#seriesbooks

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The Talking Cure -A Novel of Magic and Psychiatry by Barbara Lien-Cooper and Park Cooper #PNR

The Talking Cure -A Novel of Magic and Psychiatry

The Cutter/Mann Series

Book One

Barbara Lien-Cooper and Park Cooper

Genre: slow build paranormal romance 

Publisher: Wicker Man Studios

Date of Publication: Aug 2022

Number of pages: 434

Word Count: 85,000

Book Description: 

--Zach Cutter claims he's not really an antiques dealer as such, but that he's really a supernatural investigator.

--Zach claims he's got repressed memories, missing at least a year of his life, probably more.

--Zach claims he can do magic. Not stage magician magic-- real magic.

--Zach claims he's got feelings for his new psychiatrist, Dr. Cynthia Mann.

--Zach claims a lot of problematic things.

But they're all true.

After a disturbing case in New York made Dr. Cynthia Mann wonder if the supernatural might actually be real, she's started her life and her practice all over again in Cleveland, where she meets a new patient, stranger than any she’s ever met before—and far more charming than anyone she’s ever met, too. 

During the progress Zach makes as Cynthia’s patient, he tells her stories about his past, and their relationship slowly edges from a doctor-patient one to a friendship—and Zach clearly wouldn’t mind if it became more. 

Together, Cynthia and Zach will eventually have to find a way for him to get out of the trouble he stumbled into long ago...

Book Trailer https://youtu.be/Ya9_0eCMrzw

Excerpt

“You’re really going to make me do magic, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I can’t believe your story otherwise.”

He reached out to some fresh roses that were in a vase on my desk. “Watch,” he said.

No magical energy came from his fingers, and nothing felt or looked any different. He was just... touching them. But he looked at me as if he’d done something. “...You didn’t do anything,” I said.

“Touch the petals.”

As I reluctantly reached out to the petals he’d been touching, his fingers, drawing away, touched my hand. “C’mon, they won’t bite you,” he said. Then he reached out again, and guided my hand across the petals of the flower.

The roses had been real that morning—I’d put them in fresh water.

But now they were fake flowers, made of silk. “You have nice hands,” he said.

I took back my hand. “What did you do to my flowers?”

“Magic,” he said.

“Slight-of-hand magic, you mean. You could have just distracted me...”

Zach sighed and raised his hand, showing me his palm, the fingers splayed out like he was about to start pointing to it and lecturing me about palm-reading. Then he lowered it down until his hand was laid out flat on my desk. I watched his hand lower, then I watched it sit there, waiting for something to happen. His hand didn’t move... nothing seemed to move... though there was some slight change I couldn’t put my finger on.

After a few seconds, I looked more closely around his hand at the desktop. The top of the desk was transparent.

My desk had been made of wood. Now, however, the entire desk was made of glass.

It was still exactly the same shape. It was at least the same weight, since it didn’t budge when I pushed at it.

I pulled out a drawer. A glass drawer slid out, on metal wheels turning on metal rails screwed into the glass by metal screws. I hadn’t really needed to pull out the drawer—I could already see, somewhat, what was inside: regular-old, boring white envelopes, some staples, paperclips, pens.

All faintly visible through see-through glass, glass with a woody brown tint to it... and a sort of vague wood grain set into it somehow...

“Don’t worry, it’ll only last a few hours, then it’ll change back to wood,” Cutter assured me.

What. In the world.

I stared at him for almost half a minute. He looked at me patiently. It was as if we were trying to “read” each other, trying to figure out... I don’t know. Each other, I guess.

I looked away first. “I’m sorry, Zach, but you’re not a client of mine yet... I can’t... until I get to know you... I don’t just give out sleeping pills... I’m sure other doctors might, but...”

“I don’t want another doctor. I want you, Cynthia.”

Great. The first handsome, smart guy I’d met in a while, and not only did he have to be a potential client, he was some sort of... magician...? “I’m not sure that would be...” I said, “I mean...” On top of everything else, I found that I was blushing.

“What if I told you that...well, uh... I actually... it’s not just sleeping pills... seriously, I do have some real problems...”

“What sort of problems...?”

“...Repressed memories.”

“Oh? When did that start?”

He smiled weakly. “After Celeste died. The time right before that is very fuzzy. And the time right after that is pretty much lost to me. I lost months... probably a lot more time than that.” He glanced at a clock on the wall and grinned a winning smile. “But I imagine my time’s up for today...”

“Yes, I suppose it is...”

“Unless you’d like to go out to dinner with me...?”

“Mr. Cutter, if you’re to be my client, I can’t... we can’t meet socially...”

“I’ve always liked women who have a bit of an authoritarian side to them...”

I took out my appointment book. “Let’s get you an appointment for next time. I don’t really appreciate walk-ins, and...”

“—Argh, I hate sticking to appointments. Being a magician isn’t exactly a 9-to-5 job...”

About the Authors:

Barb Lien-Cooper is originally from Minnesota. She was a guitarist/singer-songwriter, and got an album put out on the Imp label. However, she also had health issues: Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and fibromyalgia and extreme environmental sensitivities and allergies. (She also has Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder due to issues involving her family of origin.)

For a while, brain fog from the CFS and the fibro made it harder for her to read long and involved works of fiction... So (since she'd always loved them in her childhood) she got into reading comics and graphic novels, particularly the comparatively avant-garde work coming out at that time from DC Comics.

Park Cooper was born and raised in central Texas he read a lot of books and comic books—and then one day, someone in the letter columns of the comic Sandman announced that they were doing a fanzine for readers of that comic. Barb and Park both wrote in.

Park liked the writing Barb submitted to the fanzine, and he wrote to her, and they began writing to each other. Then they started talking on the phone... they fell in love... they started visiting one another...

Then they got married! (To each other!)

They wrote about comics and popular culture for some websites (some of them award-winning), and wrote a lot of reviews and articles and things.

A little after that, Barb started writing her comic Gun Street Girl, and a little after that, they started adapting and editing many, many manga for major American publishers importing manga (and sometimes their South Korean and Chinese counterparts) from the far side of the Pacific. Near the end of this, Barb and Park wrote the manga pitch The Hidden for TokyoPop, perfectly timed to appear the week that that company fell apart.

Then Barb and Park wrote the sci-fi vampire graphic novel Half Dead for Marvel Comics and Dabel Brothers Productions.

 Somewhere around this time, Park successfully completed his Ph.D. in literature, and then Barb and Park wrote a vampire prose novel, and Park started writing his cyberpunk comic Swipe for Angry Viking Press, and there were also other various short stories and novels and non-manga-related editing jobs, too many to bother counting here...

These days, Barb and Park live happily together in Austin, Texas.

Web: https://parkgsg.wixsite.com/wickermanstudios 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/parkcooper 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100057705847859

[bargainsleuthbooks]

What Disappears in Vegas... (Nancy Drew Diaries #24) by Carolyn Keene #BookReview #SeriesBooks #NancyDrew #SimonandSchuster

I'm finally back to reading #NancyDrew books after a long hiatus. #WhatDisappearsinVegas is the latest in the #NancyDrewDiaries series, and it's a vastly different reading experience than the other books. #BookReview #Simonandschuster #CarolynKeene

Bess and George’s cousin Veronica is getting married to extreme sports enthusiast Xavier Redd, and as a close friend of the family, Nancy has been invited to the wedding. Given the groom’s big personality and love for the extreme, the wedding will take place in Vegas, and the couple plan to take advantage of local sporting opportunities in the week leading up to the big event. Not everyone in…

[backtousa1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Beauty and the Beast Book and Puzzle Box Set Classic Book and Puzzle Set Series.

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The Siphoning by D.T. Stubblefield

The Siphoning 

The Redemption Series

Book One

D.T. Stubblefield

Genre: Fantasy 

Publisher: D.T. Stubblefield 

Date of Publication: September 4, 2023

ISBN: 8987848906 

ASIN: B0C9P3J5FM

Number of pages: 385

Word Count: approx. 106,000

Cover Artist: BeauteBook 

Tagline: Warring Worlds Align Against an Ancient Evil

Book Description: 

The Goddess is good. The Goddess is pure.

Assassin Drakon Deathmark has heard those mantras his entire life. It’s not until he comes face-to-face with her that he realizes she’s more demon than deity.

Drakon conceals his innate power while yearning for the magic derived from the goddess’s blessing, which is reserved for nobility.

When a treacherous mission goes awry, he uncovers a prophecy pitting him against an ancient evil intent on vengeance. Drakon and his allies must defeat a demon masquerading as a goddess, her growing Army, and unravel millennia of deceit before she lays waste to their world.

For Drakon, the path to survival means overcoming past trauma and possibly relinquishing the power he has worked so hard to acquire.

Amazon      BN      Apple      Smashwords     Kobo

Excerpt 

Drakon heaved himself through the open third-story window. His black cloak flowed about him, concealing him in shadow. His muscles quivered from the rapid ascent. Below, the clamp of boots and a muttered conversation passed beneath the window and then receded.

Another close call.

This made the fourth such encounter of the night. He lived by a rule: two close calls and he would abort a mission. Each time he ignored this simple rule, something untoward happened. His survival instincts screamed for him to turn back and return another night but time was short, and he was dangerously close to missing his deadline. The manor grounds were an ant colony of activity, and it took him longer than expected to make it this far. Seconds dripped by, increasing his chances of being discovered.

Discovery meant death.

Silently, he settled into the wooden floorboards. No groan of protest announced his entry. Crouching, Drakon pulled the cowl of his cloak lower and drifted wraith-like into the chamber. A breeze swept inward. The cool, crisp air did nothing to purify the overwhelming stench of incense hanging in the bedchamber.

A light orb floated overhead, casting the chamber in a warm yellow glow, elongating the shadows in which Drakon hid. Art canvases of all sizes hung on the stone walls, ornate furniture adorned every square inch, and a massive four-poster bed overflowing with furs stood at the chamber’s center.

Drakon curled his lip in disdain. The warden’s blatant show of wealth was in contrast to the poverty of the people he lorded over. Another warden charged with the well-being of commoners lining his pockets from the people’s labor. He hadn’t expected much humility from a noble, and even less from a mage such as the Jenna City Warden.

Drakon’s orders from the king were clear. The warden was to appear to have died of natural causes. Drakon wasn’t privy to the transgression the man committed to garner himself a spot on the king’s kill list. The reason was inconsequential. He didn’t care, nor did he mete out judgments. The Royal Council dealt with such things. He was but the gnarled hand of death employed to dole out the punishment. Drakon recalled the death and poverty he witnessed while traversing the Commoner District of the city and grimaced. He would enjoy killing this warden. The bedchamber was empty, as Drakon knew it would be. He committed his mark’s routine to memory. The warden was middle-aged, but his habit of nightly drinking and debauchery was legendary throughout the Kingdom of Somorrah.

Drakon’s gaze searched the chamber for the warden’s favorite vice. There. A pitcher and glass sat on a table next to the bed; remnants of red wine stained the bottom of the glass. Drakon removed a vial from his cloak. A colorless, odorless liquid sloshed within its clear container. He would add one drop into the glass, and the deed would be done. He would send word of the mission’s completion to the king. Afterward, he might take an overdue leave of absence.

He moved toward the table. Laughter and shuffling footsteps from outside the closed door froze him halfway across the chamber. The doorknob turned, and the door banged open. Drakon threw himself into the shadows of a wardrobe. Sounds of merriment drifted into the room and then were muted as the door snicked shut.

The warden was early. Drakon hadn’t expected him until nearer to dawn. He cursed inwardly. He couldn’t wait in the shadows until the man passed out. The king made his instructions all too clear. The warden was to die before sunrise. Drakon gritted his teeth. He would have to improvise. He hated improvising. It reduced his chances of an undetected escape, but what other choice was there?

He pocketed the vial and pressed against the wardrobe. The warden, red-faced and inebriated, stumbled on unsteady legs toward the bed, hauling a struggling woman behind him. He was small and slender, manual labor having never sculpted the muscles of his body. Like all wardens, he was also a magical mage. The man’s diminutive physique was no indication of his power.

Alabaster skin inked with tattoos peeked from the warden’s robes, testaments of his magical aptitude. Only his face was unmarred. Each tattoo was a rune etched to guard the warden against the harmful effects of drawing the goddess’s power. Such power came with a price, and the wardens protected themselves with the tattoos.

The warden’s hair was a dirty blond, and his skin was pale but not an unearthly translucent. A mage’s hair, eyes, and skin lightened with their growth in magic. This mage wasn’t as strong as the others Drakon killed. His tongue prodded a void a molar once occupied as a reminder of past battles against magical enemies. Thank the goddess for small mercies.

A sob drew his attention to the woman the warden dragged in tow. She was waif-like. Oily black hair concealed her face, and her chestnut skin identified her as a commoner. Her threadbare dress was torn at the neck and thin enough to see through. She was probably a slave. He resigned himself to the possibility of collateral. From the look of her, death would be preferable to her current lot in life. He could give her that escape, at least.

The warden yanked the woman forward. She struggled all the more, whimpering and pleading for release. The warden cursed and slapped her hard enough to snap her head back. The blow whipped her face toward Drakon and freed it from its curtain of dirty hair.

Drakon’s eyes flared. A face smooth with youth was decorated with black and blue bruises and a split lip. Terror-filled eyes glistened with tears and, more disturbing, resignation. This was no woman as he initially believed. It was a young girl.

The warden slapped the girl again. The crack ricocheted off the walls, and she slumped dazed into the warden’s arms. Having subdued her struggles, the man dragged her to the bed and flung her across it. She curled into a tight ball and whimpered. The warden grabbed her thin ankle and yanked her toward the edge of the bed.

“Quit your yammering!” He climbed atop her, clasping her wrists in one hand. “You should be honored that I would bring a smut like you to my bed!”

Blood pounded in Drakon’s ears. Unbidden, dark memories rushed to the surface of his mind.

A slave child. Powerless. Drakon blinked and shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory.

Nausea rolled through him. His blood heated in his veins.

Hay scratching tender skin.

Powerless.

With effort, he forced the memories back, slamming the door on their mental prison. Yet, the rage left in their wake had Drakon darting silently from the shadows and toward the warden, who tore at the girl’s clothing, before he realized he was moving.

The warden stiffened with awareness, some part of his inebriated psyche realizing they were not alone.

Too late. Drakon’s blade slipped in the hollow at the base of the man’s skull. The body jerked. Drakon twisted, severing the spine, and yanked the dagger free. The body slumped forward.

Blood gushed from the wound, coating the bed and the startled girl beneath. He pushed the body aside and freed her.

Wide, oddly ancient eyes––much too knowing for a child—peered back at him from a tear-streaked face mottled with bruises. She sucked in a deep breath, a preamble to a scream. His hand clamped over her mouth.

“Do. Not. Scream. I won’t harm you, but you will remain silent.” He stared into her shining, unblinking eyes.

“Nod if you understand.”

She nodded slowly, and he peeled his hand away, ready to place it back. She didn’t scream but sat up and eyed him with caution. He grabbed an unsoiled coverlet from the bed and tossed it at her.

“Cover yourself and get out of here. Tell no one of what you’ve seen.”

Even as he uttered the command, he knew he was being a fool. The only way to ensure her silence was to kill her, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill an innocent. No doubt, her short life was filled with atrocities for which this night was but a culmination. Her petite frame trembled beneath the coverlet.

No. Drakon was not so far gone that he would kill a slave girl. His soul was black and withered, but he had not delivered it to the pits of Targarius. Not yet.

The girl’s throat worked. “Th–thank you.” Her voice was an unsteady whisper in the quiet chamber.

He cleared his throat. Her thanks unsettled him for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge. He turned, focusing on the warden, and grimaced at the mess he had made. Blood soaked the bed beneath the corpse and pooled on the floor. A frozen mask of surprise rested on the man’s face. His pale-blue eyes locked on the nothingness of death. Already pale skin drained of its color as blood leaked from the body.

Drakon took in the tattooed runes on the warden’s skin. All that power and useless against a simple dagger. In the mage’s assurance in his magical superiority, he never suspected or spelled against nonmagical attacks. It was the way of nobles—arrogance above intellect.

Drakon sighed. The man’s death would never pass for natural causes. His moment of untethered emotion destroyed weeks of planning. The outburst he exhibited was out of character. His lapse of control annoyed him, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to plan his next steps, or they would be his last.

There was only one recourse left to him. He would remove himself from the city before the warden’s body was discovered. But before he fled, he would retrieve the other reason he was eager for this mission. He bent over the body, rummaging through the folds of the robes.

“Where is it?”

He rolled the corpse on its stomach and patted it down. He cursed. Nothing.

The warden always carried an object of power when he visited Sura City. Indeed, this mission excited Drakon for this reason. Desire to own such an object clouded his logic. In hindsight, it went to reason the warden would travel to court with additional protection. Nobles and commoners alike distrusted the king and the royal mage. The Jenna Warden would’ve been a fool not to travel with safeguards. However, the man wouldn’t carry such items in his dwelling.

He should have understood this sooner.

Drakon stood with a grunt of frustration, wiped his blade on his leathers, and returned it to its sheath. If the mission went according to plan, he would’ve had time to search the chamber. As it were, he would be leaving without his prize.

He spared a glance at the girl. Shock had yet to release her from its grasp. If the warden’s guards found her, they would sacrifice her in Drakon’s stead. He hoped she didn’t waste his gift of mercy. She would live or die by her action or inaction alone.

He sprinted to the window and glanced out. No sentries stood guard or moved across the grounds. That was good, and no one would enter the warden’s chamber until the maid arrived for the morning cleaning. Drakon would be long gone by then. As if summoned by the thought, a creak sounded from the door.

“Rainore? What the devil is taking so long? Finish with the—”

A slender man, clad in nothing more than skin and his mage tattoos, stopped mid-stride into the room. His pale-blue eyes locked on Drakon’s cloaked figure, widened, and then flicked to the body cradled in a crimson stain on the bed.

He screamed.

About the Author: 

D.T. Stubblefield was born and raised in a rural town in South Carolina. After reading Skeleton Crew by Stephen King, she was certain she would grow up to be an amazing writer. Those plans were placed on hold when she decided to study mass communications and not creative writing in college. After graduating, much to the disappointment of her seven-year-old self, D.T. did not become a writer or journalist, instead, she entered the world of the federal government as an editor and eventually became a manager.

Craving an outlet from the pressures of her job, D.T. did what she always did during stressful periods: she wrote. She wrote the beginnings of many novels (some of which were so bad they will never see the light of day!). She wrote during her lunch breaks, in the middle of the night, and on the weekends.

Until one day, D.T. wrote a story she fell in love with. A story that she couldn’t wait to share with the world. She wrote a story set in a kingdom trapped within a magical barrier, terrorized by monsters, and where an assassin was foretold to unite warring peoples and overthrow a demonic goddess. 

The premise of The Siphoning was born six years ago while D.T. sat in evening traffic on I-495, and now she is ready to share it with the world.

Website: https://dtstubblefield.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DT_Stubblefield

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dt.stubblefield/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100092550623825

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8093810.D_T_Stubblefield

Goodreads Giveaway 

August 15 through September 5

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway 

[starsbooksandtea2023]

Reading With Star: Nelo's Wynter by Roux Cantrell

Disclaimer: None of the work in Reading With Star belongs to me. The author owns all right to the book. They have given me permission to share a bit of their work with you. Blurb: Nelo’s Wynter The Elementals seriesBook 1Story By: Roux CantrellCover design: Pretty In Ink https://amzn.to/42D00L3 Blurb: Wynter’s an ex-soldier for the vampire nation wanting to enjoy a well-deserved…

[bappiesbookreviews]

Silent Witness, author W.A.Kaylen 208 pages

A FBI thriller!special Agent Heater Chase and special agent Bob Fairfax as the main characters ,they are set on a murder case ,where Bob is a man of the book anf Chase a woman following her gut and gift,but it still works well for both!But Unforunately they to have work with the NYPD which struggles between the two departments In Chase I found a amazing character in the story who did a exellent job folliwing her gut and gift! In my opnion it was a good story to read not really fast paced and for a thriller not that much action which made more of a average story with drama, tension .betrayal corruption and rivalry! Up to me its a slow moving thriller with not that much action, the storyline and plot are good and in the end unexpected, it had no really an end!after some more searching it turns out to be seriesbook! for my rating i,ll feel it will be just above average so a 4.6 star

[booksofwonder]

What’s the last series you read and loved? We’ve been obsessed with the Track series by @jasonreynolds8!! • (Pssst we also have signed copies of all of Jason’s books available 👀📚❤️) • • • • • • #jasonreynolds #middlegrade #mglit #middlegradereads #youngreaders #seriesbooks #kidlit #summerreads #staffpick #currentlyreading #amreading #bookstagram #instabook #igreads #igbooks #booknerd #booklover #booklove #bookworm #bibliophile (at Books Of Wonder) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz_jlnLhAqu/?igshid=18431lpkc6a0p

[lindajoysingleton]

My favorite series by Margaret Sutton. My fan letter to her at she 13 led to co-authoring a mystery together. Ask me the whole story—it was an amazing experience. #Writer #Mystery #JudyBolton #Fan #SCBWI #Collecting #SeriesBooks https://www.instagram.com/p/Cebuc9vPDoMjwF6HtwwQJCceamt_50e49vryfU0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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Jason Grace #jasongrace #camphalfblood #percyjackson #fandom #drawing #illustration #campjupiter #series #seriesbooks #rickriordan #semigod #sonofgods #percyjacksonandtheolympians

[bewitching-book-tours]

The Girl From Saint Petersburg by Joyana Peters #HistoricalFiction

The Girl From Saint Petersburg

An Industrial Historical Fiction Series

Book One

Joyana Peters

Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Amaryllis Press

Date of Publication: July 25th, 2022

ISBN: 978-1736937327

ASIN: B0B64DHZFJ

Number of pages: 122 pages

Word Count: 25,482 words

Cover Artist: Domini Dragoone

Tagline: Sacrifice, Starvation and Survival. What will she do to stay alive?

Book Description: 

Russia, 1905: Thirteen-year-old Ruth dreams of growing up to marry the boy next door and living peacefully ever after. But when he and her father are forced to flee to America after the Bloody Sunday Massacre, Ruth and the other female members of the family are left behind amid the violence and chaos of revolutionary Russia. Overcoming violence and hunger with a strength she never knew she possessed, Ruth resolves to do what it takes to keep her mother and sister alive—whether it be work, beg or steal.

Then she lands herself in a predicament that threatens to put her own neck in a noose. This time she may not be able to keep them all safe, at least not without sacrificing their love for her and all that makes life worth living.

In this prequel to the award-winning novel, The Girl in the Triangle, author, Joyana Peters, portrays a tight-knit family fighting to endure at a precarious and crucial time in Jewish history. Join the countless readers who can’t get enough of Ruth and her story.

What Readers and Critics are Saying:

★★★★★ "That is what historical fiction does for a reader, a slice of history wrapped up in a compelling story that teaches and makes us reflect on the words and our own lives in the stream of time." - Historical Fiction Press Awards

★★★★★ "An immigration story at the finest level, revealing the depths of tragedy many went through leaving a country of unspeakable suffering." - D.K. Marley

Amazon      Books2Read     Apple     BN

Download a sneak peek excerpt at Bookfunnel

About the Author:

Joyana Peters is the Indie author of the best-selling novel, The Girl in the Triangle. The Girl in the Triangle won the SCBWI's YA Spark Honor Award, the IBPA’s Ben Franklin Award for Historical Fiction, the Book Excellence Award for Multicultural Fiction and was a Top Five Finalist for Shelf Unbound’s Indie Best Book of the Year.

Joyana got her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Orleans in 2014. She has taught literature and composition on both the secondary and university levels. She also writes non-fiction and has been published in digital and print publications nationwide.

Joyana currently lives in Northern Virginia where she takes in the sights of DC with her two kids, husband, and goofy Yellow Lab, Gatsby.

You can follow her adventures at: 

https://joyanapeters.com/

https://www.facebook.com/JoyanaPetersAuthor 

https://www.instagram.com/joyanapetersauthor/   

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/joyana-peters 

https://www.amazon.com/Joyana-Peters/e/B095PF36XS  

Join Newsletter for a Free eBook https://bit.ly/3PAgOeC

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21516102.Joyana_Peters

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Happy Birthday, Nancy Drew! A Collector's Journey

Happy 94th birthday, #NancyDrew! For almost 50 years, the teen sleuth has captured my fascination in many forms. On this anniversary of the 1930 publication of the first books, a walk down memory lane for me. #carolynkeene #seriesbooks #simonandschuster

[backtousa1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Beauty and the Beast Book and Puzzle Box Set Classic Book and Puzzle Set Series.

[bewitchingbooktours]

Prophecy of Gods and Crows by C.D. Britt  #Fantasy #Dystopian #CelticMythology

Prophecy of Gods and Crows

Clan of Shadows Series

Book One

C.D. Britt

Genre: Fantasy/ Dystopian/ Celtic Mythology 

Publisher: C.D. Britt

Date of Publication: 06/06/2023

ISBN: 978-1-7372652-8-3

ASIN: B0BRDHTFZX

Number of pages: 362

Word Count: 98,220

Cover Artist: GermanCreative

Tagline: Bryndis Kenneally is an anomaly, which is saying something when you live in a place once called Hell.

Book Description:

Welcome to Ifreann.... once known as Hell's Gate.

Bryndis Kenneally is an anomaly, which is saying something when you live in a place once called Hell.

Despite being born into a family of healers, she is unable to follow in their footsteps since disturbing visions overwhelm her with almost every human touch.

With few allies at her back, she keeps her head down… until a freak sandstorm brings more than she bargained for—a man of shadows who seeks retribution, a crow that follows her everywhere, and two strangers who appear inside the locked gates of Ifreann.

Two strangers with a message for Bryndis and her friends.

But will these strangers be her end? Or will they be her salvation?

Either way, she knows one thing is for certain.

She can no longer pretend to be a normal woman among a town looking for witches to burn.

Book one in the Clan of Shadows series, a dystopian Celtic mythology paranormal (slow burn) romance series. It has elements of cli-fi and quiet a few morally gray characters.

TW: religious trauma, sexual content, abuse (past and present by family member), scenes of war

Book Trailer: 

https://www.tiktok.com/@cdbrittauthor/video/7226769276424703275 

Available at Amazon

https://amzn.to/3IdvI8U

Excerpt

Bryn swayed her body to the last of the music, the night ending slowly as people stumbled and laughed after having allowed themselves the pleasure of being human one night of the year.

Soon enough, only the light of the torches were left aside from the fires that burned only once a year along the street. The shadows took over the celebration as they danced along the buildings.

The feeling in her gut, the warning, grew at a rapid rate and she found herself standing and looking around.

“What’s wrong?” Niamh asked, standing as well, looking for a threat.

“I’m not sure. I’ve had this bad feeling…” Bryn whispered as her system flooded with adrenaline.

The warning horns split open the joyous atmosphere of the night like a knife. The screams of the people matching the horns as they ran from the streets to take cover from the unknown danger.

Bryn and Niamh both turned as one toward the gate as small dust devils made their way along the street, trailing the panicked townspeople as they ran, shoving at each other like wild, mindless animals.

“Sandstorm,” Niamh whispered, her eyes focused on something past the gates. Words in another language Bryn had never heard soon left Niamh’s lips.

In her own panicked state, Bryn tried to calm her nerves, debating on if she could make it back to her apartment or if she needed to take cover with Niamh. The fact that Niamh was in a trance, staring intensely at the gate, made her hand twitch with the urge to slap Niamh out of it.   “Sandstorm!” Justin yelled as he ran down the road toward them. “Get inside and take cover!”

They’d never had a sandstorm bad enough to cause such panic before. The walls usually took the brunt of the weather for them.

“Now!” Justin was suddenly in her face, shoving at her shoulder and pushing her and Niamh into The Sanctuary. A horrifying cloud of red dust enveloped the town right as Justin slammed the door shut behind them. The entire road engulfed in tornadic sand was the last visual she had of Saint’s road.

“Away from the windows!” He herded them to an inner room in The Sanctuary, yelling for the others in brothel to do the same. Bryn didn’t look to see what men from town were here.

She didn’t want that on her conscience and since she was a horrible poker player, she didn’t want to pretend in public when she watched them walking with their families to church service before she turned in for the day.

Settling down in one of the supply rooms, Bryn put her head to her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. Focusing on her breathing and not the glass breaking, Bryn worked to calm her heart rate, trying to ignore the sobs of the other women in the dark room as the glass broke and the wind howled.

Finian whined, having moved back to Justin’s side.

The only light was from the cracked door Justin looked through, flinching every once in a while as he watched the storm bear down on their little town.

“Calm yourselves. Your yelling isn’t going to change the course of this storm,” Niamh chided, her voice barely audible over the furniture breaking outside of their little room. Bryn was surprised by the calmness in Niamh’s voice as her business was being torn apart. Her whole life was in The Sanctuary.

A tingling started in her fingers and toes, as well as the all too familiar feeling of ants under her skin. Bryn rubbed along her arms at the same time as Justin, their movements mirroring each other.

Looking to Niamh, her eyes focused on the wall as if she could see through it, as if her focus could stop the destruction, Bryn patted the woman on the shoulder before she pulled back.

Her skin was growing more sensitive and the anxiety building up inside her was becoming a raging inferno.

“I am here, come to me, my child,” Bryn heard the whispered words, and looked for who was speaking. No one else looked around for the voice, as if they hadn’t heard it.

Bryn was sure her heart stopped. Was this a vision? It didn’t feel like one.

When Justin looked at her, his eyes confused, she realized it wasn’t just her who had heard the whispered plea.

The distraction of Justin kept her from noticing one of the men in the room sitting too close to her, his fingers brushing hers and she knew before it happened she was going into a vision.

Feeling it come upon her, she scooted away from him, further into the corner of the room right as the black stole over her vision.

 About the Author:

C.D. Britt began her writing journey when her husband told her she needed to use her excessive imagination to write stories as opposed to creating a daily narrative for him. Ever since she penned her first words, life has been a lot more peaceful for him.

She currently resides in Texas where she has yet to adapt to the heat. Her husband thrives in it, so unfortunately, they will not be relocating to colder climates anytime soon.

Their two young children would honestly complain either way.

When she is not in her writing cave (hiding from the sun), she enjoys ignoring the world as much as her children will allow with a good book, music, and vast amounts of coffee (until it’s time for wine).

C.D. Britt is the author of the Reign of Goddesses series and Prophecy of Gods and Crows (coming 6/6/23).

Website: https://authorcdbritt.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/BrittAuthor

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

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

Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/authorcdbritt

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/C.D.-Britt/author/B095PWMBYH

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21592919.C_D_Britt

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