But life doesn’t care about vows made in the dark.
When my father dies unexpectedly, I’m dragged back to the hometown I outgrew, handed guardianship of my grieving kid brother, and forced to take over my father’s struggling veterinary clinic.
And waiting for me—like karma with a smirk—is Josh.
Not as a memory.
Not as a ghost.
But as my new business partner.
Avoiding him? Impossible.
Forgetting what we were? Laughable.
He still looks at me like I’m his. Like we’re a story paused instead of over. Like one spark is all it would take.
And God help me, the spark is still there.
But we don’t do soft. We don’t do safe.
We do oil and fire. War and wreckage.
Whatever we once were—
Whatever we still could be—
We’re enemies.
And this time, nobody’s walking away unburned.
I pressed my lips tight to fight the smile dying to break free. “What happened to your face?”
He took off his glasses and shoved them in the white lab coat he wore over a green scrub top and khaki pants. “You’re late.”
“You’re blue.” I bit back a snicker.
His cheeks flushed.
A snort giggle escaped me. “Did you have a Braveheart re-enactment after baseball? I’ve never heard of that kind of kink, but to each his own, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s Blu-Kote.”
“The old fogie wound treatment stuff? Do you use that?”
“No.” He wiped ineffectively at his face. “This morning, a horse owner poured it on the hoof while I was looking at the abscess before I could stop him. The mare kicked it all over me. It won’t come off my skin, and it ruined my shirt.”
“Oh.” I compressed my lips to stop the laughter bubbling. A head duck helped while I threw my oversized purse on the client sofa. I reached for the bottle of alcohol off the shelf above the sink and grabbed a few cotton balls. “Hold still.”
“Stop laughing.” He waved at me when I got close to keep me away.
“I’m going to help you.” I saturated a cotton ball in alcohol and wiped his cheek. It didn’t come off easily since it had set into the skin. I rubbed harder.
“Oww.” He tried to bat me away. “Are you trying to peel off my skin?”
I held up the cotton ball to show the blue coming off. “Stop being a wuss. How many clients did you see like this?”
He put the laptop on the counter and crossed his arms. “A few.”
“You need to come up with a better story than some horse kicking it all over you.” I kept rubbing.
“I’m not going with kink as my story.”
I laughed so hard I had to step away from him and put down the cleaning items. I rubbed my eyes. “You’d have the ladies wondering.”
“I’d rather not be known as the Blue Man of the bedroom.”
Author Bio:
USA Today bestselling author Zoe Forward is a parent, wife, veterinarian, and unapologetic chocolate lover. She writes spicy paranormal and contemporary romances that blend action, adventure, humor, and a touch of magic.
Zoe lives in the South with a lively menagerie of four-legged beasts and two slightly wild kids.
