The Art of Almost Losing It

 

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

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Memory of Rivers

 

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

 

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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Love Next Door

 

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

—

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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Who Will Carry the Fire?

 

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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Jazz Bang Boom

 

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.

 

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

 

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RHINO HORN UNDERGROUND by Deven Greene

 

RHINO HORN UNDERGROUND

by Deven Greene

August 10 - September 4, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Struggling journalist Paige Remington leaves San Francisco for South Africa, determined to revive her failing career with a hard-hitting exposé on rhino poaching.

Danger strikes almost immediately when poachers ambush Paige’s tour group. She survives only because she is rescued by Spencer, a man who claims to work for the FBI. He says he wants to save the rhinos and offers to help her with her story, but as he exposes her to a world she would never see on her own, she becomes embroiled in the brutal underworld of the rhino horn trade herself. Paige discovers that Spencer is not who he claims to be, and suspects he’s in the rhino poaching business himself.

Caught between her ambition and her survival, Paige must decide whether to continue learning about the world of rhino poaching from Spencer and risk becoming the next casualty, or leave for home while she still can.

Praise for Rhino Horn Underground:

"Well, that was one heck of a wild ride! . . . Readers who love international crime thrillers and wildlife fiction will adore this book. Very highly recommended."
~ Readers' Favorite

"Rhino Horn Underground is a bristling, brainy thriller that asks whether doing the right thing still counts when the path to it runs through the shadows."
~ Literary Titan

"A fascinating look at an ethically fraught topic, Rhino Horn Underground underscores the collision of traditional beliefs and modern realities...an action-packed thriller!"
~ Indies Today

Book Details:

Genre: Eco-Thriller
Published by: Panthera Publishing
Publication Date: August 25, 2026
Number of Pages: 307
ISBN: 9781964620107 (ISBN10: 1964620104)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

With the hot sun blazing above, I strain my eyes as hard as I can to look downward, but the blade pressed against my throat remains out of sight. My pulse is racing, and my breathing is so fast I can only gasp. Is that a trickle of blood I sense slowly making its way down my neck, or is it my imagination? Below and to my right, a hand holds a well-worn machete handle. That hand is attached to the muscular forearm of the man standing behind me, ready to end my life any moment. I don’t know what he looks like—it all happened so quickly—but I know he’s a Black man with a thick African accent. He’s telling me to hold still. As if I would do anything other than that right now. I clutch the cell phone in my hand, wondering if I caught anything useful on the video I’d been shooting moments before. Is the camera still running? If my phone were found, the identity of the man holding me would be revealed to the authorities who were sure to investigate later—too late to save me.

Our guide and four others on the tour of the wildlife reserve lie dead on the bare earth ten feet away, each in a pool of their own blood. As I take in the scene, a second Black man holding a rifle shoots the veterinarian who had been speaking to us. Now with a large hole in his chest, the veterinarian, armed only with a vial containing an animal tranquilizer, staggers and falls.

I think of my husband, Quinn, thousands of miles away from this South African wildlife reserve—probably asleep, oblivious to the fact that he is about to become a widower.

The two attackers yell back and forth. They seem to be having a disagreement, but I don’t understand their language. The man with the rifle raises it. I wince and brace myself for impact, but instead of aiming at me, he fires at the rhinoceros in a nearby pen. Blood and tissue—hide, bone, and brain, I suppose—spray from the back of the animal’s head. I watch in shock as the massive creature emits a haunting wail and falls.

A fraction of a second later, another shot rings out, this one quieter. I freeze as the man standing behind me collapses. His machete nicks my arm before he hits the ground. A second shot is fired, and the man who just murdered the rhino falls.

Who did that? Am I safe? I’m shaking as I slowly turn, just as Ethan, the only other surviving member of our group, grabs my arm and yells, “Let’s go!”

With no time to think, I struggle to keep up as I let him drag me. I check my arm where the machete cut it—it’s only a superficial wound oozing a small amount of blood. Ethan tucks the large pistol he’s holding into his waistband while racing toward the dead rhino. My heart is already pounding when loud voices—African voices—approach from heavy brush close by.

Ethan stops and appears to think for a moment, as my heart revs so hard I feel my chest will burst. After the brief pause, he pulls me along again, but in a different direction, now heading towards the body of the dead man who shot the rhino. He drops my hand to search the killer’s pants pockets, pulls out a set of keys, then snatches the rifle lying in the dust nearby. Motioning me to follow, he dashes to the small parking lot and jumps into the driver's seat of an open, doorless jeep that wasn’t there when we arrived. I don’t know this man, but I scramble into the passenger side as fast as I can.

Ethan guns the engine and heads out of the park. My mind is speeding as I struggle to fasten my seat belt, hoping I don’t fall out the side of the vehicle before I get it secured. Who is this guy I met this morning and know only as Ethan? All I know is what I can observe—he’s an average-looking middle-aged White man with a dark tan and thick black glasses, dressed in gray cargo pants. His belly is covered by a dull gray, loose-fitting, long-sleeve shirt with breast pockets and front snaps, hiding the paunch underneath. His gray bucket hat hides his hair, if he has any.

He told our group his name as we left Richards Bay that morning for the two-hour drive to the wildlife reserve in the eastern part of South Africa, where we would see several rhinos and witness the horns being sawed off of one. While the other travelers and our guide were lively conversationalists as we traveled the dusty roads, Ethan remained silent, seemingly uninterested in the scenery. I had written off this milquetoast of a man as someone who was there only because he wanted to take pictures to show people back home, hoping to convince them that he was an interesting person.

Now I’m wondering: Who carries a gun under his shirt when on vacation to view wildlife? And who would be able to fire it so accurately, so swiftly?

I finally snap my seat belt and study him. He stares ahead as he removes a device from his shirt pocket and places it on the dash.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“GPS device.” Moments later, he veers off the main road. Small trees and bushes snap under the jeep.

Not sure what to do, I ask, “What about those people? And the rhino?” Stupid, I know.

“They’re all dead. No time to waste. More were getting close to us.”

“More what?”

“More poachers.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

He glances at me as if I’m an idiot. “I just know.”

“Were you going to take the horns of that rhino?” I know it’s a crime, and I don’t want to sound accusatory, but I can’t imagine any other reason he would start to run toward the deceased animal.

His face tightens and his eyes narrow. “What if I was?”

Now I’ve gotten him mad. I need to change the subject. “Where are we going?”

“I’m getting us to a safe place.”

“I really appreciate what you’ve done, but wouldn’t it be best to head back to Richards Bay?”

“It’s not safe. There’s more where they came from.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Ethan reaches into his right breast pocket and pulls out a leather case a little larger than a credit card. He throws it my way, and it lands on my lap. I gasp as I lift the front flap and see his identification. His name isn’t Ethan, but his picture is on the plastic ID. The man sitting next to me is Spencer Crenshaw, and he’s an FBI special agent.

***

Excerpt from Rhino Horn Underground by Deven Greene. Copyright 2026 by Deven Greene. Reproduced with permission from Deven Greene. All rights reserved.

 

 

Deven Greene | Author Bio:

Deven Greene lives in Northern California near San Francisco. She has a PhD in biochemistry, a medical degree, and spent over twenty years practicing pathology. She uses her education and background to craft realistic novels, primarily thrillers, grounded in science and/or medicine. Many are high concept, and some can be considered hard science fiction. Her published novels include The Erica Rosen MD Trilogy (Unnatural, Unwitting, and Unforeseen), Ties That Kill, The Organ Broker, and Happy Sun Farm.

Catch Up With Deven Greene:

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Defense Mechanisms

 

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.

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Purchase Link

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The Duke's Runaway Omega

 

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.

 

Author’s Website

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

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Torment Becomes Them

 

Torment Becomes Them
Warwick Gleeson
(The American Oz Maker, #1)
Publication date: May 6th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Historical, Science Fiction

The War for Utopia Begins

Inspired by a mad vision of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, a centuries-old time war is being fought to determine the destiny of the human race. As the conflict rages between the early 18th century and the battlefields of World War I, Czarina Sorceress Catherine Romanova joins forces with her younger self, Princess Von Anhalt, magician Zolo Bold, and World Maker Niccolo Paganini, to face a gamut of powerful and implacable foes. The most dangerous and ruthlessly brilliant of them all, the immortal E. G. Godfellow–once known to ancient Greece as the “Scourge of the Gods”–intends to stop Catherine and her allies from rewriting the history of the 20th century.

Their bold plan, to prevent the 80 million deaths of WW II and inaugurate a new utopian vision for humankind in the 21st century, interferes with Godfellow’s plan to maintain the status quo and thereby usher in his own utopian vision of “One Earth—One Master.” Only one vision will dominate, and either way, the cost will be terrible.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

AS SHE KNELT AT THE CATHEDRAL ALTAR in the year 1762 for her royal coronation as Czarina of All the Russias, Catherine Romanova felt like starting a new war. She’d already endured two hours of a five-hour ceremony while wearing twenty pounds of silk and nine pounds of Imperial Crown; and to increase the burden even further, the droning excess of pomp and boredom had drained her of patience, not to mention goodness.

Wishing to distract herself from the seemingly endless prattle of the Russian Orthodox Patriarch as he recited Old Testament scripture, as well as the oven of suffocating heat created by a hoop dress big enough to hide twenty dwarves, Catherine lifted the curtain on theater. She replayed to herself Earth’s most important war to date—the ultimate conflict to define the fate of human nature itself. Her old violin-playing mentor, Niccolo Paganini, had dubbed it “The Utopia War.”

While the aged Patriarch stumbled over a droll reading of Malachi, her musing inevitably took her back to the time just before the war, to another world at age fifteen when she lived in the Castle Bärenthoren and had been known to all of Europe as the famous and unruly Princess Fredericke von Anhalt (aka “Freddie”)—the name born by her proudly until her terribly boring coronation now underway.

Dear God, help me survive this day. My destiny is Catherine, but my soul is Fredericke.

Even though her every breath and eye blink was being carefully watched and measured by the gaseous Moscow nobles who filled the pews of Assumption Cathedral, her first memory began with a sound. A barely audible titter, like distant footsteps on decayed leaves. She’d considered the scraping sound of a mouse to be the origin, or some other invading creature, for every now and then a cat bird or a dove flew into the study and fell to the floor, finally tiring itself out with fearful flutters.

So truly, it could have been any number of things.

Nonetheless, Freddie vowed to ignore the disturbance and return to her prior task: recreating the Greek mathematics of Eratosthenes to determine Earth’s circumference while imagining herself the gallant Sir Francis Drake sailing the Azores in search of Spanish gold.

Putting quill to paper, she sketched the hull of Drake’s ship, The Golden Hind, before jotting down a few notes on the logic of Eratosthenes, and just as she measured the miles between the two cities in his equation, Syene and Alexandria, the strange tittering repeated. But louder this time. Enough to make her hand slip, the point of quill jaggedly defacing her work.

What in Beelzebub’s name? she asked herself.

The disturbance had become too curious to allow any further progress on the circumference of Earth, and though Freddie hated breaking personal vows, she rose from her writing desk, determined to learn the truth.

Author Bio:

Warwick Gleeson has lived in both LA, NYC, and D.C. He has worked many different jobs, everything from brick mason to Federal bureaucrat to small business owner. His agent is currently shopping a futuristic thriller to New York, and a screenplay or two are making the Hollywood rounds. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in many journals such as North American Review, Conjunctions, and Quarterly West. He has two grown children in their forties and is married to a most wonderful woman who is an author of historical murder mysteries and a former writer for National Lampoon magazine.

Website / Goodreads

GIVEAWAY!

Torment Becomes Them Blitz

—

THE TALE OF THE PRINCE AND THE SPIDER

 

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sasha Hopkins will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Prince Alexander is a boy filled with courage, laughter, and light, until a chance encounter with a mysterious new "friend" changes everything. Trapped in a web of fear and silence, he must find the strength to fight back against a dark trickster who wants to steal his voice, his joy, and his future.

The Tale of the Prince and the Spider is a modern fairytale for children, parents, and anyone who has faced fear in silence. Told with warmth, honesty, and hope, it reveals how secrets can poison, how love protects, and how even the smallest voice can grow into a roar.

Through Alexander's journey, readers discover that pain does not define us—courage does. His story is both a thrilling adventure and a gentle reminder that you are stronger than your fears, your voice matters, and you are never alone.

This is more than a tale of princes and monsters. It is a story for every family who longs for healing, resilience, and light in dark times. Beautifully written to spark conversations between children and adults, it invites readers to talk openly about bravery, truth, and the power of standing tall.

Read an Excerpt

One sunny morning, Alexander started an adventure. The sun shone bright like a golden bell, lighting up hills covered in green grass, and wildflowers—yellow, purple, red—spread out like a painter’s canvas. The wind carried scents of dirt and sweet clover, tickling his nose as he rode Menace, his brown horse, whose fur coat gleamed like a soldier’s sword. Menace’s hooves thumped the dirt road, kicking up dust that sparkled. Alexander held the reins tight, feeling them rub his hands, the breeze messing up his hair as his saddle creaked along with the swaying trees above.

Bushes shook—a rabbit darted past; a hawk’s shadow soared overhead. The road stretched on, but where trees grew thick, shadows moved, hinting at a forest full of secrets. Menace huffed, ears twitching, and Alexander patted his warm, scratchy neck. “Keep going, boy,” he said quietly, his heart beating with excitement.

Through the kingdom he went, past roads busy with familiar smiling people who stopped to cheer, their voices lifting him up. But farther out, it got quiet, the land wide and free. With a lion’s bravery, a fire’s strength, and a heart full of love, he rode into the unknown.

About the Author

Sasha Hopkins is a father of five and a storyteller from Melbourne, Australia. His journey has been shaped by both love and hardship. As a child, Sasha endured trauma that left deep scars, yet he chose not to remain silent or let those experiences define him. Instead, he transformed his pain into a story of courage, resilience, and hope.

He wrote The Tale of the Prince and the Spider during a period of recovery in Western Australia, creating it as a gift for his children, Winter, Hunter, Hudson, Navy, and Orion. What began as a father's offering of love became a timeless fairytale for families everywhere: a reminder that even in life's darkest moments, light can be found, voices can be heard, and healing is always possible.

Through his writing, Sasha shares a powerful message: your past does not diminish you, and speaking out is an act of bravery that can inspire others. When he isn't writing, Sasha is adventuring with his kids, encouraging them to embrace adventure, laughter, and the strength within themselves.

Amazon: https://amazon.com/dp/0228892406
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/251865138-the-tale-of-the-prince-and-the-spider

 

Giveaway:  https://kingsumo.com/g/m5g7yn3/the-tale-of-the-prince-and-the-spider-tellwell