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Run but can you hide? Book Blitz

Cut and Run
Annabelle Lewis
Adult, Mystery, Thriller
August 14th 2021

Their story continues . . .

The four Boston clairvoyants, blessed—or cursed—with special powers, must fight a ruthless enemy and stop injustice. In Dead Cat, Run, the Sisters of Fate drove them together, but at what cost? The God Apollo wasn’t playing around. He’s still dead set on vengeance.

Sinister forces will have a wicked agenda. An energy grab, a mineral rights war, and deadly mercenaries create a mortally serious game. But the psychics’ sibylline abilities aside, they’re only human. At least three of them are. (What’s up with that?)

Can they stop the killers? And who will survive?

An energetic contemporary thriller, Cut and Run will have you on the edge of your seat as the dance between good and evil resumes.

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The four Boston clairvoyants, blessed—or cursed—with special powers, must fight a ruthless enemy and stop injustice. In ‘Dead Cat, Run’ the Sisters of Fate drove them together, but at what cost? The God Apollo wasn’t playing around. He’s still dead set on vengeance


Duke Montague Marshall squinted into the harsh rays of the sun as they beamed with a strobe-like effect through his front windshield. Behind the wheel of his silver Toyota RAV4, he looked at the dashboard clock. Ten minutes to arrival.

“Nice up here,” Fiddler said, looking around. “Lots of trees.”

Duke felt no need to reply to his riding companion’s inane comment about the dense pines and spruce trees of the Superior National Forest. The forest, covering 3.9 million acres of land in Minnesota, also had about 2,000 lakes around the Superior National Forest and Boundary Waters region between the United States and Canada.

He looked in the rearview mirror at the vehicle following them. Five minutes to arrival.

“Run down the Monday-morning setup for me again,” Duke said.

“Assembly takes place in a green, industrial-type shed to the right past another shed-like main office with an awning and signage. They’ll be having their bullshit, Monday-morning meeting. Every fucking Monday the heads and general labor have a bull session. Donuts. Coffee. That kind of thing.”

            Focusing on the task, Duke said, “We’re sure everyone will be there? No one in the quarry yet?”

Fiddler shook his head, his longish hair pulled back today. “Nah. Just the two places. Main office with the awning and the big green shed next to it.”

Not really worried about how things would go down, Duke told him to cut the noise once Fiddler started chattering about his planned trip to Turks and Caicos.

They’d arrived. Granger’s Quarry, a trillion-dollar shithole.


Annabelle - Run but can you hide? Book Blitz

Annabelle Lewis—a pseudonym for the author—lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Regrettably? Perhaps. She still believes she’s a Texan even though the math no longer supports that. Nor her birthplace. Nor her residence. No offense, Minnesota. You’ve got your good points too, but only about six months of the year.

In her youth, Annabelle was a complete failure. Ask anyone who knew her. Any of her teachers and family would tell you this. High school graduation was a sad day for all when Annabelle walked proudly off the high school stage, her thoughts consumed with boys, beer, and after-parties, and later into the arms of her parents. Her father’s laughter and singular remark? “I didn’t think you’d make it. Get a job at the post office, they have a good retirement plan.”

A high bar and words to live by, but Annabelle wanted more. She needed to flunk out of college too. But damn, she sure did have a good time. Trivial arrest records not-withstanding, it was a growth period for our girl. And if you look closely, you’ll see a bit of what was to come when she majored in criminal justice. Her lifelong aspiration was to become a judge. Hmm.

For better or worse, Annabelle didn’t graduate from college but did find gainful employment and a fulfilling career. This path ended when she became a mom. Married to her wonderful George, who to this day can hardly remember an actual proposal, Annabelle finally became a mother. She didn’t have a clue how hard she would need to work to keep those self-imposed requirements of Downey-fresh, iron-pressed sheets, home-baked meals, and mom-of-the-year awards arriving. She composed a small self-affirmation song and made her children sing it to her for money. She was a very good mom.

After clearing the largest hurdles of motherhood and regrettably, begrudgingly, and not-without-tears, launching her children onto the world, she looked around and realized she had a lot to say. Picking up a laptop, she got to work.

Annabelle spends her days continuing to tackle the challenges of motherhood, for both her humans and canines. She also writes. And reads. And cleans. And cooks. And bakes. And cleans again. She also supports her husband, George, in an administrative capacity for their small business. She’s in charge of payroll and cuts George’s checks. This leads to no marital acrimony.

In the beginning, with the blank page staring at her and possibly in a hostile mood after being literally mauled by a dog and by the world in general, she had an idea. What if she could wield a force of good upon unsuspecting evil-doers? What if she had the resources to get the job done without dealing with committee and anyone else’s whiney-ass opinions?

It was gold. It took off. Annabelle sat down and began to write and couldn’t stop. To date, having written over a million words in the Carrows Family Chronicles and her second series on the Boston Clairvoyants, several items have become quite clear. Annabelle had a lot to say. Annabelle really enjoys writing. And although she hates all things technology, she begrudgingly pounds her head on her desk daily as obstacles are thrown in her path. Almost a hero.

Since entering her world of make-believe, she has rebelled against all intrusion of real-world responsibilities. Her house is a mess, but she tries. Her family is fed, but more often than not, on takeout. She vows to shower every day, but no, it’s a vow she’ll never keep. Her friends are neglected, but not in her heart.

Read her mordacious blog! Read her books! Follow her on social platforms! Sign up for her newsletter! These are all good things. What are you waiting for? Jump into bed with Annabelle. She’s having a swell time. You should join her.

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Is Mechanical good? Blitz

BeyondtheCogs - Is Mechanical good? Blitz Beyond the Cogs: A Steampunk Anthology
C. Vonzale Lewis, Elle Beaumont, Nicholas J. Evans
Adult, Steampunk
Midnight Tide Publishing
November 17th 2021

When a world is reimagined…

This anthology contains three impeccable steampunk stories. Ranging from the gritty tale of battling a creature who steals the souls of others, to dabbling in the taboo art of imbuing a human soul into an automaton, and even a man venturing back home only to discover he’s been demonized.

The Soulless Ones by C. Vonzale Lewis

The Rogue of Vangard by Nicholas J. Evans

Gossamer & Thorns by Elle Beaumont

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For those who love adventure in new worlds, gritty stories, and heart-wrenching tales, this collection is sure to resonate with you!

When a world is reimagined…⁣

⁣This anthology contains three impeccable steampunk stories. Ranging from the gritty tale of battling a creature who steals the souls of others, to dabbling in the taboo art of imbuing a human soul into an automaton, and even a man venturing back home only to discover he’s been demonized.⁣

Get started on Beyond the Cogs: A Steampunk Anthology today ➞

⁣⁣⁣#Bibliophile #Bookshelf #BookClub #Bookish #Booksy #BookNerd #BookWorm #Bookstagram #bookstagrammer #BookBlogger #BookQueen #BookLove #BookStack #GoodReads #BookShark #BookCommunity #ReadersOfInstagram #BookBabe #Reading #BookAesthetic #BookishPost⁣ #XpressoTours @XpressoTours

Excerpt – Gossamer & Thorns by @ellebeaumontbooks⁣

On arrival at the Nilssons’ home, Kris could already smell the fragrance of almond cake. It was his favorite dessert, and they always made certain he had plenty of it when he stayed for supper.

Halfway to the door, Emilie emerged onto the front porch and held her hand out. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She wore a pale-blue sleeveless dress with ruffles on the shoulders. It clung to her slender frame, which seemed frailer than usual. Kris didn’t want to dwell on it, but it was difficult to distract himself from the truth as it glared at him.

He bowed his head as he gently took her hand in his, then placed a tender kiss to her knuckles. “And here I am.” Pulling back, he scanned the windows for spying parents, and when he saw nothing, he scooped Emilie into his arms. He squeezed her gently and peppered kisses along her temple. “I’m famished, but after supper we need to talk.”

Emilie closed her eyes as Kris continued to kiss every inch of her face, but when his lips connected to hers, she stiffened, then relaxed in his arms. Her soft lips tasted of almond cake and herbal tea.

“Supper is ready,” she murmured against his lips and leaned in for another lingering kiss.

Kris shifted his jaw and sighed. “Very well.” His broad shoulders slumped as he took one slow step after the other.

Emilie laughed, tugging on his hand. “Come on.” She squeezed her fingers against his. “I’ve saved kisses for after dessert.” Glancing up at him through her lashes, she offered a teasing smile.

It was enough to twist his gut with desire. Kris longed to take her into his arms and claim every part of her as his own. To have her take his name, his body, as much as she took his heart.

“Damn good manners to the depths,” he proclaimed as he followed her into the house for supper.

* * *

By the time they’d finished eating, the sun had dipped below the mountains and the moon ascended to its throne amidst the velvet night sky. Stars twinkled like diamonds in light, mesmerizing Kris. Beside him on a blanket, Emilie leaned against him, staring up at the sky.

He dragged his knuckles down her cheek, then spread his fingers through her pale blond hair. The strands were like threads of moonlight against his skin—like gossamer. Just as his orchids were delicate, so was Emilie. And yet she was resilient despite what life threw at her.

“I spoke with my uncle.” Kris broke the silence. “He agreed to help find treatment. Sorensen Pharmaceuticals has a trial drug . . . ”

Emilie withdrew, twisting to face him. Instead of the elation he figured she might display, her brows furrowed in confusion. Almost as if she were displeased. “Kristoph, I don’t know.”

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The Rogue of Vangard by @nickevanswrites⁣

The battered bronze carapace of the rotary-cycle rattled dangerously under my feet.

Every bolt and screw shifted in loud clinks and clanks to let me know, in their own metallic language, that I would soon be an unrecognizable pile of goo on the distant street below.

“Come on, you pile of parts,” I shouted to no one at all, foregoing much more colorful terms. “Come on, Come on!”

My fingers tightened around the lift console. The vibration of the steam engine reverberated up the steering shaft and through my gloves, traveling upward further until my teeth clicked against each other rhythmically. I dared not look below, but I was not much for dares and decided to do it anyway only to find the ground racing toward me by the second. The rooftops were closing in around me like a prison, and I pulled the console in desperation for it to just push up a little higher. My heart beat thumped rougher and quicker until it was echoing into the chasm of my throat. I swallowed hard, inhaled even harder, and concentrated on the situation at hand.

Behind me, a posse consisting of a half dozen black rotary-cycles were closing in fast. Their riders hurled balls of rotating flame at me that whizzed by with enough ambient heat to nearly singe my facial hair. I quickly turned around and reached out toward them with an open palm, the brown glove on my hand made a hiss sound as several metallic coils and tubes released steam on the backside just below my knuckles. There, an orb sat in a translucent blue that faintly glowed in a glacial coolness, and each of the coils fed on that soft light in turn.

In my palm, a cone-shaped blast of spiraling ice forcefully spat outward and overtook three of the six assailants. The veins of frost spread rapidly over the front propellers and wings of their newer-model rotary-cycles before encroaching on the riders themselves.

They dropped to the ground in a three-pack of cold ones. Once hasty, humming machines now turned to silent blocks of ice that noiselessly plummeted until a loud thud echoed skyward. Violence was never my forte, yet if the moment called for it then I would answer tenfold. Still, I could not watch their meteoric fall to the cobbled streets, and I quickly turned back to the view in front of me. Their shouts a moment later told me that they had survived, luckily, and I left them in the wake of steam that puffed from the rotary-cycle exhaust.

“We need backup!” I heard one of my tag-alongs call out. “He’s got a Shiver Attunement!”

“Spread out around him!” Yet another joined in, this one had more of a bellowing tone like that of an opera vocalist. “Flank him from the sides! His junker of a cycle is going to drop at any time now!”

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Excerpt for The Soulless Ones by @carlavlewis⁣

The two-story French inspired building was painted white with pale yellow doors. Magnolias sat in a flower box underneath all the windows. The green awning over the door had a painting of a woman wearing a corset and a man with his jeans so low on his hips you could just make out the line of hair surrounding his manhood.

            I pulled open the doors and warm floral-tainted air rushed out. A fire blazed in the fireplace against the wall. Two old fashioned wood-trimmed couches sat across from one another, with a dark wood coffee table sitting in between. A single chair sat off to the side. Cozy.

A woman sat in the front room with a shotgun resting on her bare thighs. Long red hair pulled up into a bun with a few stray tendrils surrounding her face, she regarded us out of deep blue eyes. 

            “What’s your pleasure, darlin’?” she asked, her red-painted nails tapping lightly on the gun barrel.

            “You greet all your customers with that shotgun?” I asked as I eased my hand toward my own, just in case.

            The woman shifted her gaze to Pearl, assessing, then smiled, her whole face lighting up with the gesture. “Can’t be too careful right now.” She stood, giving us an unobstructed view of her black camisole and bare legs. “New Orleans isn’t too safe right now. Folks are packing up and leaving.” She leaned the gun against the chair and pulled her black, silk robe around her. “Figured I’d get a feel for the person coming through the door before I let them see my girls.”

            “You do seem to be the only business open,” I said.

            She nodded. “No amount of danger would ever stop a horny bastard seeking out some company.” She studied me for a minute. “Yet, you don’t look as if you’re pursuing a good time.”

            It was my turn to smile. I stepped forward. “No. Not looking for a good time. My name’s Parasol Daring.” I jerked my head toward Pearl. “This is my sister, Pearl.”

“Eliza Willow. Most folks call me Ella.” She looked at Pearl. “An automaton for a sister. Must be the best kind. My own sister cleaned me out and left when she was eighteen. If I ever see her again, I might put a bullet in her head.”

Pearl laughed. “Now you’re talking.” She extended her arm, showing off my failed attempts to make her look more like me. “My sister covered me in toxic paint when she was seven.”

“Why didn’t you remove it?” Ella asked.

“It helps when I tell people of the near brush with death at the hands of a deranged seven-year-old.”

I shook my head. Pearl loved telling that story.

Ella furrowed her brow. “Wait. Are you the late Bobby Daring’s granddaughter?”

I nodded.

She gave me a sympathetic look. “His death must have hit you hard.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “He was a masterful inventor. The first deviser.” I smiled at that. He was the first to bring the machines back into the world. “The new man who took over is not half the genius your grandfather was.” She shook her head. “Sub-par automatons. It’s a good thing other folks have taken up the trade.” She frowned. “Although I imagine it’s hard seeing your grandfather’s work be reduced to trash.”

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To blend or not to blend: Book Review

blending 1 - To blend or not to blend: Book Review Blending In
#10 Magical Romantic Comedies with a Body Count
RJ Blain
‎ Pen & Page Publishing
(20 Nov. 2018)
four star - To blend or not to blend: Book Review

Thanks to a jealous divine, whenever Chase Butler comes anywhere near Miriah, she turns into a chameleon. While her hopes of having a happily ever with Mr. Right are dashed, she’s determined to have the next best thing: a perfect Christmas.

Finding a puppy for her son, dodging the unwanted attention of her divine fling of an ex, and keeping on top of a holiday charity drive for local pet shelters sure is complicated when prone to transforming into a twelve-inch lizard with a severe allergy to snowbanks.

Since blending in has gotten her nowhere fast, she’s going to have to pull out all the stops to get what she wants, even if it lands her on Santa’s naughty list.

Warning: This holiday story contains excessive humor, action, excitement, adventure, magic, romance, and bodies. Proceed with caution.

#10 in the Magical Romantic Comedies with a Body Count. Which series title more or less explains the plot. Yes, these books are funny, there are romances, there is magic, and usually at least one person or more dies. Mostly by foul means or fair.

This is an Xmas themed story but one that will cause many animal lovers to weep tears. It includes a puppy mill; a 3 legged cat; 3 puppies less than 4 weeks old with no mother; a beagle who has never lived out of a cage and a chameleon. The latter is the only ‘animal’ – who isn’t in need of care and attention – except she is in need of a romance, which she duly gets.

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A Midlife Change: Book Blitz

Midlife Witch - A Midlife Change: Book Blitz Midlife Witch Unexpected
(Cougar Creek Coven, #1)
by Melle Amade
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Women’s Fiction
Publication date: November 23rd 2021

Middle-aged and starting over is the last thing I ever wanted on my bucket list. But since my husband announced he was gay and my daughter left for college, I don’t really have a choice.

If I’m going to get my “Happily Ever After” I have to start making new choices, starting with picking guys who like women rather than women’s makeup would be a good start.


I’m way past the point of caring what other people think. I’m 49, about to turn 50 and I’m pretty sure I’m entering the prime years of my life. It’s time to make my mark and do things the way I want to do them.

Like move.

I am sooooooo leaving the city that has sucked me dry with the commute and the executive position. There’s no way I’m doing that anymore. I have enough money from the divorce to buy a house, almost any house, outside of California. I take one suitcase and my jeep, and I leave town, not stopping until I get to Cougar Creek, which is so small I think it’s barely a town, but I’m all about it. This is where I will get my fresh start.

I inherited my Aunt’s home here years ago and never even visited, but the renters just moved out and I might as well make it my home.

For now.

But Cougar Creek has a lot more in store for me than I ever imagined. There is a load of eligible young men from the local ranches, a couple of new BFFs in similar situations, and a strange invitation to a local secret society who think I’m the new high priestess of their local coven. I didn’t stop laughing until I realized they wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. They have a massive problem in the cemetery and they expect me to solve it.

But I didn’t trade in one life of rules for another one, so if they want me to be high priestess, they’re going to have to accept that I make the rules.

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Middle-aged and starting over is the last thing I ever wanted on my bucket list. But since my husband announced he was gay and my daughter left for college, I don’t really have a choice.⁣

⁣ Midlife Witch Unexpected by @melleamade is book 1 in a new 6 part paranormal women’s fiction series, Cougar Creek Coven. And one to add to my collection of Midlife Witch stories!

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“That’s her?” A deep voice came from the front door.

“See anyone else around here, Branson?” Bianca swiveled away from me and spoke to the golden man who stood by the front door.

His laughter reverberated from his throat and all the way to my thighs. My eyes opened wide as I looked him over. Thankfully he was staring down at his phone, his golden eyes almost hidden by his blond locks falling forward over his tan skin. He wore a plaid red, white, and blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was broad, lean, and muscular, and way too young for me.

“Who the heck is that?” I asked. 

“Your caretaker,” Bianca raised an eyebrow at me.

“My caretaker?” I asked.

“The caretaker of The Estate,” Bianca explained it slowly as if she was talking to an ignoramus, which at the moment I actually felt like.

“The Estate,” I repeated like a parrot. Then suddenly snapped out of it. “Aunt Emma’s estate! Okay! Got it.”

“Round here we all just call it The Estate,” Bianca said with a shrug.

“And that’s the caretaker?” I whispered to Bianca, my voice catching in my throat.

“Every last inch of him,” she nodded, stealing a covert glance at the tall, broad man who dwarfed the front office space of the Cougar Creek cop shop.

“Lord have mercy,” I said under my breath. 

Branson went straight to the sign-in sheet as if this wasn’t his first time here. But his handsome features scowled as he looked over at me. I stared back as he stepped across the sheriff’s office to tower above me, his arms folded over his chest.

“Well, that’s not intimidating at all.” I craned my neck to look up at him.

He started as if he hadn’t been aware of himself, took a step back, and unfolded his arms. “You’re Mae.” He stated the obvious. “I’m here to drive you home.” 

“That’s a long way to drive.” My mind suddenly thought of a long leisurely drive back to L.A. with my caretaker, Branson. 

“Pardon?” Branson looked at me a bit confused.

“Never mind.” I stood up turning to Bianca. “Do you need anything else from me tonight? It’s late and I’m exhausted. You are remanding me into Branson’s custody?”

“My custody? I’m just giving you a ride home.” Branson held up his hands in protest.

“Sheriff said you’re to verify who she is, take her home, and bring her back tomorrow to get her jeep,” Bianca confirmed for Branson.

I covertly looked him over thinking I wouldn’t mind being in his very good hands. But instantly my heart squeezed. Men weren’t safe; not at all. As I poured back through the years of lies, I realized there was probably not one single moment of truth in my relationship with my ex-gay husband. How was I ever going to trust any man ever again? Clearly, I was an idiot; a vulnerable, gullible idiot who believed anything anybody said to me.

“Are you sure he’s safe to take me to my house?” I asked Bianca.

“I have a police tracker on,” Branson wiggled his leg.

“Seriously?” I took a step back.

Bianca and Branson burst out laughing. “No not seriously,” Bianca said. “There’s only one person around here on the radar.”

“And it’s not me.” Branson pointed out. “Now come on. I’ve got a poker game waiting for me. Let me get you home and all tucked in.”

I looked over my shoulder at Bianca and we both did a slight giggle at his words, clearly thinking the same thing about being tucked in. It was a relief to feel an instant bond to this other middle-aged divorced woman, even though she’d never left this town. I guess that was nothing to hold against someone.

I shook my head as I trailed behind Branson to the door.

I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to have romance. I was here to get some space, clear my head, and more than likely sell a house. My divorce was almost through and then I could start my new life. 

Branson held the door open for me. “I’ll take you home, boss, and have you delivered to your jeep in the morning.”

My stomach sank. That’s right. He was my employee. 

Well, of the estate, but as I was the sole owner of the estate, he was still my employee.

And a “no fraternizing with the staff” rule went without saying. There was no way to even have a little fling with Mr. Rock Solid Biceps. 

He was way off-limits.

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USA Today Bestselling Author. Farm Girl. Marketing Director.

Melle - A Midlife Change: Book Blitz

Since I was eight, I have been writing stories that capture the adventures in my head and the characters strong enough and flawed enough to have them. When I look at an empty field, I see a formidable citadel. When I meet a vulnerable old man, I greet an emeritus warrior. When I walk through city streets, I feel dimensions hiding around every turn. It has been my lifelong passion to explore these worlds that reveal the pain of loneliness, the joy or self-actualization, and the hope of magic.

I grew up in a place called Potter Valley where the Milky Way is held aloft by a circle of mountains and the central business district consists of a bait store and a saloon. At 19 I moved alone to London and spent the next ten years exploring the world, even becoming an Australian citizen, before I returned to California and found a new home in Los Angeles. My world revolves around my two wee children, storytelling, and my love of travel.

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Shifting and Dying? Book Blitz

18 - Shifting and Dying? Book Blitz Dead Shift
(Grave Talker, #4)
Annie Anderson
Adult, Urban Fantasy
November 16th 2021

Detective Darby Adler is about to hand in her badge.

After inadvertently taking the mantle of Warden of Knoxville, Darby has painted a huge target on her back. With bridges burned and the ABI on her tail, she’ll have to decide between staying a small-town detective or leaning into her new role.

It’s not only her job on the line—it’s her life.


Who says small towns are boring?


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Detective Darby Adler is about to hand in her badge…

⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣The fourth book in the Grave Talker series is here!


There should be a rule in the universe somewhere that said if someone—namely, me—had already dealt with enough shit, then no one could bother said someone for at least twenty-four hours.

Or maybe forty-eight.

A case could be made for seventy-two as well.

But since such a rule did not exist—at least in this universe—I was stuck with my ass on the grass, staring at a bullshit note and wishing I could explode the sender’s brain with my mind. Exploding a brain couldn’t be too far outside my new scope of abilities. I’d twisted the heads off a group of ghouls’ shoulders a few days ago with no more than a flick of my fingers. Making one measly brain go poof should be child’s play, right?

If only.

Though, with my teeth rattling around in my head from the ground shaking beneath my feet, I figured maybe, just maybe, my new abilities may not be a good thing. I mean, the wind whipping through the church could possibly have been a fluke, but the ground shaking like a goddamn maraca?

Probably not.

Still, I couldn’t peel my eyes from that note to save my life, and more? I didn’t want to.

Azrael lied to you. Killian isn’t where you think he is.

Come find me when you’re ready for the truth.


The man who I’d called “Father” my whole life was in the ground right now, his body moldering in his casket, and the man who’d set it all into motion had the nerve to pick at the bloody scab that was my wounded heart.

I reached for that stupid note, ready to set it on fire or crumble it up, or something, anything but let it lie in the grass where my dad had been put to rest. A hard hand knocked my fingers away before they could make contact, startling me right out of my ill-conceived plan. My sister stared at me like I’d grown a whole new head—and for good reason. A few months ago, she’d gotten a similar note from our brother, one that would have killed her had she not been utterly and totally dead already.

“Are you okay?” Sloane asked, rolling her eyes at herself as she did so. She’d asked me that same question quite a lot over the last few days, and each time she seemed to curse herself.

I cradled the hand she’d smacked against my chest as I inspected her features—ones that seemed to flicker every couple of seconds from regular Sloane to one so fucking frightening it was a wonder I wasn’t running away screaming.

Poker face, don’t fail me now.

6 - Shifting and Dying? Book Blitz


Annie - Shifting and Dying? Book Blitz

Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.

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