Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin'
Thursday, July 16, 2026
To Desire a Devil by Victoria Holliday
The Chosen by T.K. Leigh
Bound Beauty
Bound Beauty
Jennifer Silverwood
(A Wylder Tale, #3)
Publication date: July 14th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Forgotten gods haunt her steps, and the cursed prince she left behind isn’t done fighting for her soul.
Vynasha is bound to the prince of Bitterhelm. Even if she were to die, her spirit will remain trapped with him in the castle forever. But she won’t give in to Grendel without a fight. With the aid of an oracle, a witchling, and the wolf that claims her heart, Vynasha plans to claim her power as the curse breaker.
Ceddrych guards their nephew secretly while fighting to keep the feral beasts roaming their borders at bay. But the monsters are closing in, and the madness he has struggled with drives him to one desperate, unforgivable act.
A war is about to begin between the forgotten people of Wylderland and the cruel might of Bitterhelm. Beings of prophecy and legend unite in the epic third chapter of the Wylder Tales Series, a romantic gothic re-telling of Beauty and the Beast.
WYLDER TALES is a series of romantic dark fairy tales, set in the past of the wider Borderlands Saga, and includes:
•slow burn romantasy
•forced proximity
•enemies to lovers
•found family
•magical bonds
•wicked witches
•burly beasts
•morally gray characters
—
EXCERPT:
IN A FORBIDEN DREAM IN WYLDERLAND…
The journey seemed to take far longer than she remembered, and part of her feared the passage of time here compared to the world her body remained behind. Ceddrych had told her countless tales of the dangers of magick, of what happened when one dwelled too long in enchanted dreams.
Here the palace looked less like a ruin wrought from rampage. Candles gave off an unnatural silver glow and the hovering lights that had been trailing Vynasha seemed to thicken and gather as she lifted a hand to push open the doors to the throne room. They cracked open before her hand could touch the intricately carved wood.
Snow filtered in through the broken ceiling and rose vines curled over every surface, crawling up the obsidian columns and steps to the throne. Surrounding the steps, the shadow-spirits of beasts of every size and shape lounged and paced. Their forms flickered about the edges, and their eyes glowed brightly, turning to fix upon Vynasha as she slowly entered the hall.
Upon the throne, the thorned vines had dug into a hunched over man. His blood gleamed luminous violet, the same shade as hers was now.
With every step she took, the full wreck of his downfall became increasingly apparent. The shadow beasts at her back pressed closer, urging her forward. Vynasha clenched her fists and refused to climb the steps to face him.
“Grendel.” Her voice echoed like a plucked lute string through the cavernous hall.
Grendel shuddered and then raised his head and looked at her with dead violet eyes. “Vynasha.” The crack in his voice echoed clearly to her ears. His eyes widened when she remained, and his vine-wrapped hands clawed at the arms of his throne. “You have come at last.”
Her feet began to move of their own accord. She barely caught herself in time. She could not, would not go to him, and certainly never pity him. “What happened here? Why are my roses taking over like this?”
“Can you not guess, Vynasha” Grendel leaned forward, ignoring the press of the rose crowning his dark hair. “Vynasha, you have no idea how your absence has undone me. It has been pure torture to sense you but never able to touch you.”
“Good.” Vynasha took a single involuntary step up the stairs leading to his throne. His violet eyes flared wide with apprehension as she growled, “You and your monsters have made our lives a living hell, Grendel. It’s only fair I repay your bloody kindness.”
Grendel’s lips parted and his gaze took in the full measure of her with all the subtlety of a starving man. “Yet you are here,” he said, a new clarity brightening his violet gaze. His hands flexed against the arms of his throne. “You are truly here, and that means the spell has been broken.”
Vynasha flinched at his sudden smile and found herself unable to take a step back. Her feet drove her forward once more, and this time she had no power over herself to stop. “What are you doing to me?”
Grendel’s hand twitched and then she was flung forward. He groaned as he caught her, the thorns digging deeper into his flesh. She cried out as the same thorns cut her palms as she braced herself against his chest. “I have you, at last, I have you,” he said, eyes bright with unshed tears.
He was mad. No, she was mad. For the instant her hands found his flesh, a roaring wave of need assaulted her. She could rage at him and claim this was his need she felt, not her own. But this compulsion was familiar, forbidden and something she had fought desperately to forget in the past three moons.
“Grendel, let me go” she pleaded as she leaned into him, the pain of his thorns forgotten as he pulled her into his lap and began to press his lips over every part of her he could reach.
“How could I give you up my beauty, my love, my queen?”
She couldn’t breathe. The scent of roses, of life and death, of him were overwhelming. A part of her was starving, had been starving for months, she realized wish sickening clarity. “I hate you,” she sobbed as she tilted her chin and gave him further access to her neck. “If you pull me back here again, I will find a way to kill you, I swear it.”
“You cannot kill me without killing yourself, love,” he said with a laugh.
“Then we both die.” She shook her head but could not help tracing her nose along his neck, to draw in more of his heady scent.
“Vynasha,” he cried as her lips pressed to his pulse. “Please, Vynasha!”
But he was no longer tangible beneath her hands, the thorns no longer piercing them both. The painful aching need to mold herself to him faded just as she did, her hands disappearing before her eyes.
“Vynasha!” He cried with an agony she felt as her spirit was ripped free from Grendel’s nightmare. And the world around her dimmed, consumed by a cloud of inky ashes.
Author Bio:
Jennifer Silverwood lives in the middle of an enchanted forest surrounded by cursed books, nosy spirits, and mischievous goblins she calls her children. After beginning several nonsensical degrees, she found her calling helping other authors bring their books to life. Jennifer is the author of two fairy tale fantasy series: the Borderlands Saga and Wylder Tales. Because she wasn't satisfied writing in one genre, she also invites you to explore uncharted space with the Heaven’s Edge Novellas—and dare to fall in love again with the standalone romance titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight.
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Bound Beauty Blitz
Crater Girl
Crater Girl
Polly Schattel
Publication date: June 28th 2026
Genres: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, LGBTQ+
Greta Tyler has issues. She’s broke, divorced, trans, recently defrocked from her Episcopal priesthood, and her underpaid assistant hates her. But hey, things could always be worse, right?
As a social worker in a small, northern Alabama city, Greta’s just trying to do a little good in the world, and also come to terms with a complicated new life, a demanding new career, and the crushing finality that her marriage to her childhood sweetheart is over for good. But when her friend Suhey fails to show for a party, Greta suspects the worst: Suhey’s either been deported or kidnapped. Thus begins an increasingly surreal odyssey through the inscrutable byways and backroads of contemporary rural America.
Tormented by self-doubt, and with a tendency to harm whatever she touches, Greta careens through a sinister underworld she never knew existed—billionaires and busboys, asteroids and assassins, human traffickers and misfit geniuses … and also an infernal plan to radically change the world.
But first, how to come up with the rent?
Crater Girl is Polly Schattel’s genre-jumping tale of gender politics, self-loathing, clandestine organizations, interstellar geology, thuggee death cults, and the search for personal redemption in the rusted over-sprawl of the meta-modern South.
—
EXCERPT:
“The first time I ever heard of the concept of the dead eye was in reference to a man I knew was troubled before I’d even reached my teens. Rick M. Scharpley, who his seventh grade homeroom class called Mr. Scharpley to his face but Prick Him Sharply behind his back, was a substitute who’d been brought in to take over after our regular history teacher had broken her back in a car accident. He’d taught us through the rest of that year, a mousy, chubby man with sensible hair, sensible glasses, and a perfectly sensible face. No one knew whether he had a wife or kids, or a family back home, and he seemed normal enough to his students, even funny sometimes, until you’d spent an afternoon or so with him. Then you’d start to notice how his eyes had grown soft and buggy and darkly fascinated with you, and how the little ironic twist of his smile rarely faltered. He knew his history, and he could sometimes make stuff like antebellum Alabama halfway interesting, but the various disparate parts of him commingled oddly, which pushed him almost into full-on creepazoid territory, and you found yourself wanting “to spend as little time in his presence as possible but unable to say exactly why. In class it wasn’t too bad; his cigarette prestidigitation and his day-drinker legerdemain made a decent distraction for the after-school detention crew. But we thought even then, even as kids, that beneath his southern gentleman’s surface, there flowed an underground reservoir rich with self-loathing, a vast subterranean sea of near-bottomless black pain.
We knew this, the whole town knew this, because one sunny Sunday in that summer of 2006, Mr. Scharpley left a note magneted to the front of his refrigerator, a very personal kind of mini-manifesto within which he detailed all manners of abuses, self- and otherwise. Then he carried half a dozen syringes loaded with a potent pesticide called chlordecone into the local farmer’s market, and began injecting random crates of peaches with them. Eight people, most of them kids and old folks, had fallen into foamy-mouthed convulsions before he’d pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the frontage road.
Author Bio:
POLLY SCHATTEL lives in the mountains near Asheville, NC with her wife and three vicious and savage but very adorable animals.
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Crater Girl Blitz
Wednesday, July 15, 2026
Reaper’s Quest
Reaper’s Quest
Debra A Kristi
(Curse of the Royal Reaper, #1)
Publication date: July 13th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
Two rival reapers. A century of overdue souls. Revelations sure to crumble foundations.
Raven Gunn blamed herself and the cheat she used on her last job for her team’s assignment to the cursed reaping. Her father even packed the tool responsible for the cheat in her travel bag, silently suggesting the need, while reminding her not to trust her designated coreaper, Chace Badden. A hundred years of accumulated reapings, a prohibited reaper-tool, her born rival tasked as her partner… What could go wrong? She definitely wouldn’t allow Chace’s good looks to compromise her focus. Not. One. Bit.
Chace Badden suspected family connections were to blame for his team’s assignment, and he trusted nothing about the current reaping task. Especially not the Fae bastard showering Raven with unnecessary attention. That pr*ck needed to go. Raven was his coreaper and the pretty boy held no claim. Of course, the same could be said for Chace given Raven was his coreaper and his rival, professionalism and distance needed to remain steady between them.
But as more complications arise and old ones intensify, will Chace and Raven’s rivalry cloud emotions, hinder task success, and pave the road for, not only failure but, something far more concerning than mortal danger? Because the overwhelming number of unreaped souls is turning out to be the least of their worries.
Reaper’s Quest is the first book in an adult romantasy series that grows spicier with each book, while containing dark themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers. This series is ideal for fans of:
•Slow Burn & Tension (with plenty of action)
•Angsty, Trapped, Morally Gray Hero
•Forced Proximity
•“Who did this to you?”
•Multiple POV
—
EXCERPT:
Halfway across the rotunda, near the God of Death’s center statue, Chace Badden fell into step at my side, a confident swagger in his walk.
“Reaper Gunn,” he said, his delivery a smooth tease I ignored.
Even as my shoulders stiffened at the sight of him―black shirt, two unfastened buttons exposing a hint of skin, and pants snug against his body.
I dipped my gaze below his belt, and a tight breath dragged through my lungs.
Eyes up, Raven. Eyes up.
He snagged my elbow―his touch gentle, casual, as if zero tension existed between us. “Spot something of interest?”
I fought the desire to roll my eyes. Of course he’d shown up today with a megabat-sized chip on his shoulder. An ego, no doubt, inflated by his parents’ never-ending bolstering.
Author Bio:
Award winning and USA Today Bestselling Author Debra Kristi writes addicting young adult fantasy, urban fantasy, and paranormal adventures. Born and raised a Southern California girl, she still resides in the sunny state with her husband, two kids, and several rescue cats.
Unlike many of the characters in the stories she writes, Debra is not immortal, and her only superpower is letting the dishes and laundry pile up. When not busy drumming away at the keyboard spinning new tales, Debra is hanging out creating priceless memories with her family, geeking out to science fiction and fantasy television, and tossing around movie quotes.
Debra Kristi's books are published by Ghost Girl Publishing LLC.
Visit www.DebraKristi.com for FREE books, new releases, and/or to become a member of the Insider's Club.
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Newsletter
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eBook copy of Reaper’s Quest + an e-ARC of book 2 Blitz
Tuesday, July 14, 2026
Not a Gentleman by Lani Lynn Vale
Hearth or Heart
Hearth or Heart
Emily Lane
(The Bowman Girls, #1)
Publication date: July 13th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance, Romance
After her father dies, Effie Bowman and her eight sisters are left penniless, homeless, and alone. Salvation comes in the form of the new custodian of the estate, Mr Thornaby. But the more she learns of Mr Thornaby, the more she realises he needs her discretion as much as she needs his security.
In her efforts to moderate the wild Mr Thornaby, she recruits the unlikely aid of ton society’s most determined widower, Sir John Callander.
As the season progresses and Effie pulls Sir John deeper into her desperate schemes to moderate Mr Thornaby, both are forced to wonder if Effie is attempting to tame the wrong gentleman.
—
EXCERPT:
Of all the consequences to befall a clutch of daughters belonging to an entailed estate, this one was quite outside the common.
‘£20 a month in pin money?!’ cried Effie.
‘Each.’
Mrs Thornaby, ensconced in a cream morning gown of twilled French silk that seemed to defy her age, smiled most becomingly upon her niece.
‘That is just for your frills and affects and whatever other small accoutrements you young girls require these days,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘Your dresses, gowns, and hats, of course, can be drawn against my son’s account.’
‘Ma’am, I could never.’
‘Oh, yes, you could,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘That boy has too much money.’
Effie’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her gaze down.
Grimacing, Mrs Thornaby said, ‘So, your mother has told you a little of it, I collect.’
‘She has, ma’am,’ Effie admitted.
Mrs Thornaby looked her up and down.
‘Your mother tells me you are an exceptionally good manager.’
Now the talk of money had faded, Effie’s calm, dark eyes levelled upon Mrs Thornaby once more.
‘Yes, ma’am, it’s true.’
‘I suppose with eight sisters, borne of a mother of my sister’s temperament, you, as the eldest, should rather be forced into such a role, even if it was not of your disposition.’
A smirk crossed Effie’s features as she declared, ‘That much is true, to be sure.’
‘But men and boys are a different matter indeed.’
Effie’s hands, trying to thread a needle, paused. She set her embroidery box down and took up her cup of tea.
‘I have no brothers.’
‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Thornaby. ‘And husbands? What thoughts have you on them?’
‘Not so many, ma’am. I can scarcely imagine having one, never mind plural!’
Mrs Thornaby did not laugh. Instead she set down her teacup with a clatter.
‘As you may have heard, my son returned last night from Brighton.’ She paused. ‘My son is… a particular kind of fellow.’
Effie’s brow arched. Having heard—during the small hours of the morning—this particular kind of fellow stumble through the upstairs hallway singing about the roast beef of Great Britain, she was inclined to agree with a great many insinuations that issued from that vague sobriquet.
‘Indeed?’
‘He is now, of course, the custodian of your late father’s estate—by some contortion of family lines.’
Society in the northeast of England was sparse. Somehow, Mrs Thornaby’s son had ended up taking title to the entail of her sister’s late husband’s estate.
‘Yes.’
‘It is all that is natural, then,’ Mrs Thornaby went on. ‘That my son should marry you, to maintain my sister’s place at Barraton.’
What little of the sisterly rivalry that had been passed on to Effie permitted her to regard this piece of charity with deep suspicion. Her eyes cinched a touch.
‘With respect, ma’am, I fail to see why Mr Thornaby should want to marry me.’
‘I do not.’
Blushing, Effie picked up her embroidery box again. ‘I mean, ma’am, that Mr Thornaby must have a great many… um, admirers. I cannot see that he will mark me with any distinction.’
‘He will not, but I shall tell him he is to marry you. Likely, the novelty of it will tickle him, and he will entertain it for a while. Thereafter, it is your duty to… charm him.’
Effie touched her nose. She looked around the cavernous room.
It was an early, grey morning, but the shiny mahogany and silk furniture, glossy wallpapered walls, and great sash windows shone under the blaze of three gilded hearths.
‘Oh. I see.’
Mrs Thornaby’s eyes followed Effie’s, and she grimaced.
‘We are family, Miss Bowman. Now more than we ever were. My son represents Barraton. He is Barraton.’
Effie’s jaw quirked.
‘To put things plainly, my dear, it has lately come to my attention that my son is very much in need of the companionship, temperance, and governance that a wife must, to some unions, bring.’
Mrs Thornaby paused.
‘Now, am I saying that my son is bereft of the faculties required in choosing or acquiring a wife? I am not. But one cannot but put more faith in one’s own family, especially a family so interconnected.’
Effie bowed her head. ‘It would be in my best interests, indeed, to… govern Mr Thornaby—as a wife or no.’
‘But as a wife especially,’ Mrs Thornaby reiterated.
Author Bio:
Emily Lane writes sweet, clean Regency Romance perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer, Sophia Holloway, and Sophie Irwin. Hearth or Heart, her debut, launches July 13th. By day, Emily is a Management Consultant in the Lifesciences industry - she hopes her novels have just as much chemistry as her job! She lives in Thailand, which would be inconvenient but for the hot weather.
The Bowman Girls is Emily's first Regency romance series, with 3 books currently planned:
Hearth or Heart (out now)
Past or Promise (Late 2026)
Duty or Devotion (Late 2026)
Website / Instagram / Facebook / Newsletter
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Hearth or Heart Blitz
Monday, July 13, 2026
GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION by TG Wolf
GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION
by TG Wolff
July 13 - August 7, 2026 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:

The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series
Family values are great for campaigns. Family baggage isn't.
His twin is the last person Miami Detective Seth Rizk expects to defend him at an internal affairs hearing that could end his career. As the interim attorney general for Indiana, Jakob has to keep his reputation clean as he campaigns for the permanent seat.
While waiting for the ruling, Seth returns to Indiana to repay a debt posthumously. The retired cop who once helped solve the Rizk family’s greatest tragedy was found dead under suspicious circumstances. The trail leads straight into a luxury rehab facility where, posing undercover, Seth discovers fraud, theft, ambition—and a motive worth killing to protect.
But Seth’s sins in Miami follow him north, and Jakob is caught in the storm. His campaign team issues an ultimatum: cut ties with your brother or lose the election. With enemies closing in, the twins must decide which bond is stronger: family, justice, or survival.
Perfect for readers of smart mysteries, legal intrigue, and brotherly chemistry.
Praise for Guilty by Association:
"I was pulled into this story and felt like I was right there with all the characters and I love the way the twins interact with each other."
~ Bookbub Reviewer
"There is so much drama and intrigue, making for an entertaining and enjoyable story. The characters are wonderful and so genuine. I find the interactions between the twins, their dad, Jakob’s wife and his staff to be fun to read. The book ended on a zinger and I can’t wait for book 3. I highly recommend reading it and give it 5 stars."
~ Bookbub Reviewer
"If you enjoy engaging sound plots with relatable characters who are involved in complex investigations, then Guilty by Association is the book for you. Because of the cliffhanger ending I can hardly wait for book three."
~ Bookbub 5⭐ review
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery; Legal Mystery, Whodunnit
Published by: Tule Publishing
Publication Date: April 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 324
ISBN: 9781972451007 (ISBN10: 1972451006)
Series: The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series, Book 2
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing
The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series
![]() Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing |
![]() Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing |
![]() Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing |
Read an excerpt:
Seth
Wednesday. Late afternoon.
Sitting on the rooftop of Wallace Investigations in the shade of a canopy, Seth reflected on his afternoon. He’d seen everything the South Bend PD had on the Jameson case. It was both what he expected and disappointing. But, he realized, if there had been the proverbial smoking gun, he wouldn’t be here now.
Or maybe that voicemail to Butch was the smoking gun. Without it, Declan Jameson’s death would have been ruled accidental, and life would have moved on.
While Stanton had welcomed him on the team, Seth had to run his own investigation, separate and unofficial. Top of Seth’s list were Jameson’s children, Danielle and Sean. If he were lucky, Jameson talked to one of them about what he thought stunk.
He dialed the number for Danielle in the police report. After five rings, it rolled to voicemail. Not a surprise. In the day and age of spam calls, he was one of the many who only answered numbers he knew. Well, his phone knew. Seth long ago stopped knowing phone numbers beyond his and the one that rang in the house where his father still lived.
He left a message for Mrs. Tolbert and then dialed the woman who had reported Jameson missing.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The female voice was soft, almost melodic.
“Mrs. O’Connell? My name is Seth Rizk. I am conducting a secondary investigation into Declan Jameson’s death. How are you today, ma’am?” He asked the question to give the woman time to digest the mouthful he’d just given her.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“I would like to meet with you to talk about Captain Jameson.”
“Who is it?” a nosy voice asked grumpily in the background.
“My nephew,” Mrs. O’Connell said away from the phone, then came back to the speaker. “I would love if you visited. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Ma’am? Did you hear what I said?”
“Of course. Tomorrow afternoon? That would be fine. You’re welcome to join us for lunch, if you don’t mind eating with a crowd of sophisticated, older ladies.”
“I would love to join you for lunch. I’ll be there at noon, Mrs. O’Connell. Or should I call you Aunt Morrighan?”
“Yes, that would be best,” she said. “Oh, it’s been such a long time since I’ve had someone to, er, talk to. You know, family. Do you have any news?”
“About Captain Jameson’s death? More questions than answers, but there are a few things I can share.”
She laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “Oh, that brother of yours. He always was a troublemaker.”
No, Jakob was the good brother. Not that she knew.
“I really can’t wait to hear what kind of trouble you’ve been making,” she said, her voice cracking.
Seth heard the real stress behind the faked banter. “I can come now. I’m in the city and can be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, no. Things are the same around here. It will be nice to have a break in routine …”
“Seth, Aunt Morrighan. I’ll see you at noon. You have my number—don’t be shy about using it.”
“Wonderful, see you tomorrow, Seth.” She ended the call.
“Color me intrigued,” Seth said to the pigeon walking around the roof. “The woman was intimidated by someone. Maybe the same someone who shot Jameson up with heart meds. This ought to be an interesting visit. Hold that thought,” he said as his screen showed the daughter’s name. “Seth Rizk.”
“Hello, this is Danielle Tolbert. I’m returning your call?” The question held more than a little distress.
“Thank you for calling, Mrs. Tolbert. My condolences on your loss. I met your father a long time ago. I’m one of the many who respected him.”
Not Jakob. Whatever his problem was.
“Thank you.” Her voice broke.
“I want to speak with both you and your brother, tomorrow if possible.”
She sniffled. “Why do you want to talk to Sean? He lives in Nashville, Tennessee and just came back home when Dad went missing. He doesn’t know anything.”
“With investigations, you just never know when the smallest, off-hand comment holds the key to the entire puzzle. I know this is hard.”
“Why isn’t the South Bend PD handling my father’s case? He worked for them for more than thirty years. He trusted them and wouldn’t like it if they were pushed aside.” Even in her grief, Danielle wasn’t rolling over for him.
“No one has pushed anyone aside. I spent the morning with Detective Stanton. If you prefer, I can see if he’s available to join us.”
A pregnant pause followed.
“No. It’s all right.” She didn’t sound as if it was. “As long as he knows you’re meeting with us, it’s okay. Sean is staying with us. Could you come by the house in the morning? Maybe nine thirty?” When Seth agreed, she ended the call with little courtesy or fanfare.
Seth sat with his elbows on his knees. He would have his hands full tomorrow. He would have to be strategic interviewing the grieving family. In his experience, the doors of cooperation could slam shut quickly. For an instant, he contemplated tagging Stanton. She obviously trusted him. But Seth wanted to get his own impressions. Stanton would be his backup plan, in case he did end up shut out.
The trip to Seven Families, to see Morrighan O’Connell, had to be solo. Walking in with a known cop could shut mouths he needed open.
Briefing the detective after would be good enough for now.
“Well,” he said to the pigeon, “since I’m not going anywhere soon …” He opened the cooler, pulled out a Bud, and leaned back in his chair.
***
Excerpt from Guilty by Association by TG Wolff. Copyright 2026 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from Tule Publishing. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:

TG Wolff has never been able resist a good puzzle. With an engineer’s mind for logic and a lifelong love of mysteries, she crafts whodunnit stories that challenge readers to outsmart her detective. Her books are filled with quirky characters, red herrings, and—because she firmly believes solving (fictional) murders should be fun—a healthy dose of humor.
TG earned both her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in civil engineering, learning early to see every problem as a mystery and each solution as the answer the result of asking the right questions. That same curiosity drives her fiction, where nothing is ever accidental and every detail counts.
When she’s not plotting fictional crimes, TG is a mystery reader and reviewer, and the co-creator / co-host of the whodunnit mystery podcast Mysteries to Die For. A Cleveland, Ohio native, she now lives in northeast Indiana with her husband and two sons, where dogs and mysteries are always welcome.
Catch Up With TG Wolff:
TGWolff.com
Mysteries to Die For Podcast
The Tule Group
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @TG_Wolff
Instagram - @TG_Wolff
LinkedIn
Facebook
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