Rogue Unbroken by Angie Day


Rogue Unbroken
Legends and Shadows Saga 
Book Three
Angie Day

Genre: Young adult, urban fantasy, YAUF
Publisher: Rahne Press
Date of Publication: Dec 10, 2021
ISBN: 978-1-7338144-6-1 (hardcover) 
ISBN: 978-1-7338144-7-8 (paper back)
Number of pages: 412
Word Count: 104,000
Cover Artist: Sarah Hansen from Okay Creations

Tagline: Energy blazed in my body, begging me to move, to use it. If you see her, kill her on sight.

Logline: Kate can’t touch anyone without causing pain. To save herself and her family, she must challenge Alec, who is ready to tear her life apart.

Book Description: 

Kate had survived. She had lived through pain and torment and now she was on the other side, where all the happiness was supposed to be. But with Alec’s vengeful punishment for escaping him, she can’t touch anyone without hurting them.

Alec still wants to create a Level Five and he’s dangerously close. That power under his control would mean unraveling the world as it stands. The world Kate has not yet started to enjoy. She won’t be able to rest until her body, her mind is fixed, and Alec won’t get his beloved power without her help.

The two warring sides of Rogues and Shadows will have to meet. Kate will have to confront Alec and his cruel ambition once again. But every moment with the Shadows is detrimental to those she loves, especially Kylan. So she must find a way to outsmart the person who taught her everything she knows, the most feared Shadow in the world.

Kate is strong. She survived once. But even the strongest people can break with the right pressure, and Alec is ready to tear her life apart.



Excerpt 1:

Alec lifted a hand to my face but lowered it again. “But then you came back to me. You fell for me again. I saw it. If you say you’re done with me, then why can’t you just do the honorable thing and stop loving me?”

Alec looked down at the floor and he never looked so sheepish and small.

A trick. It had to be a trick.

But he was so small and broken and careening in his own mind. I knew what that felt like, all too well.

“I want to.” I leaned back on the shelves again. “You’re despicable and psychotic. You hurt the people I care about. You tortured me, manipulated me—”

“And yet that’s not good enough for you to kill me. All you can do is leave, and I’m sitting here hoping I can somehow get you back.” Alec raised his arms like he didn’t know where to put them anymore. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer. Why?” Alec moved closer to my face.

“Because you won’t let me.”

“Ha.” Alec grinned before his eyes turned dark again. “I wish I had that much control over your decisions. Try again.”

I shoved him away. “I don’t know, Alec.”

“Yes, you do,” he came right back. “Think, Mara.”

“Because you’re home to me!”

His mouth fell open and the pain created lines around his eyes. I just stared at him for a moment. I saw all the same years of complications that I felt in mine. We weren’t just similar. He and I were mirror images of each other.

“No matter what you do, no matter where I go. When I think back on my life, you are all I can see for centuries,” I said.

“I get it.” Alec backed off. I caught his arm.

“You don’t. You’re a terrible person. You’re the nightmare that just won’t go away.” I looked at the floor. “But you’re also a huge part of my life, whether I hate you or not.”




About the Author: 

Angie Day found her love of writing while in college where she studied psychology and eventually went on to a master’s degree. She noticed the need for romantic and fantastic adult stories that were still wholesome and clean. So, she took matters into her own hands. 

The Legends and Shadows Saga is her debut series. When she’s not devouring the next book, she is spending time outdoors with her husband.











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For Her Bones by Alec Reid #Horror


For Her Bones
Alec Reid

Genre: Ghost/Comic Horror
Publisher: Lilymoore Publishing
Date of Publication: 31 October 2021
ISBN: 978 – 163972999 -9 
Number of pages: 340
Word Count: 86,975
Cover Artist: Jacqueline Abromeit

Book Description:

Alec Reid’s ghosts of the twenty-first century seldom lurk in old houses or waft across chilly moors.  His dark tales may breathe alongside the supernatural, but they take place in broad daylight, in our daily lives.  

Their themes include dead warriors resurrected via Bluetooth, Rumpelstiltskin in the suburbs, an algorithmic fear of ghosts and the shattered dreams of immortality. 

The world they describe is the same one you inhabit, but you would live in terror were you to recognise it for what it is.  Life would, literally, never be the same again.




Excerpt

“The thing is, Tom, I did call him a few months after I left.  It was a bit of a surprise.  I was supposedly embarking on some great adventure, and there I was struck down with what felt like terminal homesickness.  I needed a friend.”

“You could have called me.”

“I know, but it wasn’t you I wanted.  Sorry.  What I never expected was that I would be longing for Frank.  How strange was that?  Anyway, it was late and the foul weather made me feel even more lonely.  I virtually forced him to come to me that night.”

“Do I really need to hear this?”

“He never made it.  Ice on the motorway.  His mother called me a few days later.”

“Jesus, Sally.  No wonder you’re imagining things.  It’s guilt, that’s all.”

“So that’s it, Mr Freud?  I really am just imagining it?  Going mad”

“I wouldn’t say going mad exactly.  I mean it’s understandable.  You had a terrible shock.  You were missing Frank – can’t understand that bit, but there you are – and you called him to you.  And because of that he died.  It doesn’t make it your fault.  Not really.  I can’t imagine he was the greatest driver in the world.”

“He’s here, Tom.  In this restaurant.  I can feel it.  I can almost see him.”

“The flickering?”

“Yes!  Please tell me you’ve seen it too.”

Poor Tom.  I think he’s about to deny it.  A straight ahead, get the job done sort of guy can’t acknowledge the terrors that shimmer on the edge of his vision.  It has to be Sally who is mad, not he.  The truth is, neither of them is mad.  I would show myself if I could, join them at their table, discuss important matters of life and death.  But it doesn’t work that way.  That would be like believing in ghosts.  Foolish.  But the three of us will soon be able to have that discussion face to face.  I’m looking forward to it.  Come along now, Tom, the second bottle has arrived.  Pour her a drink.

“Jesus Christ!”

General consternation sounds like an incompetent military leader, but it is probably the best description for what was happening around Tom and Sally’s table.  Tom had lifted the bottle and begun to pour.  But he didn’t know his own strength.  Or rather he didn’t know mine.  His grip on the bottle tightened like a noose until the bottle shattered, showering the unhappy couple with Pinot Grigio and sending splinters of glass everywhere.  I’m not exactly a poltergeist, they don’t exist by the way, but I made sure some of the glass went where it needed to.  A freak accident is how it was later described by those who were there and therefore must know.  The first shard sliced through Tom’s shirt and severed the carotid artery.  There was more blood than Pinot.  In less than a minute he was what people call dead, although we know better, don’t we?

Sally’s demise was even swifter.  A shiver of glass pierced her eye and came to rest deep in her brain.


About the Author:

Alec has had a number of careers, some of them still ongoing. After a brief spell with the BBC 2 arts programme, “Late Night Line-Up”, he moved on to Radios 1 and 2 where he produced “Night Ride”, giving Genesis their first national broadcast.

Alec went on to become an award-winning radio drama director and creator of radio documentaries and features, one of which required him to spend a week with the French Foreign Legion!

During that time, he also wrote and directed two musicals for radio, “Misrule”, starring Max Wall, and “Gilgamesh”, with Ian Holm; the latter was the BBC’s entry for the Prix Futura award in Berlin.

After leaving the BBC,Alec was commissioned to write and produce a double CD tribute to Princess Diana. Within days of its release in America it had sold over 100,000 copies. As a result, he won the prestigious international Audi award for best creative work.

Since then, Alec has produced hundreds of audiobooks, adapted TV and movie soundtracks for audio release, and was even commissioned to write two new ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ stories! He also wrote book and lyrics for ‘Muscles the Musical’, which was premiered at The Landor theatre in London where the ‘House Full’ sign was up most nights. There are hopes for a revival in a larger theatre.

Alec’s publications have included two anthologies based on Radio 4’s ‘With Great Pleasure’, poems in ‘The Sunday Times’ newspaper and numerous magazine articles, and poems. ‘For Her Bones’ is his first fiction book. He is thinking about his next one.

https://alecreidwriter.com/

https://www.facebook.com/alec.reid.73/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20849030.Alec_Reid




Conspiracy of Cats by B C Harris


Conspiracy of Cats
B C Harris

Genre: Contemporary fiction, paranormal, murder mystery
Publisher: Olympia Publishers, London
Date of Publication: 26th August 2021
ISBN: 978-1-80074-032-7
ASIN: B09CGHZ7K7
Number of pages: 325
Word Count: 123,121
Cover Artist: Olympia Publishers, London

Tagline: A Beautiful House, A Horrible Death, A Brilliant Revenge

Book Description: 

CONSPIRACY OF CATS… a supernatural murder mystery.

An apprehensive Jos Ferguson travels from Edinburgh to Northern Tanzania to visit the house her Uncle Peter built before he died. But Peter isn’t as dead as he should be… he was murdered, and he wants his niece to help him exact revenge upon his killer. With a little Maasai magic and a conspiracy of cats, Jos sets out to do exactly that.

A beautiful house. A horrible death. A brilliant revenge.

Who knew death could be so lively?


Excerpt

Looking back, it was as if Peter had known that he was going to die.  

It was as if all of them had known, because the Maasai came prepared for their ritual even though their little brother died only a few hours before they arrived. It was the largest group of Maasai Beola had ever encountered at the white house. At least fifty men, most of them warriors, all carrying their weapons and their shields. Their chests and faces and arms painted as if they were going into battle. She watched them from the master bedroom window, just as she’d watched the police arrive, having gone back up to finish changing the bed so it would be clean and ready when Jude returned. They arrived on foot just before sunset, and it would have taken all day to walk from their village on the western side of Mount Kilimanjaro all the way to the white house.  

Some of the warriors carried armfuls of wood, and immediately began building a large fire in the middle of the lawn. The elders, including their bearded laibon, sat down on the porch steps to rest and, when Beola went out to meet them, they asked only for water. When she offered food they politely refused. When Beola moved to go back inside to fetch the water, a young warrior stopped her. ‘We must leave the white house in peace, little sister,’ he told her, and then he and several of his fellow warriors guided her towards the lodge where they fetched enough water for all. When that was done, the young warrior told her, ‘Word has been sent into the park so your husband and your son will come home soon. When they do, you must be ready to leave.’

‘But why?’  

‘The laibon wishes to cleanse the white house of sorrow.’

Beola knew better than to argue with the wishes of a laibon, and so she nodded, resigned.

‘How long must we stay away?’

‘Moon die and come back again, man die and stay away. Come back with the new moon, sister.’  

Back inside the lodge Beola began to pack, without any clear idea of where her family would go or who they would stay with. By then it was full dark, and the fire was burning so brightly she could see its orange glow above the garage blocking her direct view. Kissi and Ben arrived while she was still packing, in shock at both the death of their friend and the large gathering on the white house lawn. The evening breeze was becoming a wind by then, and the stars were obscured by gathering clouds. The warriors had begun to sing a sorrowful sounding song, their beautiful voices competing with the mounting voice of the wind.  

By the time the Nyerere’s were readying to leave, a storm was in full flow.  

The perimeter of trees bent and swayed in the wind that had initially made their leaves whisper. That wind was howling and shrilling by then, a tempest that thrashed and whipped the leaves and branches. Storm clouds had gathered so close, they were piled on top of one another, grumbling, rumbling, crashing with thunder directly overhead. Lightening split the night over and over. Up on the roof garden, a solitary figure braved the onslaught. The old laibon was yelling into the night, his spells snatched away by the wind that seemed, in turns, to want to blow him away and push him down. Rain pelted down upon him, it blinded his eyes, dripped from his beard, soaked his shuka and chilled his bones. He fought against it, at the same time as he embraced it, arms stretched wide and high. Calling out, over and over, to the spirit of his friend.

As the Nyerere’s were loading up their jeep, another vehicle arrived, lights sweeping across the scene as it circled the lawn. Beola thought that it must be Jude, but it was Henk de Vries, pulling up in his flatbed truck. She assumed he’d heard the news and had come to pay his respects. She ran towards him, but half a dozen warriors barred Beola’s way. They told her to go, to never speak of this night to anyone. Beola struggled against them, and called out to Henk in some distress, but either the wind stole her voice, or the Dutchman chose to ignore her. Kissi was next to her by then and had to impel his wife bodily into the back of his Land Rover as Ben sat quietly weeping in the front. He then got in himself and set off for his father’s home in Arusha, having called ahead to stay there were sanitation issues at their home, so they needed a place to say for a while. As they were moving around the lawn towards the drive, Beola watched Henk lower the tail gate of his truck and saw two warriors lift and carry something towards the fire. Meat for the funeral feast, he told her much later.  

When Kissi’s Land Rover reached the foot of the hill, he turned north towards the main road that would take them to Arusha. They left the storm behind almost immediately. When they reached the top of the escarpment, he stopped and got out. Ben and Beola joined him. Together they stood atop the ridge, watching a small storm rage over the white house.  



About the Author: 

B C Harris is a Scot who, at the time of writing, had just finished renovating a farmhouse in France. A labour of love that began from first sight back in 2016. No sooner had the final length of flooring been laid and the last paintbrush dried, than disaster struck in the form of pandemic. France went into a strict lockdown and, with time to do more than simply daydream about writing books, a new project began to take shape.

Writing began as an escape from the fear and isolation that was soon affecting us all, and quickly flourished to become ‘Conspiracy of Cats’. The global pandemic seems to be receding now, but the passion for writing has taken root. Find out more about B C Harris online.








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