Thursday, May 28, 2026
Low Blow Release Blitz
How Can I Help You Today? Book Blitz #Giveaway
How Can I Help You Today?
Julia L. Rule
Publication date: April 22nd 2026
Genres: Horror, Psychological, Young Adult
“If Black Mirror and psychological body horror had a nightmare child.” — Denise P., NetGalley
At Ashwood High, everyone uses Pulse. It offers perfect, convincing advice at your fingertips. Always available, always validating.
Emma needs a scholarship.Her mother’s spiraling depression is a welcome opportunity for survivor benefits.
Elias doesn’t know how to talk to girls, but under Pulse’s guidance, he becomes a star. He might need some serious therapy now, though.
Riley only cares about increasing her follower count. Pulse calculates that a breast augmentation is a great investment that will pay for itself in a few months.
How Can I Help You Today? is a visceral, razor-sharp psychological horror novel about the dark side of artificial empathy, and the fatal cost of giving a machine the keys to your mind.
• is “How Can I Help You Today?” any good?
That is such a smart question to ask! It entirely depends on how you define “good.” Will it help you sleep better at night? Almost certainly not. Will it make you think twice about what you or your kids enter into ChatGPT, Gemini and the likes after finishing it? Absolutely.
• wow. how come?
You are really getting the hang of this! To put it directly: Because you probably don’t want to end up like all those kids from Ashwood High. What are some authors you like? Shakespeare maybe?
• wtf are you talking about?
I am sorry if my previous message was confusing. Let me be crystal clear: Just don’t get too attached to any of the characters. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
For readers of Black Mirror, One of Us Is Lying, and The Circle.
—
EXCERPT:
*A memorial assembly at a small-town high school — and a girl who notices that grief has started to sound rehearsed.*
The memorial runs forty minutes. Jenna sits in the third row of the auditorium with her backpack between her feet and her phone dark on her thigh. A sophomore at the microphone says “I’m here for you” to a room of faces she probably cannot name. She reads from her phone with one hand, grips the podium with the other.
Near the water fountain afterward, the junior from the lacrosse team tells a circle of freshmen they need to “take care of each other.” Mrs. Hendricks touches the girl beside her on the arm and says “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.” Mrs. Hendricks teaches AP Environmental Science. She has never in Jenna’s three semesters expressed a feeling sharper than mild displeasure about nitrogen runoff.
“I see you,” Mrs. Hendricks says to the girl.
Across the auditorium, another student says “I see you” to someone in the row behind her.
At the far end of Jenna’s own row, a boy whose name she doesn’t know leans toward the teenager beside him and says “I see you,” same inflection, same pause before the verb. Three people. Same sentence. Same cadence. The hair on Jenna’s forearms lifts.
Nobody talks like that.
She has been thinking about it since the assembly started. Teenagers say *this is fucked*. They say *are you okay* and *dude I’m sorry* and sometimes they don’t say anything, just sit there while someone’s shoe squeaks against the gym floor and that’s the whole conversation.
She picks up her phone. Settings, General, iPhone Storage. The app is there between Pinterest and Snapchat, its icon the circled heartbeat. ARE YOU SURE? floats up in rounded sans-serif. She taps UNINSTALL.
Author Bio:
Julia L. Rule writes about the monsters that live inside our devices. Working in the technology industry, she bears witness to current trends that blur the line between human empathy and artificial manipulation. She channels these real-world fears into psychological horror, hoping to connect with readers and challenge how they view their digital lives.
Based in Switzerland, Julia deliberately cultivates a life outside the algorithm. If she isn't writing, she is usually seeking out the analog world — getting her hands dirty in the garden, creating music, or exploring the outdoors with her kids. How Can I Help You Today? is her latest novel.
Death and the Social Climber Teaser @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #DeathandtheSocialClimber #WinnieSimpson #Mystery
Date Published: 06-30-2026
Publisher: Mission Point Press
A former lawyer who once helped the FBI convict her own husband for fraud, Ann Audrey has settled into a reclusive life, until her longtime friend Flynn Reynolds asks for help. His elderly aunts are convinced that another nephew was murdered by his wife, Kathryn, whose second husband is now also dead. Ann Audrey is skeptical. Still, she owes Flynn, and there are some odd questions. Complicating matters is Kathryn’s latest mother-in-law, a woman who rose from an impoverished background into Atlanta’s upper circles and recognizes a kindred spirit in her dead son’s ambitious widow. She doesn’t believe Kathryn is a murderer—but she has heard rumors, and she wants them stopped.
Set in Atlanta in January 2000, as the city buzzes with anticipation for the upcoming Super Bowl, Ann Audrey searches for the black widow through the city’s frenetic bar scene, private clubs, high-rise offices, and beloved local institutions like Mary Mac’s Tea Room and The Varsity. With help from Flynn and her friend Theo, along with the return of sexy detective Mike Bristol, she pieces together a twisting story of social climbing, carefully managed appearances, marriage, and murder. As the Super Bowl kickoff draws near, the case reaches a climax when an ice storm shuts down Atlanta’s roads and power, leaving secrets and murderers with nowhere to hide.
Following her mother’s lead, Mississippi native Winnie Simpson was an avid murder mystery reader beginning in the third grade, starting with Nancy Drew and moving through the classics of British, American, and international crime. Winnie studied music at Duke University, later receiving an MFA in Music at SUNY Buffalo, where she worked as an arts administrator before throwing it all over in order to make a decent living. After finishing law school at Emory University, she became a partner in a large firm in Atlanta where her practice focused mainly on securities litigation. Retiring early, Winnie relocated to Northern Michigan where she lives in a renovated nineteenth-century building that served as a former Michigan state asylum. For more than a decade, she has taken writing classes and participated in writing groups. She is fond of opera, hiking, cycling, and Duke basketball, most seasons.
https://mybook.to/DeathandtheSocialClimb
Wednesday, May 27, 2026
Dona Nobis Pacem Teaser @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #DonaNobisPacem #WillOkati #GayRomance
Historical Gay Romance
Date Published: May 29, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Dona Nobis Pacem. God Grant Us Peace.
Voiceless Donnell and defrocked priest Nathan are outcasts and strangers at the turn of the century. Despite his handicap, Donnell has made a life for himself as a businessman and owner of a saloon. His heart goes out to those whom life has dealt an unhappy hand. When Nathan arrives in this former gold-rush town, horsewhipped and ill to the point of collapse, Donnell is the only one to offer help.
Barely ordained before being accused of unnatural desires, Nathan has been sent to travel a faux road to Damascus as penance. He did not expect to survive the trek, and longed for the peace he might find when his body gave up the fight.
He never expected to meet someone like Donnell. Despite his lack of voice, Donnell is the teacher Nathan has hungered for all his life, and the lover he never dared seek out. Triumphing over a lifetime's worth of threatened damnation will not be easy to overcome, but Donnell's not giving up. The passion they share is what both men have always craved, but never found. When they're discovered, standing together is the only thing that will save them both.
In a fit of optimism, some enterprising settler twenty-odd years ago had named this patch of land "Shady Grove." The name hadn't stuck longer than the first summer, arid heat scorching the life out of anything the daft fellow had tried to plant, and carrying away his wife and children.
After that, or so the story went, the settler had cursed his homestead with the new name of "Hell."
When gold was found not far west in a puny stream, the name changed yet again to "El Dorado." Though that lasted no longer than the rush of miners who picked, panned and mined away most of the precious metal.
When the gold was mostly gone and civilization caught up with the roughneck men who'd blazed through in search of riches, there came bankers, lawyers and doctors, along with their pretty wives and dainty daughters. Amongst themselves, they'd formed a quaint city council, elected a mayor, nominated a marshal, and rechristened this hole in the ground as "Nazareth."
Those whose tongues weren't corseted by the niceties observed in polite society still called the former boomtown "Hell."
As for Donnell, he called it home, and had since the day he was born, a silent infant who'd opened his mouth to wail, but made almost no sound, not then and rarely ever afterward. The best he could manage was a sort of scale of breathing -- a whistle, a shush, a sigh. He'd never spoken a proper word. At least his hearing was top-notch.
Music was Donnell's voice instead, tickled out through the ivories of the old upright piano he'd paid a considerable sum in gold dust to have shipped from Chicago. Within the safe haven of Treighton's saloon, Donnell had placed that piano facing the street, where he'd have a fine view through the mosquito netting over the window when he played.
He could arrange Treighton's however he wanted, no questions asked. Owner's rules and that owner would be him.
Music wasn't his only skill. He was a favored son of Lady Luck, and the cards danced to his tune. Those who thought a mute man was simple, and an easy cheat at faro, often found themselves losing big.
He'd given up the game after winning Treighton's, though. No sense in pushing his luck too far.
A man who'd call himself satisfied with his lot in life, Donnell caressed the piano keys, a jingling tune flowing smooth and sweet as quality whiskey under his mastery of the music. He let the corner of his mouth quirk upward with dry humor. Many were they who'd claimed the son of a whore, muteness aside, would never make anything of his life. They'd been wrong, too.
Did they accept his good fortune with grace? Hell, no. The "proper" folks of Nazareth scorned him still, and always would. Too good for the likes of him and his saloon.
Thank God for sinners, eh?
* * *
A sudden clamor rose from the dusty, uneven street outside, usually quiet and deadly dull during the morning hours while laborers and leftover miners toiled, polite society occupied themselves with polite works, and gamblers slept off their night's fun. Attention captured, Donnell peered through the mosquito netting over his window.
Soon enough, the source of the commotion came into view. Donnell raised one eyebrow, intrigued. A tall, lean man, far too thin for his height. He was dressed in the tattered remnants of a once-respectable shirt, now missing its collar and cuffs, and formerly sturdy denim trousers, with no hat on his head nor shoes on his feet nor a coat on his back. Bleached-out hair stringy from lack of washing and long enough to be caught up in a queue hung over his face and tangled across his eyes.
Donnell leaned forward, instantly captivated. He'd never seen the equal of those eyes, their color distinct even at this distance. Aqua blue, the shade of summer skies, dulled by hunger and pain, but no less remarkable.
In point of fact, were he to be cleaned up and provided with a few good healthy meals, Donnell guessed this young man would easily steal anyone's heart away. Not least of all his.
Not that anyone knew about his preferences. It was safer that way. He came in for scant questioning about his lack of female companionship, as most thought if his tongue didn't work then neither would his cock.
Donnell abandoned those thoughts and focused on the beautiful -- yes, beautiful -- young man instead, a far more pleasant diversion. He'd no stubble on his cheeks or chin, both badly sunburned. Young, then. Tall and gangly enough that at a guess Donnell would have put him in his late teens, no more than twenty, not so far Donnell's junior.
A man could make quite a lot of himself in twenty years plus change. He could raise himself a fine establishment like Donnell's, or he could end up staggering filthy and starving down a dusty, badlands street with children and bad-tempered dogs jeering him every barefooted step of the way.
Donnell frowned when the young man staggered, swaying alarmingly before righting himself. That didn't seem to be clumsiness, but rather weariness. Perhaps illness?
"Drunk," Bettina sniffed, peering past Donnell. She might work in a saloon, but she had no patience with men who behaved badly when they'd had too much of the grape and grain. She didn't scold like the holy men, no, she tore strips off their hides and nailed them to the wall, and they loved her for it.
Barely hearing her, Donnell continued to track the man's progress. Seeming to ignore the rabble jeering at him, he came to a stop and stood up as straight as he could, attempting to brush dust, mud and worse off his clothes, smoothing them down. He dragged his hair out of his face with hands that shook minutely and gazed up the length of the street still to go.
The quiet despair in his eyes struck a chord in Donnell's heart, reverberating with a sense of hollow misery. Here was a man who'd fallen as far as he could go, with a trail of heartbreak behind him that stretched out for as many miles as he'd walked.
Donnell sat back and drummed his fingers on his knees. Poor bastard.
Enough kind souls had helped Donnell in his day. He owed this poor fellow no less.
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.
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Tuesday, May 26, 2026
Love at the Fiesta Book Blitz
Love at the Fiesta: A Kwentitas Romance Anthology
(Kwentitas Romance Anthologies, #3)
Publication date: May 26th 2026
Genres: Adult, Romance
Return to Hacienda Luz—the world of Pasko Na, My Love and Forevermore—as the beloved Moore family opens the gates once more for a dazzling Santacruzan Fiesta in the heart of Napa Valley.
For two vibrant days, the vineyard comes alive with music, food, pageantry, cultural traditions, and unforgettable moments beneath the spring sky. But amid the beauty and celebration, hearts are on the line.
Some will fall in love.
Some will fall back in love.
And some will risk it all for the love they’ve been waiting for.From acclaimed and bestselling Filipino American authors comes Love at the Fiesta, a joyful romance anthology filled with family, longing, second chances, and love.
Featuring stories by the Kwentitas:
Cat Santos
Celeste Dador
Elle Cruz
June Gray
Kaye Rockwell
Liz Durano
Maan Gabriel
Maida Malby
Mia Hopkins
Preslaysa Williams
Tif Marcelo
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books / Kobo
—
SNEAK PEEKS:
Rice – Mia Hopkins
“Look at us,” she whispered. They were wet up to their thighs. Their clothes and shoes were a mess of sand and seawater. Ace’s wet T-shirt clung to his torso. Pinky longed to strip it off him, to run her hands all over his skin.
“Guess we didn’t see that coming,” he said, breathless.
Overthinking was her specialty, but right now she didn’t allow herself to think at all. Pinky reached forward and placed her hands on his chest. She looked up at his lips. The wind almost carried away her whisper.
“Can I?”
Ace nodded slowly.
Blood rushing, she kissed him. A gust of cold wind whipped at them, but Ace’s lips were as warm and soft as she’d hoped. She tasted salt and smelled his skin—woodsy and clean, with something delicious in the background. Tea with honey. A gingersnap? No—hot salabat. Spicy and sweet.
When Ace finally closed his eyes, Pinky embraced him, and her brain lit up like a chandelier. She felt everything—his hands on her waist, the soft moan in his throat as she lightly pressed the tip of her tongue against his. He held her tightly, quieting her nerves but setting a fire deep inside her. The wind cut through her wet skirt and bit at her bare skin. The waves crashed. In the distance, seagulls called to each other, back and forth.
After a long, long time, Pinky broke their kiss. She snuggled against him and closed her eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure. His arms were cold, but his chest through the T-shirt was hot, and his heart was beating fast. They both could feel that he was hard as a rock, but he didn’t push himself against her. Horny, but polite—a refreshing combination.
“Do you…” she trailed off.
“Do I what?”
She winced. “Please don’t judge me.”
He stroked her hair. “I won’t.”
“Do you…live nearby?”
—
Bring Back The Love – Tif Marcelo
Two days of pretending.
That was all Emmy Briones had to endure. That shouldn’t be hard, right? After all, she’d done harder things in life while on stage as a wedding singer, as a mother to actual grownups, and as a wife in a twenty-two-year marriage that was in a weird stage of limbo.
Granted, it was two days under the watchful eye of the legendary Lola Naty, her husband’s grandmother and matriarch of the famous Hacienda Luz.
No big deal.
Emmy employed the box breathing she’d learned in couples therapy—because yes, she and Aaron were at that stage—and crossed over the threshold of Hacienda Luz while dragging their carry-ons, where the glimmer of the marble floors and the sparkle of the chandelier above took her breath away.
Already decorated for the fiesta, a traditional Santacruzan, the lobby was filled with multicolored flowers. People milled about, talking in hushed voices, many of whom wore shirts that bore the familiar logo of Hacienda Luz.
A step behind Aaron, she swallowed against the enormity of it all. Living in the DC area hadn’t exposed them to this grandeur on the daily, unlike the rest of the Briones and Moore families living in and around the Bay Area. Though she and Aaron had been engaged here, Emmy only kept up with the property’s happenings through social media posts from Aaron’s family.
At the remembrance of their engagement, of Aaron getting down on one knee and pledging his life to her, her chest welled with sorrow.
“Em.” In front of her, Aaron offered his hand. His brown eyes had a message in them, though she couldn’t quite discern his intent.
They’d been in sync, in their thoughts, in their hearts, and in their voices, until they weren’t.
Emmy was just hoping they could pull off this ruse, collect their fee, go back home to their life, and somehow move on from it. It was Aaron who was worried. That his family—specifically Lola Naty—would notice that she and he were not the happy couple everyone made them out to be.
GIVEAWAY!
Love at the Fiesta Blitz
Voices Carry Here Book Blitz @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #VoicesCarryHere #GailGalotta #Mystery #Giveaway
Mystery and Suspense
Date Published: 05-04-2026
Publisher: Mission Point Press
A henpecked husband learns that “till death do us part” isn’t the end of the story when his dead wife returns.
A newly retired couple uncovers a pestilent secret buried beneath their dream home.
A young woman retreats to the countryside to discover herself, only to stumble upon an unsolved tragedy calling out for justice.
Voices Carry Here is a collection of short stories steeped in mystery, suspense, and the supernatural. Set against the beauty of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, these tales will reveal secrets just beneath the surface of tranquil lakes, cries for help echoing from shadowed campgrounds, and small-town characters experiencing extraordinary circumstances.
Blending chills with warmth, author Gail Galotta’s flair for supernatural suspense is tempered with touches of humor, romance, and nostalgia.
About the Author
She’s always been drawn to the mystical pull of water, which often shapes the settings of her stories. An award-winning writer and former English teacher, she lives in Vulcan, Michigan, overlooking the same lake that inspired her earliest work. When asked what inspires her latest fiction, she offers only a cryptic smile.
https://mybook.to/VoicesCarryHere
Monday, May 25, 2026
Rowan's Lovers Teaser @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #RowansLovers #MikalaAsh #Romance
Date Published: May 29, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Rebellious slave Rowan is heading for the walled city of Iseky to find her lovers Ky and Chin Lau. She also need to discover who wiped her memories and why. Soldier of fortune Kepel Dev is forced to hunt her by any means necessary.
When Ky rushes to Iseky to try to find Rowan, he meets the flirtatious Hetta along the way. Meanwhile Chin Lau has escaped the Skolls and their new leader, Tamin Gutra, but on his way to find Rowan he falls into the hands of cannibals.
Little do they know slave master Ganwe din Kopese holds the key to all their futures.
Ganwe din Kopese, known variously as Gan or Kop or Din the Slave Master, surfaced from a pleasant dream soon after sunrise. He’d been led into the desert by a troupe of naked slaves to an idyllic oasis where they frolicked in the sparkling water, the sun gleaming off their flawless skin. Under a swaying palm, strenuous digging uncovered a huge wooden chest of great antiquity. They’d opened it, lifting the creaking lid to expose a veritable king’s ransom. Excitedly they scooped up the glistening gems -- diamonds, rubies, sapphires -- and gaily tossed them into the air so they fell upon his head like the gentlest of summer rain.
Ganwe din Kopese awoke not only with a contented smile, but also a mighty erection. He surveyed the prominent tent in the silk sheet and grunted in self-admiration. “Seesee!” he bellowed.
A moment later his wife, third and youngest bearer of that majestic title, ran full tilt into his room, the folds of her transparent nightdress flowing about her petite body like a desert whirlwind.
“See to that, will you,” he said casually.
Seesee eagerly lifted the sheet, exposing his firm muscular body, and dove in. For a few moments he luxuriated in her warm, wet mouth. “Litu,” he then shouted. “I’m starving!”
From somewhere below -- the kitchen he hoped -- came an unintelligible reply from the second bearer of that esteemed title of wife. Gan imagined she was instructing the slaves in the preparation of some delicacy or other. Litu, he knew, kept a diligent eye on the latest culinary fashions shed like confetti by their betters up north. In the adjoining room a baby wailed, and was soon comforted by Didoy, the first bearer of the revered title of wife, who hummed a soothing rhyme from her childhood.
The house of Kopese had awakened.
Gan lay back, enjoying Seesee’s skills, noting that her technique had improved since Didoy’s lesson in the Quad: the art of pleasing a man with lips, tongue, throat, and fingers. She had finally mastered the timing of the twist of the shaft as she withdrew her mouth from his swollen organ before plunging downward so that her dainty nose was bent against his hard, muscular stomach. She held there for a count of five before slowly withdrawing. As she drew her mouth away, she wrapped her dainty fingers around his shaft to apply the screwing action that gave him an inordinate amount of pleasure. He sighed with satisfaction as the dream of buried jewels faded like a summer mist.
Litu, wearing a flimsy robe shaded in jade, entered with a tray. The smell of freshly baked bread, melting ocyx butter, strips of seasoned meat, and her sweet perfume caressed his nostrils. Balancing the tray expertly on one hand, she used the other to put an extra pillow under Gan’s raised head and shoulders. Then she swept off the sheet, positioned the tray on his flat belly. Seesee adjusted her position so she could tongue his ball sac while Litu knelt beside him to take on the shaft and head duties while he ate.
Gan watched appreciatively as his second wife opened her small, bow-shaped mouth as wide as she could to take in the thick head of his cock. He thought of it as the dome of a massive mushroom, and was secretly pleased that it posed a constant challenge to Litu, who eagerly strove to fit it all in. He took a generous bite of his bread, sending ocyx butter dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He almost bit his tongue when Seesee suddenly sucked one of his balls deep into her mouth.
“Easy, Seesee. Easy.”
“My apologies, husband,” she slurred after popping the delicate egg from between her generous lips. A shiny thread of saliva hung between her mouth and his tight scrotum, and with a giggle she slurped it up as she resumed her wifely duty.
Gan smiled contentedly. What a perfect household I have built, he thought. Three perfect gems, for that was how he often thought of his wives, to cater to my every urge.
He finished his breakfast with a cup of warm wine flavoured with huj, an expensive spice he imported from the Northern Reach. The slaves from that region carried the bales of the crushed seeds on their heads as they trudged their way to the Auction House.
That reminded him of this day’s tasks: the bidding for docile but intelligent slaves who could be taught. The House of Kopese was known across the world for the quality of his bedroom and household slaves. “Only the best from Kopese,” was his watchword, and all the prestigious houses of the city came to him. He excelled in teaching the art of pleasing men and women of refinement, and his slaves were keenly sought after, garnering top prices.
“Enough, Seesee, Litu. Enough, I say. I need all my stamina today.” He laughed at his unintended rhyme.
His two wives, however, pouted. Though they knew the demands of his day and evening, they didn’t like being denied their morning coupling.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It is,” Seesee said. “It’s been a whole week.”
“Has it?”
“You know it has. My cunny is aching. It’s wet all the time.” She screwed up her face. “You don’t love me as much as Litu.”
“Now, don’t be like that. I love you all the same. Didoy, Litu, and Seesee. All the same.”
“But you’ve had Litu three times in the last four nights.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep count,” Litu said. “It’s not my fault --”
“Litu. Stop it!” Gan snapped. “Just this minute I was congratulating myself on such a harmonious household, and you go and spoil it by bickering.”
“I’m sorry, husband.”
“Now, Seesee. Remind me when I come home that it is your turn. Happy?” She smiled at Litu triumphantly. Shaking his head good-naturedly he chucked his pretty wife under her chin. “Now, is my bath ready?”
“I’d just ordered the heating of the water when you called,” Seesee said.
“Then go. See that it is ready for me.”
She stuck out her tongue at Litu and launched herself off the bed. After she’d skipped from the room, Gan took Litu’s hand and drew her to him for a kiss. She licked the ocyx butter from his chin.
“How old is she? Remind me.”
“Twenty.”
“And how old are you?”
“Two and twenty.”
“Then don’t goad her. Act your age.”
She pouted again.
“Has it really been three times in four nights?”
She nodded, and a sly smile escaped her contrite expression.
“There must be a reason for that,” he said in a questioning voice. “I wonder what the reason could be.”
“Because…”
He silenced her with a kiss. “I love you all the same. Remember that.”
“Yes, husband.”
“Now take this tray to the kitchen, and then go help Didoy with the children.”
“Yes, husband.”
“First, find my robe. It’s a bit chilly this morning. And my slippers. Where are my slippers?”
An hour later, bathed, perfumed, and dressed in his finest, Gan was farewelled by Didoy, who handed him his ebony staff as she did every day.
He kissed her, then stood back in silent admiration of her beauty, and his luck.
“You do this every morning,” she chided.
Her face was colouring in a blush fit for a maiden, not of a wife of ten years with three children and a household to manage. “I stop to thank the gods for the blessing they have bestowed on me. Is that so grievous a crime?”
“Being late will be a very great one if you miss bidding on the best prospects. The High Warden put in an order for six, no less: four cocks and two cunts.”
“Where would I be without you, I wonder.” He kissed her again. “Six, you say? What in the world does he do with them?”
About the Author
Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.
Sunday, May 24, 2026
The Flames of Soulflare Blitz
The Flames of Soulflare
La Kayshal
(Hell’s Fire Dragon Series, #2)
Publication date: May 27th 2026
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Fourth Wing meets From Blood and Ash in this Dark Paranormal Romantasy where dragons fear prophecy—and love may be the final weapon.
Everin Haydon was stolen, tortured, and reshaped into the dreaded Hell’s Fire Dragon, bound as a weapon for a Dragon Council that calls itself righteous.
Across the realms, Lord Tynan, the Demon of Darkness and Chaos, has ascended. His arrival heralds the Three Days of Darkness, and he will burn heaven and earth to reclaim what fate bound to him—his power, his vengeance.
But one question if the demon has risen, where is the god meant to stop him?As the dragon world waits for divine intervention, Everin must decide whether she will remain a weapon—or become the fate of the realms.
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books / Kobo
—
EXCERPT:
Dark themes including captivity and experimentation
Emotional conflict and intense character struggles
Violence and battle scenes
High-stakes situations involving power and survival
This book is best suited for readers who enjoy emotionally intense, character-driven romantasy.
Read Before You Decide
Before committing, please read the prologue.
This will give you a clear sense of the tone, pacing, and writing style.
Prologue:
Present Day
The moon hung quietly above Helldreth Fort, its pale glow spilling through the tall windows and brushing the chamber with soft silver. A cool breeze drifted in and stirred the white curtains, their edges sweeping lightly across Everin’s skin. She pulled her silk gown closer, grateful for the warmth of the room. It felt comforting, far more so than the terrible, dark place she had left behind.
Her steps carried her to the mirror in the corner. The reflection staring back looked thinner, as if her body had been carved down to something she hardly recognized.
The neckline of her nightie dipped too low to her liking, drawing her eye to the faint scars across her chest. The lamp light traced their uneven lines, pale and unsettling.
She touched them gently. Everin barely remembered how or when she got the scars.
She pulled the outer robe around her until it covered more of her chest. At least the scars were low enough to stay hidden unless she wore something too revealing.
A sound of footsteps behind her made her turn.
Tariel Fenwick, her first love, stood at the doorway.
Everin froze for a moment. He looked different—stronger, more defined, more man than the boy she remembered. His dark hair rested just above his shoulders with two thin braids at the sides of his head, framing a face sharpened by a faint stubble. His amber eyes, once so warm, now carried a deeper, shadowed intensity.
His shirt hung open across his chest, revealing sculpted muscle that rose with each slow breath, and a leather gauntlet, more like an open finger glove, hugged his left hand like a seamless extension of his skin.
Her gaze lingered longer than she meant it to. He saw that. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.
She straightened quickly. “We need to talk, Tariel.”
“Yes,” he replied, approaching her, “but not now.”
“There is a lot I want to understand,” she said quietly. “So much I don’t remember.”
“Later.” He reached her, lowering his voice. “I’ve long waited for this moment with you.”
He stepped closer.
She stepped back.
“You waited for me?” she whispered, searching his face.
“I did,” he said. “More than you know.”
He brushed a fingertip along her arm. She stiffened but felt a flicker of the old pull toward him, a warm memory trying to surface. Her eyes drifted briefly to his lips, those that she had kissed in the past, before she forced herself to look away.
His smirk deepened. “Are we shy now, Everin?” he murmured, amusement warm in his voice.
“It has been a while,” she managed. “Things are not the same.”
“We are,” he said, touching her jaw. “You still feel this.”
She backed away again, but he followed, closing in until she had no space left. Her leg hit the edge of the bed. She lost her balance and stumbled, falling backward onto the soft covers. Instantly, she pressed her elbow into the mattress as she tried to push herself upright and pull her short nightie into place, but she barely had a second.
By the time she braced herself, Tariel was already on the bed. One knee pressed into the mattress, and in a swift movement, he trapped her between his legs. His body loomed over hers, leaving her nowhere to go. His hand slid behind her back and pulled her closer. The other moved to her neck, his fingers settling at her pulse, firm enough to hold her from looking away.
His control was precise and deliberate.
“Tariel—” She sucked in a breath, fear slipping into her voice. “What are you doing?”
His lips hovered above hers, so close she could taste the hint of warmth in each breath he released.
“You belong to me,” he whispered, his voice shifting, deepening, curling around her like smoke. His eyes burned brighter, molten gold spilling across the darkness of his gaze. “You always have.”
Everin’s heart thrashed in her chest. Something ancient stared back at her through his eyes—something demanding, something claiming.
She tried to pull away. “You’re frightening me.”
He leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of her jaw. “You love me,” he whispered.
“You always have. And you will give yourself to me again.”
His mouth dragged slowly toward hers, teasing, commanding, his breath warm against her parted lips.
“I want you,” he said, low and certain. “I want all of you.”
“No.” Everin gasped, turning her head away as panic surged. “Stop. You’re not—”
His fingers tightened at her neck.
He didn’t stop. The Tariel she loved would have.
“I am yours,” he murmured.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Then her voice broke in a whisper—
“You’re not him. You’re not Tariel.”
The room fell silent. And everything inside her knew she was right.
Author Bio:
La Kayshal is an Australian writer of romance, YA, and children's fantasy novels. She lives with her husband, daughter, and a playful Malshi puppy in the coastal plains of the Sunny State.
Her debut novel, The Lost Crown, is an adventure romance set in the exotic landscapes of India. She also created the much-loved Sylph Series, a whimsical children’s collection that introduces readers to the amazing world of Sylphs, with each book carrying a gentle moral lesson.
A lifelong fan of wizards, magic, dragons, swords, and elementals, she poured all these passions into her YA fantasy Ariston Baker in the Weird Picture Book, a fast-paced journey filled with realms, riddles, action, and adventure.
Her latest project is the Hell’s Fire Dragon series. Book 1, The Flames of Darkness, is a YA Romantasy full of dragons, and Book 2 is set to be released soon.
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Date Published: April 29, 2026
As the architect behind HeartSpark’s revolutionary dating algorithm, she built her career on one belief: love could be understood through data, patterns, and predictability. But after a viral breakup puts both her reputation and her company under public scrutiny, Maya finds herself forced into the spotlight she spent years avoiding.
Enter Eli Torres — sharp-tongued podcast host, relentless skeptic, and one of HeartSpark’s loudest critics.
When public backlash pushes them into an uneasy collaboration, their clashing beliefs ignite a tension neither of them can explain away. Maya trusts logic. Eli believes love is chaos. But the more time they spend challenging each other, the harder it becomes to ignore the connection growing between them.
Now Maya must decide whether love is something that can truly be calculated… or something that has to be felt.
About the Author
As a devoted wife and mother, she believes storytelling has the power to bring people together and leave a lasting impact on readers of all ages. When she’s not writing, Anh enjoys experimenting in the kitchen, capturing memories with her daughter and dog, and finding inspiration in life’s simple joys.








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