Memory of Rivers Book Blitz #Giveaway @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #MemoryofRivers #ShelleyOdendahl #TimeTravelRomance

A Past Life Love Story

Time Travel Romance

Date Published: 09-09-2019

Publisher: Flyway Press LLC

Three Lifetimes, One Love – A Time Travel Romance

 

Vivid sensations and images from Diana’s dreams stream into her conscious mind. Are the dreams memories of her past lives?

As Kari, in prehistoric times, she dances in a coming-of-age ceremony in an ancient cave, with wild animals painted on the walls. Captivated by flute player, Lor, they promise to love each other forever, but dangers threaten their plans.

As Rachel, isolated in gold rush era Deadwood, she is mistreated by her drinking, gambling husband but finds comfort with Civil War veteran Sam. His harmonica music enchants Rachel as they draw together to soothe their lonely souls.

Now, in her life in 1972 Minnesota, Diana is drawn to singer-songwriter Eric. His songs and her memories, along with a deep longing for love, connects her soul with his. Is he the man from her dreams? Will they find happiness together at last?

 

“In an age of brief encounters and ‘friends with benefits,’ lasting love is a rare commodity. But you’ll find it here in Shelley Odendahl’s Memory of Rivers. Enjoy.” – Faith Sullivan, author of nine novels including the latest, Ruby and Roland.

Excerpt

As Eric continued to sing, I stared into his soul. Somehow then, I knew for certain that he was the man I loved, since my earliest memories, since pre-history. We met in a cave, and I danced to his music. Immersed in the past, I felt the dense smokiness of the cave’s enclosed space as the flute player captured my body and spirit. We were alone. Together.

With a slight shake of my head, I pulled myself back to the present, into the enclosed space of a bar, where the smoke of cigarettes hung in the air. My face and neck had grown prickly and hot, as if a mild electrical charge played on the surface of my skin. I focused on Eric, every bit of him, especially his eyes. I inhaled a quick breath when he stared back at me, as if my spirit had summoned his. Still singing, his voice was sensuous, velvet, as it caressed my body and settled into my being.

If, from the other we are ever lost,

Draw me in with your force of life

Somewhere inside, the truth resides,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

Our fates are entwined now and forever,

My dancer, my muse, my river nymph,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

 

His voice quietly held the last note of the song, as his fingers picked the final chord. We maintained eye contact, sharing a moment that began with our encounter at the cave ceremony, and traveled the spectrum of time and place, bringing our emotions into the present. Right now. We were seeing all of each other without ever before having met in this lifetime.

Eric broke eye contact and looked down at his guitar.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he told the crowd, as he put the guitar in its rack and stood up. He made his way toward the people at his table up front and sat down with them.

My hands trembled as I dug in my purse for a tissue, using it to dab my tear-filled eyes. What had just happened here? My heart over-flowed, incredulous that I had met my love. I still didn’t know what it all meant to my life today. Would he remember me, from our lives so long ago? What if he didn’t?

 

About the Author

Shelley Odendahl is the author of Serendipity and Other Travel Adventures – stories that cover forty years of touring the world with her husband Cliff.

This book brings readers along as they travel across the USA by motorcycle, and to Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Bali, and Patagonia, experiencing breathtaking highs, and lows that challenged the couple to create solutions along the way.

Shelley also wrote an inspirational book, Realize Your Dreams – Create an Action Plan for Life Transformation, and a time travel novel: Memory of Rivers – A Past Life Love Story.

She lives in Minnesota, USA, with her husband Cliff, where 10,000+ lakes, scenic rivers, majestic white pines, wildflowers, swans, and eagles nurture her spirit.

Her passions are traveling and writing about traveling, creating watercolors, appreciating art of all kinds, and baking her own Sourdough bread from a starter she created over 5 years ago. She enjoys hiking in National Parks, going to musical performances, and being on a lake in a boat.

Shelley is happiest when in the company of her husband, family and friends, with perhaps some food and wine involved.

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Cain's Chameleon Book Blitz #Giveaway @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #CainsChameleon #Historical #Fiction #giveaway

Historical Fiction

Date Published: 01-27-2026

Publisher: BearssLair Books

If the newspaper reported your death and no one questioned it, would you correct the mistake... or take the lifeline?

Dan Driscoll is consumed by gambling debt, cornered by bookies and loan sharks, forced to bet on one last scheme. When things turn violent and two people are shot, his best friend, Stan Neumann, swallows what he suspects. He can't risk divulging a closely-held family secret.

Then a body washes up on the Lake Michigan shoreline, and the lake gives Dan what the bookies never would: a way out. Authorities call it an accident and list him as the drowning victim. For Dan, it's an escape route delivered in black ink.

He becomes a ghost, an imposter, a chameleon. But lies don't stay buried.

As America is pulled into World War II, Stan enlists, choosing duty on his terms before the draft can rewrite his life. In Pearl Harbor, one chance encounter dredges up a name he thought was long buried.

War changes everything, but it doesn't erase unfinished business. And when the truth demands to be heard, how long can a stolen life stay buried before the past comes to collect?

Excerpt

Lucy wasn’t smiling like she used to when she folded her letter, slipped it into the envelope, sealed it with a kiss, and applied the three-cent stamp. Even the spring in her step lacked the zeal she typically exhibited during her walk to the post office. The words on the paper were true to her commitment. They spoke of the news from the home front, stories that helped Stan’s morale, and made sure her underlying message was being proud, supportive, and encouraging. The words wandering around in Lucy’s thoughts, however, were in stark contrast to this messaging.
Ever since Stan was assigned to the navy radar training school, Lucy had become more and more unsure in her belief that things would be okay. His work as an Aviation Machinists Mate stateside meant he was safe. And Minneapolis was relatively close to home. Being trained as a radarman for shipboard duties meant it was more likely he would be sent overseas into a combat zone. This caused a higher level of worry. Like everything else this war has put in short supply, her ration of optimism was slowly being depleted, and the resources for replenishing that reservoir were becoming scarce.
Her quandary was not letting Stan know about this foreboding, even though he was normally her most trusted sounding board. She tried to talk about this with her sister Millie. But Millie’s approach to these heartfelt struggles was to fix them, make them go away, or advise Lucy, “Try not to think about it.” This was not the type of support Lucy needed.
During her alone time, sitting staring out the window, the overwhelming emotion that prevailed over all others was that she really missed her husband. She now knew what being heartbroken felt like.

 

About the Author

 

While author Mark Bearss was setting the stage for his retirement, concerned co-workers would ask, “What are you going to do when you’re not working?” He found this question rather curious. It should have been posed, “What are you going to do first?” Mark knew that if travel was involved, he had had enough of commercial flights after 28 years of teaching for the medical device industry. Mark yearned for road trips – to visit those places he only saw from 38,000 feet. Little did he know that wish journeyed down an unexpected fork in the road. He would become an author.

While conducting genealogy research, Mark discovered archived de-classified military documents that revealed the name of a U.S. Navy destroyer his father served aboard during WWII. The reason this was a poignant discovery was because, while growing up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, his father made no mention of this. Apart from being a U.S. Naval Reserve flight instructor, he knew his father served aboard the carrier USS ESSEX. But in what capacity? That, too, was not revealed. More discoveries materialized the further he dug. In fact, there was a lot more his father didn’t mention. This wasn’t unusual. Many WWII veterans didn’t talk about what happened back then.Because of the pandemic, the National Archives in St. Louis was closed and rendered Lt. Bearss’ military records unavailable. Thus began a project that challenged Mark’s research endeavors for over two years and about 5,000 miles on the road. The biographical sketch was sorted from creative Internet search strings, history books, navy publications, and networking with journalists, librarians, archivists, bloggers, aviation enthusiasts, museum and historical society curators, navy veterans, relatives, and more. One online resource that was instrumental in tracking his father’s journey was the weekly newspaper published in the county where his parents grew up: The Oceana Herald. It included a Local News section where family members and organizations could submit a short blurb about a relative’s visit, a social gathering, or – where a son or husband was currently stationed.

This project culminated in 2022 with Mark’s first publication titled, Undisclosed Stories Discovered: Honoring the World War II Military Journey of Lt. Joseph Ward Bearss, USNR. When asked what was one of the highlights surrounding this story, he described the road trips to seek out and discover places where his father lived, trained and was stationed during the war. What prompted him to write this as a biography took place during a meeting with the curator of the World War II Home Front Museum on St. Simons Island, Georgia. St. Simons Naval Air Station was the site for the U.S. Naval Radar Training Station, where Lt. Bearss was trained in shipboard radar operations, enemy interception, and Fighter Direction.  While the museum had ample archived materials about the facility, it had very little documented about the servicemembers who trained there.

Only 250 copies were printed. Mark went back on the road in his Class-B motorhome and personally donated those copies to family members, friends and relatives, the librarians, archivists, researchers, museums, curators, historical societies, newspapers, The American Heritage Center, VFW Posts, airport FBOs, and other assorted WWII enthusiasts in 12 states who helped in his endeavors. It was a two-fold reward. Not only did his father’s story finally become told, Mark experienced the pleasure of meeting all these wonderful people who were his resources, advisors, collaborators, and consultants. Up until that point, they were only names in an email contact list.

You’re probably asking, “How is all this relevant to Mark’s new novel, Cain’s Chameleon?” It was the research from The Oceana Herald that planted the seed for this story. While perusing its issues, Mark stumbled on two articles that piqued his curiosity. The first reported an attempted murder in a home close to his family’s summer cottage on Lake Michigan. The second reported a drowning victim that washed up on the beach right where Mark and his friends used to play. Just two more stories never divulged while growing up. He wondered, Were these two events related? Then Mark decided — he would make them related.

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Jazz Bang Boom Teaser@RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #JazzBangBoom #WillOkati #MMRomance

Gay Cyberpunk Adventure Romance

Date Published: August 14, 2026

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

 

EXCERPT

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that -- oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two --

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before -- BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."

"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."

"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"

"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."

"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.

"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?"

"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms -- that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."

Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess."

"The one you just blew up?"

"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.

"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."

"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.

"Later. For the moment --"

"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"

"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.

"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."

Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"

"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."

"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope? How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot? How high?"

"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And," Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'"

"I am so on my way now."

"Fast?"

"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking to?"

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

 

Will on Facebook

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Who Will Carry the Fire? Book Blitz Giveaway @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #WhoWillCarrytheFire #DarrellJPedersen #Memoir

More Reflections from a North Woods Lake

Memoir

Date Published: 04-07-2025

Publisher: RiverPlace Press

Who Will Carry the Fire? More Reflections from a North Woods Lake by Darrell J. Pedersen thoughtfully examines the value of human history, traditions, memories, and relationships and reiterates the importance of preserving and faithfully passing these along to the next generation. Through a collection of essays and the retellings of his early days as a son, brother, husband, and father, Pedersen shows readers that we all have been gifted these irreplaceable stories by those who came before us. These remembered stories will work to keep the thread of storytelling alive while passing down the life-giving flames of laughter, human community, and hope to our children and future generations. Using a blend of wisdom, humor, reflection, and life stories in Minnesota, Pedersen expertly weaves a book that is both a memoir/collection of essays and a celebration of life.

Excerpt

Five Young Men And Christmas 2020

 

A hairy arm, plaid flannel sleeve rolled up, extended out of the pickup window and held high a fist with middle finger raised. A week before Christmas, at the end of the tumultuous year 2020, I was headed for the dump. Driving where four lane transitions to two, loud rumbling acceleration of an engine caught my attention. There he is, up ahead of me in the right lane, a big pickup. Speeding up, he slid in front of a small car. That’s when I spotted his obscene gesture. What, I wondered, did that other driver do to earn that reaction? Drawing close behind the little car, I spotted the offense. This little old lady had made the mistake of sporting a small presidential campaign sticker in her back window. I guessed giving her the finger was a victory for him.

Witnessing this attack on humanity by a bearded young man in a big pickup caused me to reflect on his place in our society and world. I thought about the large number of bearded young men I had lately witnessed in televised protests, a few packing assault rifles. Some, recently, shouted obscenities at me and others for standing in silent support of Black Lives Matter. I wondered, has this whole generation been lost? But then I recalled, my own son is bearded and drives a noisy, old jeep, and he’s currently using his vocational skills to put together a virtual Christmas Eve service for his church.

That was Friday. Today, Monday, my wife and I pulled into a long line outside Burger King. I immediately took notice of the young man ahead of us in the row. He was driving an old pickup, paint peeling off and rusty jagged holes in its fenders. Seeing him watching us in his mirror, I wondered if he was another of these young ruffians.

Behind us, a brand new, red Jeep slipped into line. In my mirror I saw another young man driving. I noted huge tires, winch, fancy mirrors, decals, all the options. Lots of money for that one, I thought. I wonder what kind of a job he has? I never had money to buy something like that when I was his age. I don’t have money to buy something like that even at age 68.

A long wait; we were one car back now. The young driver in the rusty pickup carried on an extended conversation with the window person whose hand held the outstretched plastic tub awaiting payment. Is he hassling that poor cashier? Finally, he put his credit card in the tub, received his food, and drove away. Our turn. The twenty-something man in the window, masked, said, “Your meal has already been paid for. The fellow ahead of you took care of your bill.”

“What?”

He repeated. Bill paid. Young man in the pickup truck. $17.84.

“Well, can I pay for the people behind me?”

“Yes, if you want to.”

“Yes, please, let me pay for their bill.” His bill. I remembered; it was the young fellow in the expensive Jeep. I handed the cashier my credit card and he rang it up.

“How much was it?”

“Just over three bucks.”

“Well, can I pay for the next car too?”

“Sure.”

“How much is that one?”

“That one is $24.95.”

“Okay, thanks, that will be just fine.”

Bill paid. Food delivered. Credit card returned. Ready to coast away, I looked my young fellow in the eye and offered, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas and God bless you,” he replied.

“And God bless you too,” I said to one of my new young friends at Burger King.

Five young men just before Christmas in 2020. Pandemic, political strife, racism. So much trouble all around. Five young men and an old guy. Maybe there’s still hope.

 

 

About the Author

ABOUT THE "LITTLE DICKENS"

Darrell J. Pedersen was raised in the 1950-60s, on a little lake in Minnesota’s North Woods. He grew up and moved away, but his heart has never left that place. His family, the lake, woods, and critters that embraced his young life taught him to appreciate today and to be hopeful for tomorrow. He learned to care for the creation and the neighbor. To leave the world a little better place than he found it.

Since retirement, he has published his first memoir/collection of essays, Campfire in the Basement: Reflections from a North Woods Lake. One year later, Who Will Carry the Fire? More Reflections from a North Woods Lake is now in your hands. Both books include real life stories of everyday people living one day at a time in a challenging, yet amazing world. Hard work, laughter, tears, wins and losses. He believes you will find your story here too. Darrell and his wife, Jennifer, live in Baxter, Minnesota.

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Love Next Door Cover Reveal

 

Love Next Door: A ‘90s Anthem Duet
Eve Kasey & Melanie A. Smith
Publication date: September 1st 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

One volume, two steamy interconnected romances set in 1995 Seattle

Come to My Window
Hazel Bell has lost everything — her job, her apartment, and her future in Seattle. Now her whole world is a thrift-store wardrobe, a family of houseplants, and a stranger in the opposite window who knows exactly what to say.

They exchange notes instead of names. Confessions instead of introductions. And somehow, the man she’s never met becomes the one person she can’t live without.

Gideon Sarkis knows the truth would end them before they ever begin.

He knows exactly who Hazel is. But she doesn’t know him — or how badly he once hurt her. The more notes they write, the harder he falls. But with his obligations pressing in and her options disappearing, their time is running out.

Some windows are meant to be opened.

But some secrets can shatter everything.

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door
Ben Pedersen is a ghostwriter stuck crafting someone else’s thrillers when a misdelivered package introduces him to the mystery of unit 203 — and its elusive occupant, Heaven Lee.

Lee is a software engineer burning the candle at every possible end, helping build one of the first online bookstores. She doesn’t have time for nosy neighbors. She barely has time for sleep. But the guy upstairs keeps getting her mail, and he’s funny, patient, and her dog likes him more than the UPS guy. So maybe one coffee not-date won’t kill her.

The neighborly arrangement that follows becomes something neither of them planned. But Lee won’t admit what’s in the misdelivered packages, and Ben’s writer brain won’t let a mystery rest. When curiosity crosses a line, both must decide what matters more: protecting their secrets or fighting for what they’ve found.

Love Next Door is two warm, witty nostalgic love stories about the secrets we keep, the walls we build, and the people worth tearing them down for.

Pre-order

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Author Bio:

Melanie A. Smith is an award-winning, international best-selling author of steamy romance with smart, self-sufficient heroines and strong, swoony book boyfriends with hearts of gold. A former engineer turned stay-at-home mom and author, when Melanie is not lost in the world of books you’ll find her spending time with her husband and son, crafting, or cross-stitching.

Eve Kasey writes for a design firm by day and reads (and writes!) indie romance novels by night. Her contemporary romances balance swoon and steam while aiming to teach readers something new. She loves romance for the hope the genre conveys as well as the amplification of the simple truth that everyone everywhere deserves a happily ever after - however that looks to them. Eve lives in and loves the Pacific Northwest.

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The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books Blitz

 

The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books
R.J. Blain
(The Apothecary’s Secret, #1)
Publication date: July 6th 2027
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy

To master the art of keeping dangerous books, one must learn the golden rule: some knowledge should never be shared.

Bookshop owner by day, restorer of rare and dangerous books by night, Kita James is thrilled to acquire a new poisonous book from the Victorian era. From the swirling patterns on the cover to its unusual leather binding, IN SEARCH OF LIFE is truly a unique find. However, testing of the vibrant tome reveals its darker nature: the leather is that of a human along with an extinct animal from the ice age. To further complicate matters, a new radioactive element is discovered lurking within its pages.

The deeper she delves into the toxic text, the less she likes about what she learns. From the dawn of humanity, people had searched for the secrets of eternal life and resurrection. And if Lugalbanda-Alad, the author of the mysterious volume, was to be believed, he had found it.

Joining forces with Dav, a rather vocal book in her collection, Kita works to unveil the apothecary’s secret. With the right magic and a strong enough will, the forbidden lore might be able to set Dav free along with the other sentient books confined within her shelves.

But all knowledge comes at a price: if IN SEARCH OF LIFE were to fall into the wrong hands, it could usher in the destruction of all Kita holds dear and the enslavement of all mankind.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

Copper, when mixed with arsenite or its equally toxic cousin acetoarsenite, created a vibrant green. Some dubbed it Paris green. Some preferred the name emerald green. No matter what one called the pigment, it remained a silent killer of those foolish enough to handle it for long.

It had come as no surprise to me, when I first began learning the art of keeping dangerous books, that nobody knew for certain how many had died to the beautifully lethal covers and the pages they contained. One confirmed mortality from the pigment had involved a floral arranger specialized in artificial blooms by the name of Matilda Scheure, and she had breathed in the substance on a daily basis while going about her work.

The Victorians had adored brilliant shades, and they had unwittingly sickened themselves with color. Mercury, in the form of the vibrant vermilion pigment, could bring about madness among other things. Lead, offering shades from pristine white to fiery reds and oranges, sickened in a myriad of ways. Then there was cadmium red, which had limited toxicity unless handled often.

I marveled over how the Victorians had managed to discover so many shades of toxic pigmentation.

Within the walls of my personal library, tucked behind a secret door in the back of my bookshop, I owned books of every hue from every era I could get my greedy hands on. I’d outgrown my single shelf of emerald hue years ago, and the toxic volumes now consumed an entire wall. Each color of the rainbow offered some new and interesting way for someone to perish should they fail to handle my collection with care.

To the few who knew of my art, I offered a glimpse into a dark past decorated with a glorious veneer, one willing and able to kill at a single mistake.

I charged a reasonable amount for access to specific volumes of my archive, making use of a different room on the other side of the bookstore for those sessions. I required waivers, and I even had an agreement with an insurance company so I held no liabilities should they be sickened from the inappropriate handling of any one of my pieces.

The waivers eliminated my personal risk, as I refused to hold responsibility for the stupidity of others.

But the colors I held in safekeeping were not, by far, the most dangerous of the volumes.

Knowledge had become power, and I safeguarded all from the deepest of darkness and the brightest of light, for both, when used inappropriate and to their extreme, caused equal harm.

A little after midnight, after closing my cash, locking the doors, cleaning up the self-serve coffee machine, and otherwise preparing for yet another grind in the morning, I retreated to my sanctuary. Most of my work—and all of the magic—took place in the ten by ten closet with a ventilation fan installed, which piped through a series of specialty filters to keep any fumes or residue from making it outside. Those filters would cost me my sanity one day.

They needed to be cleaned or replaced every three weeks, and failure to do so ran the risk of making me the next victim of my collection.

The latest tome to be tamed waited within a glass box on my desk, and it was a marvel of toxicity, magic, and lore, most of which society would deem forbidden if they knew it existed. Thus far, nobody had unlocked the secrets of raising the dead, but the author of the volume had gotten uncomfortably close.

With the right materials, skills, and incantations, the dead could walk again, puppets for the book’s owner to control.

On the outside, it seemed harmless enough for those who lacked knowledge of dangerous books. Swirls of bright reds, oranges, and white decorated the spine with stamps of vibrant emerald green declaring the book to be titled In Search of Life. Everything within had been penned with a careful hand, and a date on the first page declared it to have been from the year 1725, over a hundred years before the popularization of the toxic tomes made famous in the Victorian era.

In 1725, magic had not yet been acknowledged, although society had always told tales of witches and arcane arts in hushed whispers.

In Search of Life, should I be able to authenticate it, would once again change the timeline on humanity’s introduction into practical magics and the role of superstitions in protecting from malevolent incantations. But as was the nature of my work, if all went well, only I would know.

The knowledge held within the pages, which defied time and refused to turn brittle, was best kept a secret.

Author Bio:

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

AI is never used in the creation of RJ's novels.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X

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The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books Blitz

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Defense Mechanisms Book Blitz @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #DefenseMechanisms #MoKramer #Thriller

 

Medical Thriller

Date Published: April 22, 2026

The end of disease is the end of humanity.

Can the destruction of humanity be prevented?

At an international medical conference, infectious-disease physician Noah Winter encounters the enigmatic Dr. Balodis—a visionary who claims to have engineered microbes capable of regenerating human cells, ending aging, and curing the world’s deadliest diseases.

But the miracle comes with a terrifying cost. Balodis plans to force humanity’s evolution—and reshape the world order. Once unleashed, the organisms mutate beyond control, spreading rapidly across the globe.

Hunted by intelligence agencies, mercenaries, and Balodis’s private army, Noah must expose the truth before the cure becomes a global extinction event.

Time is running out—and the cure may be humanity’s final mistake.

 

 

About the Author

Mo Kramer brings a background in medicine, communication, and psychology to the world of suspense fiction. After publishing several nonfiction books, Kramer makes a thriller debut with a chilling story of microbes, invisible threats, and the dangerous illusion of human control. Combining scientific realism with psychological suspense, this thriller keeps readers on edge while leaving disturbing questions behind long after the final page.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

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Purchase Link

Amazon

The Ties that Bind Book Blitz #Giveaway

 

The Ties that Bind
James Rosenberg
(The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller, #1)
Publication date: July 27th 2026
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Some families build empires. Others bury secrets beneath them.

Bill Simon thought marrying Sharon Green meant entering a powerful legal dynasty and finally proving he belonged. Fresh from his honeymoon and eager to succeed at his new firm, Green & DeWitt, Bill is handed a complex real estate transaction tied to the influential Green family empire.

What begins as routine due diligence quickly spirals into something far more dangerous.

Hidden behind layers of shell companies, offshore accounts, and falsified property records, Bill uncovers connections to cartel money, political corruption, and a network of powerful men determined to keep their secrets buried. The deeper he digs, the more he realizes the conspiracy may reach directly into his father-in-law’s inner circle—and possibly into his own marriage.

As Bill digs deeper, Sharon Green fights to protect her family’s public image while uncovering other sinister connections between her family and the drug cartel. As others question the legitimacy of her father’s enterprises, she tries to find answers about the empire she was born into.

As they uncover disturbing connections between her father and the Mexican drug lord,Sharon and Bill are trapped between loyalty and truth, ambition and survival.

And in a world where power protects its own, exposing the truth could cost them everything.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

The heat wafted above the scrubland. Three trucks waited in line, engines idling low in the darkness.

Each truck had a driver and one passenger, and together their primary responsibility was to get the trucks over the border less than thirty miles away.

Rafa Medina kicked at the dried ground as he waited for confirmation to move. They were still on schedule, but barely.

Luis Cortes sat in the passenger seat of the second truck, window cracked. A folded manifest lay on his lap. Medina tapped his window twice. Luis glanced over and gave a short nod.

The third truck’s driver shifted in his seat. Medina caught the movement and shook his head once. He could accept fear. Panic only caused mistakes.

Medina felt the vibration in his pocket. The signal, at last. He raised his hand.

As the trucks shifted into gear, the whine of their engines intensified. The first truck rolled forward, followed by the second, and then the third. They stayed in tight formation as they turned onto the paved road heading north.

Medina jogged to his Jeep, climbed in, and maneuvered his vehicle in behind them.

He considered moving to the front of the line to take control, but before he could decide, gunfire echoed from the brush to his right. The lead truck swerved, glass spraying off to its side.

The truck regained its footing, tires screaming, as it came out of its fishtail.

The second shot came from the opposite side of the road, from cover behind a grouping of bushes.

The muzzle flashes were sequenced and controlled. Now was not the time for panic. He knew immediately it was a rival crew, one that had studied the route and wanted it.

The first truck accelerated, pushing past the shots.

When a new round of shots burst from the right, the second truck was directly in front of it and caught a barrage of automatic fire in the passenger side door.

As the bullets tore through the truck, Luis jerked sideways, his body snapping against the window as glass exploded outward. The driver screamed and hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, out of the danger zone.

As the trucks moved ahead, Medina pulled out his Glock and aimed toward the brush where he had spotted the muzzle flashes. From his slightly elevated position, he fired twice, forcing the shooters back. They withdrew, retreating into the darkness.

Their message had been delivered.

Medina didn’t chase. The trucks came first.

He ran to the second truck. Blood was everywhere.

The driver was shaking, hands locked on the wheel, eyes wide. Medina yanked the door open and pulled him out.

“We have ten minutes. Your truck won’t make it to the border. Transfer the cargo. I’ll take care of Luis.”

The driver nodded.

Medina climbed into the cab. Luis’s eyes were open, unfocused. He checked for a pulse. There was none. This simplified matters.

Medina scampered to the other side of the truck and grabbed Luis under the arms, dragging him from the cab.

Ten minutes. That was all they had.

He pulled the body into the brush. He worked with his hands and a tire iron he grabbed from the back of the truck, digging quickly, ignoring the ache in his shoulders.

Medina lowered the body into the ground, then shoveled dirt to cover it. The land closed over the shape easily, swallowing it. He didn’t mark the grave and offered no words.

He crossed himself and then wiped his hands on his pants.

The damaged truck was next. Medina drove it behind a clump of bushes. No one would notice it for months. No one would care.

This was no man’s land.

The other trucks waited.

Medina jogged back to the road and waved the trucks forward. They didn’t hesitate. The second truck’s payload had already been transferred.

Medina climbed back into his vehicle and pulled in behind them.

The convoy moved north, engines steady.

Dust flew from their tires and then settled behind them.

Author Bio:

James Rosenberg is a 3rd generation trial attorney with plenty of stories to tell.

Inspired not only by the courtroom stories his father and grandfather used to tell

him when he was a child, but also by the wild adventures he’s encountered through

his own experience as a lawyer. James is fascinated by the intricate, interpersonal

dynamics of every trial he’s endured. Whether it’s the raw emotion on display in

court, the tension in the air that builds until someone wins, or the impact that a

case’s decision has on the parties involved, James is always paying attention and

keeping tabs on what’s happening.

In his debut novel, “Legal Reserves”, James flexes his creative muscle outside of the

courtroom to share his stories, with a fictional twist, through the eyes of archetypes

he knows well.

A native of Pittsburgh and a graduate of Taylor Allderdice High School and the

University of Pittsburgh School of Law, James has been a trial attorney in Pittsburgh

for almost 30 years. He started writing legal thrillers as a stress reducer and finds

this creative outlet to be a fun and meaningful diversion from his day job.

When he’s not trying cases, he’s either dreaming up his next book idea, spending

time with his wife and three kids, or both.

To contact James email Rosenberg@marcus-shapira.com or follow him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/RosenbergWrites/

Check out his website: www.JamesRosenbergAuthor.com

Please become part of my email list and get updates about my latest launches. https://subscribepage.io/fcVT4h

The Ties that Bind Blitz

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The Art of Almost Losing It Book Blitz Giveaway

 

The Art of Almost Losing It
Alina Jacobs
(The Richmond Brothers, #3)
Publication date: August 4th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

There comes a time in every almost-thirty-year-old woman’s life when getting kidnapped off the street is preferable to admitting that the hot, rich boyfriend you’ve been bragging about for months does not, in fact, exist.

Yes, it’s terrifying being stuffed in the trunk of a Mercedes, but I would rather be locked in a stranger’s penthouse than sleeping on the floor of my parents’ apartment like the loser daughter I am.

Honestly?
It’s nice to get some alone time. And my own bathroom.

He bribes me with money not to call the police.

I scream at him for forcing me to go to brunch as his prisoner at the hottest restaurant in New York.

Now everyone in my parents’ aggressively posh Manhattan neighborhood thinks we’re dating.

Buckle up, buddy.
I have a full wedding itinerary to attend, and congratulations—you’re my fake boyfriend.

Unfortunately, my kidnapper is the worst fake boyfriend in the history of fake boyfriends.

He’s mean.
Aloof.
Emotionally unavailable.
And deeply offended by how much time I spend on my phone.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to ignore how yummy he smells, all muscular and tall as he fumes next to me in bed, furious because I asked him when the sexy portion of the kidnapping is going to happen.

It’s a fair question, though, right?!? I thought kidnapping came with benefits!

Guess my kidnapper didn’t want me that much after all.

Men lying about their desire for a relationship. Story of my life.

Now I’m trapped.
He’s miserable.

And somehow, this is starting to feel dangerously like a relationship.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

The one time a hot guy shows interest in me… and he’s a violent kidnapper.

My screams cut off as he tosses in my laptop case. It lands on my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. He shoves my legs fully into the trunk, then tosses in the barking Lulu, then slams the door.

I assume it’s a mistake.

The expensive German car. The bespoke suit. The cologne that smells like money and expensive scotch—Men like him don’t grab women like me.

So why did he just shove me, in all my pizza-sauce-stained, Costco-clothes glory, into the trunk?

I needed a boyfriend, sure, but I did not expect him to arrive via a felony crime.

The engine purrs.

Wait.

Am I really being kidnapped?

Like… for real?

Sleet rattles against the roof as the realization hits.

Oh.

Oh no.

I’m trapped in the trunk of a stranger’s car. A dangerous man. Being driven God knows where.

Sure, he’s attractive—but that is deeply unhelpful information right now.

I’ll never see my family again. Never eat a dollar slice of pizza again—

Wait.

I squint.

Window.

This isn’t a sedan. This is an SUV.

I’m not trapped.

I haul myself up and pop my head over the back seat.

“You’re a crappy kidnapper!” I scream.

“Shit!” he yells—and nearly plows into a parked truck. “You—!”

The car jerks to a stop at a stop sign. He throws it into park and starts climbing over the seats toward me.

“You can’t kidnap me,” I say, panic creeping in. “You don’t want me. I’m not a girl anyone kidnaps.”

My dog barks.

Emerald-green eyes catch the light.

“Sit down,” he commands.

“My mom is going to be really upset if I don’t come home tonight,” I blurt. “Let me go.”

The doors lock.

I fumble in my purse. Find my pepper spray.

“Yes!” I whisper. “I’m a strong, independent —”

I spray… myself.

“Water,” I gasp, coughing, wheezing, blind.

I suck in a lungful of peppery air and yank at the door handle, begging it to open.

Too late.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he snarls, grabbing my jacket and dragging me forward.

“You didn’t even handcuff me!” I wheeze.

He pauses. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

He loosens his tie.

I gulp.

“I cannot believe,” he sneers, “that I kidnapped the most unattractive woman in Manhattan.”

Oh.

So… not the future love of my life after all.

Author Bio:

I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.

When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books...

You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.

Sign up for my newsletter so that you can get information about new releases, giveaways, and more!

http://alinajacobs.com/mailinglist.html

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X / Instagram / Bookbub

GIVEAWAY!

The Art of Almost Losing It Blitz

—

The Duke's Runaway Omega Teaser

LGBTQ+ Historical Romance, MPreg, Mystery & Suspense

Date Published: August 14, 2026

 

Phillip’s on the run, with not just one but two alphas on his trail.

 

Raised as an alpha, Phillip’s unexpected manifestation as an omega turns his life upside down. His father demands a handfasting, insisting Phillip be mated to whichever alpha wins the day with their pheromones. But when the triumphant alpha turns out to be his school friend Everett, Phillip realizes they are fated mates. However, as a diminished omega, his chances of bearing Ev’s children are slim. Heartbroken, Phillip flees to London.

Everett never expected to be Duke of Harriford. His title brings a slew of distasteful marriage and handfasting offers. The latest invitation for his old friend Phillip shocks Ev into accepting. Phillip is everything he remembers and more, and Ev soon finds himself responding to the potent scent of Phillip’s pheromones. When his mate runs, Ev questions whether their feelings are true, or merely the bond of alpha and omega. Despite his fears, he’s determined to find Phillip and bring him home.

As Ev searches London, Phillip questions the wisdom of his choices. His plans have begun to unravel rather spectacularly. To start with, he’s pregnant, the one thing he thought he’d never be. Worse, there’s an alpha hunting him -- and it’s not Ev.

 

EXCERPT

 

Yorkshire, 1811

Lord Phillip Tyerman stared through the barred windows of his tower room at the parade of men and women summoned by his father. All of them were well-heeled and every one of them was looking to make a prestigious match with the earl’s eldest son. The earl’s omega son, who was unable to inherit either lands or title. The earl’s useless son, who wasn’t even a full-fledged omega. Just a not-quite-beta whose first presentation had caused no scandal, lured no lusty alphas, and could have been passed off as little more than being in his second puberty. Not even the beta servants of the household had realized anything was amiss. Only his youngest sister had noticed. It had been Philomena, who was now heir to their father’s estate at fifteen, thanks to her unexpected and early manifestation as a dominant alpha. Lovely Phil, whose patrician nose had wrinkled as though a bad odor had just filled the air.

“What a dreadful stink! Have the oranges gone over?”

Phillip could hear it even now, a full year hence, and it still rankled to the point where he’d taken to wearing a strong sandalwood fragrance to avoid smelling like rotted fruit. His father’s shocked look had likewise never left his mind. The forbidding expression on the earl’s face had been bad enough, but Phillip’s subsequent banishment to the tower room from the heir-presumptive suite had cut even deeper. He had been nearly twenty-two at the time, grown tall and strong. He was the spitting image of his father. Everyone, even his omega mother, had assumed he’d manifest soon as an alpha, and his delicate sister as an omega.

The tall and strong young man had become the omega, and the petite, delicate, and winsome girl had become the alpha. God most certainly had a peculiar sense of humor, at least insofar as the Tyerman family was concerned.

With a snort of irritation at the memory, Phillip turned his attention back to the courtyard below, where the last equipage had rolled up to the front steps. The livery on the carriage door proclaimed the occupant to be a member of the Harrifords. Intrigued despite himself, Phillip opened the windowpanes and peered through the bars, hoping for a glimpse of whomever it was that had come from that prestigious family to gawk at the sale of the Tyermans’ awkward omega son. Of course, even if the occupant proved to be Ev Harriford, Phillip fully intended to be well away from this house long before arrangements could be made to pursue a match with any of these honored guests.

He sighed and turned away from the window, leaving it ajar to bring in fresh air to a room that was stuffy even in the dead of winter. He had no fear of his scent drawing unwelcome attention from all those alphas despite being near his heat. His pheromones were practically indiscernible, as even in heat they never carried much beyond his immediate person. The doors to the tower stair were securely locked, and only his mother and his beta valet carried the keys. He felt no qualms about allowing the room to air out while he dressed for this ridiculous charade.

Well, said charade would come to an abrupt and hopefully embarrassing end for his father. Phillip had a small bag packed with the most minimal necessities safely stowed in the bottom of the wardrobe. He’d return to his rooms to “refresh himself” when the alphas retired for brandy and banter, and he’d make his escape then, while his father negotiated with them for Phillip’s eventual marriage to the highest bidder.

The tiniest tremor ran along his spine. It seemed his estrus had chosen to come in a timely manner. At least he would not have to spend several days in isolation waiting for it to arrive so the festivities could begin in earnest. The mere thought of said festivities sent another shiver through him, this one of disgust.

A brisk tap sounded on the door, followed by the sound of keys in the lock and his mother’s quiet entrance. She gave him a mildly disapproving glance upon seeing him still in his ordinary daywear. “You should always lock the inner door, Phillip,” she chided him. “You ought to be in your tails by now. You have a scant half hour before dinner. Your father wishes you to meet the guests tonight prior to the formal ceremony on Saturday.”

“Ceremony!” Phillip winced as the word came out in shocked tones. “What ceremony?! I thought this was the usual idiotic dinner party series so he can twist the arms of his alpha friends and convince one of them to marry me to their offspring --”

“No, dear,” his mother interrupted with false serenity. She smiled at him, the attempt obviously meant to soothe, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. “The earl has decided to make this a formal handfasting ceremony, to ensure the chosen candidate does not hand you the mitten after. So only the most acceptable and honorable suitors were invited. If you don’t find anyone particularly to your liking, the earl will decide who wins the right to bond with you.”

The earl will decide. His mother’s use of his father’s title told Phillip that Lady Winifred Tyerman did not support this extraordinary decision. It also told Phillip that his father had chosen not to leave the critical matter of his awkward son to chance or romantic feelings. His thrice-damned sire would pick the person who would control Phillip for the rest of his life. Then the true significance of his mother’s words penetrated the fog engendered by the word “ceremony.”

“A handfasting? What on earth are you on about?” Phillip cursed himself for the shake in his voice.

Handfasting was an ancient custom, very much out of use, as it used a bonding bite to ensure the omega couldn’t flee with another alpha or beta. But to do so in this day? The handfasting ceremony included a public bite, binding the omega to the alpha forever, socially and physically, even if the alpha chose to marry someone else. While the ceremony wasn’t precisely outlawed, it was frowned upon as outré and generally reserved only for omegas of wealthy families perilously close to the end of their breeding years.

And this was to be his fate? He’d be damned first.

 

 

About the Author

Autumn grew up loving history, mythology, and all things Japanese, not necessarily in that order. This eclectic love affair has bled over into her writing, and her stories are always well spiced with the taste of Japan, strange mythological beasties, or the lords and ladies of the ton. Sometimes all three, leading to dark desires and forbidden loves.

And after all, dangerous passions should lead to uninhibited love.

 

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