#blogtour A Deadly Inferno Consumes by Sophie Barnes

House of Croft, Book 6

Murder Mystery Romance

Date Published: July 28, 2026

A chilling disappearance, a lethal enemy, and a family pushed to the
brink


 

When the Duke of Wrengate’s sister vanishes without a trace, suspicion
swirls. Did she flee to escape a scandalous secret
or has she been
abducted? Whispers lead to a treacherous underworld, where rumors of an
illicit auction suggest a far more sinister fate: a woman trapped, drugged,
and enslaved. Determined to save her, Adrian Croft and his valet, Murry,
plunge into London’s darkest corners.

But Finn O’Leary, the Irishman bent on revenge, remains a threat that
presents a difficult choice for Adrian: save Wrengate’s sister or protect his
family. With the recent birth of his daughter, he and his wife, Samantha, have
more to lose than ever before. And as danger closes in, they must fight with
everything they have. Not only for justice, but for their very survival.

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes writes historical romance
novels in which the characters break away from social expectations in their
quest for happiness and love. Having written for Avon, an imprint of Harper
Collins, her books have been published internationally in eight languages.
With a fondness for travel, Sophie has lived in six countries, on three
continents, and speaks English, Danish, French, Spanish, and Romanian with
varying degrees of fluency. Ever the romantic, she married the same man three
times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.

When she’s not busy dreaming up her next swoon worthy romance novel,
Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, practicing yoga, baking,
gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.

 

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#blogtour Uprising  by JE Rizzo

Book One of the Fitzjohn Duology

Historical Fiction with Speculative and Romantic Elements

Date Published: 09-01-2026

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal
village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man
responsible for her neighbors’ over-taxation, but she possesses strange
abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people’s emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship
with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster,
Blanche’s half-brother, brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir
Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty
on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may
help better the lives of Geoff and all England’s villeins.

But soon, the peasants’ discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is
of the people, Blanche’s nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To
save herself and Henry from the executioner’s ax, Blanche must use every
power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

Chapter Six Excerpt

 

Something shifts, like summer’s green leaves transforming to autumnal
gold. Speaking with Geoff about my marriage hurts like I’d never
expected, a deep ache. The moon thrums, and an owl, perched in a nearby tree,
shifts as she searches for prey. My temples throb.

“It seemed
” he begins again. “It seemed he
didn’t want to marry you, after you
” I glare and cross my
arms before lifting my face. He continues: “I thought perhaps you could
get out of it because
”

“Because of what?”

“Because, ye’re
”

“What, Geoff, what am I?”

His mouth opens like a fish above water, and he doesn’t bother to shut
it. In the tree, the owl flaps her wings and leaps into the air.

“Ye’re
” The tips of Geoff’s fingers flutter.
“Well, I don’t know what you are, Dandy. Ye’re
just
yerself. And I thought—”

“You thought he wouldn’t want me?”

His face falls. “He’s not like you, Dandy. That’s all.
He’s not a good man. I heard him talking, when it was just the
men
”

He drops his eyes and his cheekbones redden.

Neither of us seems to know what to say next. After a full minute of silence,
he lurches forward and grasps my shoulders, crushing me to his chest.
“Blanche, just consider.”

I gasp and have to steady myself. But within seconds, tears come to my eyes,
along with a calming release of tension. I grip his forearms, inhale his
familiar scent. He’s always smelled of horses, with a hint of bread
dough and sugar from the manor kitchens he’s constantly raiding.
There’s something different tonight. I sniff. It’s crisp, yet
soft. Evergreens in winter, covered with fresh snow.

He buries his nose in my hair. “You could refuse,” he says, voice
a gentle rumble against my face, “and stay with yer mother. She’d
be angry, yes, but she wouldn’t throw you out. They can’t drag you
to the church. For a marriage to be real, you must consent.”

Consent. The word ripples through me. It makes me see that I want more, from
Maman, from my father, but most of all from Geoff. I need something I
can’t identify, something I can’t express.

“If I marry Thomas
” My muffled voice breaks. “It
will make the duke happy. He’ll
” I tense, regretting my
words.

“He’ll what?”

I can’t answer, can’t tell him that by marrying Sir Thomas, I hope
to earn my father’s love. To replace
something.

The moon moves behind a cloud and the trees shift, branches releasing a shower
of rain. Geoff drops one hand to the small of my back and lifts the other to
my cheek. His palms are warm, and I slide my own to clench his upper arms.
When my fingertips brush hardened muscles, I almost snatch my hands back.
Before tonight, I still thought of Geoff as a child, the lanky villein who
could ride any horse, no matter how fierce. Now
my mouth goes dry, but
I can’t resist running my hands up the length of his arms, letting them
rest on his shoulders. The skin beneath his tunic is damp with sweat.

Corded muscles tense and stretch beneath my fingers, sending little jolts
through me. He stoops, chin brushing my temple.

I touch the notch of his throat with my fingertips. He freezes. Tiny curls of
dark hair peek above his collar, tickling my fingers. He lets his face linger
on mine, and I feel him inhale.

A pleasant warmth spreads through my belly, then down. Something’s
happening, something I don’t understand. I should run, should leave. But
I don’t. Another breeze drifts through the tree branches, and he pulls
me closer, pressing me to him.

I feel him, all of him, from feet to chin, in a way I never have. A tingling,
heavy warmth settles on me, and I feel Geoff’s own need pressing against
my belly.

It should make me uncomfortable, but I find myself pressing back, wanting
more. Wanting it all.

I’m not well-versed in what happens between a woman and a
man—that’s one area of my education Maman neglected—but
I’m not completely ignorant. I know Geoff and I stand on a cliff, gazing
into a deep ravine. One more step, and we’ll both be lost.

I’m still touching his throat, suspended in our odd dance beneath the
shuddering tree branches, when he bends further. I close my eyes and focus on
the sensation of his stubbly chin against my face. He exhales, and a shiver
runs down my spine.

“Dandy
” he murmurs.

The owl swoops to snatch a mouse from the forest floor in sharp talons. Her
screech is like a battle horn, ricocheting with painful deliberation in my
skull, joined by the mouse’s squeal. My eyelids snap open and I step out
of his embrace.

 

About the Author

 

 J.E. Rizzo is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction,
and her work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The
Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine.
Rizzo won Manuscript Academy’s Agent Choice Award in 2024, and her
article Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to
Overturn Roe v. Wade won History Inquiry’s Medieval History Writing
Challenge.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources—a field offering more than ample
opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career
in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog
walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons
through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing,
baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies.
She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants,
making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and
rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

 

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#blogtour  Egyptian Lovers by Isabella Jordan

Dark Paranormal Romance

Date Published: July 31, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

In the desert sands of Egypt, three lovers battle a maniacal curse. Only
their love can save them.

 

Half vampire, half sphinx, Kahma roams the deserts of Egypt, praying for death
— until his lost love returns, reincarnated as archeologist Emma Bonham. But
to fulfill the passion Kahma offers, Emma must part with her life.

Fascinated by the tale of Emma Bonham’s disappearance some eighty years
ago, Carson Bonham comes to Egypt to unravel the mystery. But the bloody
carnage of Karnak’s history has a way of repeating itself. The struggle
to keep Carson alive will be a death defying act for the powerful vampire
Sopdet.

Alexis Peters has no intention of returning to Egypt, until a mysterious dream
lover promises endless pleasure if she will just return to him. Little does
Alexis know she’s bound to her Egyptian savior, the legendary sphinx,
Amenhotep


 


Publisher’s Note: Egyptian Lovers Box Set contains the previously released
novellas Kahma, Sopdet, and Ardeth & Amenhotep.

 

Excerpt from Kahma

Abydos, Egypt
November 1926

Emma Bonham moaned and writhed with Corey Dunham’s head between her thighs and
his strong hands holding her against his busy mouth. His tongue speared deep
into her moist opening, thrusting like a cock and she moaned again, but more
for his benefit than from the pleasure she couldn’t focus on. Slurping, wet
noises filled Emma’s small tent as she played along, trying to relax into a
good fuck.

She just couldn’t.

Emma closed her eyes and sighed blissfully at what she hoped were believable
intervals as Corey’s tongue fucked her. It was so hard to focus. Her mind had
been spinning since they’d finally reached Abydos that evening, the most
sacred site in all of Egypt.

Abydos. Emma had spent much of her life longing to see the ancient necropolis
and the famous tombs there. Tombs of ancient kings, temples of ancient gods.

Her hips left the ground as Corey’s fingers played with her half-swollen clit.
Corey did have nice hands and fingers and he knew just what to do with them.
He’d been her lover for several months now. They’d met when he’d joined the
expedition that her Aunt Elspeth coordinated back in London. Corey had been on
a few expeditions to Egypt before, though his experience wasn’t vast. He had
more than enough experience in bed for Emma, who’d had no experiences before
Corey. Emma had been as curious about sex as everything else, perpetual
student that she was and Corey more than satisfied her curiosity on a number
of carnal acts. She was attracted to him, trusted him.

Emma wasn’t in love with Corey by any means. She liked him immensely. Corey
was an attentive, considerate lover and Emma enjoyed their lovemaking.

Normally.

“You taste so damn good, Emma.” Corey slid a finger into her pussy to replace
his darting tongue. “I want you to come for me.”

The heavy canvas of the tent rippled as the strong winds whipped around it in
the desert beyond. It was just one more thing to break Emma’s concentration.
She began to wonder if a sandstorm was coming. Emma also wondered if she’d
ever see a sandstorm. Emma could play along and fake it but she didn’t want to
do that to Corey. Sighing, Emma pulled herself up, surprising Corey enough
that he pulled his fingers from her sheath. Before she could say anything, a
desperate cry ripped open the tranquility of the night.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The frantic male cry had Corey, who was mostly dressed, on his feet and Emma
scrambling to find her discarded robe. Pulling it on as fast as she could,
Emma stayed right on Corey’s heels as he sped out of the tent. Naked beneath
the robe she held tightly to herself and with her hair flying wildly about
her, Emma struggled to keep up with him as he raced toward the tent of Alan
Burns, the expedition leader and her friend. The rest of their group had
already gathered there.

Peering over the shoulder of Alice Henderson, one of the artists in their
expedition, Emma spotted the group’s writer kneeling over Alan’s unmoving body
in the sand. Frantically, Daniel Woods pressed his fingers to Alan’s throat,
searching for signs of life.

“He’s dead,” Daniel announced, his face stricken.

A bolt of shock and fear shot through Emma. Alan was dead? How could that be?
Emma was as fond of the kind older gentleman as her Aunt Elspeth. If not for
him, Emma’s aunt would never have allowed her to go on the expedition. Her
aunt’s confidence in Alan Burns and his vast knowledge of Egypt and all its
sites had won out in the end. That and the man’s solemn promise to her aunt
that he’d watch over Emma and keep her safe.

Tears stung the back of Emma’s eyes. This is horrible.

Alice started to sob quietly in front of Emma while Corey pushed his way past
the others and into the tent. Emma watched as Corey joined Daniel in searching
the fallen man’s body for any clues as to what had killed him. The wind ripped
at Emma’s robe and hair from where she stood just outside the tent as tears
slid down her face. Holding her breath just like the others, she waited.

Corey’s features turned hard and he pointed to the older man’s ankle.

“What is it?” Emma called out to Corey.

Corey seemed not to hear her at first. He started searching the sand around
him, his eyes round and filled with alarm.

“A snake bite.” Corey’s green eyes met Emma’s. “It looks like an asp bite.
What an asp is doing out here, I don’t know. They usually stick to the shrubs
and hillsides. They are not desert dwellers.”

“Perhaps it got into Alan’s bags in Cairo,” Daniel suggested.

Corey nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Dear God in Heaven.” Alice, with her stout little body, took a step back and
bumped into Emma. “It could still be here.”

All eyes flew to the ground, searching the sand in the dim light provided by
the fires that burned inside the circle of their tents.

“Watch your step.” Corey’s voice took on a more authoritative tone as he met
the eyes of each of the remaining members of the group in turn. “Be mindful of
this. Check your blankets before you go to sleep and check your clothing
before you put it on. Reach into your bags with caution.”

Dashing out of the tent and to her side, Corey gently took Emma’s arm. “I’ll
see you to your tent.”

With Alan gone, Corey had to take charge now. Emma easily read the tension in
the hard set of his face, felt it in the hand that lightly gripped her arm.
Corey was older than her, but still young, only in his late twenties. He’d
never led an expedition before. He’d told her that he’d never been to Abydos
before either. All that considered, he still had more experience in exploring
Egypt than anyone else in the group.

Corey gently turned her to face him when they reached her tent. With gentle
fingers, he brushed at the tears on her face.

“I am sorry about Alan.” Corey pulled her into his arms, holding her against
his hard, warm body. “I wish I could stay here with you, but I can’t. I, at
least, want to know where you are and that you’re safe. Emma, be careful and
try to get some rest.”

Emma was vaguely aware of his hands smoothing her hair, the warm kisses he
dropped on her head. She didn’t even care that he was holding her in such a
familiar way in plain sight of the others. Surely, they had to know Corey was
her lover by now.

Yet, so many emotions gripped her heart with a tightly closed fist. She’d just
lost a dear friend. If that weren’t bad enough, they’d also lost the one
person in the expedition who’d been to Abydos before and knew how to get back.
How to survive here…

What will become of us now?

Corey pulled back to gaze down into her face, his expression grave. “Go to
your tent now, Emma. Try to rest.”

Emma nodded, not envying Corey the position in which he now found himself. Now
he was responsible for the remaining six expedition members: three artists, a
writer, an organizer and Emma.

ïżœ”What will we do now?” Emma gently brushed a lock of his brown hair from his
creased forehead.

“First we have to take care of Alan,” Corey explained. “We’ll talk about the
rest in the morning.”

Brushing her lips with the lightest of kisses, Corey turned and headed back to
the dead man’s tent. Emma watched him, her heart heavy in her chest.

An image of Alan Burns’ gentle smile flashed in her mind. When he smiled he
had always reminded her of her father who’d died when she was just a child. He
had taken on the role of father figure to Emma as she’d gotten to know him
over the years. She was going to miss Alan, and Aunt Elspeth would be
devastated when she learned of his death.

Little chance she’d get any rest this night.

A strong wind blew Emma off balance before she could enter her tent, stinging
her skin lightly with grains of sand. She stumbled but didn’t fall as the air
whistled around her body in the strangest way.

Being a native of London, Emma was used to cold winds that chilled a person to
their bones and made them shiver for hours. This was something else entirely.
This wind was hot and moved across her skin like a lover’s hand, touching her.
That was the only way to describe it. A warm rush of wind penetrated the thin
fabric of her robe and blew between her thighs, causing her own intimate scent
to rise up and fill the air around her. Emma gasped at the unexpected way her
body responded as the wind moved all about her, the way her clit began to
throb. Emma’s nipples beaded hard and her skin tingled all over her body.

Then Emma heard a gentle voice on the wind as the air swirled around the
sensitive flesh of her throat, blew through her hair. A deep male voice.

Senin.

As quickly as the wind had risen it was gone, leaving Emma standing there
shaken and lost just outside of her tent. Had she just imagined that? Was her
mind playing tricks on her in her grief?

Or had the wind really coveted her body like a lover?

Pulling the thin robe tightly about herself, Emma climbed into her tent and
willed her limbs to stop shaking.

 

 

About the Author

Isabella Jordan is the alter ego of an otherwise stressed out web designer,
programmer, and internet junkie. When she’s not trying to perfect her own
personal caffeine IV drip, she enjoys spending time with her family, doing
volunteer work, and writing. She loves creating new stories of all kinds and
chatting with readers and friends.

Isabella would love to hear from her readers!

 

Author Website

 

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

 

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#blogtour STRINGS by Jan Merritt

Contemporary Fiction

Date Published: 11-23-2025

 

 A pandemic is spreading across the globe. A national lockdown looms in the
United States. A Southern journalist sees a chance to protect her health and
jumpstart her career by escaping north to a Minnesota wilderness. Feisty and
wary of entanglement, she piques the interest of a bored Native American rock
star on his way home.

Robby Song’s career may be on hold, but Grace
Wheeler is on a mission to build hers. To Robby, she’s an intriguing
challenge. To Grace, he’s a distraction she’s not ready to handle.
But the brutal Northwoods winter is coming. Grace flees back south . . . to
soul-searching isolation and a puzzling middle-of-the-night call.

Excerpt


PART I – THE NORTHWOODS

 
Chapter 1 –
Airports

          Empty. No sounds except
flight announcements and Covid precautions over the PA as Grace trekked alone
through the wide, carpeted corridors, stepped onto the moving walkways, and
passed the shuttered kiosks, shops, and restaurants of the Minneapolis
airport. The few people she saw, behind counters or scurrying past at safe
distances, wore surgical masks, except for one or two who had creative,
last-minute coverings . . . red bandannas or black gaiters. The antiseptic
smell of hand sanitizer hung in the air, penetrating her mask. If she closed
her eyes, she could think she was in a hospital. Her hair probably reeked of
the stuff. Of course, her gate was the last one. She shrugged her old, green
backpack off and sank into a seat against the wall, leaning her head back and
closing her eyes, hoping the flight was still happening. Except for her, the
gate area was deserted. Maybe she could drift off.
But it was no good.
She couldn’t sleep. She was tired, and the adrenaline had worn off, but
she was growing anxious. Maybe she wasn’t as brave or capable as
she’d thought. She sat up, pulled the tablet out of her backpack, and
began rereading her notes from the last interview she’d done, the one
with the middle school English teacher about online classes. She needed to get
it written up and into her editor. She could not lose this job, her only
income. A seat creaked nearby. She looked up. She hadn’t heard him walk
up, but good sign, another passenger. A man was sitting with his head leaned
back against the window, eyes closed, long legs stretched in front of him, a
guitar case leaning against the next seat with a tan jacket thrown over it.
Before long, he sat up, glanced at her over his black mask with tiny gold
stars, rose, and walked to the bank of windows at the end of the concourse. He
stood there, looking out, a tall, thin man all in black, with a long braid.
Quite the silhouette. She looked back at her notes.
“Cozy, huh? A
whole airport and just the two of us.”
She jumped. The voice was
unexpected . . . and hoarse. He was six feet in front of her. She stared up at
him. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Well,
I try to look for the positive.” He paused and cleared his throat but
didn’t turn away. “I’m going in search of coffee. If
you’ll keep an eye on my things, I’ll bring you
some.”  
“I’ll watch them.”
He
moved the guitar and jacket to a seat in her row, then straightening, looked
at her. “You want coffee or not? You didn’t actually
say.”
They studied each other then, the way people do when
they’re wearing masks — all eyes. His were dark, almost black,
under barely arched eyebrows. They looked at her steadily . . . with a touch
of amusement? Hers were brown, with the beginning of a worry wrinkle between
her brows. She looked back with a serious expression.
“Sure. Black,
one sugar.” She leaned over to get her wallet and noticed her toenails.
She had meant to cover the chips with a fresh coat of blue polish. Oh,
well.
“I’ll get it.” He walked off.
A red packet
was on the carpet below his jacket. She put her tablet down on the little
table between her and the next seat, walked over, and picked it up.
D’Addario Guitar Strings. She placed it on the worn suede jacket, under
the sleeve but visible, and went back to her notes.
     
                     
                     
                     
        ************
       
  “I stopped at a hand sanitizer.”
She nearly dropped
her tablet this time. “You need a bell!”
“Sorry.”
He was in a seat, reaching across his guitar to place her coffee on the little
table. “One of my nicknames growing up was Sneak. But you seem a little
edgy.”  
         
“Maybe.” She noticed his long, slender fingers and wondered if
that was good for playing guitar. Her mother’d always said it helped
with playing the piano. She picked up the cup and went to remove one side of
her mask, but the loop was tangled in her hair. She put the cup back down.
Masks were proving to be a challenge. She’d given up trying to control
her hair long ago, but masks weren’t optional. Her hair was dark red,
dark enough it was hard to see the red unless she was in the sun. The kind of
red hair that’s big and ends up in long twirls unless you comb or brush
it which only makes it a bigger, frizzy mess. She tried to free first one side
of her mask, then the other, finally getting one, then a sip of coffee. She
looked his way. He was watching her. “I hadn’t realized how much I
needed this. Thanks.”
“You have a lot of hair.” He
turned away, removed his mask with one hand, took a sip, and turned his face
toward her, pausing, then going on, “I knew how much I needed it.”
Leaning forward, he put his forearms on his thighs and held the coffee between
his knees. He was not unattractive, in an angular, ascetic kind of way —
prominent cheekbones, straight nose, full lips, and the dark eyes.
He’d
bought her coffee, so she figured she should try to be sociable. “Have
you come a long way?”
“Not today. Just from my apartment. But
I’ve been traveling. Got in late. You?”
“This is my
third airport since five this morning.”
“Sounds like
you’ve come a long way. Got somebody in Duluth?” He sipped.
“I
wish. I have no idea what I’m doing next.”
He raised his
eyebrows and looked over at the clock. “I’d say you have about an
hour and a half to figure something out.” Just then, an agent walked up
to the check-in desk. 
 â€œDo you think they’ll take
us, if it’s only us?”
“I don’t know. Probably
depends on whether they need to get a plane to Duluth, for commuters. I guess
we’ll see. I’ve never had this flight cancel.”
“You’ve
done this before?”
He nodded, swallowing a sip of coffee.
“Every four . . . six months or so. I’ve got family all around
Duluth . . . and this time, I’m staying . . . a while. I figure
I’m safer up there than most anywhere.”
“Me,
too.”
The PA system came on. “Good afternoon passengers. This
is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 2514 to Duluth. We are now
inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring
special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding
pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately
ten minutes time. Thank you.” The agent looked in their direction and
shrugged. “If you guys are ready, you can board.”
They
gathered their belongings. He noticed the strings and looked over at her, but
she was putting her tablet away. As she passed him, he said, “I’m
Robby.”
She replied, “Oh . . . Grace.”
 


About the Author

 

 Jan Merritt lives on the coast of South Carolina
with strong ties to northern Minnesota where her dad was born. Her early life
was filled with rich, but conflicting narratives. On the one hand, her dad
regaled her with pioneering stories from Minnesota: Merritt boys tramping
through tamarack swamps and the Northwoods, learning from their Ojibwe
neighbors; surviving -60° winters; and the saga of her great-grandfather
leading them to discover iron ore on the Mesabi Range only to lose that mining
fortune to John D. Rockefeller in a New York City courtroom. But on the other
hand, Jan’s education in an elite private girls’ school in
downtown Charleston, South Carolina, led her into a privileged, old South
social set she wasn’t born into, one with a different set of values.
These opposing values simmered in Jan’s head.

She grew up
passionate about teaching, both in the classroom and on horses. She married
and had a family. Life was good, but it came to a halt when she discovered by
accident that she had brain cancer. She has survived, but after the surgeries
and treatments, her brain is not the same. She can’t ride or teach
school, but her new brain is busy. It creates conversations. One night toward
the end of Covid, Jan gave up trying to sleep and decided to write down what
the people were saying 
 maybe if she got the chatter out of her head,
she could sleep. It didn’t work but she hasn’t stopped writing.
Jan has a new passion.

 

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#blogtour Ebba’s Enchantment by Sonja Gunter

 

Chef, Ebba Mignon, is also a witch, or so says her half-sisters 

and has
45 days to find her soulmate and acquire her powers.


Ebba’s Enchantment

The Witch DNA Trilogy Book 3

by Sonja Gunter

Genre: Fantasy Romance, Romantasy, Urban Fantasy 

Spices. Succulent Cuisine. Potioneer.

The clock is ticking.

Ebba Mignon, a naturally gifted chef and owner of The
Mignon’s Place, never envisioned partaking in the witchery craft or having
half-sisters, Opaline, and Narda. But here she was with only 45 days to find
her soulmate/future husband and her witch talents to reveal themselves to her.

How was she expected to accomplish this burden in order to
defeat Alyaaluladonati, the ancient one, from killing the three of them?

Neal James, writer for the Best Places to Eat in MN,
schedules an interview with Ebba Mignon, in the small town of Onamia. He isn’t
prepared for the deep affection he experiences for her or to admire her
culinary art skills when they meet.

Believing in the supernatural takes Neal and Ebba on a
journey that neither thought possible, transforming their passion into the
right ingredients to last a lifetime.

 

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Ebba took the chance to
glance at him. He had sunglasses on, which hid his eyes. Would they be blue? To
go with his brown hair? Realizing he was waiting for a

reply, she sighed. “My
booth is the one with all the people lined up in front of it. Over there to the
right.” She pointed in the direction they were walking.

 â€œWow. What are you
serving?”

 â€œThe same thing I’ve done
for the last two years.Subs.”

 The man stopped suddenly.
“Subs? That’s it?”

 â€œYes. I have only two
things on my menu. One is a chopped Italian sub. I bake bread in the shape of a
fish and add chopped-up prosciutto, pepperoni, and salami, along with lettuce,
onion, tomato, and provolone cheese. I have my own special Italian vinaigrette
dressing that I add to it too. The second item is my bestseller, a dill pickle
sub.”

 They continued walking
toward her booth.

 â€œA dill pickle sub? Never
heard of that or had one before. What is it?”

 â€œGlad you asked. I use
sliced dill pickles that I order from a local Amish woman. The key is to use a
small layer of mayonnaise on the pickles. This seals in any leftover juices
from the pickle. Then I layer on turkey and prosciutto with cheddar cheese, a
tomato, and a lettuce leaf.”

 â€œEbba! Hurry up. We need
those plates.”

 She waved to Narda, who was
signaling to her. “Oh my. We better hurry. The line has gotten very long.” With
hurried steps, she directed the man carrying the bin to the back of the booth.

 â€œIt’s about time. Did you
see all the people waiting?”

 Ebba looked at Narda. “Be
glad we have plates. I almost dropped the bin. This man saved it—and me—from
falling.”

 â€œWhere do you want this?”

 She and Narda looked at the
man in unison.

 â€œOh, sorry. Just set it
down there.” Narda pointed to an empty spot on the table. Once he set it down,
she opened it and took out a stack of plates. “Thanks for saving my sis. I’ll
take these up front and let Opaline know you’ve returned.”

 Ignoring Narda’s sarcastic
reply, she turned to the man.

 â€œThanks again—”

 â€œNeal, I’ve been looking
for you. I see you’ve met Ms. Mignon. I was setting up the equipment before she
left.”

 What the heck? This man,
who helped her, was the one and only Mr. James? She’d literally run into him.
He’d sent her pulse raging, and she’d had sexual thoughts about

him. His first name was
Neal. Could he be the one? Her soulmate?

No, she didn’t have time
for this. It was just a coincidence his name started with the letter N. “You’re
. . . My goodness, you must think I’m the worst person ever.”

 â€œI don’t. I didn’t know you
were the person I’d come here to meet. Let’s forget about why I’m here. How can
Seth and I help you with the crowd of people waiting for food? What can we do?”

 â€œDo? You want to work?” She
hesitated, her mind still reeling.

 â€œYes, it looks like two
more sets of hands would be helpful.”

 â€œIf . . . you’re sure. I
could use your help. First, you both have to wash your hands and put on the
plastic gloves. The dill pickle subs are almost gone. And I need to make
another batch of ingredients for the chopped subs.”

 â€œYes, ma’am,” the two men
said.

 Ebba smiled and watched
them do the safety protocol procedures for serving food, as she did the same.
Taking out the three meats, cheese, and tomatoes from the coolers, she placed
them onto the cutting board. Her nerves at Mr. James’s arrival and his offering
to help had her doubting herself. The pendant throbbed against her skin.

 â€œReady to help. What can we
do?”

 His deep, rich voice was
sexier in person than on the phone.

 Stop! It was time to
concentrate. She had customers to serve. “Okay. Once I have the chopped salad
ready, I need you to fill the fish-shaped bread with three scoops. You 
can start by opening and
laying out the bread on the flat pan. While you’re doing that, it will allow me
time to whip up some of the dill subs after I finish with the chopped Italian
mixture.”

 Within a few minutes, she
had chopped the ingredients and added the vinaigrette. She slid the bowl over
to the two men.

 â€œEbba, we need more subs,”
Opaline said.

 Looking up, she saw her
sister standing in front of her.

 When had she come over?
“Mr. James and his cameraman are just finishing with the next tray of them.”

 â€œMr. James?”

 She gave Opaline a look
that said, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ “Yes. I ran into him, and he was kind enough
to help. I’m working on the dill subs, and then I’ll do up another batch of the
chopped Italian subs again.”

 â€œNarda said he was a
looker. I’ve been working on a spell to help you find—”

 â€œDear sister, this is not
the time or place. Please take the tray of subs up to the front.”

 â€œOf course. Sorry, but we
will talk about it tonight.”

 And just like that, her
sister took the tray of finished subs and left. Out of the corners of her eyes,
she saw Neal and the cameraman engaged in a conversation. Opaline was right.
The three of them were going to have a lot to talk about later. Even now, just
hearing his soft voice was rendering her pulse to pound erratically.

 Again, the thought crossed
her mind that Neal might be the one that fate had chosen for her. Suddenly, she
realized he was staring at her. He smiled, and she nearly crumbled to the
ground. With as much control as Ebba could gather within herself, she returned
his smile. Was he interested in her?

 

Narda’s Truth

The Witch DNA #2

Angel numbers & scents unearth a truth that has been
hidden for years.

 

Reach for the Soap, owner, Narda Hunt, has been receiving
signs in the form of numbers telling her she needs to find her half-sisters,
Opaline and Ebba. An imminent threat is about to force them to combine their
witch powers to survive.

 

One set of angel numbers brings Narda closer to Owin Waters,
whom fate has determined is her soulmate. Their special connection sends them
to another realm where Narda meets her deceased mother. She reveals the truth
behind the special powers that Narda and her sisters possess.

 

With this knowledge, Narda brings to light the evil that is
waiting for her and her sisters on their twenty-fifth birthday.

 

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“I’m usually not this forward on a first date—or any date,
as a matter of fact—but I would like it very much if you kissed me.”

Owin gathered her closely against his body. “As a gentleman,
your wish is my command.”

His sweet and teasing reply didn’t allow her time to respond
as his lips touched hers. Then his mouth covered hers, and she opened her lips.
Their tongues touched, and shivers of uncontrolled desire racked her body.

She wanted the moment to never end. It did, however, when
the sound of a car horn tore them apart. They eyed each other and laughed. It
was as if they were teenagers being caught doing something they shouldn’t
have been doing.

“Wow. That was some kiss. Did you hear horns too?”

Narda laughed harder. “I think it was more of a beep. I see
we have arrived at my new store location. Shall we go in?”

“I’m game if you are. The front window is great for lookers.”

She dug into her purse to withdraw a set of keys and opened
the front door. Once inside, she flicked on the lights. Owin followed her
inside. Light flooded the open area.

 

Opaline’s Discovery

The Witch DNA Trilogy Book 1

Love. Magic. Danger.

Could these three words articulate distinct spiritual
essences to fuse together?

Bookstore owner, Opaline Lunn, facilitates a Speed Dating
Event, in hopes of finding her soulmate. She meets attendee Detective Eamon
Dayan, who wasn’t looking for love, but sparks fly at their first kiss.

Together they unearth Opaline’s powers which lead to the
discovery that she has two sisters, and someone called The Ancient One who
wants to kill them.

Unraveling a myriad of mysteries, with Opaline’s newfound
ability to do spells, the soulmates must find her sisters by her twenty-fifth
birthday to be able to confront the evil force and save all of them.

 

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Now she was waiting for her fourth and final date.

  Eamon.

  Goodness, anticipation is everything.

  She couldn’t believe he wanted to go out with her on a real date. Most guys found her too intellectual. It wasn’t her fault she owned a bookstore and loved to read.  History, fiction, romance, fantasy, sci-fi—it didn’t matter.  Everything was interesting to her. No genre was off limits.

  The buzzer sounded, and she waited for Eamon. He arrived and took his seat. He didn’t say anything. She didn’t either. They sat for a moment, looking at each other, his blue eyes to her green eyes.

  Abruptly, the air surrounding her turned hot, but it wasn’t the kind of hot that made you sweat. It was the kind of sexual intensity that could consume a person, only to let go once it had been satisfied. Opaline fought the urge to fan herself.

  Like a foggy night, the room around the two of them became hazy. Eamon reached across the table and touched her cheek. Her body had a will of its own, and she leaned into his hand, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her.

  “Opaline? Opaline, are you all right?”

  “Wha-what?”

  The room was clear again when she opened her eyes.

 Eamon hadn’t kissed her. She had imagined the kiss. He hadn’t reached out to her. But he was now. He didn’t touch her cheek. like she had envisioned. Instead, he was touching her hand. Until he wasn’t.

  Goodness sakes alive.

  “Sorry. I guess the excitement of the night has gotten to me,” she said, recovering. “Did you ask me something?”

  “No problem. I asked what you like to eat. If we’re going to go out on a date, I’ll have to find a restaurant because I don’t cook.”

  “I haven’t technically agreed to go out with you.” She laughed nervously.

  “I’m not going to let you say no.”

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” Opaline reached across the table and took his hand. “I guess I don’t have a choice, then. Yes, I would like to go out with you.”

  “Great. Does tomorrow night work for you?”

  “You do work fast,” she said, lowering her voice, which came out in a low silvery tone.

  “Only when I need to.”

  She knew he was implying other things, and she smiled again, wishing he had kissed her.

  The buzzer ended their date, and Opaline stood. Most of the other attendees had finished their dates too. “I hate to rush things, but I need to wrap things up for the event.”

  “If you would like, I can help you with the cleanup,” Eamon said.

  “That’s so thoughtful, and here I was thinking you only liked to give the orders.”

  She saw by the way his head tilted to the side that her reply had caught him off guard. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he was having a hard time coming up with a comeback. He mustn’t be used to word games like her customers at the bookstore were.  They usually gave it right back to her. Eamon, on the other hand, was still at a loss for words.

  “Yes, I’d love your help. I have to stick around until everyone leaves. I’ll make an announcement to let them know what time we have to be out of here. Then I can—no, we—can start.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll round up my sister to pitch in too,” he said.

  Opaline heard him chuckle and wondered if he had offered his sister’s help without her knowledge.

I was born and raised in the cold and beautiful Minnesota,
but I escaped to Illinois for seventeen years to raise my two boys, and now I
call Florida home. My husband Andy, who’s always been my hero, has put up with
my late night computer typing and endless stacks of papers with my stories on
them. We have one furry friend as family: Chip, a sixteen year old ragdoll cat.

Life has been full of ups and downs, but I’ve made it
through the hard times. I love to travel and go to Disney World to trade
pins.  I’ve been a bowler for many years,
and you can catch me writing my next novel at the lanes.

I encourage you to check out my web site, www.sonjagunter.com for more info and
don’t be surprised if I let my Norwegian heritage come through in my stories.

Go Vikings! You betcha!

 

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#blogtour Empathic Equatin by Emily Carrington

LGBTQ+ Shifter Romance

Date Published: July 31, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 


Nootaikok is losing himself to his empathy. Can Amaruq call him back to love
and to bed?

 

There’s a terrible loneliness in being surrounded by a million minds,
none of which care a whit about you. With his empathic skills expanding
rapidly, Nootaikok is struggling to hold onto his sanity. Only joining with
Amaruq in bed play is sustaining him.

Both of them know bed play won’t save them forever. As the weight of
Nootaikok’s psychic disability pushes down on him, he and Amaruq start
fighting both each other and the world.

Can their love hold them together or will Nootaikok’s deception crush
them?

 

EXCERPT

 

He couldn’t just hear the couple arguing in the hotel room next to the
one where he lay with his mate. For Nootaikok, their anger, petty as it might
seem to some, was real for them. He wasn’t quite sure what they had
disagreed on. He wasn’t a telepath. However, as the hour crept on from
nine to ten, their bickering increased in intensity even as their volume
dropped. He read violence in the woman half of the pair’s building rage.
Whoever said females were always the victims had their facts wrong.

He got silently out of bed, checking to make sure Amaruq had stayed asleep.
His lover, exhausted from the psychic deluge he’d experienced over the
last half dozen hours, probably wouldn’t wake if he was quiet.

Scooping up his tracker badge, which would show as police or hotel security or
whatever he needed at the moment to humans, he dressed in cast-off clothing
that he’d worn to SearchLight that day. Not bothering with shoes, he
padded silently from the room.

The ebb and flow of their argument was cresting when he pounded on the door.

He felt their startlement and felt the relief from the male half of the pair.

She was the one who opened the door, though. “What?” she snapped.

He took in the belt clenched in her fist and the stench of alcohol on her
breath. He held up his badge. “Security, ma’am,” he said.
“Report was of some disturbing noises coming from this room.”

She snarled soundlessly at him, furious as a caged werewolf. “Go
‘way.”

“I can’t, ma’am.” He darted a glance over her shoulder
as the man, who looked none too sober himself, drunk-walked a little closer to
them. “Sir, are you hurt?”

“What’d you think I’d do? Drug him?” the woman
demanded baldly.

Nootaikok felt the spike in her anxiety and met her gaze. “What did you
give him?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

He wished he’d brought his cell phone. “I intend to.” He
marched into the room, shouldering her aside almost gently. Her drunken state
made her maybe more compliant than she would have normally been. Keeping an
eye on the two of them, he called down to the main desk and made his report.
That done, he ordered the two of them to stand out in the hallway until help
could arrive.

She swung at him with the buckle end of the belt.

He caught it, the sting of the metal making him hiss. He jerked the makeshift
weapon out of her hand and caught her, preventing her from falling when she
staggered into him rather than let go willingly.

By the time security had arrived, he’d gotten them both to lean against
the walls on either side of the corridor. The man was slumping there and the
woman was glaring at him, her face alternating between fear and fury.

After they had been escorted away, he snuck back to bed. It was going to be
difficult to sleep, even though the couple was gone. His empathy was fully
awake now, and he could sense probably half the occupants of the hotel.

Amaruq rolled over, his eyes slitting open. “Still awake?” he
mumbled.

“I’m all right,” Nootaikok lied.

His little white fib, meant only to send his lover back to sleep, backfired as
Amaruq frowned at him.

“Don’t you know better than to lie to a werewolf?”

“Sorry,” Nootaikok said, meaning it. “I just
”

“Do you need me to massage your shoulders again?”

“Maybe you could just rub my back for a minute or two?”
Amaruq’s touch usually helped him rest. It wasn’t magic but
Amaruq’s gentleness came through in everything he did. It was difficult
to dwell on all the emotions he couldn’t fix or completely understand
while his mate caressed him.

That being said, what he felt still tried to invade his mind. He shoved it
away over and over again until Amaruq’s fingers, digging deep, released
his tension and he slept.

* * *

When Amaruq woke fully, it was morning and the clock on the nightstand told
him it was a little after seven. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so
long, not with Mark and Luke in peril. Still, as the guilt rose up to choke
him, he forced himself to take a breath. He was managing it, he told himself,
and even if he wasn’t, there was nothing to be gained from drowning in
negativity.

Besides, he’d come back to the waking world with a sense of urgency and
a hunch that something was about to change. He didn’t know what that
meant exactly, but it definitely came from his precognitive sense, and he
refused to ignore that part of himself any longer.

He rolled over to face Nootaikok, startled to find his lover huddled under the
blankets. Narwhal shifters, at least from what Nootaikok had told him, were
warm blooded and tended to struggle with getting overheated. His mate looked
as though he was freezing. Or trying to hide.

Amaruq settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to reach out
to Mark and get a better sense of the dragon’s location. He thought,
I’ll ask him why it’s me he decided to reach out to once he and
Luke are safe. For now

 He dropped his shields.

Nootaikok seized his arm. “Don’t,” he mumbled.

Startled, Amaruq jumped and tried for something passing calmness. He knew he
didn’t succeed because when Nootaikok opened his eyes, they were bright
with anxiety. “What’s wrong?” Amaruq asked.

“Too many
” Nootaikok visibly stiffened and seemed to pull
himself together. “I don’t want you reaching out to
whoever’s sending you visions without medical assistance nearby.”

Amaruq nodded, his head moving on the pillow as he turned his face toward his
lover. Nootaikok was still bundled up. Frowning, Amaruq said,
“That’s a good point. I’ll wait until we’re at
SearchLight. Now, what’s really wrong?”

 

About the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host
of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily
has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate
quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her
website.

 

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

 

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

 

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