Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts

23 Aug 2024

Review & Excerpt: LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES by Mallory Marlowe | Sci-Fi & Fantasy Friday

23 August 0 Comments


Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES

Author: Mallory Marlowe
Series: N/A
Source: eARC via publisher
Publisher: Berkeley
Publication Date: August 20, 2024
Representation: N/A

Summary:
The hardest thing for a paranormal conspiracy theorist and a web series producer to believe in is finding love in this swoony debut romantic comedy.
 
Hallie Barrett's life has imploded after she's dumped by her hotshot ex, who also happens to be her coworker and the star of the online series she was producing. Without a new show to present for the company competition, she’ll be out of a job. But inspiration can come from the strangest places . . . like the most handsome guy she’s ever seen passionately discussing Bigfoot on a late-night docuseries.
 
Hayden Hargrove made a name for himself as a cryptid expert on his hit podcast, and is intrigued by the plucky, blue-haired producer who offers him the opportunity to lead his own web show. When the production team sees that Hayden’s solo on-screen presence is bad enough to make a ghost blanch, Hallie jumps on camera too, hitting him (and his cryptids) with a healthy dose of skepticism—and enough chemistry to electrify their show to the top of the competition.
 
As Hayden and Hallie investigate the unknown, they unearth feelings for each other that shake their beliefs to the core. In their search for Mothman, aliens, and the truth, the most elusive discovery might just be learning to love again.

Purchase*:
(note that these are affiliate links! I receive a small amount of compensation at no cost to you)
I bumble out of Chloe’s office in a haze, my brain operating like a too fast hamster wheel. I hadn’t even thought over accepting Chloe’s offer. I just did it. Now, I have to follow through.

The Brain-Hamster has been flung off the wheel by the time I return to my desk. I sink behind my monitor.

“You good?” Nora asks. She flashes me a thumbs up, then a thumbs down.

I provide her with a so-so. “I’m good, but I need a show idea.” 

That’s when I realize I didn’t grab my pen from the floor in Chloe’s office. Dammit. I liked that pen.

“A show idea?” she yelps. “Really?” 

“Yes. By Friday—”

Nora immediately deflates. “Well… shit.” 

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, but I am not convinced. I don’t know where to start. 

“You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should get high and watch Agent Cody Banks. Frankie Muniz really brings out my creativity.”

We do get high and watch Agent Cody Banks. A few hours and a half a bottle of five-dollar wine later, when Nora has gone to bed, I am deep in internet hell.

I listened to podcasts, I watched vlogs, I hunted Instagram for charismatic influencers. I only broke for our brief movie. I feel like I’ve consumed every bit of media under the sun; yet, I still haven’t made a dent in my ever-growing list of TV show recommendations.

I slurp a chopstick full of noodles into my mouth as the alcohol hits me suddenly. The clock on my computer flashes two a.m. I’ll feel this in the morning, though I don’t have time for a hangover. I slip my headphones out of my ears and notice the TV in front of me has descended into late night madness. I’m an hour away from the impending infomercials for discreet adult diapers. 

I zero in on the screen as the show returns from a commercial break. 

Cosmic Conspiracies.

Yep, I’ve hit the middle-of-the-night trash TV. Animated planets whirl across the screen and large-headed aliens bobble forward like unsteady bowling pins. 

“Reports of apelike creatures have been reported on nearly every continent on Earth,” says an overdramatic narrator. “From the Himalayan Yeti to the Florida Skunk Ape, and most famous of all beasts — Bigfoot — cultures across the world tell stories of something they can’t explain lurking in the woods…”

Oh, Jesus. 

“In ancient drawings, you’ll find large, hairy creatures intermingled with humans.” The show cuts to a portly British man. “If you look at the footprints, they aren’t so different from ours. Could we be closer to Bigfoot than we think? Could Bigfoot even be an extraterrestrial from another planet?”

“What the fuck,” I mutter into my ramen. Yet, at the same time, I suddenly understand how people religiously watch shows like this. I feel no urge to change the channel. Bigfoot is not real, and neither are aliens, but I have to know how they’re going to justify this. 

Then a man far too hot to be offering any opinion on Bigfoot appears on screen. He’s young, probably late twenties with shaggy, dark hair falling in front of his face, a sharp, stubble-coated jawline, and a square pair of black glasses. His bright green eyes are ablaze with excitement and an analytical seriousness that can’t be feigned. 

“When we think about Bigfoot,” he begins, in the smoothest, sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. It’s a clear baritone, simultaneously soothing and commanding. The man is full of dramatic hand gestures to help him paint a picture. “We think about a flesh and blood creature not so different from ourselves. When we think of aliens, we think of Greys or little green men. Those are vastly different visuals. But the idea that Bigfoot could have come from somewhere else, or that he’s not native to this world, raises the question. If we share genetic links with Bigfoot as we do apes, what does that make us?”

Noodles drop out of my mouth. I choke on a bean sprout. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen has just publicly proposed that Bigfoot is an alien and that, de facto, we were aliens as well. And I am fucking enthralled. I rewind the clip to the man’s name and title on screen. 

Hayden Hargrove
Host, The Out There

Excerpted from Love and Other Conspiracies by Mallory Marlowe Copyright © 2024 by Mallory Marlowe. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book and chose to review it. This in no way impacts my opinion.

Content Warning: parental neglect, parental death, death of a loved one, grief, toxic relationships, sexism, sexual content, mentions of racism

In LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES, a paranormal conspiracy theorist and a web series producer navigate an unexpected romance amid their professional chaos. Hallie Barrett's life is in freefall after her ex—who's also her coworker and co-producer—dumps her, leaving her on the brink of unemployment. As she scrambles to find something to produce fro the annual production and competition, she stumbles upon Hayden Hargrove, a charismatic cryptid expert with his own podcast. Their on-screen chemistry is undeniable, and it quickly propels their production to the top of the competition. This swoony romantic comedy effortlessly blends love, self-discovery, and a search for truth in the unexplained.

LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES captivated me with its blend of romance and discovery. Set in a Buzzfeed-esque company, it features a desperate web series producer and an intriguing paranormal conspiracy theorist who, against all odds, make an incredibly charming pair. While it didn't make me believe in conspiracies, it certainly made me believe in love! I was especially drawn to how Hallie and Hayden came together, balancing their skeptic and believer dynamic in a way that felt both compelling and authentic.

What stood out most to me was the genuine, relatable romance between Hayden and Hallie. One thing that often bothers me in romance novels is how the "break-up" is handled—it needs to feel real but not so dramatic that it seems irreparable. Thankfully, Hayden and Hallie's third-act break-up hit the mark perfectly. It felt natural, free from contrived drama, and their reasons for the split—and eventual reconciliation—were entirely in character. Watching Hallie grow more confident and seeing how she helped Hayden evolve was just the icing on the cake.

LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES isn't just a romantic comedy; it's a thoughtful exploration of modern conspiracies and their problematic roots, particularly in antisemitism. The book manages to address the impact of misinformation while keeping the tone light and enjoyable. The conspiracies they pursued added an extra layer to Hallie and Hayden's skeptic/believer relationship without veering into territory that felt too far-fetched. It kept the story grounded, even as they delved into the paranormal.

That said, there were moments where the story felt a bit disjointed. The timeline between the filming process and the weekly show content sometimes didn't line up, which left me occasionally needing clarification about when certain segments were filmed. A more seamless understanding of the timeline would have made the story flow better.

Overall, LOVE AND OTHER CONSPIRACIES is a sweet, engaging romantic comedy that dives into the unknown while exploring the intricacies of love. The endearing characters and thoughtful exploration of its themes make it a heartwarming and entertaining read that I'd highly recommend.

What conspiracies do you believe in?
Continue reading...
No comments: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

23 Feb 2024

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays: NIGHT FOR DAY by Roselle Lim (Review + Excerpt)

23 February 12 Comments


Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

NIGHT FOR DAY

Author: Roselle Lim
Series: N/A
Source: eARC via publisher
Publisher: Ace
Publication Date: February 20, 2024
Representation: Asian-American

Summary:
Two people destined to be together, but to never see each other again, fight against the greatest odds in this powerful and moving fantasy novel by critically acclaimed author Roselle Lim.

Exes Ward Dunbar and Camille Buhay thought they would never see each other again. They had broken up to pursue their dream jobs on opposite sides of the country—her to New York City, and him to Los Angeles. But years later, they unexpectedly reconnect in London, where they are interviewing for similar jobs. The spark they feel when they meet again—the attraction comes back like muscle memory, and they are reminded of what they had lost. When Ward and Camille discover they both got the job working opposing shifts, they vow to give their relationship another try.

Ward starts the day shift and finds the immortal clientele unusual and dazzling. When he clocks out at the end of the day, he finds the door locked and himself trapped in the building. After a horrific first night shift contending with restless spirits and ghosts, Camille is also unable to escape. In their respective prisons, they discover that they’re able to talk to each other a few minutes before dawn. This fleeting encounter incites longing for each other, but their promise to be together feels impossible. Because they are caught in the middle of a war of the gods—and their choices will determine the outcome.

Purchase*:
(note that these are affiliate links! I receive a small amount of compensation at no cost to you)
Mistakes were meant to be in the rearview mirror-not walking, breathing, and able to cup your cheek to stoke every single smoldering memory long buried for self-preservation.

He shouldn't whisper my name as if he never stopped doing so for the past two years.

Even now, my fingers itched to reacquaint myself with the beauty of his face, then to trace the slight cleft in his chin down his smooth throat, and ever farther down, to where our once shared intimacy implied permission and invitation.

"Camille, I never thought I'd see you again, let alone in London." The way my name rolled off his tongue and slid through his lips always elicited the same response-it felt like a hot kiss at the nape of my neck.

Ward Dunbar. The mistake I'd commit again and again even knowing that the result would always be heartbreak.

"Job interview. If I get it, I'll be moving here." I adjusted the neckline of my buttoned dress shirt, expanding the view of bronzed skin below my collarbones. My traitorous body always reacted to him when he was in physical proximity. Easier to shut down my hormones through the sterility of a black glass screen.

He brushed an errant dark blond strand off his forehead. "I'm here for the same. Though I've passed the interview part."

The skies overhead darkened-clusters of gray clouds huddling together in conference. It had been sunny five minutes ago. Late spring weather in London changed on a whim with wicked fickleness, and we were sliding into the heat of summer. I packed an umbrella and a cardigan in my lavender vegan leather tote, but I didn't account for him. My purse didn't contain what I'd need to cope with the nuclear fallout of a failed relationship.

Avoidance therapy was the only method that worked. Putting thousands of miles between us and preventing myself from checking his social media accounts fueled a comfortable sense of forgetfulness-the kind that allowed me to function on a daily basis, but didn't prevent an occasional damaging slipup. It didn't hurt that he hadn't had any long-term relationships since then. Moving to Manhattan helped, and London should have cured me completely.

I was wrong.

Two days ago, I slipped and checked his Instagram. The selfie at an outdoor bookstall on the South Bank caused me to stop breathing for a few seconds. He was here and in the same city. I wasn't thinking when I sent him a direct message asking to meet at this bookshop. It was pure instinct-I turned off my brain and my heart took over, grabbing the wheel and changing the direction of my life.

"I never thought you'd leave LA." I resisted the urge to straighten the bent corner of his collar. No tie. I'd been the one responsible for those. His long, elegant fingers had other talents.

"I needed a change. This opportunity was as good a time as any." He tipped his head toward the bookshop. "It's going to rain. Can we duck in and chat?"

I followed him into one of the most beautiful little shops in Westminster. These buildings reminded me of an eclectic bookshelf-the windows and architectural details were charming, decorated spines of antique leather. Weathered stone, traditional painted wooden signs mixed with flashy modern ones and clean-line aesthetics. The mix of old and new fitting together in seamless coexistence.

To me, the past and present were constantly at war when I thought about Ward.

As if on cue, the curtain of rain began as he stepped into the shop. I caught a bit of it at the ends of my long hair and the back of my shirt. Again, I was reminded of what I'd be getting into if I decided to have another round in his bed-because that was where it always began.

He headed for the science fiction and fantasy section. He plucked the newest N. K. Jemisin novel from the shelf, tucked it under his arm, and continued to browse the titles, tracing his finger downward on the ones that perked his interest.

"So how does this affect your job in LA?" I took a step forward but maintained a safe distance. The scent of his subtle cologne along with the aroma of Irish cream coffee would undo my crumbling defenses. "Are you on sabbatical?"

Ward's cushy position at a very exclusive and trendy art gallery in LA was everything he ever wished for-flexible hours, the heavy array of movie stars and wealthy client meetings, and the perfect conduit to maximize his appeal. No one was impervious. He disarmed you with his good looks and gentle tone, then went in for the kill with the way he could make you feel. Empathy combined with charm was lethal.

"I quit."

I almost fell against a nearby bookcase. "You did what?"

"It's . . . I needed a change." He reached for my elbow to help me regain my balance. The heat of his touch distracted me. "I accepted a job yesterday and I start tomorrow. Now knowing that you're here, I'd say it's a great move."

Ward didn't let go yet. The worst part was that I didn't want him to.

Excerpted from Night for Day by Roselle Lim Copyright © 2024 by Roselle Lim. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved
Disclaimer : I received a free copy of this book and chose to review it. This in no way impacts my opinion.

Content Warning: death, grief, nosebleeds, blood, discussions of war

I really liked this one but felt like there were some key missing pieces to make it a perfect read. I thought the premise was interesting with good execution but some of it ended up falling flat and feeling repetitive as time went on. I wanted to know more about the war, what the factions wanted, and the roles that everyone played in it rather than focusing so heavily on Ward and Camille.

I think it also would have been interesting to give us more time in the world rather than cramming it all into a couple weeks. We weren’t given enough time to explore, learn about the consequences, or to understand what has been happening. Because of that, the story felt really rushed. I thought there would be more of an emphasis on not caring how much time was spent during this because of the immortal aspects, which when juxtaposed with the mortal side just didn’t quite hit for me.

But I did really like Camille and Ward’s relationship. The coming together and realizing what it meant to trust and love one another was the best part of this novel. I liked the way their relationship was described and learning about their past as they moved forward into the future. I liked their complimentary aspects and how they learned to work together to overcome their differences.

This is different than Roselle Lim’s typical novels, but it was a good departure! I’d be so interested in reading more of this style of work in the future.

Have you read this book? What was your favourite part?
Continue reading...
12 comments: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

25 Aug 2023

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays: IN CHARM'S WAY by Lana Harper (Excerpt)

25 August 0 Comments
Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

IN CHARM'S WAY

Author: Lana Harper
Series: The Witches of Thistle Grove #4
Source: eARC via Publisher
Publisher: Berkley Books
Publication Date: August 22, 2023

Summary:
A witch struggling to regain what she has lost casts a forbidden spell—only to discover much more than she expected, in this enchanting new rom-com by New York Times bestselling author Lana Harper.

Six months after having been hit by a power surge that nearly obliterated her memory, Delilah Harlow is still picking up the pieces. Her once diamond-sharp mind has become shaky and unreliable, and bristly, self-sufficient Delilah is forced to rely on friends, family, and her raven familiar for help. In an effort to reclaim her wits and former independence, she casts a dangerous blood spell meant to harness power with healing capacities.

While the spell does restore clarity, it also unexpectedly turns Delilah into an irresistible beacon for the kind of malevolent supernatural creatures that have never before ventured into Thistle Grove. One night—just as things are about to go terribly sideways with a rogue succubus—a mysterious stranger appears in the nick of time to save Delilah's soul.

Gorgeous, sultry, and as dangerous as the knives she carries, Catriona Quinn is a hunter of monsters—and half-human, half-fae herself, she is the kind of sly and morally gray creature Delilah would normally find horrifying. Though Delilah balks at the idea of a partnership, she has no choice but to roll the dice on their collaboration. As the two delve deeper into the power that underlies Thistle Grove, they uncover not only the town's hidden history but also a risky attraction that could upend Delilah's entire life.

Purchase:
Flames and stars, living in this town could be exhausting.

I sank down by the tree's base, pebbles and blades of grass pressing imprints into my bare knees. Then I closed my eyes and reached for the flower, cupping my hands around it without grazing the petals.

Sensing the flow of magic, Montalban brought her focus to bear on the spell, too, facilitating my work with it. She couldn't make me stronger than I was; that wasn't how familiars helped. But her added attention was like a lens held to the sun-anything I cast, she rendered finer and more precise.

Like most magically imbued flora, viridians couldn't just be plucked by mundane means. They needed to be harvested with the use of a particular preservation spell, to keep their potency intact. Magical botany was like that; infinitely fascinating and challenging, and also finicky as fuck. Hence, why I loved it. It demanded expertise and finesse, a deep understanding of theories and disciplines that the other Thistle Grove families largely cast aside in favor of relying on their natural talents. Even the Thorns didn't bother with it much, given their affinity for magically coaxing plants into simply doing whatever it was they wanted them to do.

But arcane knowledge, and its practical applications . . . that was where Harlows shone.

Especially this Harlow.

I took a slow breath, twitching my fingers into the delicate position called for by the spell, lips parting to speak the incantation. The words floated into my mind's eye in swooping antique copperplate; I could even picture the yellowed page upon which the rhyming couplets had been inked.

Then the entirety of the charm sluiced out of my head like water sliding through a sieve.

All of it, vanished in an instant. The words themselves, the lovely script, the aged grain of the paper. Where the memory had lived, there was now nothing. A cold and empty darkness, a void like a miniature black hole whorling in my head.

The panic that gushed through me was instantaneous, a prickling flood that engulfed me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, a flurry of icy pins sinking into my skin. And even worse was the terrible sense of dislocation that accompanied it, as if the entire world had spun wildly on its axis around me before falling back into place subtly misaligned. I'd known that spell, only moments ago. Now, I didn't. It was simply gone, lost, as if it had been plucked directly out of my head by some merciless, meticulous set of tweezers.

"Crawwww!" Montalban croaked into my ear, shifting fretfully from foot to foot as my distress seeped into her.

"I'm okay," I managed, through the terrible tightening in my throat. "It's okay."

But it wasn't. It felt nauseatingly like existing in two realities at once. One in which I was the old Delilah, a living library, a vast and unimpeachable repository of arcane information. And another in which I was a tabula rasa, almost no one at all. Just a facsimile of a person rather than anybody real and whole.

The dissonance of it was horrifying, a primal terror unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. The way, I imagined, some people might fear death, that ultimate disintegration of self if you truly believed nothing else came after.

Though to me, the idea of living with a mind that couldn't be trusted felt worse than even the possibility of a truly final oblivion.

I sank back onto my haunches, wrapping my arms around my chest. Goose bumps had erupted along the expanse of my skin, and I broke into a clammy sweat despite the buzzy warmth of the air, the humid heat that permeated the forest from the lake. "It's okay," I whispered to myself under my breath, rocking back and forth, feeling abysmally pathetic and weak even as Montalban nuzzled my cheek, desperate to provide some comfort. "You're alright. Try to relax and let it pass over you. Like a reed in the river, remember? Don't fight against the current, because the current always wins."

Sometimes, the simple relaxation mantra Ivy had improvised for me from her meditation practice worked, bleeding off some of the panic. Other times, it did absolute fuck all.

The worst part was that no one understood why this was still happening to me. As a Harlow recordkeeper, I should have been shielded from a conventional oblivion glamour in the first place. Given our role as the memory keepers of our community, Thistle Grove's formal occult historians, we were all bespelled to be immune to such attacks. But Nina's form of the spell had been superpowered, whipped to unfathomable heights by the kernel of divinity that had been lodged inside her, the deity's favor she'd been granted by Belisama.

Why that entitled Blackmoore bitch had been deemed deserving of a goddess's favor in the first place was still beyond me.

In any case, even after the mega-glamour dissolved-helped along by my cousin Emmy's and my uncle James's efforts-I wasn't rid of it entirely. Six months later, I still sometimes lost memories like this, little aftershocks of oblivion riving through me even after all this time. Other times, I reached for knowledge that I should have had-that I knew I'd once possessed-only to discover an utter, sucking absence in its place. As if some vestigial remnant of the spell lurked inside me like a malevolent parasite, a magical malaria that only occasionally reared up.

The lost memories did return sometimes, if I relaxed enough in the moment, or if I was able to revisit their original source-reread the page that held the charm, pore over the missing diagram. But sometimes they simply didn't, as if my brain had been rewired and was now inured to retaining that piece of information. And it was all horribly unpredictable. Just when I'd begun to tentatively hope that I might be on the upswing, I'd tumble into yet another mental vortex, a churning quagmire where I'd once reliably found the diamond edges of my mind.

But the self-soothing methods Ivy had taught me were always worth at least a try. I repeated the sappy "reed in a river" mantra to myself several more times-trying my damnedest not to feel like someone who'd ever wear Spiritual Gangster apparel in earnest-all the while inhaling deliberately through my nose and exhaling out of my mouth. The familiar smell of Lady's Lake calmed me, too, the distinctive scent of the magic that rolled off the water and through the woods, coursing down the mountainside to wash over the town. It was the strongest up here, an intoxicating smell like some layered incense. Earthy and musky and sweet, redolent of frankincense and myrrh laced with amber and oakmoss.

As a Harlow, my sense of the lake's magic was both more intimate and more acute than that of members of the other families-and the flow of it up here, so close to its wellspring, reassured me. Left me safe in the knowledge that I was still Delilah of Thistle Grove, on her knees on Hallows Hill with her beloved familiar on her shoulder. A Harlow witch exactly where she belonged.

Abruptly, the harvesting charm slid back into my mind. A little frayed around the edges, some of the words blurring in and out of sight, as if my memory were a dulled lens that had lost some of its focus. But it was back, restored, intact enough that I would be able to use it to collect the viridian.

"Oh, thank you," I breathed on a tremulous sigh, my limbs turning jellied with relief, unsure whom I was even thanking. Ivy's mantra, the goddess Belisama, the magic itself? When it came down to it, it didn't really matter.

Sometimes, you had to take the smallest of victories and run with them.

Sometimes, they were all you had to cling to.


Excerpted from In Charm's Way by Lana Harper Copyright © 2023 by Lana Harper. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Have you read this series? What was your favourite part?
Continue reading...
No comments: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

5 May 2023

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays: GHOSTLY GAME by Christine Feehan (Excerpt)

05 May 1 Comments
Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

GHOSTLY GAME

Author: Christine Feehan
Series: GhostWalkers #19
Source: eARC via Publisher
Publisher: Berkley Books
Publication Date: May 2, 2023

Summary:
Gideon "Eagle" Carpenter is used to rolling with the punches life has thrown at him. It's the only thing that's kept him alive. He and his team of GhostWalkers have seen and experienced it all. He does his best to live with all the sins written on his soul. Then he hears the laughter of a woman with the ability to erase--even for a few previous moments--the darkness of his past.

Laurel "Rory" Chappel has always been a nomad. She's accustomed to taking care of herself, despite the physical challenges she lives with. She thinks she's too weak to find real love, but that doesn't stop her interest in Gideon from turning into a full-on addiction. He's all rough edges and danger contrasted with a tenderness that makes her feel safe. Still, after a life spent in motion, she's not sure she knows how to stay in one place.

Gideon hopes he can persuade Rory to take a chance on him with every electric touch. But soon, life conspires against him, forcing the GhostWalker to risk everything to protect the woman he loves....

Purchase:
“I’m not getting the GhostWalker vibe off her,” Gideon said, his eyes on the woman talking to one of her many male customers.

It didn’t matter that her hair was piled on her head in a sloppy knot that was falling out tendril by wayward tendril; it was obvious she had masses of hair, and it was dark cherry red. The real deal. Cherry red. He’d never seen that color of hair on anyone before. Every time she moved under a light, it blazed into vibrant life. It was difficult to keep his eyes off her.

She had those eyes. A deep green. Emerald? Jade? No, emerald for certain. Her eyes sparkled when she talked to her customers. She looked directly at them even when she was mixing drinks, her rhythm never faltering. Sometimes she would laugh softly, the sound musical, turning heads no matter how low it was in the noise of the crowded bar.

“You’ve been here several times over the last couple of weeks, Javier.” Gideon made it a statement. It would be difficult to get anything past Javier.

Gideon had held out as long as he could. The doctor hadn’t given him permission to come see Rory in person, but he couldn’t resist the compulsion any longer. Javier wasn’t happy about it, but he’d come along to ensure Gideon didn’t tear open any wounds. In other words, Gideon thought a little ironically, babysitting.

“I’ve watched her closely,” Javier admitted. “I can’t see any indication that she’s a GhostWalker, other than she has extraordinary reflexes. Her bartending skills are amazing. She’s fast and can handle multiple orders. She doesn’t seem to forget faces or names. On the other hand, I’ve followed her home every night, and she doesn’t run or exhibit any kind of behaviors or skills a GhostWalker might under cover of darkness. She walks, Gideon. Even if there’s a threat to her, which, on more than one occasion, I shut down.”

Gideon didn’t like that. The bartender everyone called Rory was a very attractive woman, although she didn’t seem to notice that she was. She didn’t flirt with her customers so much as genuinely try to connect in a friendly, positive way. If a man asked her out, she gave him a grin but refused gently.

Gideon liked the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and her generous mouth. It would be easy to fixate on both. “You did a background search on her?” Javier was a genius with computers. Gideon knew Javier had. He’d read the report multiple times and committed it to memory. He hoped Javier had updated it.

“Not much to find. She moves around a lot. Lost her parents early. Put herself through bartending school and uses that to earn her way. She doesn’t stay in one place very long. She goes to a state, travels within that state for a little while and moves on to the next one.”

“Anyone following her?”

“Not that I can find.”

Gideon slid his fingers around the neck of the beer bottle and rolled it back and forth. “I’m really drawn to her, Javier, more than any woman I’ve ever been around. The chemistry for me is off the charts. That doesn’t happen. Not like this. Not just with the sound of her voice. Her laughter. Now, watching other men around her, my attraction to her could be a little on the dangerous side, and you know I’m really not that man.”

Javier studied him, one eyebrow arched.

“Not over a woman,” Gideon clarified. “How can I trust it? You know Whitney pairs us. Would he pair someone who isn’t a GhostWalker just to experiment?”

Javier shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to do anything, but what would it matter even if he did pair the two of you? Look at Kane and Rose. They’re happy together. Whitney didn’t make that happen. He might be able to make you attractive to each other, but he can’t manipulate your emotions.”

“And if she’s a plant?”

Again, Javier shrugged. “Then she’s an enemy, Gideon, and I’ll kill her. Whitney doesn’t get to have spies in our home.”

Every cell in Gideon’s body instantly rejected Javier’s casual threat. “Not happening, brother. I wouldn’t be able to let you do it,” he admitted. “That’s another black mark to put in the column against her.”


Excerpted from Ghostly Game by Christine Feehan Copyright © 2023 by Christine Feehan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Have you read this book? What was your favourite part?
Continue reading...
1 comment: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

28 Apr 2023

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays: THE SECRET SERVICE OF TEA AND TREASON by India Holton (Excerpt)

28 April 0 Comments
Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

THE SECRET SERVICE OF TEA AND TREASON

Author: India Holton
Series: Dangerous Damsels #3
Source: eARC via Publisher
Publisher: Berkley Books
Publication Date: April 18, 2023

Summary:
Two rival spies must brave pirates, witches, and fake matrimony to save the Queen.

Known as Agent A, Alice is the top operative within the Agency of Undercover Note Takers, a secret government intelligence group that is fortunately better at espionage than at naming itself. From managing deceptive witches to bored aristocratic ladies, nothing is beyond Alice’s capabilities. She has a steely composure and a plan always up her sleeve (alongside a dagger and an embroidered handkerchief). So when rumors of an assassination plot begin to circulate, she’s immediately assigned to the case.

But she’s not working alone. Daniel Bixby, otherwise known as Agent B and Alice’s greatest rival, is given the most challenging undercover assignment of his life— pretending to be Alice’s husband. Together they will assume the identity of a married couple, infiltrate a pirate house party, and foil their unpatriotic plans.

Determined to remain consummate professionals, Alice and Daniel must ignore the growing attraction between them, especially since acting on it might prove more dangerous than their target.

Purchase:
Three years Daniel Bixby had worked as a butler for the rogue pirate Rotten O’Riley. Three years flying a rickety, ensorcelled house at speeds one could only describe as improper, smuggling pennyroyal tea into Ireland, and washing O’Riley’s laundry. Yet after just one week in Dahlia Weekle’s service he was exhausted. Criminal life had nothing on the rigors of shopping with an aristocratic lady.

This purse-snatching offered the best entertainment he'd had since his return to London (or, to be fair, second best, since nothing could surpass yesterday's discovery of a Utopia edition in the original Latin). Indeed, he might have stopped the hoodlum at once by using a phrase from the magical incantation that pirates employed to fly their battlehouses and witches to move small objects-O'Riley's witch wife had taught him how to bring down a man with just one enchanted word-but it was invigorating to give chase (not to mention that witchcraft was highly secret, highly illegal-and, according to pirates, highly, er, low behavior.)

About three hundred feet along the street, he caught the thief. After a struggle, he twisted the man's arm behind his back, relieved him of the purse, and held it out of reach.

"Thank you," said a woman's voice behind him.

Daniel felt the purse removed efficiently from his grip. Glancing around, he was astonished to see the lady's maid. Time seemed oddly suspended as he stared, arrested by the sight of her. You, said something inside of him, like a memory or a dream. It had whispered to him in the dress shop but spoke louder now, as if she'd removed a mask and he could see her more clearly. Her delicate face was framed by a coiffure so severe it made him think of backboards and plain, starched undergarments-

At which point, time dropped into the pit of his stomach with a crash that sent reverberations through his entire nervous system.

"Ma'am," he said, taking refuge in politeness even while his nerves clamored and the thief swore and kicked in an effort to get free. "It was a pleasure to be of assistance."

"You are too kind," she replied, her voice civil but her expression making it clear she was speaking literally. She turned and handed the purse to the thief.

Daniel blinked, trying to comprehend the evidence before his eyes. He had not been so confused since hearing Wordsworth described as a poetic genius. And confusion was dangerous in his line of work (i.e., when he felt it, other people became endangered). He twisted the thief's arm further, causing the man to holler, and took the purse from him once more.

"I beg your pardon," he reproved the lady's maid.

At his somber tone she cringed, her big dark eyes filling with tears, her lashes trembling. Daniel felt like an utter cad. "Please don't cry," he said, holding out his hand in apology.

And she grabbed the purse in it, tugged hard, and jabbed the fingers of her free hand up into his armpit.

Daniel gasped at the sudden pain. His grip weakened, and the purse disappeared once more from his possession. The woman returned it to the thief, who took it with an attitude of bemused uncertainty.

"For goodness' sake," Daniel muttered. Although years of piracy had presented little opportunity for heroics, he felt certain they did not usually involve the victim attacking her rescuer. Wrenching the thief about, he snatched the purse from him and-

The woman grasped his wrist with both hands. Daniel attempted to shake her off, and she attempted to emasculate him with an upthrust of her knee, and he saved himself (and his future children) by quickly blocking her with his own knee, leading to her stomping down on his foot, and him twisting her arm, and both of them stopping abruptly to watch the thief escape along the street.

"Is that your pearl necklace he's carrying?" Daniel asked mildly.

"Yes," she replied.

"Oh dear."

She shrugged. "Hopefully he won't bite the pearls to see if they're real. They are in fact cyanide capsules."

As the thief turned a corner and disappeared from the narrative, Daniel released the woman. She took a careful breath, her fingers twitching at her skirt, and he frowned with concern. "Are you hurt?"

The look she gave him was such that Daniel immediately wanted to find a chalkboard and write I will not ask stupid questions one hundred times upon it.

"Yes," she said in a quiet, terrifyingly precise voice. "I have a headache, my feet ache, and it has been six hours since my last cup of tea. Six hours! And now I even sound like her. Do you realize how much work went in to shepherding that woman into position so her purse could be stolen? How many boutiques I have endured this week? Do you realize how many conversations about penny-dreadful novels I have been forced to endure?"

"I-"

"One such conversation would be too many, but there in fact have been dozens, all mixing together into a ghastly, giggling blur. And yet there goes Putrid Pete back to his gang's headquarters without the tracking device in Miss Tewkes's purse, thanks to your dratted chivalry."

"I-"

"Furthermore, what were you thinking, bringing Miss Weekle shopping on Bond Street today? Her servants coordinate with Miss Tewkes's servants so as to ensure the ladies never meet. The last time they did, there was a fracas over a parasol, and Miss Weekle's footman ended up with his nose broken. You have disrupted everything. Therefore I say good afternoon, sir. This ends our acquaintance."

And grabbing the purse from him, she turned and marched away.

Daniel stared dazedly after her. His memory was shouting for attention . . . His body, however, drowned it out with a hot, uncomfortable throbbing. Perhaps he had strained something in his fight with the thief. He would have to consult a medical encyclopedia this evening.

The woman took an unrelenting course along the footpath, obliging more genteel ladies to leap out of her way. She moved with the dangerous grace of someone entirely aware of her surroundings and entirely unafraid. He watched her, knowing she would know that he did.

And for the first time in living memory, Daniel Bixby grinned.


Excerpted from The Secret Service of Tea and Treason by India Holton Copyright © 2023 by India Holton. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.

Have you read this book? What was your favourite part?
Continue reading...
No comments: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

30 Sept 2022

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays: HELL'S MARCH by Taylor Anderson

30 September 0 Comments

Science Fiction and Fantasy Fridays introduces readers who are unfamiliar with the Adult SF/F genre to books, authors, and discussions all about the vast expanse of the world of Adult SF/F!

HELL'S MARCH

Author: Taylor Anderson
Series: Artillerymen #2
Publisher: Ace Books
Publication Date: September 27, 2022

Summary:
Major Lewis Cayce will need to use every weapon in his arsenal to keep his stranded men alive on a deadly alternate Earth in this gripping new adventure set in the world of the New York Times bestselling Destroyermen series.

It is 1847, and almost a full year after being shipwrecked on another, far stranger and more dangerous Earth on their way to fight Santa Anna in the Mexican-American War, Lewis Cayce and his small group of artillerymen, infantrymen, and dragoons have made friends in the Yucat'n, helped build an army, and repulsed the first efforts of the blood-drenched Holy Dominion to wipe their new friends out.

As an even more radical cult of Blood Priests arises and begins to pursue its own path to power, the Dominion can't let its defeat stand. It must crush the heretics and expel them from the land it has claimed.

Fortunately, Lewis Cayce is a professional. He understands defense can only result in a stalemate at best, and a stalemate with the more populous Dominion will only lead to defeat in the end. The lucky few will be enslaved. The rest will be sacrificed in the most horrific way imaginable. The only hope his new allies have is to win--and to do that, his little army must attack the most powerful and diabolical enemy on the planet in its own territory. Achieving victory will take all Lewis's imagination, the courage and trust of his soldiers--and all the round shot and canister his tiny band of artillerymen can slam out.

Purchase:
Sira Periz was dwarfed by most around her, standing near one of the new embrasures for cannon captured at the Washboard like a bronze-skinned pixie in a dark green dress covered by gold scale armor. As was customary for widows still in mourning, her long, jet-black hair hung loose around her shoulders. Uxmalo women accepting suitors gathered their hair behind their heads (to best display their pretty faces, believed most of the young American soldiers). Sira looked particularly small beside the tall, broad-shouldered Lewis Cayce. Instead of his usual dark blue shell jacket that all mounted forces now wore (distinguished only by red artillery trim in his case), he'd donned his fine, single-breasted frock coat and crimson sash under a white saber belt for the alcaldesa's visit. Otherwise, he still wore the standard wheel hat and sky-blue trousers used by all the branches, but his trousers were tucked into knee-high boots, carefully blacked and polished by his scrawny, villainous-looking orderly, Corporal Willis, of the 1st Artillery. Lewis had apparently even allowed the man to closely trim his hair and thick brown beard. He was adamant that all the people in "his" army, Americans or not, maintain the highest degree of uniformity and hygiene-particularly under their strange circumstances-and demanded all the Allied cities provide proper uniforms for their people. Not only did he believe that men who looked like soldiers tended to act like them, he wanted all his troops, no matter where they were from or which regimental flags they flew (locals who hadn't joined "American" units fought under their city-state flags), to look and feel like one combined army, united by a common cause.
 
"I believe what the alcaldesa means," rumbled Reverend Harkin in his deep pulpit voice, "is that she hoped you might be able to do more than just come down and retake Nautla-and stop."
 
Lewis smiled. "I know. But that's already more than the enemy would've expected. Even their General Agon, a cut above the rest, I believe, probably thought we'd lick our wounds at Uxmal and wait for them to come at us again. He can't have any idea that King Har-Kaaska and Second Division have already driven down to relieve Itzincab in the east, and are pushing his Holcano allies back toward Puebla Arboras." Puebla Arboras had been the southernmost "Allied" city, but its alcalde, Don Discipo, had given it over to the enemy. "Agon will see this as an aggressive step," Lewis continued, "but still essentially defensive. More than he expected, like I said, and therefore as much as he'll think we're capable of. It'll focus his attention."
 
Another tall man, Major Giles Anson, formerly of the Texas Mounted Rifles (or Rangers), chuckled lightly. He was lankier than Lewis, with a graying beard, and wore the plain blue jacket of a Ranger. Instead of a saber belt, he was burdened by a pair of huge Walker Colts in holsters on a waistbelt, suspended by braces, and a pair of smaller Paterson Colts in holsters attached to them high on his chest, almost under his arms. "You know how our Lewis is," he reminded with a combination of irony and fondness. The two men had known each other but hadn't been friends before they wound up here. Now they were. "Always focusin' the enemy on one thing . . ."
 
"While he does another!" burst out Varaa-Choon, clapping her hands. Varaa was a Mi-Anakka, one of only six known on this continent and the first the Americans ever met. Wearing silver scale armor over a reddish leather tunic covering dark tan fur-and with a long, fluffy tail that often seemed to have a mind of its own-she was also most emphatically not human. She claimed to be forty, but there was no white fur around her nose and mouth, only lighter and darker highlights around impossibly large blue eyes the color of the afternoon sky. She and her then more numerous companions were shipwrecked here twenty years before and taken for minions of a feline deity the Ocelomeh worshipped in their distant past. (This was particularly strange since, though Mi-Anakka did bear a certain resemblance to cats, as far as anyone knew, there were no Jaguars on this world.)
 
Their leader, now King Har-Kaaska, gradually corrected his follower's beliefs, but Mi-Anakka remained in positions of leadership among the Jaguar Warriors, more effectively guiding them in their apparently self-appointed, mutually beneficial role as protectors to the more peaceful and civilized peoples of the Yucatán. Varaa Choon was Har-Kaaska's female "Warmaster" and liaison to the Allied Army in the west. Devoted to her king and his interests, not to mention the Ocelomeh in the army, she'd also become a close friend to the Americans and was a trusted advisor and battlefield commander in her own right. Friend or not, there was only one subject she would never speak on, out of concern the Doms might eventually learn; where her people came from.
 
"Like last time," agreed Lieutenant Leonor Anson in a husky voice. The Ranger's daughter was almost as tall as him, having effectively passed as a young man in her father's Ranger company. Everyone knew she was a woman now, considered very pretty when she rarely smiled instead of just boyishly handsome, and she no longer stuffed the shoulder-length black hair of her Mexican mother up in her hat. Nor did she tie it in back in the local style for a variety of reasons. She'd been . . . abused by straggling Mexican soldiers during the war for Texas's independence a decade before, and the "girl" she'd been was virtually extinguished, her mother and brothers killed. Her father had been with Houston's army, and she was all he had left. He couldn't leave her behind again, so she grew up fighting Comanches and Mexican border incursions like a wildcat at his side. All that resulted in a somewhat . . . limited social development and an implacable hatred of Mexicans only now beginning to fade as she slowly befriended the young (newly promoted) Capitan Ramon Lara, also standing by. Lara was an agreeable young man, brave, resourceful, and funny, all of which earned Leonor's respect. He'd been in charge of a scouting force of Mexican soldiers onshore that was also . . . brought . . . wherever they were, by the same freak occurrence that dumped the Americans here. He now led the 1st Yucatán Lancers under Major Anson's overall command, as were all the Rangers and dragoons.
 
Leonor still dressed and acted like a man in the field, even though she'd been taken under the wing of Samantha Wilde and her French friend Angelique Mercure. Both ladies were abandoned by Isidra on the beach with Commissary's survivors. Fortunate for them, as it turned out. But under their influence, Leonor had taken a few tentative steps toward becoming a "lady," when she deemed it appropriate. Still a fighter, however, she'd earned the men's respect as such with her own pair of Paterson Colts, often leading scouts. Otherwise, she stayed busy at her self-appointed task as aide and protector for her father-and now Lewis Cayce, whom she had secret, complicated feelings for.
 
Lewis smiled and nodded at her. "Like last time," he agreed. "The smaller force, and I expect we'll almost always be, must do the unexpected."

Are you going to pick this book up?
Continue reading...
No comments: quickedit
Tags: , , , , , , ,