Synopsis When an unstoppable warlord meets an unyielding rebel, their link becomes a new force of nature.Taryn's dream of forging an alliance with a powerful alien race has become a nightmare. She is linked to a ruthless warlord, an alien killing machine who could destroy humanity on a whim.Taryn will go down fighting before she surrenders to the monster invading her mind.But in her struggle to regain control, she finds her tormentor has irreversibly changed her, and she has in turn changed him. The link is turning her into a weapon, drawing strength from the world-slayer who had no regard for another's life—until now.As death and destruction erupt around them, they carve their way out of their old lives with a single common purpose: unite their forces and change the future. Excerpt The elevator slows and stops. It opens onto a broad, dim corridor with sparkling walls arched outward like the curvature of a tunnel. The alien nudges me out, and the shift in gravity shunts me into the air. I flail, but manage to land on my feet, my stomach in my throat. Half a g, at most. I bound across the elastic floor, an awkward smile creeping up my face as my mask relaxes. Soft blue light renders the glittering walls and floor into an uncannily good impression of outer space. The alien walks quietly beside me. I can't read its facial expression, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't enjoy the change of environment. It's tenser than before, its movements brisker. Curves and bends in the spacious corridor pass without comment, until the alien brings one hand down on my shoulder and halts us both. "Prepare," it rumbles, and turns me to face the wall on our right. A new doorway opens, and I'm pushed into a round room, maybe five meters wide. There's a single white chair at the center, reminiscent of a gamer's hub. But I doubt he brought me here to play VR games. "Prepare for what?" The alien grunts, picks me up as if I weigh nothing, and plants me into the chair. "Hey, wait a minute, this—" "Prepare." It presses a heavy hand against me, jabbing the barbs of my mandible pendant into my chest. I clench my jaw as the Dorylinae chitin punctures my skin. The alien rakes its claws along the side of the chair, and I'm immobilized. All I can do is stare into the glowing eyes of my alien captor. Then it rips my mask off. The air reeks of ethanol and molten plastic. My eyes and throat start to burn. Every muscle screams to fight, to run. But I can't move. Panic snakes through me, stirring up old nightmares. I was twelve when the TMC bombed the Dorylinae hives and killed everyone I knew. They weeded out survivors by their informative value, like data chips. I got passed along repeatedly until I landed on a command carrier, where I was recognized as the daughter of xenologist and traitor Gregory Harber, and his equally traitorous wife, Mira. I was suddenly interesting to the Ticks, and with that interest came a long procession of interrogations, brain probes, and drug-sustained virtual torture. The Ticks fucked with my mind so much it took me years—after I escaped and hitched

Listen Inside - Daily book previews from Readers in the Know by Simon Denman

The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1) By Veronica Sicoe

Synopsis After losing his sight in a terrible accident, only to learn that the woman he was planning to marry did not love him enough to accept him, Damien Falconer was devastated. Struggling to cope with his disability, he isolated himself from society, allowing no one to get close to him, but his personal assistant, Jake. Upon learning Jake was soon to leave his employ and return to Scotland, Damien was forced to advertise for his replacement. Among the applicants who answered his ad was Lisa Andrews, a registered nurse from Connecticut. But Damien was adamant that he would not be replacing Jake with a woman. His argument was, he did not feel comfortable with a woman doing the things that Jake did for him, but one whiff of Lisa’s unique scent and Damien found himself fighting a blistering physical attraction the likes of which he’d never known before. Should he hire her or should he ignore what his “other” senses were screaming at him, about this woman. Damien rustled with the question for several days, but in the end, he caved. And so began a hunger for a woman he couldn’t see...could only recognize by her unique scent...yet wanted like he’d never wanted anything before. Excerpt Ms. Andrews walked into the room, and Damien felt the air leave his lungs. He could not see her, but he sensed Jake’s reaction too. He was not certain if he was mirroring Jake’s reaction to the candidate or whether his overactive imagination was playing a trick on him. Whatever the reason, he had a physical reaction to whomever it was that walked into his library. She was polite and calm, and he sensed she had a smile on her face because Jake had an answering smile in his voice when he greeted her. Poor Damien, he couldn’t see a thing, but boy, was he aware of her. He could smell the fragrance she was wearing, and it was doing strange things to his body. There was a hint of jasmine, mixed with a bit of musk, but the overwhelming scent was of violet. He recognized the scent because of the perfusion of violet plants that grew in the garden surrounding his house. It was his favorite flower. He was never tired of sitting on the porch just inhaling its heady fragrance. On Ms. Andrews, the fragrance was positively intoxicating. The mixture of violet with her unique scent was overpowering. Damien was almost in pain from the strength of his physical reaction to her. He was uncomfortable in his seat and kept fidgeting to get a more comfortable position. He did not want either Jake or the young woman to notice his discomfort. He desperately wanted to see the woman who was in his library, but he had to be content with listening to her responses to Jake’s questions. She sounded a bit flustered because she would begin each response with a slight nervous laugh, and Jake would respond in kind. This exchange between the two infuriated Damien, who wanted to participate in the conversation. He interrupted one of Jake’s questions to her with one of his own. “Tell me, Ms. Andrews, how long have you been out of school?” He knew the answer because Jake had briefed him on all the candidates ahead of time, but he wanted to ask her a different question to throw her off. She responded with the same little laugh. “About eight years this month, and I can assure you, I have the experience needed to be your personal assistant.” “We’ll see,” was all he could think of by way of a response. He tried to tune out the sound of her voice and concentrate on Jake’s questions, but that proved to be very difficult because he found himself trying to interpret every nuance in her voice as if his very life depended on his understanding her. He became annoyed with himself and signaled for Jake to end the interview. This time he did not move his head, either once or twice. It was left to Jake to make the decision whether or not to have Ms. Andre

The Odor of Violet by Ju Ephraime

Synopsis “This novel is a book in which I was able to express a new divine awareness.  I realized I had experienced a lot in life that had left me strewn and unsettled; the book brought about the resurgence of a strong feeling of cohesion.  In this book I have tried to present some of the elementary principles of human nature that can be outside of perceiving, but not outside of holding dear, I call it “Ugly People.”  For example, the violence of feelings, the slave of passion and the dark tyranny of despair.  My life might not have been full of ease and luxury; but I preferred to glorify my existence, as I lived it, enticed by the wealth of experiences placed in my path.  Watching the world around me, I became interested in Fate.  Stories, of the sudden deaths of the rich and famous awakened even more trains of thought on Destiny.  We strive to travel, what we think are the right paths in life, but, does destiny have to have the final say?  Is  fate everywhere we are, involved in everything we do and not only just the end?  What do you think?  On, that same note, I would answer, “Yes, it does!” And so this book was born.  I could feel my heart glow with excitement and enthusiasm as I wrote this book.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.”    Excerpt I remember the day we visited Dane's older brother in the hospital. He had his appendix removed. As we walked into his room we had to pass bed one and there lie a man bandaged for burns. I staggered backwards from the sight. All I could really see were his eyes and so much pain in them. Dane and I learned that his wife boiled a huge pot of grits, fed up with his physical abuse, waited until he was asleep. She carefully removed the covers he was sleeping under and threw that pot of steaming hot, sticky grits on him. It was a horrific sight to see! He lay there silent as a tomb, obviously suffering. The image stuck in my head.   A week later, Dane staggered around the house, naked, trying to find the bathroom. Frustrated, trying to avoid cleaning up more piss, I decided to get up and guide him to the toilet. To my horror, he had walked into the baby's room. He bumped into the crib and stood there peeing all over our son. Rage crawled up my spine! It was as if I'd blacked out and became someone else! I don't even remember jumping him from behind. You'd better believe I did. We fell back onto the floor. We wrestled up off the floor and all the way through the house. One of my house shoes knocked loose. He grabbed my arms painfully I squirmed loose. "Stop it, Dani" He kept yelling.   I wanted to hurt him! We battled, until we were bumping up against the front door. My robe had fallen off and I was naked. He tried to open the front door and push me outside. He had done that before, leaving me shivering and pleading to get back in. However, this time he couldn't manage. I had the strength of Wonder Woman. We fell to the floor, again. We were deep into a violent War Dance. HE HAD PEED ON MY BABY! I was in a witch-hunt hysteria! He was going to burn one way or another! I managed to get to my feet. I bent over his body, close to his face and roared and slapped him with a strength that rose up from my toes to the tips of the fingers on that hand. His head wobbled, "Do you remember, the grits? DO YOU! You sleep soundly at night!" I let out a demonic roar!   His eyes were big as saucers. He couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't move. I strutted out of that room, butt naked to bathe my screaming baby. Once we were speaking, again, Dane admitted he was jealous of the baby! I liste

To Dance With Ugly People By Lorene Hill

Synopsis Fast approaching forty, life’s experiences haven’t mellowed Terry Gallagher. He’s become an angry man. Sickened by the mindless violence all around him while trying to come to terms with his own thuggish past, he despairs as his near neighbour, old Mr. Johnson, war hero, is almost beaten to death in his own home while the police fail to bring anyone to justice. He rails at the apathy and neglect of incompetent politicians past and present who use an already deprived community as a dumping ground for social misfits, bad debtors, drug addicts and so called economic migrants. This was your legacy If you had the misfortune to grow up on the notorious Broughton estates, and all that Terry Gallagher had wanted to do was make a difference... From these lawless streets, a rag bag bunch of thirteen year old scallies are shaped into a football team by one disillusioned man and his unwilling buddy. On a forgotten piece of waste ground, with stolen scaffolding for goalposts and a twenty-four hour pitch surveillance protection programme patrolled through the telescopic sight of a .22 air rifle, this team of dead end kids begin their adventure. From an inauspicious start in the local Junior District Football league to potential glory in the prestigious County Cup, for Terry Gallagher and West Broughton Albion, the season unfolds amidst a backdrop of squalor, depravity, manic depression, heroin addiction, Yardies, guns, and death; where a web of bizarre and tragic circumstances transpire to push the emotional and mental state of this reluctant philanthropist to the limit and ultimately tip him over the edge. Excerpt   ‘Duane?’ he called tentatively. ‘Duane?’ he called out again, a little louder, hardly daring to move from the bare, damp hall. He accidentally kicked the busted Yale lock that went scurrying across the floor before smacking itself to a halt up against the skirting. He thought he heard the whimper again and he slowly edged his way towards the sound, into the room that still had the meagre curtains pulled across the window where a small shaft of light penetrated the gloom through a gap at the top where they didn’t quite meet. Then he saw her. He froze stock still in shock. He’d been half expecting to come across something terrible, but the sight that confronted him still managed to stop him in his tracks. He tried to swallow but his saliva glands had stopped working and his sweat had started to dry cold on him. He peered into the half-light and held on to his breath. She was dead; he could see that. He inched his way into the room on feet that were reluctant to move until he could see her face, tipped back at a grotesque angle. One eye had settled up inside her head while the other, from behind a half-closed lid, stared out beyond him. Her head wasn’t the right shape; it was puffed and swollen. Curiously, just one side of her face, the one that was turned away against shoulder and settee, had become a ghastly, grey-blue colour; heavy and deformed, like all fluid had drained and settled there from other parts that were now colourless, waxy. There was vomit from her mouth, dried and congealed in a reservoir between her neck and shoulder. Terry held his sleeve up to his face and tried to breathe sparingly. At some point she had let go of all her bodily functions and the smell was unbearable. He recoiled and tried to stop himself gipping; in t

The Albion By Derryl Flynn

Synopsis After Billy Reeves had survived a poverty ridden and violent childhood on a council estate in Newcastle he thought he had it all; a loving family, money and respect but a face from the past with a point to prove and muscles to flex is out to bring  his world crashing down on him. He turns down an offer of a job with Tyneside’s most paranoid  and psychotic gang lord and is faced with bent police, a corrupt judge, an army of bouncers and the knowledge that if he makes one wrong move in this game of cat and mouse his family will end up imprisoned, abused or worse. Billy is going to have to work very hard just to keep everyone he cares about alive and that means the gloves are coming off... Excerpt He's waiting in the alley under the bridge for me; I spotted that big, pretentious Shogun of his by Kwiksave. It's a contradiction of visions that just sums up the coke addled, muddled up prick quite nicely. Vince Merry, he believes himself to be the top man on Tyneside, my nemesis for so many years. He's had my little brother put away for murder and burnt down his business, threatened my ageing mother with violence, killed owld Dave and now he wants me. Well now he gets me, all of me. I'm at the entrance to the alley under the bridge, there's only one streetlight and I'm under it, darkness and shadows all around me, the fine rain is visible against the light and the wind blows sweet wrappers around my feet. I feel in my jacket pocket for the knuckle-duster, its chunky, solid feel is reassuring. Sighing softly I look up into the Newcastle night sky for what could possibly be the last time and wonder how it ever came to this. Over thirty years of keeping my head down and not offending the big boys, playing it safe and paying my dues every time and still, in the end, I have to fight it out with them. The streetlight is slightly comforting, it's got a warm yellow glow to it but it doesn't lift my mood, I would give anything to be cuddling up to Lisa now. Growing up where and how I did I've always known that life's not fair, I constantly expect to have people shit on me, I accept this and probably deep down knew that one day it would come to this. I think I even half knew it would be with this wanker as well. Weary and resigned to my fate I have to start this thing. I hope I finish it. 'Merry,’ I call into the blackness. There's a rustling sound and two figures step forward into the half-light. Big Tony stands to the right of Merry, a tattooed behemoth, all broad shoulders, big neck and massive biceps, Merry himself is brandishing a big blade, again, I expected this. My heart is pounding as the adrenalin rushes through my 9 Andy Rivers body, my legs feel frozen to the floor and my internal system is asking the question fight or flight? Understandably my brain is screaming flight but my heart knows the score and is telling me that I must fight, I've got to put him to bed once and for all. Looking at the knife, I go for the token question. 'Thought it was a straightener?' He smiles at me without humour and replies, 'Grow up Billy, we're not at school any more.' There's nothing more to say, it's time to start the endgame. Putting my duster on my right fist I smile back and step into the alley towards them. 

Maxwell's Silver Hammer by Andy Rivers

Synopsis What if evil visited the one place where you feel the most safe? Following the breakup of her marriage, Rachael retreats to the old beachhouse in Jenny's Cove, where she once lived with her grandmother. It is the one place where she had always felt safe and loved. Devasted and lost, Rachael longs for the simplicity of her childhood.  But Jenny’s Cove has changed. From the moment of Rachael’s arrival, a man watches. He has already killed, and mercilessly will do so again. Soon Rachael becomes a target for a vicious predator whose own dark and twisted past forms a deadly bond between them. And sets her on a collision course with a crazed killer.

Chill Waters by Joan Hall Hovey

Synopsis Rose Haldane is confident about her identity. She pulls the same face as her grandfather when she has to do something she doesn’t want to do, she knows her DNA is the same as his. Except it isn’t: because Rose is adopted and doesn’t know it. 'Ignoring Gravity' connects two pairs of sisters separated by a generation of secrets. Finding her mother’s lost diaries, Rose begins to understand why she has always seemed the outsider in her family, why she feels so different from her sister Lily. Then just when she thinks there can’t be any more secrets… Excerpt Rose Haldane is confident about her identity. She pulls the same face as her grandfather when she has to do something she doesn’t want to do, she knows her DNA is the same as his. Except it isn’t: because Rose is adopted and doesn’t know it. Ignoring Gravity connects two pairs of sisters separated by a generation of secrets. Finding her mother’s lost diaries, Rose begins to understand why she has always seemed the outsider in her family, why she feels so different from her sister Lily. Then just when she thinks there can’t be any more secrets… In this scene, Rose meets with social worker Mrs Greenaway, to receive the official records of her adoption in 1968.         ‘…I know I’m older than average for making this sort of discovery. I don’t blame myself for whatever it was that made my birth parents give me away, they had their reasons. I just want to understand. I’m not seeking to blame them for inadequacies in my own life.’ She glanced out of the window. The view was a red brick wall, the glass speckled with raindrops. She could feel Mrs Greenaway’s eyes focussed on her left ear. ‘I have had a fantasy since I was a child that I had a friend, a friend who was fun to play with, a friend who understood me.’ She swallowed. ‘Since I found out I was adopted, I’ve wondered if she might be my lost sister, if she was some residual memory from when I was a baby, that I have a real elder sister.’ Wanda’s face swam into focus. ‘But the sister you grew up with, err…’ Mrs Greenaway looked down at the file again. ‘Lily.’ ‘Yes, Lily. She is still your sister. You grew up together, you share a common history. No one can take that away from you.’ Rose looked Mrs Greenaway straight in the eye. ‘No, they can’t. But I’m tired of wondering. I want to know if I have a lost sister or not, so can we just get on with it?’ ‘Sometimes the birth mother may be dead or…’ ‘Or a criminal, or worse. Yes, I know. I have thought about these things.’ And I’m trying to be positive, Rose reprimanded herself. My mother could be a businesswoman, an actress, an opera singer, an author. A journalist, like me. Mrs Greenaway straightened her shoulders as if she had made a decision. Rose leant forwards. Is this it? ‘You have a legal right to the following information.’ Mrs Greenaway’s voice sounded as if she were quoting from an official handbook. ‘Here is Form CA5.’ She pushed a sheet of paper across the desk towards Rose, text side down. ‘It gives you the information on your original birth certificate: your name at birth, the names of your birth parents, and the district of your birth. I’ll give yo

Ignoring Gravity (Rose Haldane, Identity Detective Book 1) by Sandra Danby

Synopsis When unimaginable calamities strike, Mercy Carver, a poor London woman, wonders what she has done to deserve such immeasurable suffering. It is only when she faces imminent death in the snow and ice-encrusted Virginia wilderness that she finally understands the power of destiny. After escaping from sadistic criminals, she crosses an ocean and falls in love with Jacob Stone, a plantation owner determined to fight Abraham Lincoln and his government. Mercy is passionate. She loves and hates in equal measure. Can love and hatred give her the strength she needs now to reach a Northern state and free a runaway slave, wanted for murders she committed, in order to save him? America and her people are strangled in an uncompromising political stalemate. Southern states have seceded from the Union, and a civil war is imminent. Will Jacob find Mercy before he is embroiled in a war which could see them separated forever? Can Mercy’s determination to exact revenge on the criminal who imprisoned her be realised before she is forced to make a choice between her love for a slave owner and her ambition to assist fugitive slaves? Mercy Carver: her journey is just beginning. Excerpt Mercy, dazed, bewildered, and terrified, stood in a bedraggled line with the other girls. She was afraid to move a muscle, even though her aching limbs demanded that she do so in order to free herself of painful cramps. She was terrified of being noticed or of allowing a sound to leave her mouth. Cold air was not responsible for making her teeth chatter. No, they clicked together in a song of fear. She was exhausted, sick, and trying her utmost to stand on unsteady feet. Her wrists and ankles were raw and covered in dried blood in places because of her determined efforts to free herself from the ropes that had bound her. Her face was stinging, swollen, and bruised as though she’d been punched. Her mouth was still half open due to the painful hours she’d spent gagged, and her lips were swollen to twice their normal size with several doses of chloroform. Horrific images floated through her mind, but she was not having a nightmare. She was not dreaming this. This was a conscious experience that she could neither comprehend nor associate anything with. The chloroform was still lingering in her system, but she attempted to focus her thoughts on exactly what had happened to her. She had offered to help a man who was worried about his wife. The man in question was now standing alongside another man right here in this stable. She couldn’t believe stupidity and trust had led her to this. It was an unimaginable horror. Getting tied up was not an experience she had any recollection of at all. She had woken up on the floor with back-breaking pain. Only then had she discovered her tethered body. She remembered sporadic drinks of water because of the painful procedure involved. The smelly rag that gagged her mouth had been pulled off her face and then replaced, stinging her skin. The drops of liquid poured on it had sent her into an abyss of darkness, without dreams each time. Her tongue was numb. Her mouth was so dry that it was difficult to swallow her saliva. She had no clue as to her whereabouts. Was she far from home or was home close by? No, she determined, home was not nearby. London was not that big, and they had been on the road for a long time. She had to conclude, therefore, that they were nowhere near the city or i

Mercy Carver: Dark Shadows by Jana Petken

Synopsis Sandy Lovett's confused mother and chaotic life are having an effect on her waistline. She knows she needs to change her life but doesn't know how until she buys a risqué dress which sets in motion a sequence of life-changing events. After years as a mother, carer and full-time employee, Sandy quits her job and places her mother in a care home, and life seems on the up. But disaster is never far away for the hapless Sandy as her mother’s obsessions continue to wreak havoc and her husband’s business begins to fail. Short of cash and needing a flexible job, Sandy joins a sex-chat service. At The Beaver Club Sandy discovers a talent for selling telephone sex - a skill she later regrets when she meets unscrupulous local politician and prospective MP, Trewin Thackeray. The Changing Room is a comedy-drama for all those whose glass is half-full. Preferably with gin and a big fat cherry. Excerpt “Did I tell you I used to play cards during the war?” says Mum. “Yes, you did,” I say, trying to disguise the weariness in my voice. “We played for hours in the shelter. I learnt poker, bridge, crib and rummy. They called me The Whizz Card Kid. When I got evacuated I lived with Mr and Mrs Swanson. They had a big house near Bletchley Park.” Mum leans forward conspiratorially and taps the side of her nose. “Mr Swanson did something top secret.” “Really?” I say, trying my best to sound interested, even though I’ve heard this story numerous times. I stir my crème de menthe with my orange Matchmaker and suck it luxuriously to alleviate the boredom. “Yes. He was a code breaker. Only we didn’t know back then. It was all very hush-hush.” Mum picks up another card, studies her hand intensely, and puts down the three of spades. This seems odd as she’s only recently put down the two of spades. “Hmm, curious,” I say, smoking my Matchmaker like Sherlock Holmes. I take another puff of my Matchmaker and rue the fact that Dr Watson is not here to assist me – or indeed anyone with some new conversation. Evenings can be very, very long with Mum. “Of course, even though Mr Swanson was a code breaker, he couldn’t beat me at cards,” says Mum. “Not even when I drank some of their home brew cider and got tipsy.” “Well, I’m not surprised you beat him,” I say. “You’ve always had an excellent memory.” And don’t I know it, I groan inwardly. I could repeat all of Mum’s stories in my sleep. In fact, I could repeat all of Mum’s stories in my sleep, whilst inebriated. “I was the best in the class at tables,” boasts Mum, interrupting my train of thought. “Ask me any and I’ll know the answer!” Mum’s eyes light up with excitement at the thought of a maths challenge. I decide to go with the flow. “What’s seven times seven?” “Forty nine!” “Six times eight?” “Forty eight!” “Nine times seven?” “Sixty three!” “What’s nine times three, multiplied by two, minus thirteen?” “Forty one!” exclaims Mum, striking the table.

The Changing Room: A British Comedy of Love, Loss and Laughter by Jane Turley

Synopsis They take his sister, attack his family and mean to kill him with extreme prejudice … What’s a guy to do? BIZZ is a greedy collusion of organised crime, banking, government, business, politicians and corrupted spooks. They’re making lot’s of money. They aim to stay invisible, and no one gets in their way. When investigative journalist, Eilidh Duncan, uncovers BIZZ … it’s only a matter of time When BIZZ finds Eilidh … uhh-ohh! When big brother, Sam Duncan, wonders why she’s offline … OMG! Sam goes to London and joins some dots … KABOOM! Excerpt Nearby, the executioner waited, patient and ready. He couldn’t kill the soldier in the pisser, not with publicity one of the goals. Tension-fuelled humour rippled in his gut.   In a lavatory stall, air cut by a sharp scent of bleach, the target pulled out a Browning Hi Power. He jacked a round into the chamber and eased the safety-catch off.  He stepped from the cubicle, ready. Empty space. He made a quizzical face at the mirror, eased the gun back into his holster and headed for the door. The urinals hissed to chase him away. No evidence, no clues, only inkling. Probably nothing, but he trusted his inner voice.   Across the way, the assassin appeared to scratch his back, touching the grip of a concealed pistol. He didn’t care about the impact of his action on bystanders. Nightmares and trauma lay beyond his concern and taking someone out in public made for an exciting mission. He visualised the kill: up behind the victim; barrel close to the bump at the base of the skull; the shot; the drop of the body; the coup de grâce; and a swift exit.  Imagining the escape, and excited camaraderie with the driver, gave the killer a fantastic rush. Tension became tense elation as the final trigger-pull neared. Another notch on the gun. He looked forward to the pub, in a few hours. A quiet meeting of recognition with the commander. Glowing eyes and handshakes. The powerful affirmation, adulation and whispered congratulations. Knowing glances and nods. He dissociated murder from the rest of his life; without doubt, a loving family man.   The target reappeared, walking among the shoppers. His wide-shouldered, lean frame, dressed casually in jeans, a country shirt, tweed jacket and Chelsea boots blended in. Easy movement suggested strength and lithe athleticism. Curling dark brown hair blew about, ruffled by fingers of breeze. The sun brightened the world for a few seconds, only to hide once more behind surging clouds.   O’Reilly left a shop window and followed walking briskly behind his quarry. Twenty metres, fifteen, ten ... The adrenaline flowed, yet his breathing stayed measured and movements precise. A car door slammed. Bus brakes squealed and hissed. Neither diverted his focus as he closed behind his victim.  He raised his pistol. The sun came out. His toe stubbed on an uneven pavement slab deflecting his aim and affecting his balance. Worse, his silhouette betrayed him as it strode abreast of the mark.  At an instinctive, professional level the prey understood the silhouette’s hand movement. The target faced the inevitable. Honed instincts and train

The Angels' Cut (The Angels' Share series Book 1) by Mac Logan

Synopsis These are linked stories, in the spirit of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine. They are about a sixteen-year old girl, Kedzie Greer, who was raised in a utopian community and leaves home to make her way in a dystopian society. The year is 2199; the place, the Reunited States.In these stories, technology coexists with a haunted world. There are witches and robots, ghosts and e-beasts, a mystical lake and a human warehouse. Excerpt In the end, it was the town gates that got to Kedzie. The gates were symbols of the caged feeling that was driving her crazy, and the fact that they had stood for hundreds of years was particularly maddening. Except for the summer tourists who came to gawk at what they called its quaintness, no one new ever showed up in Stillwater. Everybody who was already there knew everybody else who was already there. She could not walk past those heavy ironwork gates without wanting to shake them and cry out. The vigilbots that manned the gates were polite and amiable. They said hello and wished you Godspeed. Although in 2199 vigilbots could be legally programmed to kill, the worst the Stillwater bots could do was surround people and deliver mild, persistent electric shocks. This, too, exasperated Kedzie. Why bother having a defense if it did not actually defend you? Kedzie had ridden her bicycle over every street in Stillwater. She had been inside most of the houses. She had been to every community celebration: Christmas, Yule, Thanksgiving, Halloween, the first day of spring, summer, fall, winter. She had been to every picnic, done every volunteer job. Every step she took, she had taken before. All the shopkeepers said, “Hi, Kedzie,” when she entered. Kind Mr. Glimm always gave her a piece of candy, not caring to notice that she was an adult of sixteen. In the Reunited States in 2199, sixteen-year-olds were economically accountable for themselves. They had no legal right to be supported by anyone. Kedzie was so well-loved that it never occurred to her that one of the consequences of turning sixteen was that her parents could force her out. All she knew was that if she wanted to leave, her parents had no legal power to make her stay. Kedzie’s parents, Julia Margoles and Adele Freyer, practiced white witchcraft. As faithfully as any believers of old, they celebrated the Sabbats, they prayed to the God and Goddess. They did no harm to any creature on Earth. Kedzie had heard them say many times that they lived in harmony with “the great round”—the turning earth and the tenets of their faith. It was fortunate that they never pressured Kedzie to adopt their beliefs, because she did not believe in anything they said or did. The idea of devoting her life to benign witchcraft—home, community, nature, and smiling—made her itch and toss restlessly in bed. She did not see what was so great about those elaborate stories her parents called spells: Now walk into the forest. In a clearing, you will see a golden well with a bucket suspended from a rope. Lower the bucket into the well. All her parents’ incantations sounded like that. “We live in a false bubble,” she said to her parents. “Stillwater is unreal.” Her mother Julia said that Stillwater was the real world. “Outside is the place of unreality,” she said. “It is not easy to live as we do,” her mother Adele said. “We have to choose to do right every day of our lives, and it can be very, very tiresome. We do not alway

New Sun Rising: Ten Stories by Lindsay Edmunds

Synopsis Lady Chrissie Wellsby and her two country friends research dozens of rogues before selecting the notorious Viscount Hawkesbury, owner of London’s most exclusive and expensive brothel, to educate them in erotic seduction. The ladies abandon respectability and coerce Justin Tremayne into letting them visit The Pleasure House and to teaching them the sensual tricks mistresses and prostitutes use to entertain men.  Though Justin believes three naive ladies will see the debauched romps in his themed rooms, cover their eyes and ears, and run back to their sheltered lives, he underestimates the desperation of abandoned women who imagine a wider knowledge of sex will keep the men in their lives at home, in their own beds. But despite watching several of their friends, men and women, perform raunchy acts at his brothel, the ladies insist on participating in the last of Justin’s infamous Sultan’s galas, held in numerous silk tents and outdoor bathing areas on his estate.  Justin concedes to Chrissie’s demands only to gain information about his long-lost mother and sisters, but the world-weary viscount falls head over heels in love with his emotionally bruised pupil. He yearns for a wife, children, and an uncomplicated wife, but can he convinced Chrissie to take a chance and marry again? Because Justin never wants to leave her bed. Excerpt ”Remove that hideous gown!” Justin Tremayne, known in amusement-    seeking society as Handsome Hawkesbury or the Virile Viscount, struggled to    hide his rising frustration. “I need to examine your body. All of it.”                                          ***    He smiled a little. “I’d still like to see a little more of you. I can’t    even see the color of your hair.” He pointed toward her groin. “Top or    bottom. Here, let me unbutton you,” he said, his fingers set to work on    her top button, brushing the soft skin of her nape as he did so.    She flinched and held tight to the gaping neck of her dress with    clenched fists. “Please. Listen to me. I’m not seeking employment.”    “Ah, then you’re simply a bitch in heat like all the others.    Wanting a lusty tale to recount to your upper- class friends over tea and    cake. Perhaps compare notes on Viscount Hawkesbury’s infamous    prowess.”    Her quick series of breaths hissed and sizzled like water spitting    on hot coals. He heard the girls tut-tutting nearby, but taunting, teasing,    and arousing the lioness who’d dared brave his den so late at night had    proved too delicious a temptation to resist. Only one more jest at her    expense and then he’d summon the butler and a couple of strong    footmen, and bid her farewell.    He turned, slowly and deliberately, and spoke to his two friends.    

The Viscount's Pleasure House (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 1) by Suzi Love

Synopsis When people call her a control freak, Peri Milano takes it as a compliment. As the preferred go-to special assistant to Philadelphia’s rich and almost famous, having everything under control is part of her job description.  With the organizational skills of a data processing program, the discretion of the CIA, and the creativity of an Ikea research and design engineer, Peri fulfills whatever whim her customers fancy and finds methods for their madness.   Never has she received a request she couldn’t complete nor a problem she couldn’t solve.  So when she finds the dead body of one of her clients and lands smack in the middle of a murder investigation, Peri simply adds a few more items on her to-do list. It's nothing she can’t handle.   But when another client receives a blackmail letter, her son’s type-1 diabetes nearly kills him and her mother ends up in jail (again), Peri starts to doubt whether anything is truly ever under control. She can’t help but wonder just who will be the next to Show Up Dead. Excerpt “Just stop saying things like that for a little while,” I said to my mother. “It’s too much for me to handle right now.” I sighed and turned to Mr. Wooley’s daughter. “Jacqueline, why did you kill your father?” “I DIDN’T KILL HIM!” She jumped up, knocking over her chair. “Why do people keep saying that?” She clenched her hands in front of her mouth. “Peri! You’re supposed to be taking care of me for the rest of my life! You can’t just accuse me of murder whenever you want!” “I’m not supposed to be taking care of you. I’m only responsible . . . Ugh! That doesn’t matter right now.” I dumped my tea in the sink and hit the coffeepot’s on button. “Let’s get back to square one. Jacqueline, why were you poisoning your father?” I picked up her chair. Jacqueline pulled herself together and returned to her chair. “Do you know what it’s like knowing your father is going to become your mother?” she asked. “You know, Archie and I experimented with that once,” Ma said. “Who is Archie?” Jacqueline asked, somehow making herself heard over me shrieking. “Jesus! Ma!” “Archie is my husband,” Ma continued. “We started our parenting adventure by deliberately reversing our roles so Peri wouldn’t grow up with the stereotypes of what a woman is supposed to be like, or a man. We wanted her to decide that for herself. It was very amusing. Except, we kept forgetting to follow through. Eventually, we got confused as to who was supposed to do what, so we decided to just let Peri teach us how to be parents.” “That explains so much,” Mel cheered me with her teacup. I nodded in return. If I had ever believed tears were useful, I may have allowed myself to cry. “Well, Ma, that’s not quite what Jacqueline means.” I sniffed. The coffee aroma calmed me. “What she’s talking about is that Mr. Wooley was planning on becoming, medically and completely, Miss Wooley.” “I see.” Ma sipped her tea. She poked a Sfogliatelle pastry as if she worried it might attack. “Arch and I never tried that, though I can see how Mr. Wooley would be so inclined. The man had a gift for color coordination.” 

Show Up Dead: A Sweet Murder from the City of Brotherly Love by Lisa Shiroff

Synopsis Kick back and enjoy this mini-anthology of spine-tingling short stories from Diane Wing, author of "Thorne Manor And Other Bizarre Tales" and "Coven: Scrolls of the Four Winds."   Another Walk in the Park: A familiar walking path leads to a disturbing encounter in an unexpected realm.   Dark Hollow Road: A grieving sister searches for her brother on a road notorious for missing persons.   The Restaurant: An adventurous foodie couple are consumed by a life-changing meal when they explore the peculiar cuisine at a mysterious new restaurant.   Wrong Directions: Jealousy prompts a technological genius to conjure a diabolical solution to deal with unfaithful husbands. Excerpt It was just another walk in the park. A gentle summer breeze blowing, rustling the dense leaves on the trees. The occasional chipmunk suddenly bounding across my path and disappearing on the other side. Butterflies flew alongside, guiding my journey. I followed the same path I had countless times before, knowing what was around the next bend, changes only made by the seasons. The big old oak ahead was mostly dead; yet refused to go quietly. Its twisted trunk, bulging bark, and thick, broken branches gave it an angry, evil countenance and dual personality when viewed from the other side, where its skin was smoother and new branches sprouted from the top of the broken trunk. There was a large opening at the base that I could fit inside easily to experience the spooky tree from its core, yet never did. It seemed an invasion to enter through this spirit portal. Out of respect, I looked in, but maintained our separateness. Teenaged black walnut trees danced in a circle to mark the boundary of a large grove, a sacred space that seemed to have an energy all its own. The grass grew thick, awaiting park employee intervention to trim it back. Just to the left, a four-foot high, rough-hewn headstone proclaimed that this was the site of the Winterton Mansion, circa 1785. There seemed to be an energetic residue left from the mansion, accompanied by a sense of foreboding. I had walked up to the stone many times, yet felt an invisible barrier that prevented me from moving past it and into the walnut grove. A friend of mine was with me on one of my woodland walks and as we stood before the headstone, she commented that the house does not like attention drawn to it and prefers that visitors disregard its presence. The story goes that the house burned down and that the area is haunted. Some park visitors have smelled smoke and heard screams. My visits had, up to this point, been uneventful, having established good rapport with the trees and nature spirits in the area. Yet there was always an underlying sense of an alternate dimension, of layers waiting to be discovered, and of the distant past wanting to be remembered, waiting to be explored. While usually approaching with great respect and reverence, this time felt different. It was as though the barrier was thinner, and the area was no longer off-limits. My feet were on the dirt path, but the grove beckoned me to visit, to experience, to cross into another time, another place. All six senses were on alert, prickling from past encounters with the area, teetering between honoring its solitude and an intense curiosity drawing me closer. Something tickled my ankle, and I realized I was standing in the overgrown grass halfway between the path and the headstone. The headstone glared at me in silence, daring me to come forward, to break the seal and the unspoken agreement we had to remain apart. I For Review Only - Do not distribute 2 Diane Wing telepathically assured this sacred space that I meant no harm and asked if I was being invited in.

Trips to the Edge: Tales of the Unexpected by Diane Wing

Synopsis Based on a true story. Ted and Florrie were childhood sweethearts who in 1936, married in the church on top of the Hill where they both lived, unaware of the dark rumblings from Europe, which in a few short years were to change their lives forever.  Ted is called up and joins an elite Airborne glider force tasked with capturing and holding the Pegasus and Horsa bridges in enemy-held Normandy vital to the success of the D-Day invasion. Their mission is a complete success but this is only the awful beginning. From there he continues to fight at the bloody Rhine Crossing, across Germany until finally meeting the Russian Army on the Baltic coast. Casualties are terrible.  In 1946 Ted is demobbed and returns to Florrie and his young family unscathed. But only physically so, for Florrie doesn't recognise the man who returns and soon the experience of constant death and the horror of battle takes its destructive toll on him. Both he and Florrie struggle to understand and come to terms with the problem in the buttoned-up society of the 1940s and 50s. To make matters worse, Florrie's mental health begins to deteriorate. How will Ted deal with this? With the same heightened sense of duty and loyalty that won the war, or will that same stubbornness turn on him and destroy him?  The story also looks at the lives of ordinary people in post-war England, at their values and culture, from the greyness of the fifties with the horse-drawn baker's van and the black footprints of the coal-man, to a country slowly emerging from the devastation of war and is a must read for fans of historical fiction.  Pegasus to Paradise is an ode to both the extraordinary efforts of ordinary men and women during the Second World War, and a moving portrait of duty, survival, humour and the power of love in post-war Britain. Excerpt Ted clicked through the metal gate and opened the front door. He would be glad to put all this shopping down. His forehead felt clammy and he rubbed a dull ache away in his chest. ‘Florrie. You there?’ There was no answer. Probably asleep. Better have a look. The landing was quite dim and he didn’t see it at first. The blood red smear on the white bathroom door and the mark of two fingers. ‘What the hell?’ The words gasped. Now he could see the dark drops on the landing carpet leading to the bedroom. His heart froze and he leant for a second against the wall. There was no sound. ‘Oh no Florrie.’ He pushed the bedroom door open, slowly, and stepped inside. Florrie was lying on her back on the bed, both arms outstretched. Her hands and arms and clothes were soaked red. A smudge of colour around her nose. A streak slashed across her throat. Her eyes closed. Behind her, the wall was smeared and splattered crimson. Ted recoiled as the violent scene screamed into his senses. ‘Jesus Christ.’ And hot tears flooded into his eyes. Then he realised. Something about the smell. This wasn’t blood. He knew what blood smelled like, lots of blood. And the colour...? He moved beside Florrie and placed his fingers on her neck. The pulse beat strongly. Beside her on the bed lay

Pegasus to Paradise by Michael Tappenden

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