Blog Tour: In Solitudes Shadow by David Green @DavidGreenWrite @EerieRiver @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #InSolitudesShadow

Wow! Would you just look at this cover! I’m happy to share with you, this beautiful dark fantasy, In Solitudes Shadow by David Green. Read on for details and a chance to win a $25 Amazon e-Gift Card.

In Solitudes Shadow by David Green
(Empire of Ruin #1)
Dark Fantasy
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The Banished have returned, and they will have their revenge.

Zanna Alpenwood, a powerful mage, stands atop Solitude’s walls staring down at an army bent on invasion. Two hundred aged and forgotten Sparkers are all that stand between the Banished and the nation of Haltveldt.

With time running out, Zanna is forced to reach out to her estranged daughter, Calene, and set her on an impossible quest. In doing so Calene must decide between her masters and her own conscience, as she teams up with unlikely allies to forge their way over land and sea. Will they arrive in time to save the fortress of Solitude from destruction?

Only one thing is certain. Ruin is assured if Solitude falls.

The moon hid behind the highest rise of the Peaks of Eternity. Black clouds hung heavy in the sky. Zanna’s senses felt dull. They told her there should still have been rain. A storm with thunder and lightning. Instead, it felt as though the night held its breath. “Master?” Arlo asked, his voice subdued as he stared out over the walls. “Does the darkness scare you?”

“You get used to it,” Zanna replied, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“No, I mean tonight. There’s something… odd.”Zanna glanced at him. She felt it too. The night held a strange quality. All too quiet, but a tense quivering underpinned the silence. Feeling eyes on her, shescanned the rampart and saw they were alone. At first, she thought it her imagination, but faint sounds drifted to her. The sound of whispers that lingered at the edge of her hearing.

“You’re right, Arlo,” she said, gazing across the ramparts. Lit braziers dotted the walls that ran a half-mile in each direction. She drew their flames inside her, the sensation thrilling her. Arlo’s eyes widened at the depth of her power. Zanna kept pulling fire into her, her limbs filling with warmth, heat, power. It made her feel alive, to the point she wanted to keep drawing, to not let go. A struggle every Sparker contended with.

“We need light.”

Quivering with energy and almost at her limit, Zanna lifted her hands to the skie sand unleashed a fountain of flame across the heavens, lighting up the plains for miles below them.

“Oh, teeth of the gods,” she whispered, taking in the sight below before darkness swallowed the flames. She turned to Arlo. The colour had drained from his face and tears filled his wide, blue eyes. His fingers dug into the stone ramparts as he gripped the wall.

“Raas preserve us. Get Protector Garet. Run. Can you do that?”

Arlo nodded and shot away, leaving Zanna alone. She looked out over the ramparts again. The darkness hid them as they spilled over the distant hills. An army marched across the slate plains towards Solitude. Thousands of them. The Banished were  coming. And less than two hundred Sparkers, with a single apprentice, stood in their way.

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You’ve probably visited this site and noticed the banners for In Solitude’s Shadow—an epic, character-driven dark fantasy, they say—and seen a guest blog spot by some bloke called David Green. Well, you’re reading in now, so let’s say you have.

Who’s David Green? That’s me, and In Solitude’s Shadow is my first foray into long-form fantasy writing, after thirty-odd years of reading it (thirty-one since I read The Hobbit for the first time at the age of seven, to be precise. How do I know? I still have the same copy, with my name, age, and address scrawled in it. I must have had wild dreams for the future, as my address included which planet, solar system, and galaxy I lived in… but that’s another story.)

So a little about me; I’m a ‘dark fiction’ writer, which means while I love me some fantasy, I dabble in other genres. Horror and sci-fi, mostly. Though I do enjoy noir. In fact, my first series is an urban-fantasy paranormal noir, in my crazy attempt to throw as many genres into one book that I could. I get notions like that from time to time. I’m Irish, but grew up in Manchester in the not-so sunny UK, before moving back to the not-so sunny Galway at the tail-end of the 00s. Three years ago, I became a stay-at-home dad to a wonderful little boy who’s my partner-in-crime in all things, but I needed something else to do.

Writing became that thing.

I’d always harboured ambitions to write, but my old familiar friend—the Doubt Monster, I call him Doug—would convince me not to bother.

“No one will care,” Doug would whisper, prodding me to play more Xbox, or read something good. “You won’t be able to do it.”

I’d nod my head and park my dreams for a little longer. But then my son came along, and you know what? I wanted to have something to make him proud. One printed story in an anthology. That would do me. Just one thing he could see, aged seven, maybe like when I read The Hobbit, and he could say, “My dad did something? Who knew?”

So I practiced. I went to creative writing lessons, and was invited to read a little story I wrote about the time I had to spend almost forty hours of my life dressed in a female bunny suit to a room full of people. Her name was Dot. Probably still is, for all I know. But mainly, I kept all my scribblings to myself.

Then came the pandemic.

Now, what I didn’t realise about writing was that it’s quite a lonely business. Shock horror, I know, I know. I’m quite famed for missing the obvious. But the pandemic took that to new levels. Gone were the creative writing classes. A weekly book group I joined was no more. Housebound in lockdown, I considered what to do. I could stop; go back to the Xbox, become great at increasing my waist size.

Or I could take it more seriously, get that one printed story. Just one.

A few months later, after immersing myself in a wonderful online writing community, getting that interaction and advice, I got my story. Then came another, and another. I had the writing bug. And each time, I moved closer and closer to writing fantasy, after avoiding it at first; how could I, Mr New Writer, hope to create anything as fine as the stories I loved?

Well, you try.

I had the idea for In Solitude’s Shadow for years. Not fully refined and formed, but the spark lived inside me. But I hadn’t written it. Then I saw an upcoming call from Eerie River Publishing, a wonderful imprint of dark and delightful things, announcing that they would be open for dark fantasy standalone novels and series from June 1st to June 30th 2020.

This was my chance.

But… I hadn’t written it. And we were in May.

I spent a day thinking about whether I could do it. I’d need to give some things up (Xbox, movie night, a few TV shows on the back burner) but if I set myself daily goals, got my trusted beta reader onboard, I could do it, couldn’t I?

I thought of my son, two years old then, and realised yes. All I could do was try.

I wrote every night into the small hours. Alone in my kitchen, on my couch, in my bed. Anywhere I could type. I’d thought writing a lonely business before, but throwing yourself into writing a novel in a month… that’s something else.

Lonely… but rewarding.

I’d created it. The idea in my head. The working title, The Banished, changed to Solitude’s Shadow (no In, at that point). An apt title; not only for the themes in the book, but a novel written during a pandemic lockdown, mostly in the middle of the night. And what’s more, my beta reader loved it. As did the next set of eyes, who gave me some valuable advice before it was ready for submission.

One evening, a few weeks later, I got a message from Michelle at Eerie River Publishing, telling me she was reading it. Another few nervous hours later, another message. “I’m still reading this, I’m over halfway through.”

Nerves built.

Soon after, a third message. “Can we talk?”

I ignored my first instinct of saying “NO!” and heading for the hills.

We talked. We made plans. We discussed the positives and the parts that needed more work, then Michelle stopped and asked: “Wait, you do want to publish with me, don’t you?”

I didn’t give it a millisecond of thought.

“I really think you should call it ‘In Solitude’s Shadow,’ though, don’t you?”

Almost a year later, and the book is ready for people to read. It’s nerve-wracking, but exhilarating. I’m hard at work at the sequel, but not forcing myself into as much Solitude this time.

So what’s the point of this blog? If there’s one thing I’ve learned since beginning my writing journey, it’s this: try. You have an idea you think no one will ever read, ever care about looking at? They won’t if it’s still in your head, or on your hard drive. If you have an ambition to write, or to create, or to try something new, go for it. Don’t let you stop you.

You never know what might happen.

I hope if you pick up In Solitude’s Shadow, you enjoy it, and find something of worth. While it pays respect to many things I love in fantasy, I believe it offers unique spins and perspectives and if nothing else, is a fast-paced ripping yarn.

For now, happy reading.

David Green.

David Green David Green is a writer of dark fiction. Born in Manchester, UK and living in Galway, Ireland, David grew up with gloomy clouds above his head, and rain water at his feet, which has no doubt influenced his dark scribblings. David is the author of the Pushcart Prize nominated novelette Dead Man Walking, and is excited for his fantasy series, Empire of Ruin, debuting in June 2021 from Eerie River Publishing.

June 14th
Reads & Reels (Guest Post)
Catz Luv Coffee (Review)
Nesie’s Place (Spotlight)
I Smell Sheep (Spotlight)

June 15th
Book Dragons Not Worms (Spotlight)
Breakeven Books (Spotlight)
Dark Whimsical Art (Spotlight)
Scarlett Readz & Runz (Spotlight)

June 16th
Jessica Belmont (Review) (Review)
@dreaminginpages (Review)

June 17th
I Love Books & Stuff (Spotlight)
The Faerie Review (Spotlight)

June 18th
@disneyallthe_way (Review)
Phantom of the Library (Review)
Sophril Reads (Spotlight)
The Magic of Wor(l)ds (Spotlight)

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Blog Blitz: The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels by India Holton

The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels by India Holton
Historical Romance
Expected Publication: June 15, 2021
Publisher: Berkley Books

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Penguin Random House | IndieBound | Amazon

A prim and proper lady thief must save her aunt from a crazed pirate and his dangerously charming henchman in this fantastical historical romance.

Cecilia Bassingwaite is the ideal Victorian lady. She’s also a thief. Like the other members of the Wisteria Society crime sorority, she flies around England drinking tea, blackmailing friends, and acquiring treasure by interesting means. Sure, she has a dark and traumatic past and an overbearing aunt, but all things considered, it’s a pleasant existence. Until the men show up.

Ned Lightbourne is a sometimes assassin who is smitten with Cecilia from the moment they meet. Unfortunately, that happens to be while he’s under direct orders to kill her. His employer, Captain Morvath, who possesses a gothic abbey bristling with cannons and an unbridled hate for the world, intends to rid England of all its presumptuous women, starting with the Wisteria Society. Ned has plans of his own. But both men have made one grave mistake. Never underestimate a woman.

When Morvath imperils the Wisteria Society, Cecilia is forced to team up with her handsome would-be assassin to save the women who raised her–hopefully proving, once and for all, that she’s as much of a scoundrel as the rest of them. 

There was no possibility of walking to the library that day. Morning rain had blanched the air, and Miss Dar­ling­ton feared that if Cecilia ventured out she would develop a cough and be dead within the week. Therefore Cecilia was at home, sitting with her aunt in a room ten degrees colder than the streets of London, and reading aloud The Song of Hiawatha by “that American rogue, Mr. Longfellow,” when the strange gentleman knocked at their door.

As the sound barged through the house, interrupting Cecilia’s recitation mid-­rhyme, she looked inquiringly at her aunt. But Miss Dar­ling­ton’s own gaze went to the mantel clock, which was ticking sedately ­toward a quarter to one. The old lady frowned.

“It is an abomination the way people these days knock at any wild, unseemly hour,” she said in much the same tone the prime minister had used in Parliament recently to decry the London rioters. “I do declare—­!”

Cecilia waited, but Miss Dar­ling­ton’s only declaration came in the form of sipping her tea pointedly, by which Cecilia understood that the abominable caller was to be ignored. She returned to Hiawatha and had just begun proceeding “­toward the land of the Pearl-­Feather” when the knocking came again with increased force, silencing her and causing Miss Dar­ling­ton to set her teacup into its saucer with a clink. Tea splashed, and Cecilia hastily laid down the poetry book before things ­­really got out of hand.

“I shall see who it is,” she said, smoothing her dress as she rose and touching the red-­gold hair at her temples, although there was no crease in the muslin nor a single strand out of place in her coiffure.

“Do be careful, dear,” Miss Dar­ling­ton admonished. “Anyone attempting to visit at this time of day is obviously some kind of hooligan.”

“Fear not, Aunty.” Cecilia took up a bone-­handled letter opener from the small table beside her chair. “They will not trouble me.”

Miss Dar­ling­ton harrumphed. “We are buying no subscriptions today,” she called out as Cecilia left the room.

In fact they had never bought subscriptions, so this was an unnecessary injunction, although typical of Miss Dar­ling­ton, who persisted in seeing her ward as the reckless tomboy who had entered her care ten years before: prone to climbing trees, fashioning cloaks from tablecloths, and making unauthorized doorstep purchases whenever the fancy took her. But a decade’s proper education had wrought wonders, and now Cecilia walked the hall quite calmly, her French heels tapping against the polished marble floor, her intentions aimed in no way ­toward the taking of a subscription. She opened the door.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Good afternoon,” said the man on the step. “May I interest you in a brochure on the plight of the endangered North Atlantic auk?”

Cecilia blinked from his pleasant smile to the brochure he was holding out in a black-­gloved hand. She noticed at once the scandalous lack of hat upon his blond hair and the embroidery trimming his black frock coat. He wore neither sideburns nor mustache, his boots were tall and buckled, and a silver hoop hung from one ear. She looked again at his smile, which quirked in response.

“No,” she said, and closed the door.

And bolted it.

Ned remained for a moment longer with the brochure extended as his brain waited for his body to catch up with events. He considered what he had seen of the woman who had stood so briefly in the shadows of the doorway, but he could not recall the exact color of the sash that waisted her soft white dress, nor whether it had been pearls or stars in her hair, nor even how deeply winter dreamed in her lovely eyes. He held only a general impression of “beauty so rare and face so fair”—­and implacability so terrifying in such a young woman.

And then his body made pace, and he grinned.

Miss Dar­ling­ton was pouring herself another cup of tea when Cecilia returned to the parlor. “Who was it?” she asked without looking up.

“A pirate, I believe,” Cecilia said as she sat and, taking the little book of poetry, began sliding a finger down a page to relocate the line at which she’d been interrupted.

Miss Dar­ling­ton set the teapot down. With a delicate pair of tongs fashioned like a sea monster, she began loading sugar cubes into her cup. “What made you think that?”

Cecilia was quiet a moment as she recollected the man. He had been handsome in a rather dangerous way, despite the ridiculous coat. A light in his eyes had suggested he’d known his brochure would not fool her, but he’d entertained himself with the pose anyway. She predicted his hair would fall over his brow if a breeze went through it, and that the slight bulge in his trousers had been in case she was not happy to see him—­a dagger, or perhaps a gun.

“Well?” her aunt prompted, and Cecilia blinked herself back into focus.

“He had a tattoo of an anchor on his wrist,” she said. “Part of it was visible from beneath his sleeve. But he did not offer me a secret handshake, nor invite himself in for tea, as anyone of decent piratic society would have done, so I took him for a rogue and shut him out.”

“A rogue pirate! At our door!” Miss Dar­ling­ton made a small, disapproving noise behind pursed lips. “How reprehensible. Think of the germs he might have had. I wonder what he was after.”

Cecilia shrugged. Had Hiawatha confronted the magician yet? She could not remember. Her finger, three-­quarters of the way down the page, moved up again. “The Scope diamond, perhaps,” she said. “Or Lady Askew’s necklace.”

Miss Dar­ling­ton clanked a teaspoon around her cup in a manner that made Cecilia wince. “Imagine if you had been out as you planned, Cecilia dear. What would I have done, had he broken in?”

“Shot him?” Cecilia suggested.

Miss Dar­ling­ton arched two vehemently plucked eyebrows ­toward the ringlets on her brow. “Good heavens, child, what do you take me for, a maniac? Think of the damage a ricocheting bullet would do in this room.”

“Stabbed him, then?”

“And get blood all over the rug? It’s a sixteenth-­century Persian antique, you know, part of the royal collection. It took a great deal of effort to acquire.”

“Steal,” Cecilia murmured.

“Obtain by private means.”

“Well,” Cecilia said, abandoning a losing battle in favor of the original topic of conversation. “It was indeed fortunate I was here. ‘The level moon stared at him—­’ ”

“The moon? Is it up already?” Miss Dar­ling­ton glared at the wall as if she might see through its swarm of framed pictures, its wallpaper and wood, to the celestial orb beyond, and therefore convey her disgust at its diurnal shenanigans.

“No, it stared at Hiawatha,” Cecilia explained. “In the poem.”

“Oh. Carry on, then.”

“ ‘In his face stared pale and haggard—­’ ”

“Repetitive fellow, isn’t he?”

“Poets do tend to—­”

Miss Dar­ling­ton waved a hand irritably. “I don’t mean the poet, girl. The pirate. Look, he’s now trying to climb in the window.”

India Holton is the author of The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels, a fantastical romcom set in an alternate Victorian era. She lives in coastal New Zealand, where she grew up running barefoot around islands, following ghosts through forests, and messing around in boats. She spent several years teaching and now writes about plucky girls, unconventional women, and the men who love them. India’s writing is fuelled by tea, buttered scones, and thunderstorms.

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Blog Tour: Men and Country Collection – Riley by Emmanuelle Snow @SnowEmmanuelle and @Shalini_G26

Men and Country Collection – Riley by Emmanuelle Snow
Men and Country

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Amazon USA | Amazon UK

Three men. Three stories.

A country music superstar. His manager. And the guy who doesn’t believe in love.

Riley Burns is the manager of the biggest country music star in the world, Carter Hills.

He discovered him at eighteen and brought him to stardom. Yeah, Riley’s career is what everyone in the business aspires to.

Except, nothing in his personal life is worth fighting for. Until he meets her one night and falls under her charm.

The chemistry is there.

But soon she vanishes into the dark night, leaving no trace behind, not even her full name.

What if love at first sight really exists, but only hits someone once?

Riley makes it his mission to find the woman who stole his heart, no matter how hard it might be.

But what if she doesn’t want to be found?

Our eyes met. Something passed between us. Fascination? Lust? Magnetism? Maybe a mix of all three. And much more. I brought my tumbler to my lips, relishing the burning sensation of whiskey as it slid down my throat.

My Adam’s apple bounced.

My heart did one of its moves. The ones where it got all bothered and excited.

I fastened my grip around the glass in my hand.

With a straight back, I moved forward, my steps light and focused.

The woman pushed her long curled blonde hair over her shoulder, giving me a perfect view of her lickable long neck. Was that even a word? I pushed the thought away. I was a man on a mission.

The vampiric side of me, the one I didn’t know existed until now, emerged in full strength.

I blinked.

The temptation to bite the soft flesh of her neck grew bigger by the second.

The woman smiled, and all my restraints broke loose. They caught fire and burned to ashes in the dark night.

Smart, Sexy, and Sassy Love Stories

Emmanuelle Snow is a contemporary author of mature YA and New Adult love stories, who likes to give life to strong characters who’ll fight with all they have to reach their life goals and find their own happiness.

Emmanuelle is in love with love. Especially those complicated, deep, and passionate feelings that make a relationship extraordinary and complex, all at the same time.

In her spare time, when she’s not writing or reading, Emmanuelle likes to go on road trips—with her four kids and her own soulmate—watch movies, paint, or do some DIY, always with a cup of green tea in her hand and listening to country music.

She splits her time between beautiful Canada and the small US towns she adores.  

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Book Tour: It Calls from the Sea @EerieRiver @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #ItCallsFromtheSea #Horror

The days may be getting warmer, but this anthology is sure to chill you to the bone.

Welcome to the tour for It Calls from the Sea, a collection of tales from the high seas by a fantastic group of authors! Read on for details, an exclusive excerpt! 

It Calls From the Sea: An Anthology of Terror On the Deep Blue Sea
Anthology/ Short Stories/ Horror/ Paranormal

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Prepare to die. The sea awakens.

Within the Mariana Trench, a research vessel’s crew is threatened by a mysterious force. A father and daughter’s holiday by the ocean turns deadly as a sinister creature stalks them. A group of friends learn that some things should remain in the ocean. Filled with a sense of wonder, a young biologist discovers a new species of kelp, but with disastrous consequences.

It Calls From the Sea is an all-original anthology of twenty brutal tales of horror from the deep blue sea.

Eerie River brings you another round of insatiable horror. There is no end to the terrors we have in store and there is nowhere left to hide. Get comfy, this is going to be a wild ride.

Features Stories by:

Chris Bannor “Euphoria”, Chris Hewitt “Reef Encounter” Christopher Bond “The Ocean Sings Softly”, Dan Le Fever “Xook” David Green “Into The Depths”, Georgia Cook “Dead Ships”, Holley Cornetto “Heaven’s Lake”, Julie Sevens “Shoney’s Revenge”, Lin Darrow “Cry of the Hunger Fish”, M.B. Vujacic “Jelly”, Mason Gallaway, “The Sea Reaches Up” McKenzie Richardson “The Hunter and the Prey”, R. L. Meza “Long Pork”, S.O. Green “The Shadow Over Innsmouth High”, Steve Neal “Hostile Territory”, T. M. Brown “Buoy 21415”, Tim Mendees “Fronds”, Trey Dowell “Abyssal Horror”, Watt Morgan “Please Leave

Dead Ships by Georgia Cook

It washed up at dawn, drawn in on the morning tide from around the curve of the bay; a fishing boat, small enough for a cabin and a crew of three, but of no make or name we recognized. It curved gently towards the beach, its path haphazard and aimless, engines silent and windows dark. By the time it hit the shingle and plowed to a juddering halt a small crowd of us had gathered on the dockside to watch.

There’s something about an empty boat–something dragged in off the tide like that, all slow and sedate–you get to feeling it after a certain time at sea, like a second sense. That’s why none of the old fishermen made a move when it finally came to rest; they already knew what we’d find.
Perhaps it started with the snow.

Great, driving fistfuls were we got that month; merciless, relentless, day after day. A frigid wind howled it down off the clifftops, swamping the roads and transforming the surrounding hills into impenetrable, white monoliths. Nobody arrived in town, nobody left; that’s how things go around here come winter.

There’s a saying in these parts that it takes a special kind of madness to move here from out of town, and another kind to stay. The seas and the cold breed a particular type of person–it settles in the bones, then squeezes the lungs; sharp and cloying in every breath. This far north the cold is bitter. Or perhaps it started before that, and none of us noticed.

Some of us tried to sail that week, but only made it as far as the curve of the bay before we were forced to turn back. Battered by the gale and the driving snow, there was no thought of casting our nets. Cutting through the snow was like cutting through ice; nothing in either direction but tumbling flakes and shifting, black sea.

We watched the snow fall, watched it settle on the water and sink, and out of it all we watched the boat arrive.

Philip Abernathy was the first to climb abroad, shimmying up the side like a boy climbing a drainpipe. Twenty-three that May–newly promoted, the youngest Constable in a town of sturdy fishermen and grey-faced old men–possibly he felt it his duty to take charge, or at very least be the first to check. He was, after all, vastly on his own up here until the snows cleared and the mountain roads became accessible again.

He’d been our Constable for all of two months, and up until then had contended with nothing worse than the odd Drunk and Disorderly on a Saturday night. It was too cold, too dark, to expect any trouble worth hurrying for.  

He disappeared inside the captain’s cabin, calling nervously, then stumbled out a moment later and was violently sick over the side.

The old fishermen knew, and now we knew too: no ship so silent has ever been manned by the living.

Once he’d been helped down, pale and trembling, Abernathy directed a few of us up to find the body. It was slumped across the wheel, he said, tilting back and forth with the rock of the ship, its boots dragging in a slow, steady rut across the floorboards. It might have been a man once, but that was an estimated guess. It no longer had a face, just a slumped, desiccated skeleton.

Its hands, Philip whispered, its hands were clasped so tightly to the wheel. So tightly he couldn’t pry them open.
We found the rest of the crew below deck.

There’s a reason so many fishing communities boast smokeries and salt houses; salted things keep. Salted things keep for a long time, and add to that the conditions of an arctic winter…


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June 7th
Reads & Reels (Spotlight)
The Consulting Writer (Review)
@jypsylynn (Review)
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June 8th
Books, Rambling & Tea (Spotlight)
Lunarian Press (Spotlight)
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Banshee Irish Horror Blog (Review)
Rambling Mads (Review)

June 9th
The Invisible Moth (Review)
Stine Writing (Review)
Phantom of the Library (Review)
Catz Luv Coffee (Review)

June 10th
Breakeven Books (Spotlight)
@tiny.bibliophile (Review)
Musings of a Final Girl (Review)
@dreaminginpages (Review)

June 11th
Sophril Reads (Spotlight)
@happily_undignified (Review)
@amysbooknook8 (Review)
I Smell Sheep (Review)
Liliyana Shadowlyn (Review)
On the Shelf Reviews (Review)

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Book Tour: The Fire God Tour by Michele Sims @dmichele2123 @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #Books

Welcome to the book tour for The Fire God Tour by Michele Sims. Read on for more details about this genre-blurring romance! There’s also a chance to win a signed copy of the book!

The Fire God Tour by Michele Sims
(Moore Family Saga #3)
Romantic Suspense/ Magical Realism

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Miles Moore is obsessed with fire. He can’t help it—it’s in his genes. He’s also the famous performer Ari, an international hip-hop sensation. There are some negatives that come with fame—death threats and life on the road among them—but there’s also a lot of good: fast cars, fast women, international travel, and more money than he can handle. When Bella Wahlberg joins his team as the chief of marketing, she seems like the antithesis of what he’s looking for, so much so that Miles dubs her Belsa the Ice Queen. It would be unprofessional for them to get together, but more than that, she’s unavailable—and deathly afraid of fire. But as they prepare for The Fire God Tour, Miles can tell something is changing. Is he ready to commit himself to one woman? Can fire and ice come together?


Bella powered down her computer in time to see her phone buzzing with a message: the limo driver was minutes away. After locking the front door just as the driver pulled up, she waited while he parked and got out of the car to open the door.

“Thank you.” She got in and sighed, feeling torn that she had to work on her day off instead of enjoying a long hike; yet also wanting to be seen as a team player. Resolved that even though she’d agreed to do this favor for Darien, she would accomplish it as quickly as possible and get away to enjoy nature with Corey.

Traffic was light and the car arrived at the estate quicker than she expected. The butler, Mr. Curtis, dressed in a black suit with a starched white shirt, dark tie, and spit-shined black shoes, greeted her at the door. She sensed he disapproved of her casual attire as he looked her over, jutting out his chin, giving her a loud sniff.

“Good morning, Bella. Darien left instructions to take you to Miles’s bedroom to get the papers.”

She hesitated a bit but followed him as he walked up the stairs to the space regarded as off limits.

“This is quite unusual, since Mr. Moore rarely allows employees other than Parker, Darien, or myself in his personal space, but I was assured it would be okay for you to go into his private suite of rooms to search for the contracts in question.”

She was also uncomfortable being in Miles’s private space, but Darien had been frantic when he’d called. He knew NeNe would be angry if all the documents weren’t there for her review even if she was on a conference call with them and not there in person. He assured her Miles wouldn’t be at the house and he would handle any fallout if he discovered she had been in his bedroom without his permission.

“He had a date last night and planned to stay at his penthouse in the city,” Darien had assured her on the phone before she’d agreed to do him the favor.

Bella and Mr. Curtis were at the top of the stairs when she began wondering if changing her plans with Corey was such a good idea. She liked the hardware store entrepreneur and was glad things were working out between them. He seemed okay with her work obligations in general, but she shrugged at the gnawing idea that Corey might not be okay with anything out of the ordinary at AriMusic, especially if it involved close collaborations with its CEO.

Mr. Curtis opened the door to the bedroom, and she took in the view of the massive mahogany bed, with etches of rams carved into the posts. Tastefully decorated, the room had touches of black and bold red accents. There was a very masculine feel to the room.

Looking around, she discovered his desk with papers on top of it. What piqued her curiosity was the old-style lamp filled with oil next to an ornate candle on his desk.  She began looking for the papers Darien had asked her to find and didn’t notice the bathroom door opening or the presence of someone else in the room.

“What the—” The loud verbal bomb startled her, causing her to spin around and throw the papers in the air.

Miles abruptly cut off the f-bomb and stood still, a few feet away from her, while she froze as she viewed his nude body. She knew he had a great one, but she’d never imagined she would meet Adonis in this lifetime. His beautiful pecs, six-pack abs, and his.. oh my, made her gasp. His thick muscular legs had her face feeling hot and her heart racing.

“Why are you here, Bella?” He initially made no effort to cover himself.

The papers scattered across the floor, blown by the air currents from the ceiling fan whirling above. “Darien asked for a favor, and he said you wouldn’t be at home. He needed these papers for a meeting later today,” she stammered and tried but couldn’t hide her tremulous voice or the shaking of her hands as she tried to gather the papers.

 Breaking her stare, embarrassed by the impropriety of their meeting, she knelt to pick up the papers scattered throughout the room.


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Michele Sims is the “author-ego” of Deanna McNeil and creator of the Moore Family Saga. She loves writing hot love stories and women’s fiction with multigenerational characters. She is the recipient of the 2019 RSJ Debut Author Award, the 2018 RSJ Aspiring Author Award, and first runner up in the Introvert Press Poetry Contest for February 2018.  She is a member of  LRWA, in Charleston, SC, and the NK Tribe called Success.

She lives in South Carolina with her husband who has been her soulmate and greatest cheerleader. She is the proud mother of two adult sons and the auntie to many loved ones. When she’s not writing, she’s trying to remember the importance of exercise, travelling, listening to different genres of music, and observing the wonders of life on this marvelous planet. She is currently working on several collaboration projects.

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Blog Tour: Pink and Country by Emmanuelle Snow @SnowEmmanuelle and @shalini_g26

Pink and Country by Emmanuelle Snow

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A cabin in the mountains.

A chance for a fresh start.

A dropped towel that seals their fate.

Lost and confused, April Simmons has no clue how to turn her life around. When her best friend sends her to a cabin in the mountains for a month, alone, to work on herself, April has no idea that her handsome, yet broody and enigmatic neighbor is country music superstar Carter Hills.

Carter has everything other people would kill for: money, success, and fame. And yet, being at the top has never felt so lonely.

The moment April and Carter meet, sparks fly, but neither is ready to give in to temptation.

Been there. Done that.

But soon, Carter decides April, the colorful and sassy woman living next door, is worth breaking every rule he set for himself years ago, and nothing she’ll do or say will keep him away. The more April resists, the more Carter pulls her in.

Can April trust Carter with her heart, knowing he has the power to shatter it into a million pieces?

Loving Carter Hills is like riding a roller coaster. It’s breathtaking. It’s fast. It’s scary. And it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

HN touched my forearm, and I snapped out of my daze. I shook my head, blinking, rebooting my confused brain.


        “Sorry. Got lost for a moment. What did you say?” I straightened my back, projecting fake confidence. My insides had dissolved a long time ago.

        “I said I’m going into town this afternoon. You need something? Groceries? A pair of boots? Anything?”

        HN fixed me with a heavy stare. My organs failed. My breath caught in my lungs.

        I opened my mouth and closed it a second later.

        “Did you hear me? Pixie?” Warmth stirred low in my belly at the sound of his deep, husky voice. He narrowed the distance between us, his body grazing mine now. When he spoke close to my ear, I stopped breathing for a full minute. “So, do you need anything?”

        “I—I’ll go by myself,” I said, my voice shaky and low.

        “No offense, but the roads are icy, and your car will never make it up here on the way back. We’ll take my truck.”

        “Excuse me, are you making fun of Miss Dolly?”

        “Miss who—? Oh, crap, did you give your car a name?” HN raked his fingers through his already tousled hair sprinkled with snowflakes.

        “Don’t look so surprised. Lots of people do.” I folded my arms over my chest and tipped my chin up. “Anyway, I bet your dick has a name, too. Not judging.” Why was I fixated on his penis? Damn it. Keep your thoughts to yourself, April.

        “I—Never mind,” HN said before his eyes drifted down my body. His voice lowered. “What if my dick has a name? You—”

        My tongue swept over my lips, and my heart pounded faster. I had no oxygen left in my brain to argue. HN’s palm brushed my shoulder, and I shut my eyes, breathing in his manly scent, the addictive mix of pine and cedarwood. Everything inside me screamed to kiss him again. His warmth reached my core. I leaned into his touch, bunting his hand the same way Bernice always did when I petted her.


        HN sucked in a breath. My body sizzled.

        I squeezed my legs tight, my composure slipping away.

        My neighbor, without doubt, the most handsome male specimen I’d ever laid eyes on—according to my sex-crazed hormones—clamped onto my forearms with both hands and flashed me a grin. My chest rose and fell in quick succession. I was panting like I just ran a marathon, even as my feet were glued to the snowy ground. I stepped forward, the gap between us shrinking. My breasts swelled. My lips tingled. My lungs idled.

        HN pivoted on his heels and walked away.

        “See you later, Pixie.” His long strides brought him inside his cabin in no time, leaving me speechless and spellbound.

        Aching and needy.

The heat radiating from me could melt the freshly fallen coat of snow all over town.

Smart, Sexy, and Sassy Love Stories

Emmanuelle Snow is a contemporary author of mature YA and New Adult love stories, who likes to give life to strong characters who’ll fight with all they have to reach their life goals and find their own happiness.

Emmanuelle is in love with love. Especially those complicated, deep, and passionate feelings that make a relationship extraordinary and complex, all at the same time.

In her spare time, when she’s not writing or reading, Emmanuelle likes to go on road trips—with her four kids and her own soulmate—watch movies, paint, or do some DIY, always with a cup of green tea in her hand and listening to country music.

She splits her time between beautiful Canada and the small US towns she adores.  

Find all of Emmanuelle’s books here

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Book Tour: The Demon of Yodok by Adria Carmichael @AdriaCarmichael @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #TheDemonofYodok

To celebrate the release of the latest novel in the Juche series, The Storm of Storms, we’re going back to the book that started it all! The Demon of Yodok! Read on for more details and a chance to win a signed hardcover edition of the novel!

The Demon of Yodok by Adria Carmichael
(Juche 1)
YA Dystopian

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A highly addictive Young Adult Dystopian Survival series that will keep you glued to the pages.

JUCHE [dʒuːtʃe]

Just when Areum, daughter of a privileged family in the totalitarian state of Choson, thought she was free from her personal prison, her world collapses around her as her family are taken away in the middle of the night to a hell-like camp in the mountains where people who have strayed from the righteous path are brutally re-educated through blood, sweat, tears and starvation.

There she has to fight for survival together with the family she hates and is forced to re-evaluate every aspect of her life until then – her deep resentment toward her twin sister; her view of her father in face of the mounting evidence he is a traitor with the blood of millions of fellow countrymen on his hands; and even her love and affection for the Great General – the eternal savior and protector of Choson, whom she had always considered her true father.

Cranes sang songs of joy from the mountain tops.

Double rainbows appeared in the sky.

The aggressors from the west were defeated. The invaders from the east were expunged. The traitors from the south were put at bay.

The people of Choson were finally free to create their own destiny, and so a hermit kingdom of people’s rule rose from the ashes, and the doors to the enemies of the outside world were closed, never to be opened again.

The world around them moved on. Years passed. Decades passed. Peace and prosperity spread throughout the world, and nothing was heard from the secluded hermit paradise.

Then one day, people started emerging from its closed borders. The stories they brought with them were, however, not of a paradise on earth. Instead, what they depicted were horrors so vile and cruel that they almost exceeded human comprehension.

Little had the people of the kingdom known when they closed its doors to the outside world, that the vilest beast of all was still lurking among their midst, and as soon as the curtains had been drawn, the beast unleashed its reign of terror upon the people, not stopping until it had crushed and enslaved every soul within its reach.

The beast now rules the kingdom from a throne of human misery and agony.

No one alive has ever encountered this beast, but everybody knows its name.


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Adria Carmichael is a writer of Young Adult Dystopian fiction with a twist. When she is not devouring dystopian and post-apocalyptic content in any format – books, movies, TV-series and PlayStation games – she is crafting the epic and highly-addictive Juche saga, her 2020 debut novel series that takes place in the brutal, totalitarian nation of Choson. When the limit of doom and gloom is reached, a 10K run on a sunny day or binging a silly sitcom on a rainy day is her go-to way to unwind.

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