#MiniTour “Life Rolls Along” by Linda Nielsen

Welcome to the book tour for Linda Nielsen’s novel, Life Rolls Along. Read on for more details and a chance to win a $25 Amazon e-gift card!

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Life Rolls Along (Because I’m Worth It #2)

Publication Date: November 8th, 2021

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Memorable characters move swiftly through a well-crafted plot. Punctuated with sharp humor, twenty-first century romances blossom in spite of well-heeled parental attempts to manipulate others to do their bidding.

Terri Sue Ellen, nonsensical and faux refined, and Charles Covington, wealthy executive, have a prickly daughter, Delaney Mae Anne, who wants a husband . . . so they buy one using their wealth and prestige to seal the deal.

But after a four week honeymoon, Skye Topple grasps the fact that he’s made a blunder in marrying the boss’s daughter.

Life’s hilarious complications follow him as he embarks on a journey to sort through the shambles of his life’s choices when he returns to his humble beginnings in Big Sur where he tries to reunite with his family.

Blending truth with hyperbole, wicked humor ensues as scheming business partners and arrogant in-laws attempt to destroy Skye’s bold plans for his future.
When the bizarre son of a new business partner covets his wife, Skye realizes he’s ready to move on but not before he gets what he’s been promised.
He joins forces with RB, the unwanted step-brother of his wacky mother-in-law, and the men take part in an eccentric ruse, hoping the final cards fall in their favor. How dangerous are they, and how far will they go?

Find out in the dramatic story that takes a humorous approach on classiness, opulence, family and romance. Life Rolls Along by Linda Nielsen.

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10 AM Covington Residence Chicago, Illinois

CLEMENT B. PICKET, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, attempted to wipe the smirk from his face as he delivered bad news to the rude, ill-mannered wife of business tycoon, Charles Covington

“What do ya mean that ah have me a brother?” Terri Sue Ellen’s tone grew confrontational. “Ya crazy, Clem? Do ya think it’s funny makin’ up crap to annoy me?” She paused to sip her morning martini, then continued, “Ya know that ah’m a wealthy woman, and ah have no siblins! That’s a fact!” Unaware that her know-it-all attitude and exaggerated accent made her sound foolish, she plowed on, “Ah did not know that now a’days men in Atlanta enjoyed nigglin’ away at a lady. Is that why ya called me . . . to say ugly, untrue things to upset mah pleasant nature?”

Flipping a hand on her plump hip, she took a deep breath and felt her waist band grow tight. Damn those fried cheese fritters! She snorted in anger at the extra pounds she carried and turned back to the speaker phone. “Ya still there?”

“Yeah,” he replied wearily.

After numerous attempts to give her account to his junior associates, Clem conceded that she’d beaten them all down, so as head of his family’s law firm, her file was back on his desk. Rolling his eyes, he settled back in his chair. “I’m here.”

“Good!” She grumbled. “Need ah remind ya that your daddy always represented mah family with dignity and honor.” She nodded her head sharply and continued, “Just because ah sold the big house in Atlanta doesn’t mean ya can talk to me as if ah was never a true-blue southern belle. And furthermore, ah don’t want to be talkin’ to any more of your underlins, ever again. Ya got that?”

She sat down in a huff, and the artistic Wimberley sofa sagged with her weight. “Now that ya have been runnin’ your daddy’s firm for the last fifteen years or so . . .”

Savoring the vodka, she looked closely at the mirror and fluttered her eyelashes, admiring their thickness. Siberian mink and good glue. Mah sensual green eyes require long luscious lashes. She turned her thoughts back to Clem. “Where was ah?”

Sighing heavily, he dropped his head. She’s never been very bright. It’s no wonder that her father donated so much money to Georgia State. It was the only way she was going to get a diploma.

He moved to the southeast-facing window where he opened the shutters. The grand old magnolia tree filled his vision. His father had planted it after he opened his law office, shortly after Clem was born. It symbolized dignity. Now it was almost seventy-feet tall, and the creamy, white flowers greeted him every spring with their lemon-honey scent.

He’d learned a valuable lesson from that tree. Though it had luxurious dark green leaves on the surface, there was a rusty colored underside. It was like taking on a new client. Just because they showed you one part of their personality, you never knew what else was going on until you had a good look.

His father had warned him about the Covington family and Terri Sue Ellen, the spoiled girl he’d grown up with.

Returning to his desk, he chuckled. I’ll just wait for her to catch-up. I want her to be sharp. Wait. He paused and rolled his eyes. If that’s even possible. Smiling, he let his thoughts wander. ’Cause my news about her brother just gets better and better.

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About the Author

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Former business woman and entrepreneur, Linda Nielsen, is involved in community work, actively supporting animal rights, no kill facilities and finding home for senior pets.

Her mother was a writer, her maternal grandmother wrote poetry and her paternal grandmother was an artist. She jokes that artistic ability runs in her veins, but she has yet to discover her hidden ability to paint anything other than the bathroom walls.

She and her husband have traveled through Eastern Europe, Asia, South America, Russia. Australia and the Baltic with backpacks, catching any flights that were available. But now that the world has changed, she admits to discovering more at home activities.

Linda enjoys wine tasting and credits the lesser known areas such as Calaveras County and the Lodi area in San Joaquin County as having some of the finest wines in California.

She escapes from her computer by spending sunny mornings in her garden and has fun cooking but admits that not everything in the kitchen is a success.

She thanks her fans and their ongoing support for keeping her focused when she’s writing and offering their feedback on both the story lines and her characters.

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#MiniTour “My Brother is a Werewolf” by Ray A. Price

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Welcome to the mini tour for the first book in a new series called My Brother is a Werewolf by Ray A. Price and illustrated by Sam Aston. Read on for more details!

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My Brother is a Werewolf

Publication Date: December 21st, 2021

Genre: Children’s Books

Brie wanted a puppy. But what she got was a younger brother. Accidentally turning her 5 year old brother into a werewolf is the biggest mistake of her life. But she will do anything to fix him because cleaning up werewolf poop is as bad as you think it is.

My Brother is a Werewolf is a fully colored picture book geared towards children ages 5 and up. This is the first book in an ongoing series with characters from this universe. My Brother is a Werewolf is the starting point for the series. This and the following books all take place in a connected universe full of magic and monsters. Brie is the perfect protagonist to usher in our new universe. The reader gets to explore her dynamic world and learn along with her.

Available on Amazon

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About the Author

Ray A. Price is the author of My Brother is a Werewolf. He is an author for children’s books, short stories, and comics. Ray started his interest with children’s stories when he used to read to his daughters’ elementary classes as a guest parent speaker. After many visits to her classes and dozens of cookies donated in each visit, his little girl gave him the idea to write his own children’s book. With that in mind, Ray sat down and began writing with his heart to create a story dedicated to her. Build with Bricks was Ray’s first self published children’s story in 2020.

Ray has many other achievements that he is very proud of. He has a bachelor’s degree in political science and a master degree in fraud and forensic. He is a full time fraud investigator. During his studies, he did plenty of playwriting. Ray found his passion for writing when he wrote short stories in middle school.

When Ray is not thinking of new ideas for his next story, he likes to be family oriented. Ray likes to travel and sample new restaurants with his family. He loves playing video games and discovering new television shows. When the weather is nice, he loves taking his English Bulldog on walks. Ray listens to various podcasts daily and loves reading comics.

You can find Ray on Twitter @RaymondAPrice

About the Illustrator

Sam Aston is the illustrator for My Brother is a Werewolf. Sam is a tattoo artist based in the UK. She has been a licensed tattoo artist for the past 3 years in which her main focus has been creating full color pop culture tattoos as well as blackwork and watercolor pieces. When Sam is not tattooing, one of her main hobbies is playing video games which inspires her designs and merchandise. Otherwise you’ll find her watching horror movies!

Her artwork can vary from cute, colorful and cartoony to black and gray realism, so she tries to switch it up sometimes! This has allowed her to be versatile when working with others to create commissioned pieces such as digital artwork, t-shirt designs, and more recently book illustrations.

You can find Sam’s tattoos and designs over on her Instagram and at BigCartel

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#MiniTour “Blackbird Rising (Harbingers Book 1)” by Jane Wiseman

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Welcome to the mini tour for this stunning new fantasy novel by Jane Wiseman, Blackbird Rising!

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Blackbird Rising (Harbingers 1)

Publication Date: December 2018

Genre: Epic Fantasy/ Mature YA Fantasy/ Coming-of-Age

Minstrel? Spy? Witch? What is Mirin, really?

She’s a young girl. She’s a boy. She loves her sister. She loves a man.

More important, who is she?

The gods have given her a task, to save a realm, to save a queen.

In a brutal world where the young are forced to grow up fast, Mirin’s story is about coming of age too soon, about love and betrayal. It’s about the heavy costs of standing for a cause but standing for it anyway because it is the right. About finding the lost and finding yourself along the way.

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CHAPTER NINE

Playing for Time

By morning, I had a bad case of jitters. I could see Wat did, too. After we breakfasted on some of the scraps we had managed to snag during our march the night before back through the kitchen shed, Wat sat thinking a long time. I tried not to interrupt, although I was itching to do it.

Finally, he looked up at me. “We’ll go in together.” He sounded certain, but his eyes betrayed him. I could tell he was far from certain. Wat’s eyes were a clear azure, like a cloudless noontide sky. But when he was angry or worried, they turned. They became somehow duller and sharper at the same time, as if you were to stare into a pond reflecting a clear noontide sky at the moment a cloud passes over. Or as if you were to sight down the blade of a sword made of fine-tempered steel. As you see, I’d had a long time to study Wat, and at close quarters, too. I knew how to read him, and I read that he was sick with worry.

“How? How will we manage that? Master Charlo is on to you now. He won’t allow it,” I said.
“Probably thinking I’m looking the place over to see what I can steal,” said Wat. “Yes, you’re right. But I’ll manage it.” He summoned up a smile. “You’re modest. You know that? You’re too modest to bathe in front of strangers. I need to be there. That’s what I’ll tell them.” “Will it work?”
“Maybe,” he said. “What if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll create a diversion.” “How in the Nine Spheres will you do that?” The corner of Wat’s mouth quirked up in what passed for one of his enigmatic smiles. But people were starting to drift down the road in our direction. They wanted to be entertained. Wat didn’t answer me. He headed over to our wagon and disappointed them by slapping a large NO PERFORMANCE TODAY sign on the outside of the wagon, and shaking his head firmly at the many who couldn’t read. I wanted him to tell me about his plans, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he made me go back into the wagon box bed.

“Otherwise every young girl in the Hundred is going to come crowding around to see if she can catch your eye,” said Wat as he shuttered me in. “I look like a girl,” I shouted through the slats.
“I think that may be the point,” he said in a reasonable tone of voice that sent me into a suppressed fury. “You’re not threatening. The mothers don’t fear you’ll run off with the daughters. You’re like a pet. But they can pretend to dream about you. Girls that age. That’s what they do.” He was sitting on the wagon seat, leaning back against the box bed, so we could have a conversation just as if we were face to face.
“No, not today. Sorry,” I heard him call out to someone. “I’m a girl that age. I don’t have thoughts like that.”
“You haven’t had time to. If you were home with your mother, you’d be having them about now.”
“That’s a lie,” I said between gritted teeth. Why was I getting so angry? Maybe so I wouldn’t think about what it would have been like, if I were home with my mother. Maybe because Wat hadn’t bothered to answer my question. “Not a lie. It’s just the truth,” said Wat. “And keep your voice down. Sorry, no performance today,” I heard him call. “How would you know what girls think?” I muttered.
“Oh, I know,” he said. He was infuriating, Wat was. I think he enjoyed it. But he was my master, so I knew not to push him too far. He had never beaten me, not yet. Once he was about to. “Remember your promise to Old Gwen!” I had screamed at him.
“I made her no such promise,” he told me as he circled around to get behind me with the strap he used to hobble Millicent. But in the end, he didn’t beat me. I don’t even remember what I had done to get him so worked up. Probably something dangerous. Every now and again I noticed it. He feared for me. Yet he wasn’t allowed to. That frustrated him, almost beyond bearing.

The time of our summoning drew closer, and the people had all wandered off, so he let me out of the box bed. He still hadn’t told me how he planned to create a diversion. I pulled the Kenning the Juggler costume on again. It was all I could do. The people in the castle would see the boy they expected to see. “We won’t stuff the rags in,” Wat decided, looking me up and down. “They may fall out at the wrong moment, and we don’t want any extra attention. You’ll be fine. You look fine. The servants are not going to be looking too close, down there.”
I turned away to hide my blushing. This part of my costume always made me feel uneasy and wrong. “But when I step into the bath, they’ll notice,” I said, pressing the point.
“They would indeed, but we won’t let them see.”
“How do you plan to keep them from it?” Answer me, Wat. Before he could explain, we noticed Master Charlo shouldering past the guards. He came down the hill toward us.

“Follow my lead,” said Wat to me. I suppressed an annoyed grimace. Wat was always figuring out some plan, I’d have no idea what it was, and I just had to follow along, the instrument the master played upon. “Don’t forget your rebec,” said Wat. When Master Charlo was near enough to speak but not so close that we could give him any vermin or diseases, he addressed Wat. “None of your tricks, young man. Just the boy. I want just the boy.”

Wat bowed to him. Master Charlo reached out his hand to me, then snatched it back. “Come with me,” he said. He turned on his heel and started marching up the hill. With a helpless glance at Wat, I followed the elegantly clothed Master Charlo. But I quickly realized Wat was right behind me. At the gate, Master Charlo turned to me again. When he saw Wat, he frowned. “Fellow, I told you—just the boy. Not you.”

“Good Master Charlo,” said Wat, with another low bow. “My brother is very modest. He is frightened near to death. He’ll not be able to sing.”

It was true. I was frightened, frightened near to death. I didn’t have to act it. “I need to come with him,” said Wat. “At least for the bath and the dressing of him. He hasn’t been parted from me since he was a baby, when we were orphaned.” If Wat thought that heart-tugging story would affect Master Charlo, he was wrong.

“Nonsense,” Master Charlo snorted. “The boy is to come with me. You are to stay.” He looked over at the guards. “See that this fellow remains outside.” Both of them stepped forward. They were very large armored creatures with solid, inscrutable faces under the cones of their helmets. They both carried menacing steel-tipped pikes. Wat simply made another of those obsequious bows. “As you wish, Master Charlo.

“Aedan,” he said to me. “I’ll be waiting here for you, never fear. They’ll send you out to me soon.”
“He’ll sing, or he’ll wish he had,” said Master Charlo. “No one goes against a direct command of her ladyship.” I began to cry. It wasn’t hard to make myself do it.
“What a pathetic excuse of a boy you are,” Master Charlo said to me. “What those girls see in you—”
“Their ladyships?” asked Wat, his voice innocent. Master Charlo gave him a sharp look. “Yes,” he said slowly, with a kind of menace. “Their ladyships.”

“Well, go then, and do your best, brother,” Wat said to me in kind, unctuous tones. “They won’t hurt you. They won’t hurt him, will they? When he can’t? Sing?” he said to Master Charlo. Over Master Charlo’s shoulder, I arched an eyebrow at Wat. He gave me the smallest of shrugs back. We hardly had to speak to each other, Wat and I. That’s how well we knew each other by then, at least where giving a performance was concerned. Really? You’re going for that again? I was saying to him. Might as well was his reply. Might work. Worth a try. Master Charlo’s face clouded up the way the day was clouding up, big thunderheads boiling from behind the castle keep. It’s not going to work this time, I thought. You could fool Master Blue, but not this man.

“Come with me,” Master Charlo snapped. I stepped in behind him and the
guards stepped aside. “Both of them,” he said tight-lipped to the guards. Wat gave me a small sidelong smile as we came through the gates together at Master Charlo’s heels, but when the man turned to make sure we were following him, and probably to make sure Wat was not scouring the place for items to thieve, Wat had made his face as open and sincere and concerned as it was supposed to be. Wat’s ruse had worked again. It really had. Now I did have to act. Act to suppress an admiring exclamation, one actor to another. The fright I felt was too overwhelming, though.

We threaded our way through the castle outbuildings, as before. A patter of rain was starting to fall. I lifted my face to the sky. The rain felt good, comforting somehow, but I knew there was nothing comforting about our situation. Only Wat’s quick thinking saved us this time, as last time, but I knew our luck had to be running out.

Finally we came to an obscure shed with steam rising from its smoke-hole. A woodsy aroma wafted from the shed into the damp air. It reminded me suddenly of home. Master Charlo knocked. A man stuck his head out and glanced at us. “Which one is the boy?”
“Which one do you think?” Master Charlo’s voice was full of exasperation. “Come in, then,” he said to me, and opened the door wide. As Wat made to follow me, he put a hard calloused hand out. “Not you.” To Master Charlo he said, “I’m supposed to bathe one stinking fellow. Not two.”
“This man is his brother, and he says—” Master Charlo began, then clamped his lips together. He turned to the two of us. “The boy is to go in. You may stand outside,” he said to Wat. “I’ll send someone to make sure you don’t wander around. I have things to do.” He stalked off, stopping to talk to another servant, pointing back at us. The other servant, one of the lower-order brown-clad ones, began making his way over to us. Wat looked at the man who was about to bathe me. “My brother is very modest and very frightened. It would be better if I bathe him. You can stand outside.”
“No,” said the tub man.

That was it. There was no arguing with the man. I could see that, and so could Wat. Wat shrugged and turned to lounge against the side of the shed. The servant Master Charlo had sent to watch Wat was nearing. The tub man motioned me inside. I had no choice. Our luck had indeed run out. I went in with him.

There was a large cask steaming with hot water before a roaring fire. I saw stone crocks filled with fragrant soaps and lotions. I saw a suit of clothes, bright and lovely, laid over a bench. I saw large soft towels at the ready. I wanted to get into the cask.
“Put that fiddle down on the bench.” I did so. “Strip,” said the man, “and don’t give me any nonsense about it or I’ll see you beaten. I don’t want to hear about your damned modesty. Just do it. Get in that tub.”

“Will you look away?” I said in a timid voice. He just stood there with his arms folded over his leather apron. “What are you, a little girl? Strip and get in the tub. Don’t think I’m going to touch you. I don’t want your vermin. Leave those silly-looking clothes in a pile over there where I can pole them into the cistern.”
When I hesitated, wondering why he was going to dump my Kenning the Juggler costume into a cistern, he barked at me. “Do it. Do it now.”

Playing for time, I bent down and unwound the yellow cloth from around my tunic and then the cross-gartering from each leg. I dropped the long strips of yellow cloth beside me on the floor. I turned away from the tub man and began to pull the green tunic over my head.
With an impatient grunt, the tub man snatched it from me and threw it to the floor. And then he had the drooping leggings off me. He let out a bellow of surprise. He came at me, and I dodged around the cask of steaming water, trying to knee him in the groin as I darted past him. I missed. That made him angry. He caught up with me. His pig eyes, too small for his lump of a face, were narrowed and glinting. He drew back a meaty fist. There was a scuffle from outside the shed. The tub man and I both whirled around in time to see Wat and the brown-clad servant hurtling through the door and into the shed, falling on the floor and fighting.

“Nine Spheres,” said the tub man. He moved around the cask to pick up his long pole and stood over the two as they rolled and fought, looking for a chance to rap Wat on the head with it. I bent down and lifted one of the stone crocks of soap. I heaved it high and brought it down on the tub man’s skull as hard as I could as he was leaning over the fighters. It barely staggered him, but just enough so that Wat had time to knock the servant to the ground, spring up, and get the tub man by the throat, twisting the man’s leather apron straps tight about his neck. Wat shoved me aside as he hoisted the tub man up by this improvised garrote. “The door,” he said to me over his shoulder. I kicked it shut. When I turned around, Wat had thrust the tub man into the cask, pushing him under the water, holding him down. “Now hand me that pole,” he said.

I stood frozen. I grabbed up the tatters of my clothing and held them to myself.
“The pole,” said Wat. His voice was tense. He bore down on the man in the cask with both hands. Cords of muscle stood out on his arms. Water flew everywhere as the tub man struggled for his life. I reached down with one hand to get the pole, still trying to keep myself covered up with the other. I handed the pole to Wat. He shoved it straight down into the water and leaned on the tub man’s chest with it, keeping the man under. The man thrashed and kicked, but soon weaker. Soon not at all. A stream of bubbles erupted from the water. Then the water was still. “You did well, Mirin,” said Wat, stepping back and casting the pole aside with a clatter.

“You bought me a bit of time.” Still trying to cover myself with my ripped jerkin and leggings, I stood staring in horror at the man in the cask. Wat and I were both soaked, and Wat was breathing hard.
The tub man’s clothes were billowing up to the surface now. “You killed him,” I said. I looked down at the brown-clad servant, who lay sprawled at my feet, his eyes open, his mouth gaped wide. “And him.”

“Yes,” said Wat, not noticing my half-naked state. “Singing is your talent. This is one of mine.”

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About the Author

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Jane Wiseman is a writer who splits her time between urban Minneapolis and the Sandia Mountains of New Mexico. Her interlocking fantasy series include HARBINGERS (I Blackbird Rising, II Halcyon, III Firebird, IV Ghost Bird), the prequel series STORMCLOUDS (I A Gyrfalcon for a King, II The Call of the Shrike, III Stormbird), the eerie BETWIXT & BETWEEN duology set in the Stormclouds/ Harbingers world (I The Martlet is a Wanderer, II The Nightingale Holds Up the Sky). A tenth book, Dark Ones Take It, is a stand-alone novel about the origins of the series villain. The Harbingers series has a YA-into-NA feel. The other books are many shades darker.

Jane M. Wiseman | Shrike Fantasy Channel | Twitter | Facebook | Blog

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#MiniTour “Family Medicine” by Natasha Jeneen Thomas

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Welcome to the mini tour for new psychological thriller, Family Medicine by Natasha Jeneen Thomas!

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Family Medicine

Publication Date: October 8th, 2021

Genre: Suspense/ Psychological Thriller

In one of the most beautiful cities on Earth, following your dreams could become a nightmare.
Therese Hughes-Baldwin arrives in Boca Raton with hopes of joining the most prestigious dance company in South Florida. But instead of finding ballet success, she suffers an embarrassing heartbreak and takes a boring barista job. She also inadvertently gains the attention of the woman who stalks her on every train ride she takes.

So when Therese’s favorite café customer, Dr. Dara Clemens, offers an escape to her beachside mansion, Therese can hardly say “yes” quickly enough. With her suitcase in hand and best friend Phoebe by her side, she heads to the Clemens’ oceanfront getaway. The home is gorgeous. The beach is, too. So is the stranger Therese gives her number to at the bar.

But there are voices in the vents. And there are people who stare. And Therese faces a sinking feeling that something is hauntingly off about Phoebe’s behavior. As Therese questions the motivations of those around her, she opens the door to a reality she never thought she’d find.

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About the Author

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Natasha Jeneen Thomas is a Florida-born psychiatrist and psychological suspense writer. She has spent the past eleven years in psychiatric private practice exploring individual and collective story and the power of perception. Witnessing life from the vantage point of the human psyche’s inner workings, Natasha sees the state of the world as a reflection of the stories we tell ourselves – and allow ourselves to believe.

Natasha earned a Bachelor of Science from Spelman College, studied medicine at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine, and completed residency training in psychiatry at University of Maryland and Sheppard & Enoch Pratt hospitals. In 2010, she moved to Metro Atlanta to work as an outpatient psychiatrist and has the continued honor of providing clinical care as owner & CEO of Hope Grove Psychiatry, PC. When she is not doctoring or writing, she is enjoying her family, her home, or her corner of the couch.

Learn more at http://www.natashajeneenthomas.com

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#MiniTour “The Last Tiger” by Anthony Lavisher

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Welcome to the mini tour for modern thriller, The Last Tiger by Anthony Lavisher! Read on for details and an excerpt!

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Publication Date: June 7th, 2021

Genre: Modern Thriller

Jon Galnia is a husband, a father, a Mafia Don, a man who believes that Fate and Destiny are two sides of the same fickle coin. Rich beyond his wildest dreams, his inherited empire expands beyond America, far beyond the streets of his bloody playground, currently far beyond the reach of the authorities desperate to pin even a traffic violation on him.

Fate is about to intervene.

Plucked from the sky by those who hate him, or perhaps by those who want what he has, Jon’s private jet crashes in central India, sabotaged by fate, though, perhaps, guided by destiny.

Unbeknownst to him, Jon is about to play a daring hand in an even bigger power struggle, one that will shock the world and, perhaps more importantly, the self-centered, ruthless Don.

A tale of corruption, of adventure and heroism, The Last Tiger is a thrilling tale of one man’s quest for survival and his uncertain hand on the pages of history.

Excerpt

The flames leaping out of the jet’s engines were raging wildly now, forcing the light aircraft to pitch and drop rapidly through the dark cloud cover as it dived towards the earth thirty thousand feet below.

What had started out as a promising day for Jon Galnia was rapidly going downhill now, and as he dug what nails he had left into the arms of the black leather seat, he struggled to keep down his lunch. Anything not belted up or stowed away flew about the luxurious cabin, crashing into seats, windows and everything that got in the way.

The jet dropped again, sending Jon’s stomach back into his mouth as he choked on his own fear and ducked down into his seat to avoid the whisky glass that zipped past his head to smash on the door of the cockpit, several metres away from him. Crystal glasses were easily replaced – it was the loss of the fifteen-year-old bottle of Dalwhinnie that pissed him off. Despite his predicament, he managed to scowl at the broken screen of the large tv, from where the rich amber liquid now dripped enticingly. He had plenty of bottles in his cellar at home, but he hated to waste a good single malt.

As if to remind Jon of the immediate danger, the captain’s voice broke worriedly over the klaxon that sounded its warning inside the jet.

We have lost both engines, Mr. Galnia,” he apologised, his English accent trying to retain some composure. “It is inexplicable! Our engineers checked the jet over as normal before we took off from Moscow.”

Jon fumbled for the communications button on the seat’s left console and flicked at it. “I don’t want excuses as to why and how – just fucking land us safely.”

Yes, Mr. Galnia.”

Jon swore furiously and punched the switch off as he heard the co-pilot beginning to mutter something. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Everything had been going so perfectly for him recently, since his lawyers had managed to get the IRS off his back. Using his father’s old contacts, he had destroyed the paper-trail that led the Feds to his door and framed one of his competitors. It was amazing what a couple of million dollars could do when you wafted it under the nose of an unscrupulous lawyer; and if you could follow that up with a few threats to the families of the investigators who were getting too close to the truth, your problems just seemed to disappear.

Despite the new regime’s softening on immigration, the American authorities were still paranoid about attacks on their home soil, so much so that it was embarrassingly easy to make it look like his main competitor – an Egyptian – was laundering money to help fund and set up terrorist training camps in Arizona. All too easy! Finger a few lesser players for being involved, and Jon’s Guardian Angels had managed to kill quite a few birds with one very expensive stone.

Six months of legitimate business dealings with his electronics trading company ‘Galnia Global Industries’ whilst channelling his dirty money through shell companies, had also managed to alleviate some of the heat and suspicion that was still floating around. Nobody was stupid enough to think that Jon, the only heir to the fortune and power of the notorious Giovanni Galnia was clean. It was just that nobody had been clever enough, so far, to prove anything to the contrary.

Jon was in no doubt, however, that he had got lucky this time and because of this, he had decided to turn his attentions to his Russian operations whilst he allowed his wife, Maria, to run the electronics company; carrying on with its legitimate trade from China and Taiwan.

Whilst he kept out of the heat, it was time, Jon had thought, to make some serious money out of the old Soviet Union and the business empire he had set up there over the last two decades, following his father’s death.

Usually happy for things to run on the ground without him, Jon had enjoyed several months of distance governance, getting used to the taste of the Soviet streets again, finding the thrill of the game that he had not enjoyed playing stateside, the last few years.

But that extra dedication had brought with it unwanted attention, and after only a couple of months he had been forced to fly out to Moscow personally and placate those he had somehow managed to piss off without even being there.

Jon scowled as he thought about the events that had led him to this moment, and, as it appeared, his impending death. It felt like no matter what he tried to do these days, he always seemed to piss somebody off somewhere…

Sucking in a breath, he tried to calm himself, something he was never any good at. Despite his predicament, he caught himself thinking of the meeting he had been summoned to, and the woman he had met there to flesh out a deal that would placate those in the Russian Mafia he had offended with the territory he had acquired over the last few years without their consent.

Licking his lips, Jon closed his eyes, still seeing her face, still smelling her perfume…

The jet shuddered again as it dropped down through the grey clouds, jolting Jon back to the present and the immediate danger that faced him. Fighting against his own fear, his anger and the G-forces at work inside the cabin, he held on to anything that could keep him in his seat and swore loudly as the jet protested again and slammed his head against the headrest.

John watched the chaos rage around him for a few moments, regaining his senses as hatches fell open before him and oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling around the cabin, twitching madly on their cords like the condemned from a gibbet.

He reached out vainly to grab at the oxygen mask spinning wildly about in the air before him. Behind him he heard a shriek as his long-serving cabin attendant Sara gave in to her fear. Straining to look over his shoulder, he could see the dark-haired Mexican, who had worked faithfully for him for eight years now, ashen-faced and struggling to stay in her seat at the rear of the jet. Their eyes met briefly through the billowing curtains, and he tried to convey his sympathy and lend her some of his own waning strength. Again, the elements flung him forward in his seat, and he grabbed hold of the oxygen mask as it hit him in the face.

Jon flicked at the communications button again. “Where are we, Robert?” Tugging down on the cords, he placed it over his mouth and nose and sucked gratefully on the air within for a few breaths.

We are over Indian airspace, sir. Madhya Pradesh region, in central India!”

“Can–” Jon’s question was cut short as the Jet dropped several thousand feet again, buffeted and brutalised by fierce turbulence. “For fuck’s sake!” he swore.

We have lost all outside external communications, sir,” the pilot reported. “I fear someone has compromised us!”

“No shit!” Jon cursed, as he fumbled for his cellphone. Tapping in a code at the third attempt, he thumbed through his contacts, searching for Maria. Mumbling angrily to himself to distract the terror creeping into his bones, he sucked in another lungful of oxygen from the mask as he called his wife.

It appeared that the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood, the Mafioso he had pissed off in Mother-Russia, had decided to take over his interests after all, rather than having the perverse slice of the offered Galnia pie. They must have paid someone off in his ground crew at Vnukovo International to sabotage the jet, or further afield at Bahrain, when they stopped there to refuel.

If he got out of this in one piece, Jon was determined he was going to find out who had done this to him and make the bastards suffer. As he listened, almost patiently, to his wife’s voice mail message, he wished that he had not agreed to ‘drop’ in on their interests in Taipei for her.

“…get back to you sooner rather than later!”

“Maria, it’s me!” Jon said urgently, after the beep. “We are over central India – the jet’s been compromised and we are in the shit. It seems the meeting didn’t go quite as well as we were led to believe, honey.”

The plane plummeted again and Jon nearly dropped the phone. “I don’t know how I am going to get out of this one, but you need to get onto the Indian authorities and let them know we are going down.” The realisation of what was happening suddenly hit home and Jon lost his train of thought. “I-I love you, Mari! Look after my son for me.”

He locked the phone bitterly and placed it in his shirt pocket. Blue sky came suddenly racing into view through the cloud cover outside the jet’s tiny windows, and bright sunlight spread throughout the cabin.

Brace yourselves – we are coming down fast!” the pilot’s voice ordered them, as he finally dispensed with any formalities.

Jon snapped a quick look out the window to his right, the blue sky lost in flames and trailing, thick black smoke. He caught the briefest glimpse of high, wooded hills on the horizon, before he put his head between his legs and tried to suck his dick.

Behind him, Sara Gonzales screamed. Before them, the earth reached up and plucked them from the sky.

Available on Amazon

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About the Author

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Since reading The Lord of the Rings at an early age, and later, the works of his favourite author, David Gemmell, Anthony has been inspired to write his own stories. When he is not forging tales and filling blank pages, Anthony spends his time working in his local library, reading, board gaming and enjoying adventures of his own.

Anthony lives in Wales with his wife, Amy, and their cat, Mertle. He is currently working on Rise of Eagles, his fifth novel. You can keep up-to-date with his news here: 

Twitter: @alavisher

Facebook: www.facebook.com/lavisherauthor

Anthony Lavisher

TheLastTiger

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#BookTour “In Solitude’s Shadow” by David Green

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 Solitude's Shadow ebook (1)

In Solitude’s Shadow

Publication Date: June 4th, 2021

Genre: Dark Fantasy

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.

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Excerpt

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, she
scanned 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.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

51D05E35-E262-4DD4-A4D3-F439047EC1AA

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. Newsletter: https://tinyurl.com/y6ah8brp Twitter: @davidgreenwrite Website: www.davidgreenwriter.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/davidgreenwriter

Eerie River Publishing

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InSolitudesShadow

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#BookTour “Sentinel” by Drew Starling

Sentinel

A Monster. A Missing Boy. And Nowhere to Run.

Welcome to the tour for the chilling debut by Drew Starling, Sentinel! Read on for more details and a chance to win a great giveaway!

121590468_348150602933805_1573899793927588827_n (1)Sentinel

Publication Date: May 14th, 2021

Genre: Supernatural Horror

Publisher: Eerie River Publishing

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET YOUR SON BACK?

Something is lurking within the woods just beyond the young Dreyer family’s new country home. And an evil that has been hiding in plain sight for centuries is about to emerge.

A neighbor is brutally murdered, their 4-year-old son goes missing in broad daylight, and the local town of Bensalem devolves into a cesspool of finger-pointing and chaos.

With nowhere left to turn, Aaron and Ellen Dreyer are forced to venture into the woods to find their son. But in the process, they uncover a force larger and more sinister than anything they ever could have imagined.

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Excerpt

But from that nothingness, something arose. A click-clacking of claws on hardwood perforated the stillness. It started faintly and grew louder, closer, until a pair of glowing, yellow eyes suddenly stared back at him from the center of the room. Cooper’s eyes. Cooper stood there watching, alert. Aaron pushed himself up off the couch. “You okay? Come here.” But the dog did not heed his owner, instead lumbering through the living room to the front door. It, too, faced the front yard and the meadow across the street. “You need to go out?” With his nose an inch from the solid oak door and his eyes glaring right into it, Cooper’s ears pinned themselves back, and his upper lip curled, exposing a trap of lethal white teeth. His tail, which usually bounced along as he walked, divined itself straight down towards the ground, and his back legs began to quiver. Cooper glared at the door, slightly shaking, growling in a triggered rage. “Cooper, knock that off.” Aaron stood and faced the living room windows. Nothing seemed out of place in the front yard or the meadow, but Cooper continued to growl, his volume low enough not to wake Ellen or Caleb, but so downright out of place for a dog of his character that Aaron kept his distance. Then, like a photo somehow coming alive, a dark object moved on the perfectly-still canvas. A shadow at the edge of the pine forest on the right-hand side of the meadow pulled itself out of the thick black trees.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

169252069_154272549921239_7726660176042288229_n

An Amazon bestselling author of horror and dark fiction, Drew Starling is a husband and dog dad who loves strong female leads, martial arts, and long walks in the woods with canine companions. He would like to think his plots are better than his prose, but strives to make his words sound both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. He listens to Beethoven, Megadeth, and Enya when he writes, and he’d be absolutely delighted if you’d consider joining his mailing list (which you can find a link to about one and a half mouse scrolls up this page). His only rule of writing: the dog never dies.

Drew Sterling | Twitter | Facebook | Amazon

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#MiniBlogTour “The Search: A Dust Bowl Romance” by Tiffani Velez

TheSearch

Welcome to the tour for The Search: A Dust Bowl Romance by Tiffani Velez! Check this brand new Historial Romance and enter for a chance to win a $25 Amazon e-Gift Card!

thesearchbookcoverThe Search

Publication Date: March 2021

Genre: Historical Fiction/ 20th Century/ Romance

The Great Depression and Dust Bowl have destroyed Melinda’s home, her community, and her family, leaving her alone in a world of aimless refugees. Just when she thinks there’s nothing else left in life to fight for, a stranger seeks shelter in her schoolhouse on the most violent storm of the decade. Jake is running from the memories of another life, using his assignment with the National Relief Administration to keep him distracted from the realities of anti-Semitism in 1930s America. As he documents the life of migrants on the road to a better life in California, and makes Melinda his focus, the horizon brightens. Together, Melinda and Jake start to piece their lives back together. But when they push against the odds, betrayal and trauma threaten to separate them forever. Will they find each other again, or are they lost to the violence of migrant camps and their own desperation? From the author of All This Time, comes the debut historical romance, The Search: A Dust Bowl Love Story. Velez weaves a romantic thriller into a classic American tale about love, loss, and redemption.

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EXCERPT

Chapter One

Melinda

…Just as I headed towards my desk, the front door burst open, slamming against the wall. A stranger stood in the doorway, tall and over six feet. His coal-black hair was covered in dust. Or what I thought might be coal-black hair was covered in dust. He was head to toe, nearly invisible underneath the soot. I don’t know if I could have recognized him even if I knew who he was.

“Ma’am—” He bent over and wheezed, grasping at any bit of clean air he could find. “Ma’am,” he repeated and fell against one of the desks. I climbed over his large frame and pushed hard against the raging wind to shut and latch the door again. I had to drop all the coats and lunch pails. “Lord have mercy!” I couldn’t help screaming at the sight of him.

“Help,” he pleaded, reaching a filthy hand up to me.

If he weren’t dressed in decent wool trousers and a leather jacket, I would have thought him possibly a hobo off the Santa Fe line that crisscrossed through these parts twice a week. But he had to be some sort of salesman or something. I didn’t have the time to study him further or assess his peculiar image on the floor of my schoolhouse.

“Just a minute,” I said, scooping the jackets and pails back up and rushing them into the supply closet, where I hastily dealt them out. I didn’t know who this man was, so I wouldn’t let him inside our storm shelter, but I wouldn’t let him die out there in the classroom on my watch either.

I grabbed one of the tin mugs I kept in the closet for coffee, back when we still had enough fuel to heat the woodstove. It had once been my favorite early morning activity. I would heat the percolator and pour myself a cup of hot, musky coffee before the students arrived. But even coffee was a dream these days. The Depression and the Dust Bowl had robbed us of nearly everything. For some of us, even our lives. I feared this was where we might all be headed right now, and my one consolation was that, at least, the children were with someone who loved them as much as their desperate mothers did. And I knew their mothers were all thinking this very same thing now, hiding in closets and bathrooms in their homes, far from their babies—the only thing they had left in the world.

I gave the man a drink of water, which he gulped down like a hungry animal. “More, please?” “Okay, but just one cup more. I need the rest for the children. We don’t know how long we’ll be hunkered down in here.” The storm howled like a banshee as it scraped against the red clay earth of Oklahoma. This man was a stranger. I didn’t want him too close to the children.

The Search: A Dust Bowl Love Story Leibert Creek Press Pennsylvania Copyright ©2021 Tiffani Velez All rights reserved.

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About the Author

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Tiffani Velez has been a freelance writer since 1996. Her work has appeared in The Feminine Collective, Toe Good Poetry, Yahoo! News, and many more places. Her novels have been featured in the Annual Conference of Jewish Librarians, The New York Book Festival, and The Big Thrill Magazine and all have been bestsellers in their Amazon categories. The Search is her fifth book and fourth novel. She lives in Pennsylvania with her family.

Tiffani Velez

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