That Magic Mischief
Thursday, October 28, 2021
Book Tour: That Magic Mischief by Susanna Allen (Paranormal Contemporary Romance)
That Magic Mischief
Monday, October 18, 2021
Book Tour: A Christmas at Gingerbread Falls by Katie Mettner (Contemporary Christmas Romance)
About the Book
Title: A Christmas at Gingerbread Falls
Author: Katie Mettner
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Christmas
Actress Carrie Murray’s films are a Christmas lover’s delight. Filled with twinkling lights, festive carols, and happy endings, they’re the perfect escape from reality. For her and the audience. Then Tinseltown calls.
Braxton Timothy is Hollywood’s biggest action star. Handsome and talented but decidedly on the naughty list, no one can fathom his sudden desire to produce a feel-good Christmas movie—least of all, his no-name co-star.
Alternating between scenes reminiscent of everyone’s favorite made-for-TV movies and unexpected, off-screen chemistry, Gingerbread Falls has surprises in store this holiday season. The question is, will there be enough Christmas magic to convince two imperfect people that they’re perfect for each other?
Katie Mettner writes small-town romantic tales filled with epic love stories and happily-ever-afters. She proudly wears the title of, 'the only person to lose her leg after falling down the bunny hill,' and loves decorating her prosthetic with the latest fashion trends. She lives in Northern Wisconsin with her own happily-ever-after and three mini-mes. Katie has a massive addiction to coffee and Twitter, and a lessening aversion to Pinterest -- now that she's quit trying to make the things she pins.
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Wednesday, October 13, 2021
Book Blitz & Giveaway: The Devil's Necromancer (Hellbound #1) by Alexa Piper (Adult LGBTQ+ Urban Fantasy)
The Devil’s Necromancer
Published by: Changeling Press
Publication date: October 8th 2021
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Urban Fantasy
Lionel, a necromancer and consultant for the Brunswick Police Department, wants nothing to do with immortals. Specifically, he wants nothing to do with Lucifer, who shows up on his doorstep one day with a ridiculous proposal. Lucifer, also known as the Devil, wants Lionel to be his pretend boyfriend. Except the pretend part is something the Devil doesn’t really seem to care for.
Lucifer has read enough romance novels to know that a good dose of forced proximity might be just the thing to get the stubborn necromancer he desires into his bed. The Devil’s plans are soon complicated when Lionel proves more uncooperative and oblivious to love than Lucifer could ever anticipate.
While the Devil wants to claim Lionel, all Lionel wants is to get away from Lucifer. Meanwhile, magic users are being murdered in the city. Lionel cannot escape the implications of those murders for long, and the case soon takes a different turn. Will Lionel be able to escape the Devil’s thrall, or will the necromancer fall for the immortal seducer?
Publisher’s Note: The Devil’s Necromancer contains scenes involving dubious consent that some readers may find offensive.
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It was past midnight, and the stars that looked like sprinkles of white chocolate in the velvety dark night sky were overshadowed by the city lights and the waxing moon. I lay on the embankment, North Bridge’s metal frame rising just to my right and further hiding the chocolate sprinkle stars. My feet were wet, but I didn’t mind, not the embankment or the wet feet or the stars melting away in the light and the artificial structures around me. The zombie was oozing all over me from its — his — caved-in skull, and I did mind that. Zombie ooze was a bitch to get out of clothes, even if I’d given up on wearing colors years ago. Black simply was the safest bet for a necromancer.
Zombies reeked when they weren’t really fresh, and this one was ripe — fish-market-in-the-summer-heat-three-days-after-closing ripe. I looked up and considered my life choices, all of which had led me here.
“Do you need CPR?” someone said. It was a warm, manly voice, and I was reasonably sure it could make chocolate melt, star-shaped or otherwise.
I stuffed my self-pity away and turned my head to get a better look at the speaker. He was as handsome as a devil, with skin that looked like marble in the glow of the city at night. His hair shimmered liquid black, but it might have been some shade of brown in proper lighting. It went well past his ears and looked styled with care to get that messy, I just got up out of bed after a night of hard fucking look.
“Why the fuck would I need CPR?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like I’d just considered crying a moment ago, and I was proud of that.
The guy shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with humans. Your kind is so accident prone, and you seem to be having trouble breathing. Or maybe you hit your head? Do you remember how you got here?”
Did he fucking think I was suffering from amnesia or a head injury or something? “I’m having trouble breathing because I have a fucking dead zombie on my chest, asshat,” I said. In my considered necromantic opinion, I was being perfectly polite, even though I couldn’t be sure what kind of creature the guy was. I’d given him a quick glance with my mage sight, and human he was not.
Jeez, I hated gods and otherworldly beings.
“All zombies are dead,” Mr. Sexy said. “It’s a prerequisite. This one seems to have had its brainstem properly destroyed, however.”
“Oh, smarty-pants, thanks a bunch for the lecture. The basics of necromancy have ever escaped me, even after I raised my very first corpse thirteen fucking years ago.” It had been a blackbird that had died when he crashed into a window at my school. I had cradled the poor thing in my hands as it breathed its last, had cried, and that had triggered my necromancer power. Pretty boy did not need to know that. Every other person I’d ever told had made fun of me for it.
“You could have suffered a head injury with amnesia. How am I supposed to know what you know?” He walked toward me. His movements were silent, cat-like, and more elegant than was right. Even despite the zombie oozing out on me, my cock couldn’t quite ignore him. Seriously, though, what was up with his fixation on first aid and amnesia?
He grabbed the zombie by the legs and pulled the dead-dead corpse off me. “Oh. You caved in its skull with a rock,” he said when he saw the murder weapon in question, the goo glistening on its stony surface. Well, it wasn’t really a murder weapon, seeing as how the zombie had been dead, but details. “How traditional.” He held out a hand to me, and I took it and let him pull me back to my feet. “I’m Lucy, by the way. Short for Lucifer, but I prefer Lucy. As in Lucy Westenra, the woman who almost single-handedly turned Dracula into the first reverse harem romance novel ever before she made the wise decision to claim immortality instead. She was such an underrated character, and I really don’t know why people don’t like her more.”
I dusted myself off. Didn’t help with the wet feet or the zombie ooze, which I really only distributed, like soft butter on hot toast. The shirt I was wearing was ruined. Good thing I had a dozen other plain black shirts just like it back home. “Maybe because she fucking ate children.”
He shrugged. “Well, everyone has a craving now and then. No one judges women’s monthly chocolate cravings, and I don’t see how that was so much worse.”
My brain caught up with the conversation. Lucifer? The Lucifer? The fucking Morning Star, seducer of stuffy virgins and lover of apples? I looked at him. Up at him. Asshole was tall and handsome, the kind of guy I could only ever talk to with about three drinks in me. “You’re the Devil? Satan? Beelzebub?”
“Lu-cy,” he said, slowing down as if he was reconsidering the brain damage thing. Even his eyebrows were perfect, which I only noticed because he pulled one of those up, something most people couldn’t do in real life. He could. And he looked hot doing it. Hotter.
Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them.
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Tuesday, October 12, 2021
Book Blitz & Giveaway: In the Echo of this Ghost Town by C. L. Walters (Young Adult Contemporary)
In the Echo of this Ghost Town
Publication date: October 12th 2021
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult
When everything in your life unravels and the future you imagined disintegrates into dust—how do you decide which way is forward?
Griffin Nichols has lost everyone close to him. Unhealthy choices rooted in unmet expectations have him feeling like he’s failing at being a man. Everything he thought he knew about being a good son, brother, and friend has him feeling as substantive as an echo.
Then Maxwell Wallace walks into his life and teaches him that sometimes in the weakness of the echo is where he can claim his strength.
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I look up at the sound of a voice, grateful to be jerked from the train of my thoughts.
The girl. She’s standing on the other side of the table in her dark t-shirt and cutoff shorts, her back to the gas pumps and road. The light from the store illuminates her, and I think she’s cute, but obviously not all there if she’s talking to a stranger.
She sits down with a Slurpee, and I look at it longingly but also wish I had some vodka to spike it with. I conjure Danny’s words from the night before. I’d told him I’m always drunk. What had he said back? “Yeah. Maybe that’s the fucking problem. It’s time to grow up, Griff.” What if I do have a problem? Then I’m annoyed by the stupid thought—of course, I don’t. What the fuck? Can’t this weird girl tell I’m busy sulking?
My face must screw up because she says, “I’m not carrying any diseases.”
I take a sip of my water, not sure what to do about this stranger who’s sat with me at a table outside of Custer’s. I glance to check if someone is playing a joke on me, but all my friends have abandoned me. So yeah, there’s that. I look at her. She’s got a round face, but it’s smooth and pleasant looking. Brownish hair, I think, because it’s pulled back in a bun or something off her face. Black eyeliner. Black T-shirt with the words Def Leppard inside a Union Jack.
She pinches the straw and moves it around the slushy. It squeaks. “Decide I’m not a serial killer?” She smirks, and my eyes are drawn to her blunt black nails at the end of her long fingers holding the red straw.
“Jury’s out.” I look away and take a sip of my water, annoyed but kind of curious.
I shrug. “What if I’m the serial killer?” I can’t look at her, though I’m not sure why. It isn’t like I’m nervous, even if she’s a little unnerving. Why have I said that? The idea of being compared to a killer takes me backward. Griff Nichols, son of a murderer, when I’d been alone, but I’d shed that persona with my crew. I shove the reminder aside.
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
My eyes connect with hers, the curiosity revving up a notch. “Why’s that?”
“Guy sitting outside of a convenience store on a Monday night looking all moody. Definitely sending shady vibes. You spike that unassuming water bottle? Use the innocence of water to lure in your victims but in reality, you’re just setting the trap?” She smiles, and I see that she’s joking around even though I don’t know her; it’s the squint of her eyes.
“I get that a lot.” She pauses and leans forward to take a sip of her drink and looks over at me. Her eyes sparkle with mirth, but it’s hard to tell what color they are even in the light. Lightish. “So, what do you do in this town for fun?”
“Get drunk. You new?”
“Yes. Why aren’t you doing that?”
“So, a drunk six days a week? You have standards, I see. So that must be real water.” She pauses and raises a single eyebrow—which bugs me for some reason. “You don’t look much like the type with standards.”
I’m not, but I don’t say it. “Neither do you.”
“Touché, serial killer. So, you don’t drink on Monday for other reasons, then?”
“I didn’t say I don’t drink on Monday. I just said it was Monday. You made the assumption.”
She laughs, but it’s mostly air. “Fair enough.”
This conversation could die. I could stand and walk away. I don’t. I blame it on my lack of being alone, which I’m going to have to reestablish. “So, you’re new here?”
“Yep. Just moved. Only here for the summer.”
“Why what?” She takes another sip of her slushy.
I watch her swallow it. Then I look back at my water bottle to resume plucking the plastic label. “Only for the summer?”
“The band I play with is going on tour.”
She laughs. “No.”
“So you’ve said.” She stands. “Well. Thanks for sharing the table.”
“There were two other ones you could have chosen.”
She glances at the other two and then leans forward. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to talk to a serial killer.” She smiles, offers me a nod, and with her hand wrapped around her cup, she walks away. She’s wearing jean cutoffs, tight, and the strings of the cut denim hang against her long and shapely legs.
I scoff, looking away because I don’t want to notice her. A serial killer. Stupid.
As I watch her—the nameless, weird girl—walk away, I realize I forgot what I was sulking about.
As a kid, my world revolved around two things: stories and make believe. I have built a real life around those two things as well: I am a teacher of stories and a writer of make believe.
While I went to high school in a small town in Oregon and college in a smaller town in Oregon - both gifted me with treasures to fill my creative reservoir and most importantly, my husband. We got married, I followed him from Oregon to Hawaii (it was that or forgo the marriage).
We have two children, and several furry kids.
I read and write everyday.
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Monday, October 11, 2021
Review from Shannon - Blog Tour & Giveaway: The Stay (They Stay Series, #1) by Claire Fraise (Young Adult Supernatural Thriller)
(They Stay Series, #1)
Publication date: October 12th 2021
Genres: Supernatural, Thriller, Young Adult
For fans of Stranger Things comes a suspenseful YA mystery about a missing kid, a girl who can see ghosts, and a horrifying crime only four outcasts have the power to stop.
What if the only person who could help you find your missing brother was dead?
Nothing is as important to sixteen-year-old Shiloh Oleson as her little brother Max. So when the six-year-old goes missing without a trace, a heartbroken Shiloh refuses to believe nothing can be done and sets out to find him.
When one of Shiloh’s classmates says she knows where Max is, Shiloh hesitates to believe her. Francesca is creepy. She says she can see ghosts, but everyone knows ghosts aren’t real … right?
But Francesca says that Max is going to be murdered.
And a ghost told her where he is.
As the line between the dead and living begins to blur, Shiloh starts to think Francesca might not be as crazy as she believed. One thing is becoming clear. Someone has gruesome plans for Max, and Shiloh must confront her worst nightmares to find him before it’s too late.
THEY STAY is the first book in the They Stay Series. Read on if you like ghost stories, plot twists, enemies-to-friends, creepy circuses, budding romance, and unlikely heroes.
Content Warnings: This book contains death, kidnapping, domestic abuse, references to suicide, bullying, and mild adult language.
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Claire Fraise earned her B.A. in English from Tufts University. She is also the author of YA dystopian novel Imperfect (winner of the San Francisco and Beverly Hills Book Festivals), which she published when she was 16. When Claire’s not writing, she likes crocheting amigurumi animals, reading, and hanging out with her dogs. Even though it goes against every introverted bone in her body, she is on social media. Connect with her on Instagram at @clairefraiseauthor, on YouTube at Write with Claire Fraise, or visit her website at clairefraise.com.
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Friday, October 8, 2021
New Release: A Romantic Feast: A Short Story Collection by Barb Shuler, Bella Stone, E.M. Leya, H.J. Marshall, Jas T. Ward, & Tiffany Carby (Small Town Military New Adult Office Romance)
Thursday, October 7, 2021
Release Blitz: Incubastard by Charity B. (Dark Paranormal Romance)
Content made on Kapwing
Rubbing my hands over my face, I turn around to go to my room. My stomach lurches up to my chest, yet it still takes a second to register that there’s a hooded stranger with crossed arms leaning against the counter a mere few feet from me. As I open my mouth to scream, he lifts his head enough to show his devastatingly beautiful face wearing an impish grin.
Before a single sound can leave my lips, my skin pulsates with tingling waves that crawl down my arms and legs. I lose the ability to use my knees, forcing me to turn my back to him and grab the edge of the counter. Attempting to hold myself up, I involuntarily moan while tides of supreme ecstasy roll from between my legs. My hand slips, crashing a plate around my feet, but I can’t seem to care. The prodigious pulsing continues for such an inordinate amount of time, I think I may pass out. It’s an orgasm on LSD.
After what feels like an eternity, the frenzied vibrations begin to ebb, allowing my stiff fingers to release the counter. Somehow, I momentarily forgot about the man in the room with me.
Spinning around, I find him still standing there, wearing the same wicked smile. “You’re welcome.”
With darting glances, I search for something sharp. My mind finally catches up with the knowledge that I just had a spontaneous mega-orgasm in front of an intruder who may or may not be here to kill me. “Wh-what do you want?”
He scoffs, standing straight to reach his full, impressive height. “You called me, remember? I’m here to do whatever you desire.”
I don’t dare take my eyes off him while my hands continue fumbling behind me, nearly crying in relief when I wrap my fingers around the handle of a knife.
Seeing as I most certainly did not call him, he’s clearly off his meds. I try my best to keep my voice soft in a desperate effort to placate him. “I think you’re confused.” Attempting subtlety, I take tiny steps toward the kitchen doorway.
His chuckle makes my nerves snap one by one. “I’m clearly not the one who’s confused.” With tattooed hands, he tugs on the sleeves of his black leather jacket, walking toward me. I hold the knife out between us, clueless if I have the guts to use it. Narrowing his dark eyes, he reaches up to lower his worn brown hood, revealing more ink scrawled up his neck in weird symbols. “That’s not going to do shit to me, but you’re more than welcome to have at it. Although, it would be a bit rude, seeing as, like I said, you fucking called me.”
If my heart beats any harder, I’m going to blow chunks. “Please don’t kill me.”
His eyes narrow as if I insulted him. “Not allowed. Besides, I’d much rather fuck you.”
The way he speaks is incredibly odd, with an accent I’ve never heard. My gaze falls to his strange pants. What appears to be different tones of distressed leather are fused together into a unique patchwork. It’s also odd that his jacket looks brand new, yet the hood beneath it appears as weathered as his pants.
I shake the useless thoughts from my head, focusing back on the threat in front of me. His questionable fashion choices are not what I should be thinking about. If only I hadn’t had so much wine. There’s a psychopath a few feet away who could very possibly rape me or worse, and I can barely stand up straight.
The need to preserve my life overcomes any critical thinking I may possess. Taking less than a second to process my thoughts, I bolt out of the kitchen, sprinting for the front door. Right when I’m about to reach the handle, I run smack dab into his solid form before falling back on my ass. He doesn’t even sway from the impact.
Tears wet my face in defeat. How on earth did he beat me here?
Dark, straight hair falls over his face as he crouches down to my level. My stare lifts to the two twisted braids above his left ear when his harsh voice commands eye contact. “You incited Maelprog flames with death blood, using the Ammalok Qew to call upon me by name. What could you have possibly expected to happen?”
The words I understand have my chest heaving. “L-Leena’s spell? It worked?”
His unnerving laugh pushes me closer to the edge of my sanity while he stands, towering over me. “You clearly got enough right that I ended up here.” His synthetic smile is tainted with a sneer. “What were you attempting to do, human?”
Human? Barely comprehending his question, I scramble to my feet. Even though a voice in the back of my mind whispers he’s speaking truth, I can’t accept it. This all has to be a stress-induced nightmare. “What are you?” I ask the question so quietly, I doubt he hears me until he winks.
“It’ll be much more fun to show you.”