Monday, January 25, 2021

The Fury of Angels by Julian M. Coleman


Title: The Fury of Angels
Series: The Damned Reflections Trilogy #1
Author: Julian M. Coleman
Genre: Historical Romance/Women's Fiction
Release Date: January 25, 2021

Sammy is a prep school kid struggling with teen love and bullying. Sara is a shaman's daughter, an outcast and a sociopath. The princess and the warrior are identical best friends surviving in different centuries. They are also ruthless killers doomed to immortality.


Thin slivers of sunlight pierced the stark gray clouds blanketing the horizon. A cold wind whistled through the crack of the poorly constructed sash of the bedroom window. Ruthie didn’t hear the howling sound or feel the frigid temperature. 

Familiar wretchedness lapped over her heart as she knelt by the makeshift crib, a thing of rough timber tied together with scraps of rope. 

She wanted to disbelieve the truth. But her eyes, leaking perpetual tears, saw how the woolen blankets no longer held her curly-haired toddler. He was gone. 

No! She had tucked him into bed the previous night with a heartfelt kiss on his cheek. Her soul ached as she absorbed the painful truth. Massa had taken her son as he had stolen the others. This time she hadn’t been allowed to see him grow much older than his need for a wet-nurse. She had always known Massa would sell him. The urgency this time was the family’s desperate need for money. 

Ruthie held her breast as her heart pounded against her ribcage. A low, persistent moan snared in her throat failed to swell into a soul-searing scream. 

“Ruthie, you is disturbing me with all that sniveling. Git your ass in the kitchen and start making breakfast. I know you ain’t expecting me to fix it!” The annoyed, nasal tone emitted from the Missus’ sunny private reading room. 

The rebuke forced Ruthie’s silence, but the pain gnawed her heart. She rose to her feet on legs barely able to support her statuesque frame. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop looking at the empty crib, the rumpled blankets, and a discarded toy, a pitiful thing she’d made out of rags…which he had adored. 

“Ruthie! Come here, girl!” The irritation in Missus’ tone meant further sufferings. This time, the infuriating voice streamed from the kitchen. 

Ruthie straightened her back, stiffened her shoulders, and lifted her head. Today is going to be different, she promised herself. 

Then she chastised herself. After all, she was to blame for wanting to keep him. For falling in love with his liquid brown eyes and curly black hair. For allowing the maternal stirrings to manifest each time she had nursed him. 

“Ruthie! I ain’t going to call you again! We’re hungry. Git your ass out here! Or do you want me to come in there and beat you?”

“Comin’ Missus!” she tried to wrench the emotion out of her voice. By the time she emerged from her tiny room near the food cellar, she had pasted on a smile. 

Missus, a plain, broad woman in a gingham dress, wore her dark hair in a bun. She sat alone at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup. Her small blue eyes gleamed as she lowered her drink and twisted her lips into a self-satisfied sneer. 

Missus relished her pain. Now there wouldn’t be a brown baby to remind her of Massa’s peculiar and non-Christian tastes for his slave. 

“Good mornin’, Missus,” Ruthie chimed in false cheerfulness. 

Although she could silence her whimpers, she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She escaped the hostile scrutiny by wrapping herself in a shawl, grabbing the basket, and departing for the chicken coop. The hired hands, ne’er-do-well white men more likely to drink hooch than put in a day’s work, were repairing the fence. The sinister way they eyed her comings and goings made her nervous. 

In the distance, she heard the girls, nine-year-old Glorie and her younger sister, Mabel, laughing, although she didn’t see them. She guessed they were somewhere close, playing a game like, Hide and Seek, as usual. As she filled her basket with fresh eggs, the ever-present agony bored a wider hole in the remnants of her heart. 

It wasn’t right. Massa and Missus kept both their children when she couldn’t keep even one of hers. 

Alone in the chicken coop, she sank to her knees and wept. With no one nearby to hear, she loudly cried as the pain ripped apart her soul. 


She coughed out the wad of emotion lodged in her throat. “Coming, Missus!” She rose from her knees. A part of her hoped for the familiar numbness to take hold, but this time there wasn’t a blanketing detachment to coat over the debilitating injury. The loss continued to grate her heart into shreds. 

She assumed her tasks as if watching herself perform them from a distance. She fried eggs, salt ham and biscuits, and later she watched as Missus and her golden-haired girls gobbled their meal. They chatted, laughed and ate as their lives continued. Slyly, she watched them as a nugget of pure hatred welled in the empty pit of her heart. 

Next, she took out a tray to the field hands. The riffraff didn’t bother washing up. Instead, they dived into the food with the ferocious gluttony of wild pigs. 

As she cleared and cleaned the morning dishes, she heard Massa’s lazy steed clip-clop to the stables. Ruthie caught her breath. She held onto a minuscule iota of optimism he hadn’t sold their son. Massa’s lone entrance into the house dashed all hope. Her missing son was not in the company of his father. 

The gangly man with pocked skin unloaded sacks of flour, seeds and tobacco. Under his arm, he carried a bolt of cloth and two new dolls. He placed the items on the table, and then he looked around before swatting Ruthie on her derriere. 

Tears formed, but she refused to cry. 

She hated him. She always had. Briefly, she remembered how he’d made her a woman before she’d had her first bleeding. She’d been a child, wrenched from her mother’s care, sold and bedded in less than one day. 

Massa wasn’t indeed a prosperous businessman. He’d sold his home and failing business in Philadelphia and all his slaves except Ruthie, to stake his claim in Illinois. His skill with farming and raising sheep was as dubious as his haberdashery talents had been. 

“Henry!” Missus squealed at the store-bought items. She unrolled the cloth. “A new Sunday dress for church!” she gushed. “It’s lovely!” 

He planted a tepid kiss on Missus’ faintly mustachioed lips. “Nothing but the best for my angels.” The girls each took a doll and began squabbling over which one was prettier.

Julian M. Coleman is a wife, mother and grandmother who enjoys reading, gardening and running as well as writing horror novels from her home in Richmond, Virginia. She is a diehard Stephen King/Anne Rice fan and wasn't surprised when her first trilogy won a Best Paranormal/Horror award.


The Jackpot Screwer by Nikki Ashton



The Jackpot Screwer (Love In Dayton Valley Book 2) by Nikki Ashton

Buy The Book Today:

Can be read as a standalone

Genre: Romantic Comedy

#TheJackpotScrewer #NikkiAshton #NowLive #RomanticComedy #BareNakedWords #ebook


The Jackpot Screwer is book 2 in the Love in Dayton Valley Series.

Welcome to Dayton Valley, ranch country with a sum population of 9022. Sounds idyllic, and it is… until it isn’t.

Bronte There are not enough words in the English language to describe how much Carter Maples irritates me. He’s my best friend’s brother and growing up together all we’ve ever done is fight. Want to know a secret though – damn that boy is hot. So hot I only went and did the one thing I thought I’d never, ever do. Yep, I fell in love with the beautiful redhead. How stupid can one girl be? Pretty damn stupid actually, and now we have to deal with the consequences. Trouble is, I may love him but he’s also selfish and immature. I’m not sure he’s ready to grow up, so I’m just going to have to dump his ass.

Wanting to be independent isn’t stupid, right?

Carter I’m Dayton Valley’s vet and when I’m not saving animals, I’m loving the crap out of Bronte Jackson – or Lollipop as I like to call her because that girl has skills you wouldn’t believe. We weren’t supposed to end up together, but I guess the stars aligned and…bam! We love each other, pretty fierce, but Houston we have a problem and it’s a pretty big one. Bronte doesn’t think I can deal so has kicked me to the curb, but I’m determined to get her back.

It’s okay to play dirty to get what you want, right?

Dayton Valley… where the men are hard, and the women are horny

Meet the Author

Nikki lives in Cheshire with her husband, two dogs, and lovely mother-in-law who supplies her with endless cups of tea. She writes contemporary and romantic comedy romances and hopes that she puts a smile on her reader's faces and a sigh in their heart. Her ambitions of becoming a writer started at the age of 10 when she started writing poetry at school and was given the honour of reading one of her poems to the rest of her year group (a truly embarrassing experience that she will never forget). Nikki is grateful for the wide variety of strange and wonderful people in her life, otherwise, she'd never know what to write about! She always takes a keen interest in family and friends, finding out their innermost secrets in readiness for her next book.





Friday, January 22, 2021

Chasing Victory by Olivia Peters


Title: Chasing Victory
Series: The Game Changer Series
Author: Olivia Peters
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 26, 2021
Cover Design: Joan Queitzsch

When my best friend’s older brother breaks my heart, I flee to New York City without ever looking back. Well, almost ever. It’s not always easy to leave his perfectly chiseled body in my rear view.
I’m determined to resist temptation and his pleas for me to move back home. Back to him. History always repeats itself, and when a man breaks you once, only a fool would let him do it again…
So I guess you can call me a damn fool.

Letting the love of my life walk away was the biggest sacrifice I ever made. And now Victory has me firmly in the barely-friends zone as the penance I deserve. 
When tragedy throws us back together, we seek comfort in the familiarity of each other’s arms – and my bed. I’ve finally earned a second chance, and I won’t make the same mistake twice…
Even if that means lying to her about the real reason we broke up.

Olivia Peters is an executive ghostwriter by day and a romance novelist by night. She’s based in Toronto, Ontario, but spends as much time as possible at her lake house dreaming about her next story.

Olivia writes unapologetically about hot, dirty talking alpha men, and the strong, sexy women who bring them to their knees. Readers can count on angst, steam and guaranteed happily ever afters. 

When Olivia isn’t writing, she’s spending time with her family, enjoying the great outdoors, and cooking up a storm in her cluttered kitchen.