Release Blitz

Ruthless Redemption by Eden Summers




Title: Ruthless Redemption
Series: Hunting Duet #2
Author: Eden Summers
Genre: Mafia Romantic Suspense
Release Date: March 10, 2022


BLURB

They say love hurts—but they never mentioned it could make you bleed.

His deceit was like wine.
I drank it in. Let it intoxicate me.
But he’s not the man I fell for.
Matthew Langston is a lie.

I’d run from him if I could. I’d flee. If only he hadn’t turned my family against me.
Now, I have nothing. There’s no money, phone, or external support.
Only him, and his obsession with winning me back.

So I’ll use it to my advantage. I’ll use him.
Because he made a promise to help me get revenge on those we despise.
And once that’s over, so are we.

The seductively thrilling conclusion to the Hunting duet.





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AUTHOR BIO

Eden Summers is an alpha male addict who loves ‘You’re mine’ vibes and a dominant yet seductive throat grab.
An international bestselling author in both contemporary romance and romantic suspense, Eden thrives on the thrill of the chase and always falls for the enemies to lovers trope.


AUTHOR LINKS




Release Blitz

A London Villain by Catherine Wiltcher




Title: A London Villain
Author: Catherine Wiltcher
Genre: Mafia Romance
Release Date: March 11, 2022


BLURB

From USA Today bestselling author, Catherine Wiltcher, comes a new mafia romance standalone about second chances and enduring love.

It started with a dare:
Steal a kiss from the pretty, green-eyed girl with the Irish mobster father.
Turns out, Ada O’Sullivan was a much better thief than me.
In the span of one night, I lost my head, my senses, my loyalty to my own crime family…

At eighteen, she was the only thing worth fighting for.
Dying for.
Loving.
But I was a boy playing a man’s game.
In the end, they drove me from this city, while Ada was driven straight to hell.

Now, I’m back—an avenging devil—with red hands and loaded bullets.
Irish. Mafia. Bratva. British.
Everyone who tore her from my arms, everyone who has ever hurt her, will suffer the consequences.

But time bleeds secrets.
Secrets open old wounds.
Ada isn’t the same sweet girl I knew before they ripped her innocence apart.
And that boy?
I’ve turned him into a villain who will stop at nothing to make her mine again.

A London Villain is a heart-stopping, second chance romance with NO cliff-hanger and a guaranteed HEA. For mature readers only.







PURCHASE LINKS

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited






AUTHOR BIO

Catherine Wiltcher is a USA Today and Amazon Top 15 bestselling romance author. A stage 4 cancer thriver and a former TV Producer, she writes flawed characters who always fall hard and deep for one another, whatever the cost.

She lives in the UK with her husband, their two young daughters, and their delinquent cocker spaniel.

To keep up to date with all things in the Santiago World, sign up to her newsletter for giveaways and exclusives!


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Book Blitz

Time Lies by Rowena Tisdale

Time Lies
Rowena Tisdale
Publication date: March 4th 2022
Genres: Adult, Romance, Time-Travel

She thinks he’s crazy, he thinks she’s a witch.
Of course, they fall in love.

Shannon Kellogg is a spoiled heiress. She’s shallow and self-centered, but after her third divorce, she vows to become a better person. Practicing kindness and empathy is her prescription for self-improvement.

As if on cue, a young man with a strange accent, dressed as a colonial cosplayer appears in her yard during a thunderstorm. He’s lost and confused, and something about him tugs at her heart. She sees an opportunity on her path to change, and decides to help him.

It turns out to be more of a challenge than she anticipated. Azariah Scott was unwillingly tossed through time and the only way to help him is to send him back to 1750. She doesn’t know how to honor her commitment to him; despite his belief she’s a witch, she doesn’t believe in magic.

As they work together to find a gateway to the past, love blossoms, and Shannon comes to regret her promise.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

EXCERPT:

He cried out, and jerked away from her outstretched hand, falling to the floor, cracking his head on the corner of the island. He went still.

“Well, damn,” she muttered, closing the door.

A puddle had formed where he’d been standing. Much to her relief, a glance down confirmed water, not blood, covered the floor. Barefoot, she stepped gingerly on the well-polished tiles.

Shannon squatted next to him, picking up his wrist and checking for a pulse. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving. Unable to hear what he was saying, she leaned in, her nose crinkling with distaste as she got closer. Such a heavy costume in the hot weather required far more deodorant. Holding her breath, she put her ear near his mouth.

“I am cursed

Straightening, she pursed her lips. The whole situation was bizarre enough to be intriguing. She was curious about this strange man. What was his story? An actual interest in another was a bit foreign to her. A sign, no doubt, she was already becoming a better person.

Okay, but what did she do now? If she called the police, first, they would send someone to her house. It might be the same hot officer who had come a couple of months ago, and after assuring her no bobcat lurked in her backyard, had left a few hours later with more than a grateful “thank you.”

He’d come back once or twice, to play Criminal & Lady Cop, but she’d soon tired of him. Officer CuffMe was the last person she wanted to see when she had an unknown young man passed out in her kitchen. Awkward and uncomfortable at best, of questionable legality at worst.

Second, it would be straight to the psych ward if the police got involved. Probably the right call, but if he were whisked away, she’d never learn his story. Making up her mind, she strode decisively to the liquor cabinet. Bryce had kept an extensive, and expensive bar.

“Brandy, brandy, brandy,” she chanted as she skimmed the labels. She smiled as she wrapped her fingers around the neck of a bottle. She’d read enough romances with bare-chested sea captains on the cover to know when the heroine fainted dead away, the thing to revive her was a bit of eau-de-vie. Singing a Spanish song about brandy she opened her crystal cupboard.

How much?

The lines never said anything like, “He poured four ounces of cognac into an eight ounce snifter and lifted it to her trembling lips.” It couldn’t be much. The unfortunate lass was usually “spluttering and gagging at the first taste of the amber fluid.”

Settling next to the stranger on the floor, she assumed the Lotus position. He had stopped mumbling, but was still quite pale. She set the glass down, then shifted to her best approximation of “cradling his head in her lap,” and wondered how the mechanics of this worked.

She decided to check his pockets before reviving him. If she found his license, the mystery would be solved. His apparel was odd, she wasn’t sure where to look. A pat down revealed a muscular body but no phone or wallet in the expected places. There was a slight bulge over his chest. In the small pouch she pulled out, she found some old coins, and some paper which might be foreign currency, though she didn’t recognize it. There was also a large, intricate antique key. None of this was helpful. She slid the purse back into the concealed pocket.

Putting a hand on the back of his head, Shannon, surprised by the weight, carefully lifted it and angled him, as best she could, into a drinking posture. Then, she brought the glass to his mouth—

a very sensuous mouth

and poured the tiniest bit of alcohol over his lips. She laughed when he actually spluttered.

His head jerked, and his eyes flew open. Shannon drew back her hand, brandy splashing over the rim. She dropped his head, which unfortunately did not land back in her lap, but thumped heavily to the floor. A grimace of pain crossed his face, and she felt a tinge of guilt.

He fixed her with a baleful stare.

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

Author Bio:

Rowena Tisdale was born and raised in Michigan, sort of all over the state. As an adult, she moved south to Texas, and after living there for a bit, headed east, eventually returning home to her beloved “Mitten State.” She now resides nearby her favorite city, Detroit, with her son and a pair of feline companions.

A reader of romance from an early age, she remains an avid fan of the genre. Over the years, she began to wonder why the feisty heroines she’s always loved haven’t aged with her. Her stories are about older women, because she knows romance is not solely the purview of youth. Whether a single mother in her 30s, a crone who makes goddesses smile, or a spoiled socialite in her 40s, Rowena writes female characters who have the beauty and confidence of experience. She writes across genres, romance, chick-lit, and women’s fiction, but all her novels are love stories.

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Release Blitz

Until Mitchell by Emma Louise




Title: Until Mitchell
A Happily Ever Alpha World Novel
Author: Emma Louise
Publisher: Boom Factory Publishing, LLC
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 11, 2022


BLURB

Mitchell Black declares his love for Bailey Nash the moment he sees her.

Everyone might think it’s because of the baseball he just took to the head, but he knows the truth.

It’s not just how hot she is in her nurses’ uniform, or that she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. It’s the lightning bolt he feels every time they touch.

Bailey might be pessimistic when it comes to finding love, but even she can’t deny she feels a connection to the gorgeous guy that just landed in her ER. Until she finds out he’s a player not just on the baseball field, but probably off it too.

Mitchell is determined to prove Bailey wrong, that he can be trusted with her heart, he just has to find her again first.

Between a kleptomaniac cat, interfering families, and overzealous fans, it seems like life is trying to throw Mitchell a few curveballs. But he is an ace when it comes to challenges, and he knows Bailey is going to be the Ultimate Grand Slam.


Until Mitchell is part of Aurora Rose Reynolds’s Happily Ever Alpha World. If you loved Until December, then you will want to read Until Mitchell.







PURCHASE LINKS

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited






AUTHOR BIO

A long time lover of all things romance, Emma Louise is a book blogger turned debut writer. She’s a die hard bibliophile, addicted to tea and speaks fluent sarcasm.

She lives with her husband, three children and overgrown puppy in South Wales, UK.

Having been an avid reader for as long as she can remember, she’s recently decided to try her hand at writing a love story of her own.


AUTHOR LINKS






ABOUT BOOM FACTORY PUBLISHING


Aurora Rose Reynolds and her husband, Sedaka Reynolds, created Boom Factory Publishing to use their experiences to expand and promote upcoming and existing indie authors. 

With over five years in the industry, and millions of books sold worldwide, we know what it takes to become a successful author and we will use this knowledge to take our authors to the next level. 

“As a successful hybrid author in this ever evolving industry, I know that you’re only as successful as the team that is promoting you!” – Aurora Rose Reynolds


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Release Blitz

The Hate Between Us by Vera Hollins




Title: The Hate Between Us
Author: Vera Hollins
Genre: Enemies to Lovers High School Romance
Release Date: March 11, 2022


BLURB

One moment. That’s all it takes for your life to do a one-eighty. One moment to have your dreams shattered and freedom stolen. One moment to forget who you are.

The night Caroline Adams decided to drive drunk and ended up striking me as I stood on the sidewalk was when that moment happened to me. Nothing has been the same since.

In a wheelchair and broken, I’ve started my senior year at Lake Gate High, where I have to deal with the humiliating stares and whispers. Moreover, I have to see him—Jason Adams, Caroline’s brother.

He doesn’t hide the fact that he hates me for being the reason Caroline ended up in juvenile detention, and that he wants me to stay away from him. But that might prove to be impossible when we’re cast as the leads in our school play and that line between us gets blurred.

But I won’t let my old feelings for him resurface.

Not when he’s a jerk.

Not when that moment keeps haunting me and reminding me of the darkness.

The darkness of that night I might never be able to escape from.







PURCHASE LINKS

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU






AUTHOR BIO

Vera Hollins writes emotional, dark, and angsty love stories that deal with heartbreak, mental and social issues, and finding light in darkness.

She’s been writing since she was nine, and before she knew it, it became her passion and life. She particularly likes coffee, bunnies, angsty romance, and anti-heroes. When she’s not writing, you can find her reading, plotting her next book with as many twists as possible, and watching YouTube.


AUTHOR LINKS



Book Blitz

The Buccaneers of St. Frederick Island

 

Young Reader, Children’s Book, Middle Grade, Mystery, Adventure

Publisher: Annie Tillery Mysteries



What can possibly happen when a crime happens under the very noses of a group of very savvy eighth graders at St. BeSillius’ Catholic School on St. Frederick’s Island? When the money they raised to buy toys for children in homeless shelters in near-by NYC is stolen, the Buccaneers, as they call themselves are outraged. Despite warnings from Father Felix and Sr. Jo, Sprocket, the leader of the Buccaneers, and her determined buddies set out to follow the clues, run down the thief, and get those toys for the homeless kids.

When their clubhouse is burned down, and a threatening letter is sent to the local newspaper, The Foghorn, owned and operated by Sprocket’s mother, the Buccaneers are even more determined to unravel the plot against them. A mysterious island once owned by the pirate, Jon Buccleigh and a labyrinthine cave serve as the setting for this skullduggery. A Native American healer, her community, and a group of the beach people conspire with the Buccaneers to get that money back.

You will be laughing at some of the Buccaneers’ antics and gasping at what those brave eighth-graders face to solve the mystery. The story is rich with colorful and engaging characters as well as the flavor of post-war America in 1947. An altogether fun and satisfying read.



Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

ON THE MOVE

How do those turtles do it? Pull their heads into their bodies? Here comes Sr. JoAnn. My head stubbornly remained on top of my neck.

If you think it’s easy writing a note to the kid in the seat next to you when the rattling of Sr. JoAnn’s rosary is announcing her slow walk down my aisle at this moment, you’ve never been to Catholic school. The room is silent. You can hear pen nibs scratching across the pages of our black and white composition books, leaving a trail of ink blots.

Pen nibs, you say. Ink blots? You won’t believe this about the ink and the inkwell. Will you? We all learned to master a form of writing called the Palmer method. This is just another aspect of toughening the backbone here at St. BeSillius’s. As I look at my permanently stained right middle finger, I wonder if I will be done in by something lurking in the ink and become St. Sprocket, patron saint of calligraphy.

The smell of chalk and old tempera paints barely covers the tinge of pine-scented urine coming from the old radiators. My mom went to this school and tells the story of kids leaning their wet behinds against the radiators to let their underwear dry if they had an accident. Going to the bathroom in those days was a privilege reserved for the Pope. Thank God things have changed, and St. BeSillius has hired a nurse, and given her an office where this kind of thing could be taken care of.

A floorboard squeaks. I hear the faint clink of keys as if Sr. has reached into the stygian depths of her pocket for something. I slide my ruler over the words I’ve just written and peer cautiously from the side of my vision trying to locate Sr. JoAnn. My stomach bunches. She is reading Eddie O’Malley’s entire page. Eddie’s not one of us, so there is nothing out of the ordinary to see in his notebook.

My page is full of writing, but not what I think I want Sister to see. So far, I’ve jotted a list: LOOK FOR CLUES, including the narvex, the sacristy, the side entrance, the choir loft, and the bushes around the church. I’ve signed it, Sprocket.

Sprocket? Is that a Christian name? Of course not, silly reader. We all have code names to protect the guilty. We are the Buccaneers of St. BeSillius School, a secret society dedicated to solving the mysteries and misdeeds of our little parish school and the island where it’s located.

Uh-oh. Here she comes. If I rip the page out and crumple it, she’ll just grab it. And, I’ll have to explain why there’s nothing on the page, in longhand mind you, about the characteristics that would have made George Washington a good Catholic, if only he had known better.

George was an Anglican having once been a colonial loyal to the King of England, also a George. But that’s another story.

Eddie, not the sharpest pencil in the box, is getting the Spanish Inquisition treatment about his lack of inspiration on the topic. I wonder if the nuns get a special course in interrogation techniques.

Eddie, I love him dearly, is buying me time. Could I quietly turn the page and jot a quick sentence or two? I pick up the notebook and turn the page, knocking a pen full of ink onto the floor along with the ink well. As you can imagine, this was not a silent maneuver. Sr. JoAnn, Eddie and the whole class look at me. I feel my face burn. I get up to clean the mess and knock the composition book on the floor with my note showing plainly on top. Sister reaches for it. I’M DEAD!

The fire drill siren shrieks. Sister turns to move the class to the fire exit, and I kick the composition book under the desk. It obliges me, closing with a snap.

“I’ll clean this later, Sister.” I smile.

“And I will be checking your essay.” She smiles back.

“Yes, Sister,” I say, noting that the proverbial glove his been tossed onto the floor like they did in those ancient duels. I file past her.

**********************************************************

Are you wondering why a bunch of Catholic school kids are searching for clues in what looks like a church and the yard around it?

Let me digress for a bit and fill you in on some details about why we are listing clues and what all this skullduggery (Great word, isn’t it?) is about.

Well, before I fill you in on what happened when we found those clues, let me explain who we are. We call ourselves The Secret Crime-Stoppers of Sts. Christopher and Michael, but I wanted a shorter title like Buccaneers of St. BeSillius. I thought calling on both St. Christopher and St. Michael was pushing the envelope of sponsorship. And who even knows who St. BeSillius is? So, just think of us as the Buccaneers.

For the past year, our class has been raising money for a class trip to visit seven churches on the mainland and distribute toys to the children’s day care centers in those parishes. We did bake sales, car washes, leaf-raking, snow shoveling. We cleaned attics for old ladies, cut lawns and pulled weeds. Some ill-informed parents even let us do fence-painting. Don’t worry! Those shrubs will come back in a year or two.

A whole year of those earnings went into the fund. We kept it in the vestry. That’s the room behind the altar in the church where the priest keeps his vestments. Get it? Vestry, vestments? The box with the money disappeared the day Father Felix was supposed to open a bank account for us. We never got the money back, never found out who did it, and we’re pi….. Whoops! Sorry. I’m just angry. Not mad. Sister Priscilla said that mad means crazy. Well, she hasn’t been paying attention to her students.

Anyway, even though the sisters and priests said we should offer it up to God. I’m not sure what that means, the money or the cursing we did. And, we should learn a lesson. Next time lock it up! And where were we supposed to lock it up? It was in the vestry! With Father Felix, the parish priest!

This didn’t go down too well with some of us, and one night last summer at our club house which is just a shack on the beach, we decided to form our own little PI group, that’s Private Investigator. We voted on and accepted our official title, Buccaneers of St.Besillius. Look. You can’t beat our creativity in naming the group. We even researched St. BS. She’s the patron saint of mimes.

As we gathered around the fire, we wrote up a charter including the following:

· Each member is sworn to secrecy, under pain of . . .what? Oh, I don’t know.

· All clues are to be shared by everyone.

· All communications would be done using our code names. Mine is Sprocket.

· Our meeting place would be the old fishing shack on the beach.

We made a list of our code names.

Lily code name Sprocket, all around smarty, leader, that’s me.

Ryan: code name Bletch, general genius.

Frank: code name Wingnut, mechanical genius, and a bit dippy.

Leon: code name Snap Shackle, math genius, can put two and two together.

Amalie: code name Ratchet, electronic surveillance, or just plain snoop, meaning she can use a camera.

And so, the story begins.


About the Author

Linda Maria Frank, retired from a career teaching science, including forensic science, resides on Long Island and is currently writing the Annie Tillery Mysteries, as well as The Buccaneers of St. Frederick Island. She also produces The Writer’s Dream, her local access TV show, seen on YouTube. Frank is active in LI Authors Group, LI Sisters in Crime, LI Children’s Writers and Illustrators, and Mystery Writers of America.

Linda does lectures on Topics on Forensic Science at libraries, universities, clubs and other venues. She is currently writing the next Buccaneers book.


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Cover Reveal

Black Wedding by Emma Luna

Title: Black Wedding
Series: A Beautifully Brutal Book
Author: Emma Luna
Genre: Dark Mafia Romance
Re-Release Date: March 11, 2022
Cover Design: Pretty In Ink Creations



The new Black Wedding not only has a new bonus scene it also has an exclusive sneak peek at Dangerously Deceptive.



Goodreads Review – “​Emma Luna definitely knows how to masterfully create a killer story that grabs you right from the start and doesn’t let go. Black Wedding is just the perfect dark mafia kidnapped romance story you’ve been looking for.”

𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗳𝗮𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴?

My name is Liam Doughty and I’m a hit man.

All I wanted was to get what I was owed. I carried out the hit as I was hired to do by Irish Mob boss, Vernon O’Keenan. It’s not my fault they found out too late that they had the wrong man. All I wanted was my money. I thought I could kidnap the Mafia Princess Brianna O’Keenan and get the ransom money. What I got was so much more!

Ruthless, feisty, and incredibly sexy, she’s far from the timid daddy’s girl I was expecting. Bree has her own agenda. She wants to dominate in a world ruled by men. I have no doubt she can do it, but she will need my help. Her family rules state only males can run the business. So, Bree proposes we get married. She gets to rule, and I get more money than I ever dreamed of.

Two dark, evil worlds collide when we agree to our black wedding. We will fight each others enemies and come out on top. But what happens if we develop real feelings and we realise our wedding wasn’t all that black?

𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜
𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘞𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢, 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.







Trust in Me (A Beautifully Brutal Novel #2) – coming soon
The Ties We Break (A Beautifully Brutal Novel #2.5) – coming soon


Emma Luna is a USA Today Bestselling dark romance author from the UK. In a previous life she was a Midwife and a Lecturer, but now she listens to the voices in her head and puts pen to paper to bring their stories to life. In her spare time, when she should be sleeping, she also loves to edit, proofread, and format books for other amazing authors.

Emma’s books are dark, dangerous, and devilishly sexy. She loves writing about strong, feisty, but underestimated women, and the cocky, dirty-mouthed men they bring to their knees.

When Emma isn’t writing, promoting, or editing books she can be found napping, colouring in adult colouring books, and collecting novelty notebooks. She also enjoys coffee and gossiping with her mum, playing or having hugs with her gorgeous nephew, who is the light of her life, stealing her parents dog Hector, and curling up on the sofa to watch a film with Mr Luna. Oh and for those of you that don’t know, Emma is a hardcore Harry Potter fan—Team Ravenclaw!!

Thank you for taking a chance on a crazy Brit and the voices inside her head. That makes you a true LUNAtic now too!



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Not Paid Eleven Cents an Hour to Think Virtual Book Tour


Memoir (Military)

Date Published: January 22, 2022 (Hardcover coming March 2022)

Publisher: Acorn Publishing



Jim Gibson was flying to the other side of the world, barreling toward what he feared could be the end of his life. In 1968, five hundred American soldiers were dying every week in Vietnam. Outfitted in brand new, scratchy, combat jungle fatigues and boots, the twenty-year-old Army Private and trained Combat Medic found himself on a plane to a place he had never been, to fight a war he didn’t believe in. Young men like him were being drafted against their will every day, called into a war that made no sense to them. Vietnam, they thought, was a war orchestrated by relics; old white men and corrupt politicians willing to expend countless lives for personal gain. Still, it was no use to resist. There was nowhere to go, and the FBI made sure there was no place to hide.



About the Author

Jim Gibson was born in Santa Barbara, California in 1948. Growing up he was fascinated by the world around him, a curiosity that drove his love of reading at a young age. He has carried this passion for reading and desire for understanding throughout his whole life. In Not Paid Eleven Cents an Hour to Think, Jim recalls his fourteen months in Vietnam as an Army Medic and ambulance driver. In exploring his past and the lessons he learned, he considers what we must do to carry on. Mr. Gibson, now a happily retired grandfather, occasionally teaches abstract painting and other art classes in his community. He resides in Orange County, California.


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Release Blitz

Cold Blood

Cold Blood by T. Strange

Book 2 in the Bound to the Spirits series

Word Count: 86,043 Book Length: SUPER NOVEL Pages: 350

GENRES:

BONDAGE AND BDSM CONTEMPORARY CRIME EROTIC ROMANCE GAY GLBTQI PARANORMAL THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Ghost wards are failing. Mediums are vanishing. Someone—or something—is stirringup the ghosts of Toronto. It’s up to psychic medium Harlan Brand to find out why.

After defeating a serial killer who could control ghosts, psychic medium Harlan Brand is feeling much more confident in his abilities working for the Toronto Police Service with his partner, Hamilton, as they protect the city from dangerous spirits. He is expanding his social circle, however reluctantly, to include the other police mediums and Morgan Vermeer, another graduate from the Centre—a school for training psychic children. Harlan and his boyfriend, Charles Moore, are continuing to explore BDSM, their relationship and Charles’ strange ability to shield people from ghosts. Hoping to find answers about Charles’ power and the serial killer, Harlan returns to the Centre only to find that one of its ghost wards—magical symbols that spirits can’t cross—is broken, and it’s a mystery as to how and why. The calm and order that Harlan has been building up in his life are shattered when wards start failing across the city and mediums begin to disappear, including one of his new friends and a student from the Centre. Someone—or something—is stirring up the ghosts of Toronto. Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and murder. It is best read as part of a series.

Excerpt

Hamilton sighed as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat of their police cruiser, settling in much more heavily than usual. “Matthew wants to meet you.” Harlan was relieved that he was already struggling with his seatbelt. It gave him a moment to think about what Hamilton had just said. Matthew? Do I know a Matthew? Hamilton’s—and, by extension, Harlan’s—sergeant was named Matthews, but Harlan had already met her. The seatbelt clicked into place. He was out of time. Hamilton sighed again, this time with an edge of laughter. “Matthew is my…” He mumbled something Harlan couldn’t make out. “You haven’t met him,” he added in his regular speaking voice. Harlan waited, hoping Hamilton would elaborate, repeat himself or that the words would finally click into place as he ran them over and over in his mind. Silence. Silence that he had to break if he was going to get anything else. “Sorry… I didn’t quite—” “Boyfriend!” Too loud this time, loud and sudden enough that it startled Harlan. “Matthew is my boyfriend. He wants to meet you.” Hamilton slid his gaze over to Harlan, a sly smile on his thin lips. “You can say no,” he added, making it clear he would prefer that. Harlan would prefer that as well, so it worked out nicely. Before Harlan could assure him that he was, of course, in complete agreement, Hamilton shook his head and sighed for a third time that morning. “Nah, I think we’re past that. At this point, it would just be a delaying tactic. He’s made up his mind.” Harlan glanced sideways at Hamilton. Is Hamilton actually blushing? He hadn’t thought Hamilton was physically capable of doing that, never mind imagined that it might actually happen. “And I’ve met your boyfriend,” Hamilton shot back, even though Harlan hadn’t spoken. Technically true, but they hadn’t exactly met over dinner or another social event. Did life-and-death situations count more or less than sitting down for a meal together? “And, by the way”—the blush Harlan had probably imagined was gone, and Hamilton was definitely smirking now—”I knew I recognized him from somewhere.” Shit. Harlan had been dreading this conversation, hoping it wouldn’t happen. He’d hoped that Hamilton wouldn’t connect Charles, Harlan’s ghost-repelling boyfriend, to Mr. Moore, owner of Rattling Chains, a formerly haunted BDSM club. Apparently, that had been too much to ask for. Hamilton opened his mouth, started to say something then seemed to reconsider when he saw Harlan’s pained expression. “I’m glad you’ve got someone,” he said, just as gruffly as usual, but with a hint of genuine fondness and even warmth. “You don’t have a lot of people.” He looked away while he took a left-hand turn, then laughed. “Of course you’d meet someone on the job.” Harlan looked down at his lap. Yeah. It was pretty pathetic. Sure, he’d started going to the occasional police-medium group—basically a coffee klatch, not everyone sitting in a circle sharing their feelings the way he’d been dreading—but that was still connected to the police. He hadn’t even realized that Charles had the same connection. Fuck. Somehow, without realizing it, he’d become one of those adults who only lived for his job. He blinked. Maybe it isn’t just me. “What does Matthew do?” he asked, fully expecting he already knew the answer. He was wrong. “He’s an advertising consultant.” Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t know what that means, either.” He paused, then added, as though he’d read Harlan’s mind—more likely his expression—“I did meet him through a case, though.” Harlan wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. He didn’t know exactly how old Hamilton was, but he guessed his police partner was at least a few years older than he was. Was that what he had to look forward to—all his personal connections coming from his work for the rest of his life? He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, but it did. Maybe it was like that for everyone, and he just didn’t know—not that there was anyone he could ask. Maybe Charles… He’d met a few of Charles’ friends, more or less in passing. He certainly hadn’t sat down and had dinner with any of them, the way Hamilton seemed to be proposing that he do with Matthew. He’d always assumed it was because he and Charles were still fairly new as a couple and—knowing Harlan—Charles hadn’t wanted to overwhelm him with a bunch of people all at once—but maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he just didn’t want to introduce Harlan to anyone else in his life. Knowing he was starting to spiral, he was relieved when Hamilton continued. “I told him you don’t do phone calls and you wouldn’t want to text someone you don’t know”—Wow, Hamilton really will make a great detective one day—“so you can just let me know when you decide. Here.” He fished a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to Harlan. “This is Matthew’s number so you can give it to Charles. He’s invited too, if he’d like.” His smirk was back. “I think he still has a choice, unlike you.” “Where are we going today?” Normally Hamilton didn’t tell him, and he didn’t ask, but it was the only change of topic Harlan could think of. “Is it another one of Samuel’s ghosts?” Killing the warped medium and serial killer Samuel Harkness had released most of the spirits under his control, but even eight months later they were still finding stragglers, like the ones that had led Harlan to their killer in the first place. Interestingly, Harlan and Hamilton had found—and freed—almost three times as many wanderers as the other three medium pairs put together. It was as if even though he’d never met them, these spirits felt a connection to him for killing the man who had been controlling them. This part of the job was a lot less glamorous when the ghosts they worked with weren’t leading him to a serial killer. “Kid,” Hamilton had laughed after a sweaty, dusty and frustrated Harlan had snapped something along those lines after a very long, hot day crammed in the crawlspace of an old house, trying to coax an especially nervous ghost close enough for him to either grab or calm it down enough for it to cross over on its own, “that’s the job. It’s not bringing down bad guys and epic showdowns. It’s…this. Hey, you’ve got a cobweb on your face.” Harlan couldn’t help feeling that he’d peaked too soon, experienced more police-medium excitement than most of his colleagues got in a lifetime. Crucially, he’d survived. Most police mediums didn’t live long enough to retire. He still liked his job and found it fulfilling, rewarding and blah blah, but he couldn’t help feeling a little…let down. Restless, maybe. Not that he wanted to face anything like Samuel ever again! But…something. Something more than finding ghost, freeing ghost, next. Day in, day out, week after week. Just a little. “Nah. Well—not as far as I know,” Hamilton amended. “Though apparently this is kinda a weird one.” Harlan couldn’t help brightening, sitting forward in his seat a little. In light of what he’d been thinking, ‘weird’ was good. “Really?” “Yeah, yeah, keep it in your pants.” Hamilton laughed. “You gonna tell me or is it gonna be a surprise?” Even a few months ago Harlan wouldn’t have dared ask for information about the scene they were going to, and he certainly wouldn’t have expected an answer. Now, it was almost like a game between the two of them—if Harlan really wanted to know, Hamilton would tell him, and if Hamilton really wanted to keep him in the dark until they got there—and Harlan was beginning to think that, sometimes at least, walking in without any preconceptions was helpful—he wouldn’t. And, occasionally, Hamilton himself knew very little or nothing about the haunting situation. Harlan was starting to suspect that was one of the reasons Hamilton hadn’t filled Harlan in ahead of time in the past. Hamilton didn’t like admitting when he didn’t know something. “Mmm, this time I think I’ll let you see for yourself. Besides, we’re almost there.” Hamilton pulled up beside a record store, one of those hipster places that had been popping up in the most gentrified parts of the city. He got out, coming around the other side of the car and opening Harlan’s door when he didn’t get out immediately. Harlan stepped onto the sidewalk to take a better look around. Hauntings—the ones not related to violent crime, which he doubted was the case here—tended to be in residential buildings. People died where they lived, not where they bought vinyl. He glanced across the street—more shops, and they didn’t look like they had apartments over them. Neither did the record store or the others around it. “There’s a haunting here?” “I can double-check the address if you’d like,” Hamilton offered, smirking a little. “No. That’s fine.” As far as Harlan knew, Hamilton had never got an address wrong. Maybe the dispatcher had been wrong? A young white man stepped out of the shop, waving at them. “Are you with the Graveyard Crew?” It was a nickname for Toronto police mediums that Harlan didn’t really like—and, by the look on Hamilton’s face, he didn’t care for it either. Hamilton pointedly glanced down at his uniform and badge. “We’re with the police.” “Oh, good! C’mon in. We’ve been expecting you.” He turned and disappeared into the shop. Harlan shot Hamilton a questioning glance. Hamilton shrugged one shoulder, extending a hand to say after you. He was suddenly hit by a barrage of noise—apparently the door was surprisingly soundproof. Harlan always thought the music in these types of places sounded bad, but this was bad. Hamilton, never one to fuck around, headed straight to the man who’d welcomed them. “Can you turn the music down? Or off, maybe?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. The man shook his head. “No! That’s the problem.” He didn’t have Hamilton’s loud ‘cop voice’ and he was practically screaming.

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About the Author

T. Strange

T. Strange didn’t want to learn how to read, but literacy prevailed and she hasn’t stopped reading—or writing—since. She’s been published since 2013, and she writes M/M romance in multiple genres, including paranormal and BDSM. T.’s other interests include cross stitching, gardening, watching terrible horror movies, playing video games, and finding injured pigeons to rescue. Originally from White Rock, BC, she lives on the Canadian prairies, where she shares her home with her wife, cats, guinea pigs and other creatures of all shapes and sizes. She’s very easy to bribe with free food and drinks—especially wine. Find T. Strange on Instagram.  

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