Tuesday, May 13, 2025

Release Day Blitz Same Place, Same Stars by Katey Taylor #ReleaseDayBlitz #PsychologicalMystery


Same Place, Same Stars
Katey Taylor

Genre: Psychological Mystery/Drama, 
Coming-of-Age, Adult Fiction 
Publisher: Katey Taylor
Date of Publication: 5/13/25
ISBN: 9781732750456
ASIN: B0DYK959FJ
Number of pages: 317
Word Count: 93,000

Book Description:

Twenty-one-year-old Natalia battles a rare parasomnia sleep disorder that propels her to act violently, experience night terrors, and put herself in dangerous situations—all while she’s unconscious.

After waking up covered in unexplained bruises, she lands herself back in a mental facility. Making friends has never been easy, but at Awana, she quickly bonds with her fun-loving roommate Lindsay and falls for Gabriel, a handsome yet severely depressed resident she secretly meets at night.

As Natalia wrestles with the harsh side effects of her medication, her reality unravels, exposing disturbing truths about those she trusts most. Though romantic relationships are strictly forbidden at Awana, Gabriel becomes her lifeline amidst the chaos. To be with him, Natalia must risk everything—including her sanity, and she learns some choices carry devastating consequences.

Filled with shocking twists, Same Place, Same Stars, is a psychological drama that unpacks the many layers of what happens when dark secrets refuse to be ignored.

Amazon     Kobo     BN

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGIl0E7DhC4

 

Excerpt: CHAPTER 1

 

No sharp objects. Pack light.

My instinct is to run, but I don’t know how far my sore limbs will carry me.

Apathy is my last line of defense.

I reach for a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. This has become my uniform when I go away, not for any fashion statement but its functionality—it can be easily taken off before my body is searched by a nurse’s gloved hands. The pressure from the fabric causes me to hiss in pain. I carefully step each leg in to cover the tender scrapes and deep purple bruises along my pale white shins and thighs. The bruises are a reminder that I’ve messed up again.  

I drag my worn leather suitcase that’s on its last leg away from our cottage and into the trunk of Olga’s station wagon. She doesn’t say a word as we head out of our driveway and onto the tree-dense highway. The branches are grayer than normal, though it could be my mood filtering the world in a cloud of indifference.

Olga rolls every window down even though it’s a brisk fifty-two degrees. Long drives make her sweat. I think she would never leave our small town if it were up to her, but I remain her forcing agent.

My eyes wander from the pastures filled with cows and horses to Olga and her wild blowing hair that is unusually more silver than black for someone in their thirties.

“So, what’s this ward like?” I ask, trying to break the tense silence.

“Don’t call it that. That’s not what it’s called. This is a treatment center.”

She turns up her classical piano playlist, the one she plays to calm her nerves, then hands me a folded piece of stock paper filled with smiling faces of young adults—those who, like me, are not teenagers anymore but not quite what I would consider adults either. Much like our mental state, we’re something in between.

The brochure states this center isn’t government funded. By the looks of it, it seems far out of the budget of Olga’s ballet studio salary and my unemployed status, but it claims as part of their philosophy that they take on special cases free of charge. Just my luck, they happened to have room for a last-minute drop-in.

After the stunt I pulled last night, I’m sure Olga would be willing to pay any price.


About the Author:

Katey Taylor is a San Francisco Bay Area-based author and published poet, with work featured in online magazines such as DarkWinter Lit, SWAAY, and Fauxmoir. She’s recognized for her ability to address complex topics with sensitivity and depth.









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Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning by Reign Reeves Pearson #SciFi #Thriller


“So I Almost Died, and Then I Wrote a Book”

Every story has a beginning. Mine started in a hospital room, buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, machines softly beeping to my left, and this sort of quiet that shuts in on you when everything you know has been stripped away from you. I was surrounded by uncertainty, fear, and the question that slowly surfaced in the aftermath: What now? That question didn’t just echo in the quiet moments, it consumed them. I was alone, struggling, and full of questions, but that was the one I kept circling back to.

I was being thrust headlong into an existential crisis, the depth of which I couldn’t fully comprehend at the time. My body had betrayed me, or at least that’s how it felt. Everything I thought I knew about my life, my health, my plans, my identity, was suddenly up for negotiation. There was grief. There was fear. But there was also this strange, quiet sense that something was waiting for me on the other side of it all…I just didn’t know what. That moment, as terrifying and disorienting as it was, became the seed of something I never expected: a story. A vision. And eventually, a book.

In 2019, I made a difficult but necessary decision—I finally conceded to have a hysterectomy. It had been a long time coming, a choice I'd wrestled with for years. When I finally agreed to the surgery, I was told it would be “the best decision I’d ever make.” My surgeon said those exact words. I clung to them, hopeful, desperate for relief, for normalcy.

But less than two weeks later, just eleven days after being discharged, I was back in the hospital. This time, it was a crisis that threatened my life: bilateral pulmonary embolisms and a pulmonary infarction. Blood clots had traveled to both lungs, and part of my lung tissue had died. What was initially a step down the path of healing proved to be one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

I still remember the moment I left the house to go to the emergency room. I couldn’t bring myself to look back. I was terrified—not just of the pain, not just of what was happening to my body, but of the possibility that I might not return. I didn’t want to see my home for the last time under those circumstances. That fear is hard to describe unless you’ve lived it: the sense that your body has turned on you, that every breath is a gamble, and that the future you planned for might not be waiting on the other side of the next test result.

Physically, I was shattered. Emotionally, I was unraveling. Spiritually…I was raw. Confronted with my own mortality in a way I had never been before. Everything I thought I understood about my life, my identity, even my purpose, it all fractured under the weight of that crisis.

The vision that inspired Poseidon’s Daughters didn’t come with thunder or fanfare. It came quietly, like a whisper in the back of my mind, while I was still lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, lungs fighting to work, body recovering from the trauma it had just endured. I didn’t realize it was a vision at first. It felt more like an image. A flicker of something that wasn’t fear. Something that felt… important.

In those long hours where the world outside my hospital room seemed impossibly far away, I found myself drifting—not into sleep, but into scenes, characters, a world I didn’t recognize but somehow knew. I started to see them more clearly: their faces, their struggles, the way their pain mirrored mine in ways I couldn’t explain. I didn’t fully understand it yet, but I felt it. A story was forming, and it was reaching for me just as much as I was reaching for it.

In the days and weeks that followed, after I was discharged to begin the long process of healing, that vision deepened. It grew more vivid, more insistent. It became my anchor—something solid to hold onto while everything else in my life seemed to be sliding away from me. The story took root in the dark, in the chaos, in the questioning. And instead of just being a distraction or a daydream, it began to feel like a map. A guide. A message from somewhere deep inside me that hadn’t given up, even when the rest of me wanted to.

It wasn’t just a story—it was survival. At first, I didn’t know what to do with it. I was still healing—physically weak, emotionally unsteady, spiritually raw. But the vision wouldn’t let me go. The characters kept showing up. The world they lived in grew more detailed by the day. It was like they had chosen me, not the other way around. And slowly, I realized: this wasn’t just something to keep me distracted during recovery. This was the beginning of something bigger.
Writing wasn’t easy. I was exhausted. Some days, all I could manage was a few scribbled lines in a notebook, or a quiet moment spent replaying scenes in my mind while I lay on the couch trying to breathe. But every sentence I wrote was an act of taking back my voice, my agency, and my life.

Bit by bit, the fragments of that vision came together in a story. One with themes that mirrored my own journey: loss, survival, transformation, the painful and messy work of becoming something new after your old self has been burned to the ground. There was no grand plan. I didn’t sit down with an outline or a polished pitch. I followed the thread because I had to. Because it was the only thing that made sense when nothing else did. Because in writing it, I was also writing myself back into existence.

It became more than healing. It became purpose. This story matters because it was born out of the worst moment of my life—and it helped me survive it. It came to me when I had nothing left but questions, when my body felt broken and my future uncertain. It reminded me that even in the darkest, most disorienting times, something meaningful can take root. Something beautiful. Something worth following. It matters because it’s more than fiction. It’s a reflection of the raw, painful, and miraculous process of becoming—of choosing to stay, to hope, to create. My characters carry pieces of my grief and my strength. Their journey is not mine exactly, but it’s shaped by everything I felt and everything I feared in those weeks after the hospital. 

And it matters because I know I’m not the only one who’s ever asked What now? Because someone out there might be lying in their own hospital bed, or sitting with their own fear, and they deserve to know that even then, especially then, stories can save us.

This book isn’t just a product of imagination. It’s a monument to survival. A love letter to the part of me that didn't disappear when everything else fell apart. Writing it helped me reclaim my self, rebuild my soul, and rediscover my purpose again, not just as a writer, but as a human being in general. Every word on the page is a step closer, a breath regained, a truth spoken aloud after too long in silence.

So, sure, every story has a beginning. And mine? It began in a hospital bed—around a question, a vision, and the silent, stubborn determination to keep going.


Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning
Poseidon’s Daughters
Book 1
Reign Reeves Pearson

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller
Date of Publication: March 21, 2025
ISBN: B0DZNZ6QPC
ASIN: B0DZCKJBGX
Number of pages: 262
Word Count: 62,400
Cover Artist: Reign Reeves Pearson

Tagline: They wanted a ghost, she’ll give them a reckoning

Book Description: 

They trained her to be a weapon. Now, she’s turning the blade on them.

Eirianwen was Poseidon’s crowning achievement—until she walked away from everything. She’s evaded them for years, carving out a life in the shadows, leaving behind the bloodstained world they forced her into. Now, the past she’s been running from has finally caught up. A storm-wracked night. A breach in her sanctuary. Someone is watching. Someone is waiting. And this time, they don’t just want her dead—they want her to doubt herself. They want the world to believe she’s lost her mind.

They’ve been watching her. Manipulating her. Preparing for her downfall.

Now, the elite organization that built her is coming to collect. Not to kill—to control. They don’t need to break her. They just need to make sure no one believes her when she starts screaming.They want her to understand that her escape, her freedom, was all an illusion.

Erased. Discredited. Untouchable.

But Eirianwen has spent her whole life surviving. And when the walls start closing in, she doesn’t run. She hunts.

Poseidon wants her desperate. Unraveling. Helpless.

They’re about to learn just how dangerous she can be.

Amazon

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/hpJsOfvRKxI

Excerpt 

Eirianwen ripped out the earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. Panic swirled at the edges of her mind, but she forced it down. Now wasn’t the time. She grabbed a larger bag from under the desk, slung it over her shoulder, and stormed out. In the closet, she set the bag aside, pressing a hidden panel on the side of her bed. A drawer slid open, revealing her arsenal. Her hands shook as she armed herself, snapping a knife into its sheath and loading a handgun with quick, practiced movements. Now, to find them. Moving swiftly, she ran through the house, slipping out the back door and straight into the storm-charged air. Sullivan’s workshop. If she was going to do this right, she’d need a shovel. She yanked open the heavy wooden door, eyes darting over the mess inside.Where the fuck is it? Why is this place always such a goddamn disaster?

A glint of metal under the workbench caught her eye. She crouched, snatched up a spade, and bolted back outside. The rain had started in earnest, cold drops slicing through the thick humidity. She sprinted to where the trackers last pinged, her boots sinking slightly into the softening earth, almost tripping thanks to a low spot. Looking back at the spot, it was all wrong. She knew something was buried there.

Gripping the shovel tightly, she drove it into the ground. The soil gave easily...far too easily. The clay should have been a nightmare to dig through. Someone had already done the work for her. Within moments, her blade hit something solid, and dread curled in her stomach. She dropped to her knees, clawing at the loose earth with bare hands until the objects were free. Her breath hitched. Six trackers. All of them. Cold, useless, and buried like a mockery of her own paranoia. Eirianwen sat back on her heels, mud caking her fingers as she stared at the pile in her hands. Someone knew.

Her cheeks burned hot, but the rest of her body felt frozen. Tears welled, spilling silently down her face as the questions flooded in. Why? Why would Sullivan do this? Had he done this? He wouldn’t put the kids in danger—would he? Where were they? How long had he planned this? Her stomach twisted. Then, her phone buzzed—a single notification. Hands trembling,  she wiped her palms on her pants and yanked it from her pocket. Wi-Fi restored—a new alert. Someone had just crossed the perimeter.

“It better be Sullivan and the kids.”

Eirianwen exhaled sharply, swiping at the sweat and tears streaking her face. Standing, she brushed the dirt from her clothes as best she could, shoving the useless trackers deep into her pocket. She locked her phone and steadied herself. If the kids were with Sullivan, she needed to stay calm. Normal. They couldn’t see the weapons strapped under her clothing. At least the incoming storm gave her an excuse to rush them inside. She’d get them safe first—then she’d deal with Sullivan. She turned toward the tree line, heart pounding in her throat. The property was massive, and she had built the house at its farthest edge. Finally, headlights cut through the gloom. A vehicle emerged. Not Sullivan’s truck. A cold, electric jolt shot down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her.

No one came out here. No one. She had made sure of it. For years, she had meticulously crafted the illusion of a perfectly ordinary life. She knew everyone in town—just enough to avoid suspicion, but never enough to invite curiosity. A delicate balance of friendly but distant. She never gave anyone a reason to visit. She didn't even use their real address! She picked up all of their mail and deliveries in town. So who the hell thought they had the right to pull up to her house? The SUV slowed to a stop, tires crunching against the gravel. The doors swung open in near unison, and two men stepped out. Sheriff Ford. Deputy Pines. Ford adjusted his jacket, his gaze steady, unreadable. Pines lingered a step behind, eyes sharp, scanning. Ford closed the gap between them, and gave Eirianwen a curt nod.

 

About the Author:

Reign Reeves Pearson is a writer, storyteller, and chaos enthusiast based in Houston, where she lives with her husband, four kids, and three cats who may or may not be plotting world domination. She thrives on Kopiko, rainy days, and an endless love for Final Fantasy VII and Dungeons & Dragons.

 

She’s been writing for as long as she can remember. But in 2019, a health scare forced her to take a hard look at her life, and the answer was clear: writing wasn’t just something she did. It was what she was meant to do.

 

Her debut novel and series, Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning, is her first and only planned adventure into sci-fi. Going forward, expect Southern Gothic chills, cosmic nightmares, and nostalgic ‘90s horror—all infused with her signature mix of heart, humor, and a touch of the macabre.

 

When she’s not writing, she’s probably dreaming up elaborate D&D campaigns, getting emotionally wrecked by Final Fantasy VII (again), or staring dramatically out a window while it rains.

 

Follow her chaotic creative journey at:

 

https://reignvox.com/

 

https://x.com/notorious_rrp

 

https://www.twitch.tv/ReignVox

 

https://www.youtube.com/@notorious_rrp

 

https://www.instagram.com/notorious_rrp/

 

https://www.instagram.com/reignreevespearson/

 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/48135392.Reign_Reeves_Pearson

 

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Reign-Reeves-Pearson/author/B0DZDDF88T





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Friday, April 18, 2025

Release Day Blitz Dark Shadow of Guilt by TM Smith #Romantasy #PNR #Fantasy


Dark Shadow of Guilt
Winged Assassin Series
Book One
TM Smith

Genre: Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Date of Publication: April 18, 2025
ISBN: 978-0-3695-1163-8
ASIN: B0F2XZZ55K
Number of pages: 377
Word Count: 96,146
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Book Description:  

Dominion, a guilt-ridden Immortal who is the black-winged assassin of the OneCreator, rescues Madeline, a mortal who has been thrust into a world she never existed knew. Kidnapped, she was brought to Angor in OneWorld and tortured. As her path intertwines with Dom’s, she grapples with her evolution and newfound gifts. 

Theirs is a tale of doubt and forgiveness, forbidden love, sacrifice, and conflict that threatens the existence of OneWorld. 

Packed with puzzling occurrences and twists and turns, this is a story that will mesmerize readers from start to finish. Amidst chaos in OneWorld, their love is put to the ultimate test against looming threats that threaten the fabric of existence.

Amazon       Apple      Smashwords      BN      Goodreads      Books2Read

Excerpt:

 

Madeline dragged a fork through her potatoes, eventually shoving a bite into her mouth. When she finished chewing, she broke off a piece of crisp bacon and popped it in, licking her lips. “I was thinking about going home, but when you came into the kitchen, I realized how much help you need around here. You probably don’t pay enough attention to yourself. Like eating regularly. Your laundry. Cleaning house. I could organize stuff. Take care of your place.” She winked again. “And you.”

She tilted her chin, a strand of hair feathering across her cheek as she slipped him an irresistible smile. He followed the sweep of her tongue across her lower lip again.

Damn. Things were taking a definite turn toward strange.

Finished, Dom pushed his plate away. He gripped the handle of his coffee mug, taking a sip. Good. Brewed just right. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say. Conversation wasn’t part of his skill set.

Madeline scooted closer, thigh to thigh, a hand caressing his shoulder, floating down to clasp his bicep. “Don’t you like having me here? I could be very convenient to have around.”

When her breast brushed his arm, his heart pounded against his ribs. She was coming on to him.

Dom escaped her grip and moved out of boob range. “Be careful, little female.”

As she leaned close, her whispery breath puffed across his ear. “I’m not so little.”

“Uh-huh.” He swallowed hard. What the hell was she doing? She’d gone from scared to distrusting to cautious acceptance. Now this? Was this typical human behavior?

She inched nearer again, heat radiating off her body. He never turned down an offer from a female, and this one was cooking more than breakfast. But Dom was cautious. He didn’t like not knowing the game.

Madeline tilted into his chest and crushed her lips to his.

To hell with caution.

Not about to allow her to control the situation, Dom yanked her onto his lap, her legs straddling him. He took over, forcing her mouth open and caressing her tongue with his. As she melted against him, his cock got with the game.

 

About the Author:

T. M. Smith is the award-winning author of the Blood Coven Series paranormal romance novels and the spin-off Blood Coven World novellas. Her current release is a new romantasy, in the Winged Assassins Series, Dark Shadow of Guilt. She draws upon her imagination to craft stories about strong women and powerful but flawed men in a richly detailed magical world. After retiring from a career as an educator, Smith settled in to write something more creative than lesson plans on split infinitives and inner-school memos on noise in the hallway. She is now living in the Pacific Northwest with vampires, demons, ylves, mages, and winged beings who keep her awake at night with their tales of love and adventure.






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Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Interview- Haunting Joy by A.L. Hawke #SupernaturalRomance


What’s your one line pitch or teaser for the book? 

Peace ends in the spirit of joy.

Tell readers a little about your main character or characters?

The book is from Alec’s point of view but, really, the story is just as much about Alec as it is about the ghost. So there’s two main characters. Alec is serious and quiet. He’s the opposite of the ghost, who’s youthful and funny. But he and the ghost are in love. So he’s in love with a ghost. And the story is all about that and the trouble inherent in falling in love with someone who’s passed away.

Where do you like to write? Do you have an office or writing nook?

I write the most in public coffee houses. At night time, sometimes I write at home.

What is one of your best marketing tips for other authors? 

Study what other writers do online. You have to sell your stuff in this world because there’s just too many people vying for the same thing. Wave your hands and get aggressive in marketing and social media. Chat with other authors. And, whatever happens, keep heart because the craft is definitely worthy of the pursuit. 

What websites or tools have you found that offer the best results?

I learned a lot over the years from writer forums like Writer Sanctum and Kboards. It’s also a lot of fun interacting with other writers in those groups. 

Any advice for aspiring writers?

Discover your signature. You know, everyone has a way to uniquely express oneself, whether the way they walk or talk. It’s like our facial expressions. This is your signature. Learn your voice and find what people love or hate about it. Unfortunately, some of the stuff you love, readers might not like so much. But you can learn how to adapt and go with what works. 


Haunting Joy
A.L. Hawke

Genre: supernatural romance
Publisher: Phantom Heart, LLC
Date of Publication: March 19, 2025
ISBN ebook: 978-1-953919-77-9
ISBN paperback: 978-1-953919-80-9
ISBN hardcover: 978-1-953919-78-6
ISBN audiobook: 978-1-953919-81-6
ASIN: B0DZMNPQHL
Number of pages: 204
Word Count: 53,000
Cover Artist: Mirella Santana

Tagline: Peace ends in the spirit of joy.

Book Description:

Alec was seeking a respite from city life. He thinks he has discovered it on Plymouth Crest, a manor overlooking the forest and a beautiful lake, golden in the sun. But Alec was warned the house is haunted by a murdered pop singer and Hollywood star.

Footsteps and howling winds soon disturb his sleep. One night, he finds an intruder, Joy, standing barefoot among broken glass in the kitchen. He chases her out. But she returns, enchanting him with laughter and boundless energy. It’s not long before Alec falls in love.

Joy ends when a belligerent character shows up and claims ownership of the house. Alec and Joy have a plan to evict him and bring some resolution to past horrors. If they fail, Alec’s dreams will crumble, and Joy might be subjected to a fate worse than death. But if they succeed, Alec and Joy might be separated forever—and so may end joy. To save Joy—and also have hope of being together—they need a bold plan, bringing them face to face with evils buried in the past, and finding a path to a shared future.

Amazon     BookFunnel


Excerpt:

With the sun’s rays shining between the green leaves of the trees surrounding the windows of his glass house, Plymouth Crest was enchanting. Gilded light shone through the leaves and branches creating yellow prism-like effects. And with all the green moss and thrush, it was enchanting—as if Alec lived in an English fae forest or Camelot, which he loved as a writer.

That was what happened during the day. But upon nightfall, all those large windows turned black. And then those same leaves and branches that covered the sunrays blocked moonlight. Then his house became very dark.

But not so quiet…

By the second week, he started hearing noises. At first, it was just stray creaks and cracks from the wood, and Alec figured it was simply the sound of an old foundation. But as time passed, he heard unexplainable things. Stray shouts and screams that sounded as if they were coming from the terrace outside. Doors opening and slamming shut downstairs. Kitchen cabinets left open. Plates and glasses being rearranged on the kitchen table. Doors left open all night. One morning, he even found the couch in the living room had been moved a couple feet. That was the creepiest. On yet another night, he awoke shivering. The glass balcony door of his bedroom was wide open. He was certain he had locked it.

As days passed, the noises only grew louder. One night a wooden chair tipped over downstairs in the dining room. Then another night, a plant was thrown from one of his tall cabinets in the foyer into the living room.

He began to not sleep. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he couldn’t deny the noises.

Tonight, for hours, he had just stared at the white ceiling over his bed in silence. He had stared long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And after a while, the darkness made the faint moonlight that shone through openings in his dark mahogany velvet curtains seem bright.

His body jumped. His muscles reacted mechanically before he recognized the noise. It was glass shattering. Something had broken into pieces downstairs. It was so loud that he leapt out of bed and his hands scrambled along the walls to switch on the light. But the light wouldn’t switch on. That was weird because his old clock on the nightstand still read one-thirty-two in red digital letters, and the clock didn’t have back-up power. Electricity was another quirky thing about his house.

He opened the drawer in his nightstand by the bed. In his old house, he had always left a small flashlight by the bed. But the flashlight wasn’t there. It was probably still in one of the boxes in the garage. And he had left his cellphone downstairs.

There was more opening and closing of cabinets and drawers. This time, it wasn’t just stray noises, it seemed to be every few seconds. This didn’t sound like the usual cracks and creaks of some phantom haunting his place. He was worried there was an actual intruder.

He rushed along the inner balcony. Most of his downstairs could be seen from here, but his furniture—his couch, end table, and chairs—were cast in shadows by moonlight.

“Who’s down there?” Alec cried. “Show yourself.”

He was answered by another crash. That made him move faster, darting across his dark, empty living room and running straight to the source of the noise—in the kitchen.

He was wearing only underwear and felt a breeze before seeing the open kitchen door. After doors being left open frequently over the past week, he was sure he had checked the lock on this door before going to bed. He rushed over to shut it.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was home.”

Alec whirled around. That made the intruder on the other side of the kitchen island cover her mouth and snicker.

They stared at one another. Then she drew the apple up to her nose.

“What are you doing here?” Alec snapped.

“Eating an apple.”

“No, what are you doing in my house?”

 

About the Author:

A.L. Hawke is the author of the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch Series. The author lives in Southern California torching the midnight candle over lovers against a backdrop of machines, nymphs, magic, spice and mayhem.

 

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Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/a-l-hawke  


Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18821515.A_L_Hawke  

 




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Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Release Day Blitz The Third Ring by A. N. Horton #UrbanFantasyRomance


The Third Ring
The Sanctum Series
Book One
A. N. Horton

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Veil and Valor Books
Date of Publication: April 15, 2025
ISBN: 979-8-9911249-6-6 
ASIN: B0DY949XBH
Number of pages: 404 Pages
Word Count: 112,000
Cover Artist: Adrian Păsărin

Tagline: Ten Trials. Two Oaths. One Chance.

Book Description: 

To Adrian, the gods were never anything to be worshipped, just tolerated. But in the walled city of Sanctuary, whether through the religious fervor of the elite or the quaking fear of the poor, the Geist have always been served. And now it's Adrian's turn.

Born into power and raised for greatness, Dante stands for everything Adrian has come to despise, but he may be her only hope of survival. When the two of them are bonded against their will and forced to compete together in the Trials, the god's ancient gauntlet of physical brutality and psychological torture, they have no choice but to set aside old prejudices and work together. Navigating religious zealots, a patriarch intent on breeding the pair for power, and the increasingly obvious cruelty of the gods, Adrian must come to terms with the fact that, whether Culled or Championed, we all serve the gods in the end. And, for her, betrayal has always been waiting just around the corner.

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcZCgrRLlGQ

 

 

Excerpt:

 

I was in a vast, open chamber. The walls were made of solid, smooth gray stone, almost the color of charcoal, with thin veins of white running through them at odd angles. That singular, faint light shone down on a massive hunk of porous stone which took up most of the room. I approached it slowly, in awe of the size. I’d always thought the Oath Stone was small, something you held in both hands while reciting some vow the attendants guided you through or had written on the walls.

I glanced around. There were no words. Not on the walls, not on the floors, not even on the stone itself. There were no words written anywhere, no instructions, no Oath. I spun around again and again, searching in vain as my panic rose to the surface.

How do I know what to say?

How pathetic. Utterly, depressingly pathetic. How was I ever to make it past a single Trial if I couldn’t even figure out how to take my Oath?

My palms itched. I scratched them with my fingernails as I walked toward one of the walls. I narrowed my gaze, trying to discern a pattern in the white lines running through them. There was nothing.

I huffed, my nails continuously running back and forth on the sensitive skin of my palms. But the more I scratched them, the more they burned. I switched to rubbing them as I approached the stone. I leaned down, staring at the hunk of porous stone, tilting my head side to side as I inspected the bumps and crevices until I hissed—the burning in my palms had become an inferno.

Frantic, I held up my hands, expecting to see inflamed skin, a rash even, but they weren’t even red.

Still, they burned.

Flooded with an overwhelming compulsion to find relief from the cool surface of the Oathstone, I reached out and pressed my palms flat against the massive rock. The burning stopped, the itching soothed. I closed my eyes and took a breath.

Then I heard it. A faint voice in the back of my mind getting louder and louder…

I jerked back in surprise, but the moment my hands left the stone, they began to burn even worse than before. I hissed and stared at them again. I still saw nothing but my own skin. Shaking, I reached for the stone again.

The moment flesh met rock, the voice returned. I twitched, uneasy, but concentrated, frowning and pressing my eyes shut tight as if that would help me hear it. It spoke in a whisper and cycled through its message before I could finally make out the words.

“Repeat after me.”

I again startled. The words echoing around in my head were coming from my own voice. I tried to pull my hands from the stone, but I couldn’t. My palms were fused to the rock.

“I vow to obey the tenets of the Trials.”

I hesitated. Did I truly want to go through with this? As confident as I’d been this morning, as resigned to follow through with Darius’s last wish of me, this was…something else entirely. Something I hadn’t expected.

“Make your Oath,” my own voice hissed at me.

“I-I vow…to obey the tenets of the Trials,” I repeated. It seemed to be my only way out of here.

“I shall not speak of my experiences in the Trials, neither now nor upon their completion,” my voice whispered, then waited for me to repeat before continuing. “I shall use my blessings in service to the Geist. I shall seek to keep all knowledge and capability given as a result of my success between myself and my partner. I shall train my body, mind, and soul to be a proper reflection of the holiness of the Geist. For the duration of my candidacy in the Trials, I forfeit all worldly obsessions and submit myself to the will of my gods.”

Again, I hesitated. It seemed a lofty price to pay in honor of a friend I’d never see again. A friend the Geist had stolen from me. The thought of Darius, in this moment of all things, was like a punch to the gut. But it was a reminder as well: I wouldn’t be swearing it for them. So I took a deep breath and made my Oath. The words turned bitter on my tongue.

 

About the Author:

A. N. Horton is a two-time award-winning author living in Nashville, TN with her husband, children, and moderately chunky Corgi. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, baking more cookies than her family can eat, and plotting crimes against her characters. Best known for crafting characters that steal her readers’ hearts as much as they shatter them, A. N. Horton is a cross-genre writer focused mainly on fantasy and romance.


 
 

 
 






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