Immortality Island Nikki Jefford Publication date: July 21st 2026 Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Survivor meets Fear Factor in this romantic fantasy filled with magic, vampires, and enemies-to-lovers adventure.
Hunting her was meant to be easy . . . until desire got in the way.
Twenty human spellcasters. One deadly island. Four cutthroat vampire masters. Only one caster can make it to the end . . . and win a place in a vampire clan for eternity.
After her doctor discovers a brain tumor and gives her months to live, Joni Mullins sees winning the show as her last chance at survival.
Sterling Alder is a vampire master with a personal vendetta and a mission: destroy her. But on Immortality Island, survival isn’t just about magic—it’s about temptation, betrayal, and falling for the one person he should never want.
Welcome to Immortality Island, where contestants are literally thrown to the sharks!
My pulse thunders, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
“You have a terrible poker face,” Sterling says.
Only when it comes to him.
When I glare, he laughs—a low, warm sound that does infuriating things to my nerves.
“And you don’t know when to give up,” I say.
“There it is,” he says, clearly pleased. “No more playing pretend.”
I tap my wand against my hip, right where the rune tattoos hide beneath my jean shorts. It’s meant to remind him of my powers. What I’m capable of.
Instead, his gaze drops.
Sterling is fit in a way that looks effortless—long lines of muscle beneath his shirt, all restraint and coiled strength. The Bahamian sun has done irritating things to him. His skin, once pale, has picked up color. Not much—but enough that it warms his face and makes his gray eyes look brighter. Even his thick silver hair catches the light differently now, almost luminous against the blue of the sea.
I hate that I notice.
But it tracks. I have terrible taste in men. Not that I’m into Sterling Alder! He’s literally here to kill me.
When his gray eyes slide back up to mine, his fangs descend.
Hunger flashes across his face—raw, quick, and unmistakable.
My body reacts before my brain has a chance to step in. A traitorous heat curls low in my belly, and I clamp down on it hard.
Absolutely not.
I need to shut down this freak show before it goes any further. And I know just how.
Author Bio:
Nikki Jefford is a third-generation Alaskan nomad married to an amazing Frenchman. She loves fictional bad boys and heroines who kick butt! Books, travel, TV series, hiking, writing, and motorcycle riding are her favorite escapes. The dark side of human nature fascinates her, so long as it’s balanced by humor and romance.
To get in on the fun and adventure, visit Nikki at her website for release alerts, updates, exclusive giveaways, and a free story when you subscribe to her newsletter: https://nikkijefford.com/newsletter/
Bound Beauty Jennifer Silverwood (A Wylder Tale, #3) Publication date: July 14th 2026 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Forgotten gods haunt her steps, and the cursed prince she left behind isn’t done fighting for her soul.
Vynasha is bound to the prince of Bitterhelm. Even if she were to die, her spirit will remain trapped with him in the castle forever. But she won’t give in to Grendel without a fight. With the aid of an oracle, a witchling, and the wolf that claims her heart, Vynasha plans to claim her power as the curse breaker.
Ceddrych guards their nephew secretly while fighting to keep the feral beasts roaming their borders at bay. But the monsters are closing in, and the madness he has struggled with drives him to one desperate, unforgivable act.
A war is about to begin between the forgotten people of Wylderland and the cruel might of Bitterhelm. Beings of prophecy and legend unite in the epic third chapter of the Wylder Tales Series, a romantic gothic re-telling of Beauty and the Beast.
WYLDER TALES is a series of romantic dark fairy tales, set in the past of the wider Borderlands Saga, and includes:
•slow burn romantasy
•forced proximity
•enemies to lovers
•found family
•magical bonds
•wicked witches
•burly beasts
•morally gray characters
The journey seemed to take far longer than she remembered, and part of her feared the passage of time here compared to the world her body remained behind. Ceddrych had told her countless tales of the dangers of magick, of what happened when one dwelled too long in enchanted dreams.
Here the palace looked less like a ruin wrought from rampage. Candles gave off an unnatural silver glow and the hovering lights that had been trailing Vynasha seemed to thicken and gather as she lifted a hand to push open the doors to the throne room. They cracked open before her hand could touch the intricately carved wood.
Snow filtered in through the broken ceiling and rose vines curled over every surface, crawling up the obsidian columns and steps to the throne. Surrounding the steps, the shadow-spirits of beasts of every size and shape lounged and paced. Their forms flickered about the edges, and their eyes glowed brightly, turning to fix upon Vynasha as she slowly entered the hall.
Upon the throne, the thorned vines had dug into a hunched over man. His blood gleamed luminous violet, the same shade as hers was now.
With every step she took, the full wreck of his downfall became increasingly apparent. The shadow beasts at her back pressed closer, urging her forward. Vynasha clenched her fists and refused to climb the steps to face him.
“Grendel.” Her voice echoed like a plucked lute string through the cavernous hall.
Grendel shuddered and then raised his head and looked at her with dead violet eyes. “Vynasha.” The crack in his voice echoed clearly to her ears. His eyes widened when she remained, and his vine-wrapped hands clawed at the arms of his throne. “You have come at last.”
Her feet began to move of their own accord. She barely caught herself in time. She could not, would not go to him, and certainly never pity him. “What happened here? Why are my roses taking over like this?”
“Can you not guess, Vynasha” Grendel leaned forward, ignoring the press of the rose crowning his dark hair. “Vynasha, you have no idea how your absence has undone me. It has been pure torture to sense you but never able to touch you.”
“Good.” Vynasha took a single involuntary step up the stairs leading to his throne. His violet eyes flared wide with apprehension as she growled, “You and your monsters have made our lives a living hell, Grendel. It’s only fair I repay your bloody kindness.”
Grendel’s lips parted and his gaze took in the full measure of her with all the subtlety of a starving man. “Yet you are here,” he said, a new clarity brightening his violet gaze. His hands flexed against the arms of his throne. “You are truly here, and that means the spell has been broken.”
Vynasha flinched at his sudden smile and found herself unable to take a step back. Her feet drove her forward once more, and this time she had no power over herself to stop. “What are you doing to me?”
Grendel’s hand twitched and then she was flung forward. He groaned as he caught her, the thorns digging deeper into his flesh. She cried out as the same thorns cut her palms as she braced herself against his chest. “I have you, at last, I have you,” he said, eyes bright with unshed tears.
He was mad. No, she was mad. For the instant her hands found his flesh, a roaring wave of need assaulted her. She could rage at him and claim this was his need she felt, not her own. But this compulsion was familiar, forbidden and something she had fought desperately to forget in the past three moons.
“Grendel, let me go” she pleaded as she leaned into him, the pain of his thorns forgotten as he pulled her into his lap and began to press his lips over every part of her he could reach.
“How could I give you up my beauty, my love, my queen?”
She couldn’t breathe. The scent of roses, of life and death, of him were overwhelming. A part of her was starving, had been starving for months, she realized wish sickening clarity. “I hate you,” she sobbed as she tilted her chin and gave him further access to her neck. “If you pull me back here again, I will find a way to kill you, I swear it.”
“You cannot kill me without killing yourself, love,” he said with a laugh.
“Then we both die.” She shook her head but could not help tracing her nose along his neck, to draw in more of his heady scent.
“Vynasha,” he cried as her lips pressed to his pulse. “Please, Vynasha!”
But he was no longer tangible beneath her hands, the thorns no longer piercing them both. The painful aching need to mold herself to him faded just as she did, her hands disappearing before her eyes.
“Vynasha!” He cried with an agony she felt as her spirit was ripped free from Grendel’s nightmare. And the world around her dimmed, consumed by a cloud of inky ashes.
Author Bio:
Jennifer Silverwood lives in the middle of an enchanted forest surrounded by cursed books, nosy spirits, and mischievous goblins she calls her children. After beginning several nonsensical degrees, she found her calling helping other authors bring their books to life. Jennifer is the author of two fairy tale fantasy series: the Borderlands Saga and Wylder Tales. Because she wasn’t satisfied writing in one genre, she also invites you to explore uncharted space with the Heaven’s Edge Novellas—and dare to fall in love again with the standalone romance titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight.
Beyond Ever After Chantal Gadoury Publication date: July 14th 2026 Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
Return to the world of fairytales that readers first fell in love with in Until the Last Page in this magically charming sequel.
When Jo fell into a book of fairytales, she thought she would only have to save one prince. But now she has to save his brother, too.
In this new chapter, Jo finds herself lost once more in a world of magic, crowns, and impossible choices. The stories have changed, but the dangers haven’t—and neither has the loving a frog prince was never meant to be easy.
He thought one kiss would solve everything—but now, Prince Aneurin must stop a doomed royal wedding. With Josephine by his side, they tumble through twisting tales in search of a clever witch hiding behind a perfect disguise.
Between running from bearded kings, and avoiding unwanted betrothals, they navigate kingdoms and stories that refuse to stay neatly written. As adventures collide and hearts are tested, Jo and Aneurin soon discover that even in fairytales, the most dangerous magic of all is love.
I was certain I could not tolerate another insufferable evening in these damned confining clothes. Tugging at the collar of my tunic, I silently let out a curse into the cool night air. The music from the festivities below, a gentle, enchanting melody of the celebration, drifted up to where I stood on the balcony of my chamber. I’d done my best in avoiding the gossiping members of the court who still could not cease bringing up Josephine’s name around me.
This was a night of grand celebration. My brother was finally engaged, and there was once again a promise of stability – a guarantee of a prosperous future now that he was to be wed. My brother, the epitome of regal charm, and his beautiful future bride-to-be were at the center of everyone’s attention. I was grateful for the distraction from myself.
Sliding a hand through my hair, I let out a deep sigh. It had been apparent from the ballroom floor just how much of a stark contrast I was to the idyllic scene. The years I’d spent as a cursed amphibian had only isolated me from the kingdom, and worse, my family. Sitting at the dining table night after night, left me quiet and disconnected, while my family went on as I imagined they had for years without me. The courtiers had much to say about their theories of my previous life. I couldn’t stand to hear their remarks. Memories of the long nights, being confined in a body that had never truly been mine, feeling so far away from home…from my family. My manservant Henry had tried to tend to my every whim, except for the one I’d truly wanted the most—the freedom to be a man again. In the quiet evenings, when only the sounds of grasshoppers kept me company, I had imagined myself as I once had been, and it had filled me with a sadness I’d never known how to describe. I had dreamed of my return home, to the welcoming arms of my father and mother. But the reality of my return was not one of excitement, but uncertainty and fear.
I overheard the whispers about “the mysterious woman,” who had vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Her presence had unwittingly brought danger by luring the very man who had cursed me into the heart of the palace. Despite it being me who had bargained with the man called Rumpelstiltskin again, Josephine’s disappearance had left unanswered questions and an uneasy tension that permeated the palace walls.
The festivities below were a cruel reminder of the life I could have had but had lost.
I slid my hands over the cool stone of the balcony railing and closed my eyes. For so long, my life had been consumed by one purpose—breaking the curse with a true love’s kiss. I had never allowed myself to imagine what came after. I supposed that I would slip back into the role I had left as a young man. I would be welcomed back with open arms and take my place beside my father as his heir – his true heir. However, as that path had changed, I was forced to forge a new one —a life in which I would stand beside my brother as a symbol of unity. It was my duty to assist him in his new role, and it was an honor to do so – or so I was told. Even as I stood beside him in the glowing ballroom, I saw the hope in his eyes as he looked at me, and the quiet joy as his gaze shifted to his bride-to-be. The way he held her hand to his lips, the love that passed between them – it was clear. Charming would be a noble and worthy king, and I would serve him with unwavering loyalty.
Loosening the necktie of my tunic, I tilted my chin up towards the sky, gazing over the sparkling stars above. “Josephine…” I whispered.
In all honesty, despite my impeccable ability to keep track of the hours of a day as a frog, I had lost track of how many weeks had slipped by since the last time I had seen her. Had it been a fortnight? Longer? Or perhaps even shorter?
The memory of our last night was etched vividly in my mind. The gentle touch of her hand in mine, the sparkle of mischief in her dark brown eyes, and the softness of her laughter as I held her in my arms while we danced. I had been a fool not to kiss her then. Maybe if I had, she would have been able to stay by my side. I had ignored the silent plea in her eyes, ignored the gnawing in my stomach. I’d been so determined to fulfil the foolish bargain I’d made with Rumpelstiltskin, and it had made me so willingly blind.
I had known Josephine had been the one for me ever since seeing her with that irritating woodland man—Arch, with his untamed beard and wise eyes. For as insufferable as I found Arch to be, I knew it was because he was her friend. I had yearned for the warmth of her friendship, to be on the receiving end of her charms, her smiles.
I had also been a fool to deny the truth for so long, until it was too late. It was maddening how deeply Josephine had worked her way into my heart—only to be torn away before I could fully grasp it.
After the defeat of Rumpelstiltskin, Josephine was returned to her world by a mysterious woman. As the clock in the grand hall began to strike twelve, she dissolved before my very eyes, her form fading like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind nothing but the pair of glass slippers my mother had lent her. Instantly, my heart had been filled with longing. I had remained alone on the dance floor for several minutes until my brother pulled me away. In my manic desperation, I pleaded with my parents to allow me to search for her—to search for ‘the mysterious woman.’ They inevitably gave in to the request. Hours bled into days, and there was no trace of Josephine, nor the woman. It was as though Josephine had never existed in my world. Perhaps she hadn’t.
Since that moment, I had been haunted by the memory of her disappearance, by the ache of her absence that grew with each passing day. I missed her with a depth of longing that threatened to consume me. A yearning that gnawed at my soul and left me restless in the quiet hours of the night.
I knew I would never find her again. She’d claimed to come from another world that existed outside of my own. Many days, I found myself longing to retreat to my chambers and escape the routine of long meetings with my brother and silent dinners with my parents. I preferred to sit in the quiet darkness and bury my sorrows in a decanter of mead by my bedside. I hoped that if I stayed there long enough, the world outside would fade away, and with it, the ache in my heart.
Maybe then, the enchantress—the cruel and cunning one who had spirited Josephine from me would decide to grace me with her presence again. Many nights, I pictured her slipping into the room, her voice as dangerous as a snake’s whisper. She would look upon my pitiful state and offer to curse me back into the amphibious form I once loathed but now yearned for.
I knew I couldn’t let myself remain lost in those thoughts forever. As much as I wanted to linger in the past, I had a role to fulfill, just as I always had. It was time to reintegrate myself into my family, to reclaim my place—it sounded more noble than it felt. I had to come to terms with my brother’s ascension to the throne, and by the night’s end, I wanted to offer my congratulations to him and his soon-to-be bride convincingly. After all, who wouldn’t want to celebrate the fact that my dear brother would someday be the ruler I’d been trained to become? Duty demanded I play my part, and so I arrived, prepared—armed with charm and wit to navigate a room teeming with courtiers, who were more interested in gossip than actual conversation. I preferred the company of the men in the forest that Josephine and I had encountered to the people of my family’s kingdom.
I danced with many of the eligible women, aware that my participation would help pacify their gossip-hungry mothers. I moved through circles of small talk, offering pleasant smiles and well-rehearsed banter. With every conversation, I maintained an air of composure, masking my lingering thoughts of Josephine. It took considerable effort to hide my discomfort behind a polished facade, to act as though her absence didn’t linger like a shadow at the edge of my mind. I had learned to hide so much when I’d only been a few inches tall.
Opening my eyes, I stared out into the darkness and released a slow breath, letting the night air wash over me. I’d been gone long enough and didn’t want to give anyone a moment to question why I’d been gone for so long. I only had an hour more, and then it would be midnight, and I’d be able to depart from the festivities for good. I peered back up at the night sky, gazing at the brightest star above me. I hoped that wherever Josephine was, she too could see this star and think of me.
Perhaps it wasn’t very reasonable to hold onto that hope…to entertain such wishes. “Find me then,” were her last words to me, and yet here I was, unable to do even that.
“A drink would do me good,” I muttered to myself. I just needed a goblet of mead before I returned to the festivities. As I turned on my heel, something stirred in the shadows beside the velvet-curtained door, barely visible from the corner of my eye. I froze, my body tensing as I waited, my breath catching in my throat.
A faint rustling reached my ears as I watched the curtain sway on its own.
“Gerrit?” I asked, calling out the name of my valet. But there was nothing but silence. “I’m in no mood for games,” I continued. “Show yourself.”
Taking a step forward, I reached for the curtain. Almost on cue, a shadowed figure slowly emerged from behind. To my surprise, the figure was much smaller than I had expected, barely reaching half my height. There was a pause before the figure stepped into the faint light, illuminated by the moonlight. What I saw took me by surprise—a fairy! Her delicate wings shimmered like iridescent pearls as they caught the faint glow from above. She hovered before me, her wide violet eyes reflecting determination as she drifted closer.
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step back. In truth, despite all the stories I had heard as a young boy, stories about witches and enchantresses, mermaids and trolls, I had never quite believed in fairies. The woman’s gown, a deep blue that sparkled under the moonlight, glistened as if woven from the very stars. Her hair, short and white, was pinned back with tiny glass baubles that gleamed faintly in the night. She looked ethereal, otherworldly—like something pulled from a dream.
“Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “I must speak with you.” Her words hung in the air as she paused in front of me. The timing, her sudden appearance, couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Did she come bearing news of Josephine? My thoughts raced between hope and dread.
“I am Lunelle,” she murmured. “A fairy of the stars.”
“The stars?” I echoed, disbelief mingling with curiosity. I had never imagined fairies could exist beyond the skies, let alone among the stars themselves. Was this how wishes were granted?
“My sisters and I observe from above,” Lunelle continued, her gaze centered on me. “We hear the wishes whispered from those down below. And we see everything.” Her eyes grew wide, and she gestured at the sky. “And I have seen something perilous, Your Highness. Something you must know.” Her final words fell to a whisper, delicate yet heavy with forewarning.
I forced my brow to remain calm, though frustration flared beneath my skin. “If you could elaborate,” I said dryly, my tone clipped but measured. Mystical proclamations were of little use without answers.
“Your brother, sire…” She continued. Her delicate features were etched with genuine concern. “Your brother is in grave danger.”
My heart skipped in my chest as I peered at her with wide eyes. My brother? I looked over my shoulder, listening to the soft melody of the ball taking place below. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“If he’s in danger, I must go to him,” I said firmly, attempting to move past her. If there were something to be done, I wouldn’t waste a moment standing idle. But before I could take another step, Lunelle’s small hand darted out, her fingers clutching the sleeve of my white tunic. Her grip, impossibly firm for her slight frame, held me fast. I pulled against her, but my feet felt rooted to the stone, as if the ground itself had conspired to keep me still.
“It is far too dangerous,” she murmured. “Neither you nor your brother is safe—at least not yet.”
My patience waned under the weight of her cryptic warnings. “You’d best explain yourself,” I snapped, my voice sharp with frustration. I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. “Now.”
Lunelle released a shaky breath before replying, “There is an evil witch who has set her sights on you and your brother. She seeks to undermine you both, to plant herself in a seat of irrefutable power.”
“A witch?” I repeated, incredulously.
“One of the most powerful in all the land,” she continued, ignoring my question. “Her magic is dark, ancient, and fueled by envy.”
I narrowed my eyes, determination flaring in my chest. “If you release me, I can go directly to my father. Surely, he can do something about this.”
A bitter smile twisted her lips, and for the first time, a flicker of something almost human crossed her delicate features. “If it were that simple,” she said quietly, “do you not think I would have already alerted him?”
I gritted my teeth, frustration mounting. “Is this not exactly the sort of thing you’re supposed to handle? Instead of trapping me here, shouldn’t you be doing something about this witch?” If an enchantress had the power to send Josephine away with just a flick of her fingers, surely this fairy could deal with a rogue witch.
“You honor me with your compliment, Your Highness—”
“It was no compliment,” I interjected, scowling.
“But even my magic has limits.”
I let out a slow, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“There is…one person who can help you,” Lunelle said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “One person who can save your brother from making a grave mistake.”
“A mistake?” My mind reeled at her words. What in God’s teeth had Charming done now?
“It’s the woman he intends to marry,” she continued, her tone somber, her words deliberate. “She is not who she seems. The maiden he met a fortnight ago is no longer the one with whom he plans to exchange vows.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “What are you saying?”
“You must find the one who can break the witch’s hold.”
“God’s teeth, not this again,” I muttered, frustration boiling over. Another vague warning, another puzzle without a key.
“You must find her,” the fairy pressed, her tone sharp now, cutting through my doubts.
“Her?” I repeated the word hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “Who? Who am I supposed to find?”
Lunelle leaned closer, her luminous eyes locking onto mine as she pulled her wand free from the waistband of her gown. With a simple touch against the sleeve of my tunic, I watched as my white royal finery was transformed into a simple blue tunic with a leather satchel on my side.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked, tugging on the simple fabric.
“Remember, Prince Aneurin,” she said, “The face you seek is not the face you see.”
“Speaking in riddles does nothing to aid this situation,” I retorted.
Before I could demand more answers from her, the fairy pulled out her wand. It gleamed in the moonlight as she pointed it toward me.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Lunelle said softly, almost regretfully. “But you will soon understand.”
In an instant, a blinding light erupted from the wand, enveloping me completely. I tried to shield my eyes, but the brightness was overwhelming. The ground vanished beneath me, and I felt weightless, as if flung through the air by an invisible force. The rush of wind roared in my ears, and my heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. When the light finally ebbed away, I gasped for air, disoriented and breathless. My feet landed unsteadily, and I stumbled, blinking rapidly as my surroundings came into focus.
The world around me had changed entirely.
Author Bio:
Chantal Gadoury is a best selling fairytale-retelling and romance author, living in the beautiful countryside of Muncy, Pennsylvania with her mom and family yorkie, Taran.
When Chantal isn’t pursuing her next writing endeavor, she enjoys spending time with her loved ones, and taking long walks to the sounds of BTS. She is a TikTok enthusiast, loves all things Disney and loves a good, romantic K-Drama.
Chantal first started writing stories at the age of seven and continues that love of writing today. After graduating from Susquehanna University with a degree in Creative Writing, writing novels has become a dream come true.
Crater Girl Polly Schattel Publication date: June 28th 2026 Genres: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, LGBTQ+
Greta Tyler has issues. She’s broke, divorced, trans, recently defrocked from her Episcopal priesthood, and her underpaid assistant hates her. But hey, things could always be worse, right?
As a social worker in a small, northern Alabama city, Greta’s just trying to do a little good in the world, and also come to terms with a complicated new life, a demanding new career, and the crushing finality that her marriage to her childhood sweetheart is over for good. But when her friend Suhey fails to show for a party, Greta suspects the worst: Suhey’s either been deported or kidnapped. Thus begins an increasingly surreal odyssey through the inscrutable byways and backroads of contemporary rural America.
Tormented by self-doubt, and with a tendency to harm whatever she touches, Greta careens through a sinister underworld she never knew existed—billionaires and busboys, asteroids and assassins, human traffickers and misfit geniuses … and also an infernal plan to radically change the world.
But first, how to come up with the rent?
Crater Girl is Polly Schattel’s genre-jumping tale of gender politics, self-loathing, clandestine organizations, interstellar geology, thuggee death cults, and the search for personal redemption in the rusted over-sprawl of the meta-modern South.
“The first time I ever heard of the concept of the dead eye was in reference to a man I knew was troubled before I’d even reached my teens. Rick M. Scharpley, who his seventh grade homeroom class called Mr. Scharpley to his face but Prick Him Sharply behind his back, was a substitute who’d been brought in to take over after our regular history teacher had broken her back in a car accident. He’d taught us through the rest of that year, a mousy, chubby man with sensible hair, sensible glasses, and a perfectly sensible face. No one knew whether he had a wife or kids, or a family back home, and he seemed normal enough to his students, even funny sometimes, until you’d spent an afternoon or so with him. Then you’d start to notice how his eyes had grown soft and buggy and darkly fascinated with you, and how the little ironic twist of his smile rarely faltered. He knew his history, and he could sometimes make stuff like antebellum Alabama halfway interesting, but the various disparate parts of him commingled oddly, which pushed him almost into full-on creepazoid territory, and you found yourself wanting “to spend as little time in his presence as possible but unable to say exactly why. In class it wasn’t too bad; his cigarette prestidigitation and his day-drinker legerdemain made a decent distraction for the after-school detention crew. But we thought even then, even as kids, that beneath his southern gentleman’s surface, there flowed an underground reservoir rich with self-loathing, a vast subterranean sea of near-bottomless black pain.
We knew this, the whole town knew this, because one sunny Sunday in that summer of 2006, Mr. Scharpley left a note magneted to the front of his refrigerator, a very personal kind of mini-manifesto within which he detailed all manners of abuses, self- and otherwise. Then he carried half a dozen syringes loaded with a potent pesticide called chlordecone into the local farmer’s market, and began injecting random crates of peaches with them. Eight people, most of them kids and old folks, had fallen into foamy-mouthed convulsions before he’d pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the frontage road.
Author Bio:
POLLY SCHATTEL lives in the mountains near Asheville, NC with her wife and three vicious and savage but very adorable animals.
Reaper’s Quest Debra A Kristi (Curse of the Royal Reaper, #1) Publication date: July 13th 2026 Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
Two rival reapers. A century of overdue souls. Revelations sure to crumble foundations.
Raven Gunn blamed herself and the cheat she used on her last job for her team’s assignment to the cursed reaping. Her father even packed the tool responsible for the cheat in her travel bag, silently suggesting the need, while reminding her not to trust her designated coreaper, Chace Badden. A hundred years of accumulated reapings, a prohibited reaper-tool, her born rival tasked as her partner… What could go wrong? She definitely wouldn’t allow Chace’s good looks to compromise her focus. Not. One. Bit.
Chace Badden suspected family connections were to blame for his team’s assignment, and he trusted nothing about the current reaping task. Especially not the Fae bastard showering Raven with unnecessary attention. That pr*ck needed to go. Raven was his coreaper and the pretty boy held no claim. Of course, the same could be said for Chace given Raven was his coreaper and his rival, professionalism and distance needed to remain steady between them.
But as more complications arise and old ones intensify, will Chace and Raven’s rivalry cloud emotions, hinder task success, and pave the road for, not only failure but, something far more concerning than mortal danger? Because the overwhelming number of unreaped souls is turning out to be the least of their worries.
Reaper’s Quest isthe first book in an adult romantasy series that grows spicier with each book, while containing dark themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers. This series is ideal for fans of:
Halfway across the rotunda, near the God of Death’s center statue, Chace Badden fell into step at my side, a confident swagger in his walk.
“Reaper Gunn,” he said, his delivery a smooth tease I ignored.
Even as my shoulders stiffened at the sight of him―black shirt, two unfastened buttons exposing a hint of skin, and pants snug against his body.
I dipped my gaze below his belt, and a tight breath dragged through my lungs.
Eyes up, Raven. Eyes up.
He snagged my elbow―his touch gentle, casual, as if zero tension existed between us. “Spot something of interest?”
I fought the desire to roll my eyes. Of course he’d shown up today with a megabat-sized chip on his shoulder. An ego, no doubt, inflated by his parents’ never-ending bolstering.
Author Bio:
Award winning and USA Today Bestselling Author Debra Kristi writes addicting young adult fantasy, urban fantasy, and paranormal adventures. Born and raised a Southern California girl, she still resides in the sunny state with her husband, two kids, and several rescue cats.
Unlike many of the characters in the stories she writes, Debra is not immortal, and her only superpower is letting the dishes and laundry pile up. When not busy drumming away at the keyboard spinning new tales, Debra is hanging out creating priceless memories with her family, geeking out to science fiction and fantasy television, and tossing around movie quotes.
Debra Kristi’s books are published by Ghost Girl Publishing LLC.
Visit http://www.DebraKristi.com for FREE books, new releases, and/or to become a member of the Insider’s Club.
Hearth or Heart Emily Lane (The Bowman Girls, #1) Publication date: July 13th 2026 Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance
After her father dies, Effie Bowman and her eight sisters are left penniless, homeless, and alone. Salvation comes in the form of the new custodian of the estate, Mr Thornaby. But the more she learns of Mr Thornaby, the more she realises he needs her discretion as much as she needs his security.
In her efforts to moderate the wild Mr Thornaby, she recruits the unlikely aid of ton society’s most determined widower, Sir John Callander.
As the season progresses and Effie pulls Sir John deeper into her desperate schemes to moderate Mr Thornaby, both are forced to wonder if Effie is attempting to tame the wrong gentleman.
Of all the consequences to befall a clutch of daughters belonging to an entailed estate, this one was quite outside the common.
‘£20 a month in pin money?!’ cried Effie.
‘Each.’
Mrs Thornaby, ensconced in a cream morning gown of twilled French silk that seemed to defy her age, smiled most becomingly upon her niece.
‘That is just for your frills and affects and whatever other small accoutrements you young girls require these days,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘Your dresses, gowns, and hats, of course, can be drawn against my son’s account.’
‘Ma’am, I could never.’
‘Oh, yes, you could,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘That boy has too much money.’
Effie’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her gaze down.
Grimacing, Mrs Thornaby said, ‘So, your mother has told you a little of it, I collect.’
‘She has, ma’am,’ Effie admitted.
Mrs Thornaby looked her up and down.
‘Your mother tells me you are an exceptionally good manager.’
Now the talk of money had faded, Effie’s calm, dark eyes levelled upon Mrs Thornaby once more.
‘Yes, ma’am, it’s true.’
‘I suppose with eight sisters, borne of a mother of my sister’s temperament, you, as the eldest, should rather be forced into such a role, even if it was not of your disposition.’
A smirk crossed Effie’s features as she declared, ‘That much is true, to be sure.’
‘But men and boys are a different matter indeed.’
Effie’s hands, trying to thread a needle, paused. She set her embroidery box down and took up her cup of tea.
‘I have no brothers.’
‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘And husbands? What thoughts have you on them?’
‘Not so many, ma’am. I can scarcely imagine having one, never mind plural!’
Mrs Thornaby did not laugh. Instead she set down her teacup with a clatter.
‘As you may have heard, my son returned last night from Brighton.’ She paused. ‘My son is… a particular kind of fellow.’
Effie’s brow arched. Having heard—during the small hours of the morning—this particular kind of fellow stumble through the upstairs hallway singing about the roast beef of Great Britain, she was inclined to agree with a great many insinuations that issued from that vague sobriquet.
‘Indeed?’
‘He is now, of course, the custodian of your late father’s estate—by some contortion of family lines.’
Society in the northeast of England was sparse. Somehow, Mrs Thornaby’s son had ended up taking title to the entail of her sister’s late husband’s estate.
‘Yes.’
‘It is all that is natural, then,’ Mrs Thornaby went on. ‘That my son should marry you, to maintain my sister’s place at Barraton.’
What little of the sisterly rivalry that had been passed on to Effie permitted her to regard this piece of charity with deep suspicion. Her eyes cinched a touch.
‘With respect, ma’am, I fail to see why Mr Thornaby should want to marry me.’
‘I do not.’
Blushing, Effie picked up her embroidery box again. ‘I mean, ma’am, that Mr Thornaby must have a great many… um, admirers. I cannot see that he will mark me with any distinction.’
‘He will not, but I shall tell him he is to marry you. Likely, the novelty of it will tickle him, and he will entertain it for a while. Thereafter, it is your duty to… charm him.’
Effie touched her nose. She looked around the cavernous room.
It was an early, grey morning, but the shiny mahogany and silk furniture, glossy wallpapered walls, and great sash windows shone under the blaze of three gilded hearths.
‘Oh. I see.’
Mrs Thornaby’s eyes followed Effie’s, and she grimaced.
‘We are family, Miss Bowman. Now more than we ever were. My son represents Barraton. He is Barraton.’
Effie’s jaw quirked.
‘To put things plainly, my dear, it has lately come to my attention that my son is very much in need of the companionship, temperance, and governance that a wife must, to some unions, bring.’
Mrs Thornaby paused.
‘Now, am I saying that my son is bereft of the faculties required in choosing or acquiring a wife? I am not. But one cannot but put more faith in one’s own family, especially a family so interconnected.’
Effie bowed her head. ‘It would be in my best interests, indeed, to… govern Mr Thornaby—as a wife or no.’
‘But as a wife especially,’ Mrs Thornaby reiterated.
Author Bio:
Emily Lane writes sweet, clean Regency Romance perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer, Sophia Holloway, and Sophie Irwin. Hearth or Heart, her debut, launches July 13th. By day, Emily is a Management Consultant in the Lifesciences industry – she hopes her novels have just as much chemistry as her job! She lives in Thailand, which would be inconvenient but for the hot weather.
The Bowman Girls is Emily’s first Regency romance series, with 3 books currently planned:
After Dark Rose Titus (The Vampire Next Door, #2) Publication date: February 23rd 2018 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
In Night Home: The Vampire Next Door Volume I, the fact that vampires truly exist was almost accidentally made public when a story presented as fiction seemed all too real to an amateur vampire hunter, who at the end, was made to remain silent about the secrets he discovered
But it doesn’t end there: the tale circulates as far as the west coast, where a small community of vampires have been quietly hiding; and to them, also, this story is too close to reality to be just a fantasy. But while they take the time to decide whether to attempt contact with their own kind so far away, they have their own local problems to deal with.
A savage and barbaric serial killer, suspected of being a vampire, lurks in their own city, stalking the innocent at night. Will the vampires be able to stop the killer before they are blamed for his acts of extreme horror?
And that’s not all. A beautiful yet tragic and suicidal young woman wanders like a lost angel from out of the darkness and into their midst, hoping a vampire will make her end swift and easy.
Alex drifted slowly through the back door to step down into the darkened entrance to the well-kept old building’s lower levels. On the upper floors there was an exclusive restaurant that catered to the wealthy and sophisticated; below, on the ground level there was a dance club, which attracted a completely different crowd of people—many with spiked purple hair. But under the dance floor, underground, there was served another kind of people. This dining area was not well known to many above ground.
He surveyed the area. A few tables were empty, but most tables had one or two people sitting and talking. And there she was, in the corner, alone, waiting for him. His sister Alexandra looked up and nodded to acknowledge him. He went to her table and sat down. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” she put her fine crystal glass down. “Jim Ellison left a message on my answering machine. I was surprised to hear from him after so long a time. He said, ‘I know you’re asleep but I’ve got some shocking news.’“
“What is it?” he knew that Jim called everything shocking, incredible, amazing, mind-boggling. That was his profession. He wrote for the tabloids, the ones that reported on flying saucers and Bigfoot.
“So, I kept calling, and finally got him,” she sighed. Alex noticed that she sighed a lot lately. “Says he’s got something he wants us to see. Well, you know, the business he’s in, he’s always looking for unusual things, searching the web for news of the odd.”
“Has he finally captured the Sasquatch?” he smirked. He did like Jim, but also enjoyed having a laugh at his line of work. That was how they met. Jim had been allowed to do “an article” for his so-called newspaper, the kind of tabloid newspaper people picked up in the supermarket checkout line and took home to read just for fun. The article was titled “Civilized Vampires Come Out After Dark.” It was agreed by the community to allow him to publish it because no one believed anything in that sort of newspaper anyway.
“No, he hasn’t captured the Sasquatch, and he hasn’t had a ride in a flying saucer either. He thinks he may have found more people like us.”
“Really? How? Someone write the editor of that cheap paper?”
“No. It’s… well, you know how some colleges have magazines that students write for? I guess nowadays they’re all online. Jim searches the internet for anything he could use, and he found this article by a college student on the East Coast. It’s a story about vampires, but not the movie kind. The characters in her story, they are very much like us, Alex. Living, breathing… and all the rest, stop aging after thirty, and then gradually lose tolerance for the sun, live to be about three hundred. He told me over the phone about it. I haven’t seen it. I asked him to send it, but he said he might be travelling through, so he might come by and drop it off. “
“Oh, well, we’ll wait until he shows up, then.”
She lowered her voice. “But that’s not the only reason I asked you to come by.”
“What?” He hoped it wasn’t bad news; her tone seemed serious.
“Someone seems to be watching us, Alex.”
Author Bio:
Rose Titus resides somewhere in cold, dreary New England with two manipulative cats and a very out of date computer with which she creates horror and fantasy fiction. She also has a restored classic Buick to ride around in while in search of adventure.
For travel she has stayed the night in an allegedly haunted castle, has taken a boat ride on Loch Ness, and has visited the Bermuda Triangle — without getting lost.
Her work has previously appeared in Lost Worlds, Lynx Eye, Bog Gob, Mausoleum, Weird Terrain, Descend, The Dead River Review, and other literary magazines. She also writes regularly for Blood Moon Rising Magazine.
When she’s not working or writing or messing with her old car, she waits by the mailbox for her Fortean Times to arrive.
You Had Me at Meow Gracie James Publication date: July 7th 2026 Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
Some girls get fairy godmothers. Abby Thompson gets a talking cat with a British accent and absolutely zero chill.
After her latest blind date—arranged by her loving (but relentless) mother—ends in a concussion, a wine-soaked dress, and enough humiliation to power Manhattan, Abby decides she’s done with dating. Forever.
Too bad her cat, Mr. Whiskers, has other ideas. And he’s suddenly sharing them. Out loud.
“Honestly, Abby, your taste in men is almost as concerning as your taste in sweaters.”
His mission? Fix her train-wreck love life and help her land her dream job. His qualifications? None. He’s a cat. His methods? Questionable at best.
But somewhere between the disastrous first dates, ruthless office politics, and the unexpectedly charming veterinarian who might actually be worth shaving her legs for, Abby starts to wonder…
Is Mr. Whiskers a miracle? Or a catastrophe with whiskers?
Either way, her opinionated feline isn’t backing down. And if Abby wants her dream life, she might have to trust the one life coach she never asked for. Her cat.
You Had Me at Meow is a sweet, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about finding your voice, risking your heart, and one very determined cat who refuses to let his human settle for anything less than purr-fection.
Before I even reach the fridge, Mr. Whiskers has settled into his favorite spot on the couch while I gather the essentials of a proper pity party: a pint of mint chocolate chip, my largest spoon, and one of Dottie’s cosmic brownies. Ahhh, perfect.
Curling up next to my furry little roommate, I pull our softest blanket over my legs and queue up one of our favorite movies. Maybe watching someone else’s embarrassing moments will make me feel better about my own.
As the opening credits roll, I crumble Dottie’s brownie over my ice cream, letting out a contented sigh. At least dessert never disappoints.
“Why can’t I find love like in the movies, huh, buddy?” I ask, running my fingers through his soft fur. “You know, the kind where tripping in front of your dream guy leads to true love instead of a concussion.”
Mr. Whiskers blinks up at me, his eyes reflecting the TV’s flickering light.
“I mean, look at tonight,” I continue, digging into my brownie-ice-cream creation and regretting nothing. Well… except maybe going out in the first place. “Mom sets me up with someone who’s supposedly perfect for me, and he turns out to be a complete jerk. And then when I finally meet a genuinely nice guy, he’s my cat’s veterinarian and he’s already taken.”
I scratch under Mr. Whiskers’ chin, earning a faint purr.
“Maybe I should just give up on dating altogether,” I muse. “I mean, who needs romance when I have you, anyway? We could be two crazy cat ladies together. Well, one crazy cat lady and one crazy cat, but you know what I mean. No more terrible blind dates, no more falling head over heels, literally, for the wrong guys. Just us, some yummy snacks, and the sweet escape of a good movie night. What do you think, huh, buddy? Sound good?”
“Darling, that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all night.”
Author Bio:
Gracie James lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their sweet rescue cat, Pinky, and absolutely loves the rain. When she’s not writing swoony, laugh-out-loud rom-coms sprinkled with a touch of magic, she’s usually hiking up a mountain or eating chocolate like it’s a personality trait. Her creative peak occurs somewhere between “I should go to bed” and “well, it’s basically morning now,” and she considers sunrise more of a suggestion than a deadline.
Children of Eternity: Being the First Part of the Apocalis Macaulay Christian Publication date: March 10th 2026 Genres: Adult, Science Fiction
Thirty years ago, an impossible transmission pierced the cosmos. Hidden within it were instructions for a device no one fully understood—an extragalactic Telegraph built to answer the call.
On a distant world in neutral space, humanity and its former enemies resolved to build the device, a rare moment of unity and a calculated gamble that shared purpose might overcome politics.
The answer is not what anyone expected.
The colony is devastated. Reality fractures. Technology fails. People vanish without a trace—among them soldiers, citizens, and voices no civilization can afford to lose. Aboard the warship Banterra, Captain Heron Agathon is dispatched into the unknown to search for survivors and the truth behind the signal.
Beyond the galaxy’s edge, something older than civilization is observing humanity’s first steps into the uncharted—measuring what it will become when fear, power, and principle collide. The answers lie in the dark between stars. And the truth behind the signal is older—and nearer—than anyone suspects. There is no going back.
A shimmering light fell all around Holindrian, hoisting him high into the sky, his feet dangling beneath. First, he could see just the top of the palace as he rose through the dense black smoke. A little higher and he could see the city itself. Fires burning, consuming whole wards at a time. The sounds were muffled, but he knew there would be the clanging of swords, the whizzing of arrows, and the miserable, painful screams of wretched, dying souls. Higher, Holindrian continued to rise. Boats had sunken in the harbor. The fighting on the rocky hills surrounding the town seemed to have calmed. A haboob traveled in a northeasterly direction, a transitory wall of brown, choking death.
The light continued to shine. All the colors of the rainbow streamed down, carrying him up, up into the clouds. He was higher than the mountains! There seemed to be no limits to his ascent. The definitions, the contours, the distinctive features of the land blurred together. Muted, people vanished into minute dark specks, fields became strokes of green, the clouds white wisps overlaying the canvas. He could see the whole of the blue world from up here….
Holindrian stood alone in a hallway with concave walls of a featureless white. He could not be certain what the material was. It was surely not any metal familiar to him. Everything seemed pristine. Not a blemish or scuff mark to be found. Feeling his eyes wince, he thought the white of the walls too bright, beyond adept description by man. No marble stone or cloud or snowflake compared. They seemed to be pulsating. Flashes of an even more intense white coursed through their…veins? As though the walls were alive, as though this vessel were alive.
The ceiling was black. Not just black but the absence of all light, the deepest shade of black imaginable. It contrasted brilliantly with the sterile surfaces of the walls. The black was not uniform in its composition, but rather composed of discernible shades of navy and violet and…were those stars? Stars sparkled and glimmered, specks of diamonds in a cave of darkness. It was remarkable how similar the ceiling was to the night sky.
When he looked down, and saw that the floor mirrored the ceiling, Holindrian first thought his heart might permanently lodge itself in his throat. The feeling of panic dissipated quickly, as he reassured himself something solid and firm was indeed beneath his feet.
“His reaction was much like your own.”
Holindrian looked up. He recognized that voice. “Uilliam?”
Uilliam’s long hair fell more than halfway down his back, wavy and rigid as though carved from marble, an ethereal white bearing just the traces of its past golden color. His face narrow and accented by sharp features framed by dark eyebrows. The eyes though, those magnificent eyes, were like windows into the past as well as portals to the future. They were an electric blue, the pupil an orb of mystical energy. Holindrian could see it all, the whole of the history of Uilliam’s race encapsulated within those eyes.
The Before…the Aeternam’s eyes could not or would not reveal the secrets pertaining to the Before, though there were shadows, vague, indefinite figures standing on the edge of history…something or someone had knowledge of the Before, and they were out there, somewhere. Uilliam had met them.
What could be seen was the ending that gave rise to humanity’s beginning. Space and time emerged from oblivion, a singular fixed point of eternity. There was no sound; it had not yet been invented. There was light of untold intensity, rings of magenta and sapphire clouds that swirled, intermingling, mixing. Then came flashes, all different shades of reds, oranges, yellows, and blues, rippling throughout the nebulous clouds like the pattering of rain on a pond. A wave of warm, tender, and loving heat washed over him. Holindrian could feel the fiery heat as birthing contractions on a boundless scale shuttled the first generation of galaxies into existence, infusing them with life, spiraling engines of genesis. Ah! There was the sound. It had finally caught up. It came as a rushing roar, a wind sweeping through streets and between buildings just as it would through ageless trees and over sky-kissing mountains.
Author Bio:
Macaulay is a graduate of the University of Arizona where he received his bachelor’s degree in political science with an emphasis in American government and international relations as well as a minor in classical (Greco-Roman) history. He is also an alumnus of the fraternity Phi Delta Theta, where he served in a variety of leadership positions, including two terms as president. Macaulay received a master’s of legal studies from Arizona State University’s Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law before beginning a career in the commercial construction industry. He has worked on a variety of projects, from airports to data centers. Macaulay lives in Dallas, Texas with his wife and their two dogs. In March 2025, Macaulay released the science fiction novel “Holindrian & The Human Revolution”. He is currently pursuing a doctorate in public administration where he is researching the impacts of public education and policy shifts on the industry and investigating recommendations to rectify the on-going skilled labor shortage across the country.
Lady Petra and the Wolf Anna Valleria (Lords Fall First, #2) Publication date: July 2nd 2026 Genres: Adult, Gothic, Historical, Mystery, Romance
In Victorian London, Lady Petra, the daughter of the powerful and manipulative Earl of Kemberley, has spent her life as a silent pawn in her father’s political games. While the ton sees a perfectly poised debutante, Petra is secretly a woman of industry who runs a sanctuary for abused servants in a derelict London theatre.
Julian, the Viscount Wolfridge, known to the world as Wolf, is a cynical rake with a secret heart of gold and a childhood spent on the Bristol docks. When he proposes a fake courtship to Petra to stir her indifferent betrothed into action, he doesn’t realize he is stepping into a web of secrets far deeper than his own. As Petra’s world of mystery and Wolf’s path of redemption collide, they must decide if a marriage born of a trap can ever survive the truth.
She shut her mouth abruptly, the sparks in her eyes extinguished as she retreated once more into the mask of a composed, distant lady. He despised when this happened, as it did ever so often when he approached her. He lived for the moments he could tease her, to break her composure, to see those eyes light up, even if it was in disdain or scorn.
Wolf knew himself to be an unrepentant rake, undeserving of John’s friendship or loyalty. Despite this self-knowledge, a fierce, uncharacteristic longing arose in him at that moment: he wished for someone to argue so passionately on his behalf, to proclaim him a good man.
Remembering himself, Wolf discarded such a maudlin thought.
“I am not obligated to explain my motivations to you, Lord Wolfridge.” Her tone was meticulously polite, yet beneath the kindness, he detected a veiled reproach that ignited his blood.
“And yet…” he went on as if he had not heard her. “Your white knight is not here. Nor has he been here in a very long time.” In her eyes, a battle of pride, hurt, and anger raged, and for a moment, he nearly regretted his casual cruelty. Yet, there was a purpose behind his malice.
“You more than anyone know he is busy.” Petra spoke quietly, her words clipped. “I have long wondered why you do not share the same sense of industry as Lord John.”
Indolent. The word lurked in their conversation and Wolf again regretted pushing this issue to the surface. A lord does not dirty his hands with work. He takes what he wants and leaves the work to others.
Ignoring his father’s tedious voice, which always stirred a confusing mix of feelings, he redirected his thoughts to his best friend, John Longley. John possessed all the virtues he lacked: he was honorable, kind, and diligent. He would despise him if John weren’t like a brother to him. Why did the notion of Lady Petra marrying John trouble him so much? It was none of his concern.
Yet, he couldn’t let it go.
“Has he not communicated that to you himself, Lady P?” he asked, relishing the way his lips popped on the P. He could swear he almost saw a tick of her jaw at his use of the sobriquet bestowed upon her by the gossip rags.
“As we have established, Lord John is very busy, my lord. He does not have time for frivolous goings on of the ton,” she said more firmly this time.
“And yet, my lady, I can see the small seed of doubt this might cause you.” He watched her jaw almost tick again, and for a brief moment, savored the victory of being right. “Does his absence not pain you, Lady P?” He wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome he wanted from his teasing, but he relished the rare opportunity to be able to read her expression.
Her eyes met his, and he was struck again by the intensity of her gaze as it searched his face. He felt her assessing his intent, seeking any hint of malice or desire to hurt her. In that moment, he understood that such an aim was entirely absent from his heart. Wolf could not quite articulate the purpose of his banter, but an instinct told him Petra and John would not suit. It was patently clear that John possessed not the slightest inkling of the gravity with which Petra had regarded their supposed understanding.
John’s ignorance was not due to neglect; in fact, he was one of the few gentlemen who didn’t seem inclined to constantly leave his wife behind. Rather, he had been distracted by some persistent, unspoken melancholy, as though his mind and heart were fixated entirely on someone or something else. Wolf suspected, however, that the cause of this melancholy was not Lady Petra, given that the look of longing vanished whenever her name was mentioned.
Staring into Petra’s mahogany eyes, a plan came to him. Devious, perhaps, a bit underhanded, but one that would prove to Petra that she and John would not suit.
“Let me court you,” he blurted out.
For once, Lady Petra’s entire face showed what she was thinking as her mouth fell into an almost perfect “O.”
She really was rather adorable. Where did that thought come from? “Adorable” was not in his lexicon. As she began to regain her composure and start to form a reply, Wolf followed his initial, impulsive request before she could respond. “Not a real courtship, mind you, just something to shake Lord John into the parson’s trap. Fearing he might lose you should hasten the nuptials, yes?”
In truth, this ruse would not hasten the betrothal, but help free John, and ultimately free Petra.
Why he wished her to be free, he was not going to examine too closely.
Author Bio:
Anna Valleria is an award-winning historical romance author who believes that everyone deserves to see themselves on the page. Her mission is to write steamy Regency and Victorian stories featuring socially active heroines and devoted heroes that reflect windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors for all readers, including characters of different sizes, backgrounds, abilities, and neurodiversities. Her novel The Baron Takes a Wife was the 2025 winner of the Hearts Through History Romance Through the Ages Contest in the published Georgian/Victorian category.
Currently residing in a beautiful, historic city in the southeastern U.S. with her family and a rescue pup. If she’s not writing, she’s likely in a coffee shop, walking with her son or dog, or trivia with her team, Stone Cold Jane Austen.
