Property of Hayride by Nikki LandisMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
View all my reviews
Friday, July 31, 2026
Nymphs & Newsreels
Title: Nymphs & Newsreels (A Ravens’ Hollow, Book 5)
Author: Ella Stone
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Cover Designer: Covers by Christian
Publication Date: July 31st, 2026
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:
The truth was never lost. It was hidden.
I'm Elodie Evergreen, and I have questions that need answering. When my sunlight wards begin to fail, I’m forced to return to England and confront the truth I’ve spent years avoiding. With Chief Inspector Whip and my loyal dog, Pongo, at my side, I’m determined to uncover what was hidden from me.
But the search quickly turns dangerous.
Someone wants me dead. My family refuse to come to my aid. And the more time I spend with Whip, the more I realise just how far he’s willing to go to get the answers he wants—even if it means crossing lines I can’t.
I should feel safe. I’m surrounded by allies. Instead, the closer I get to the truth, the more everything begins to unravel.
And this time, it’s not just my past at risk.
It’s my future.
A gripping paranormal mystery packed with hidden identities, dangerous secrets, found family, and slow-burning romance.
A long time writer and dedicated reader of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Finally bringing these two passions together in an epic saga years in the making.
Author Links:
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Passion of a Wolf
Title: Passion of a Wolf
Series: Viking Wolves #4
Author: CJ Ravenna
Genre: Gay Paranormal/Time Travel Romance
Tropes: Fake Engagement, Hurt/Comfort, Fated Mates
Possessive MMC, Forced Proximity, Love After Loss
Release Date: July 31, 2026
BLURB
What do a widowed Viking werewolf and a witch with trust issues have in common? A fake engagement, obviously!
Arlo
So, asking the grumpy wolf shifter who rejected me in front of his whole family to be my fake fiancé wasn't my best idea. Sue me. I need to convince my family werewolves can be trusted if I want the last ingredient for my potion. Gunnar needs this potion as much as I do, or he will go berserk and become a danger to himself and others.
All we need to do is pretend to be madly in love. Should be easy, except for the fact that I'm pretty sure I'm in actual love with Gunnar. I swore I'd never trust werewolves again, not after what they did to me, but with every touch of his hand (and Goddess, those kisses!), I fall harder.
Gunnar has made it clear there's no room in his heart for anyone but the family he loved and lost.
He'll never love me the way I want him to. This is fake.
Right?
Passion of a Wolf is the fourth and final book in the Viking Wolves series and features a sassy boar familiar, fake dates and fake kisses, cake-tastings gone wrong, a possessive and protective Viking werewolf who definitely isn't in love with a snarky witch, and an emotional Happy-Ever-After in a barn nestled in the English countryside.
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AUTHOR BIO
CJ Ravenna loves to tell stories where the ordinary meets the extraordinary. Her books often feature an explosion or two, possessive and protective werewolves who adore their mates, steamy and swoony romance, and of course a happy ending.
AUTHOR LINKS
Thursday, July 30, 2026
Kill Code
In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying?
Kill Code
by Clive Fleury
Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction
WHEN THE OCEANS RISE...THE TRUTH DROWNS
It's the year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate
catastrophe, where the sun's heat is deadly and the ocean rises higher every
day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man
can’t survive for long.
Hogan Duran was a good man once. He was a cop, forced to
resign in disgrace when he couldn't save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan
lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging
trash dumps just to survive.
But after four years of living in poverty, Hogan finally
gets a chance to get back on his feet. He's invited to join the National
Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for
protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society.
All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he'll be rewarded
with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.
But this ex-cop's path to redemption won't be easy. The NSC
are hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper and deeper into their world,
he starts to uncover the terrible truth of how the powerful in this new world
maintain their power...and just how far they will go to protect their secrets.
In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying?
Kill Code is the first novel in an exciting new
dystopian science fiction series from the mind of award-winning author,
screenwriter, and director Clive Fleury. Fans of The Hunger Games by
Suzanne Collins, The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey, and Divergent by
Veronica Roth will be captivated by Kill Code. You'll also love
this book if you enjoy:
* Dystopian novels and stories
* Stories about futuristic
societies
* Stories about disgraced cops
* Stories about unlikely heroes
* Stories about conspiracies
* Stories about injustice
The Station: a seething mass of humanity. Some came with
hope in their hearts, ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime. For others,
it was the only place they had left to go. They had reached rock bottom. Day or
night, the scene was always the same: Transporters arrived and departed
constantly, full of people desperate to get away from here, from there, from
everywhere. Others wandered around the Station aimlessly. These were the
homeless, the addicts, the criminals, the thieves and deadbeats. They spent
their time begging or looking for something to steal.
And there was always tension in the air. A fight could break out at any moment
as these tired and hungry people reached their wits’ ends and lashed out at the
world.
Max and I had been waiting there two hours, which was at least one hour and
fifty-nine minutes too long but neither of us minded. I kept reaching into my
pocket to pull out the letter and stare at it.
“You’ll wear it out, buddy,” said a smiling Max after I had brought the note
out a tenth time. “Just accept it. Next stop: Easy Street.”
I pushed the letter back into my pocket. I still couldn’t believe it. I’d been
accepted. That was the good news. The bad news was I knew that this letter only
confirmed that I had been chosen for NSC training. It was incredibly difficult
to get this far, but even so, only a very few would make it to through to the
next stage—to become officers. Frankly, I had grave doubts I could make it that
far.
Max tapped me on my shoulder and pointed to a transporter that had just pulled
in to Dock 10. It had the word Seattle printed above its windshield. It was
Max’s ride. “Okay, Hogan, looks like it’s my time to go.”
I moved behind Max’s wheelchair and pushed it through the seething crowd
towards the vehicle. It was, like all public transporters nowadays, driverless.
So since there was no one to help, it was up to me to put Max’s ticket into the
scanner and to lower him into in his allotted seat. After that, I folded his
wheelchair and carried the chair to the luggage rack at the front.
As I finished storing the chair, I spotted an attractive woman in her
mid-thirties walk up to Max. I watched as she checked the seat number on her
ticket. “That is twenty-two N isn’t it?” I heard the woman say to Max as she
pointed to the vacant seat next to him.
Max smiled. “It sure is. And you have the luck to be sitting next to Max
Creeling.” He held out his hand. “Great to meet you.”
The woman smiled and sat next to him as I returned.
“Okay, Max, time to go. See if you can get someone to help you with the chair
at the other end.”
“I think I can organize that,” the woman said. “I’m Lisa.” She pushed out her
hand and I shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, Lisa. Thank you for your kind offer. Now, Max, don’t
forget when you get to Seattle to keep out of trouble.”
“Will do.”
I high-fived Max. “Bye. And behave yourself.”
“Always.”
I turned quickly and headed for the transporter’s exit door. Almost as soon as
I had stepped down from the vehicle, the door slid shut, the last passenger
just managing to squeeze on. As the transporter drove off, Max peered out of
the window and winked at me before turning to speak animatedly with Lisa. It
looked like he had struck it lucky.
I missed him already.
My transporter would be in next. Dock 20. I started to walk towards the number
20 sign, scanning the crowd for those who were waiting for the NSC Transit
transporter like me.
A tall, handsome man in his early twenties stepped in front of me, momentarily
blocking my way. I glanced across at him. I knew the type. Dangerous and
arrogant but the sort of asshole that women love. In fact, two young beautiful
girls were with him: long legs, flowing blonde hair, angelic faces. They were
obviously twins.
A commotion came from behind, and a middle-aged, scruffy, worn-down man pushed
through the crowd, a rusty shotgun in hand. “Hey, you!” he screamed at the guy
with the girls. “Those are my daughters, you son of a bitch.”
The handsome man turned, taking in the man and his gun.
“Really,” he replied. “Then I guess I owe you for raising such lovely pleasure
units.”
“They aren’t pleasure units, they’re my girls, and they’re only seventeen.”
“Oh, God…I didn’t know,” the handsome man said, looking shocked. “They swore
they were fifteen.” He grabbed one of the teenagers and starting to kiss her
passionately.
“You bastard,” the older man said, and raised the shotgun, ready to fire. The
handsome man pushed away the girl he was kissing, spun around, and yanked the
weapon from the father’s hands in one motion. In an instant, the father was
looking down the barrel of his own gun.
“The only reason I don’t shoot you right now is ’cause I’m afraid this rusty
piece of shit might blow up in my face.” The younger man cracked the gun open
and dumped the shells onto the floor. Then he pulled a gleaming handgun from
his trousers and leveled it directly at the father’s head. “This, on the other
hand, is in perfect working order. Care to test it?”
The father lunged forward, but I grabbed him, pulling him back. “That’s
enough.”
The handsome man stared at me. “Well, thank you,” he said, stuffing his pistol
back into his pants. “You should thank him too, Dad,” he said to the girls’
father, “you could have got yourself hurt.” He turned away to look at the
girls. “Ladies—it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure you won’t forget your time with
Jake Teerman.”
“Bye, Jake,” one of them shouted as she consoled her teary-eyed sister.
The man, Jake, quickly headed towards the transporter that had just pulled up
at Dock 20.
“I guess some girls like that kind of thing,” a voice behind me said.
I turned. The woman who’d just spoken was strikingly attractive, with long dark
hair, piercing blue eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in form-fitting
jeans and a blue blouse that hugged her shapely body. She carried an antique
leather holdall.
She held out her hand. “Ruby Mason.”
“Hogan Duran. Pleased to meet you” I said, shaking her hand and pointing at the
NSC Transporter. “You getting on board?”
Ruby smiled proudly. “Yep. And you?”
I nodded and glanced at Jake Teerman, who was climbing up the transporter’s
stairs.
“He’s going as well. I thought the NSC was more selective.”
“I guess not,” Ruby said.
***
About a hundred of us were cramped on board. Most were in
their late teens and early twenties, mainly young men but with a sprinkling of
women. I knew I was an old man by their standards. It was a pretty big
handicap, and since Max’s shooting, my confidence had never really returned.
Was I up to this? The transporter had been pretty quiet from the start, with
only a few talking to one another. That was the sensible thing to do. We didn’t
know exactly what our training would involve, and to give too much away about
yourself at this stage was not a smart strategy.
Ruby and I hadn’t spoken much, either. I’d told her about me being an ex-cop.
She’d told me that she was a waitress who had just been fired from her job. The
news of NSC acceptance had been the lifeline she’d needed. To keep the
conversation going but avoiding any more personal talk, I pointed at the
transporter driver. “Haven’t seen one of those for years.”
“Me neither,” Ruby said.
It was a surprise to both of us. Nowadays, cars and trucks were almost all
driverless. When they were first introduced, people had willingly given up
their vehicles and relied on driverless taxis to get around. Before long, all
trucks had been made driverless, too, and as demand for ‘driven’ cars fell, the
industry collapsed: factories closed and workers were made redundant, joining
the thousands of professional drivers in the ranks of the unemployed.
The NSC was one of the few employers who kept their drivers on, not trusting
the security of driverless vehicles. Onboard computers could be hacked, they
reasoned. It was difficult to accomplish, of course, but it was a risk the
organization wasn’t prepared to take.
The view from the vehicle was a revelation to me, too, even though as a cop, I
had traveled all over the city. In the four years since resigning from the
force, the landscape had changed dramatically. I could see the wealthy zones
with their well-lit stores, malls, and schools. These were surrounded by rows
of affluent suburban homes, some of which had glistening swimming pools in
their back yards. Cars shunted along the wide, clean boulevards, and children
played happily in the lush green parks. The zones were protected by high
steel-mesh fences hung with huge searchlights. Gun-toting guards, walking with
vicious-looking dogs on leashes, manned checkpoints along the border.
In contrast, most of the city’s other zones looked like they’d been bombed out.
There were no green spaces: the schools were huge, gray, factory-like
buildings; the few stores were tiny, temporary structures; and hardly any cars
traveled the crumbling roads that often looked impassable anyway. Homes were,
for the most part, a mixture of temporary-looking Nissan huts or constructions
built out of old wood and corrugated metal sheets.
As the transporter sped on and darkness fell, the signs of decay and
dereliction increased. Tents replaced houses and roads became fewer and fewer.
When the vehicle finally left what remained of the town and descended from the
freeway down onto the open road, the lights inside were dimmed. People slumped
back in their chairs, trying to get as comfortable as possible to sleep.
“Night,” said Ruby, shutting her eyes.
“Night,” I said, and did the same.
***
I awoke hours later, my legs aching, my back in pain. I
really was getting old.
I stared out and saw that the sun had just started to peek over the horizon.
Soon it would be high in the sky, streaming through the transporter’s tinted
windows. If I was to die and somehow found myself in purgatory, it would
probably look like this: dirty brown wasteland stretching out as far as the eye
could see. On the horizon was a mountain range. But these boasted no romantic,
snow-covered summits glistening in the sun: just steep, hostile, rocky
escarpments layered with brown dust.
Ruby opened her eyes. “Hi,” she said, stretching and pulling herself up.
“Morning.”
Ruby turned to look out the window. She shivered. “Is this Hell?” she asked.
“Sure looks like it.”
“Three more hours,” Ruby said, yawning.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, peering at the small clock positioned high over the
driver’s head. I reached into my pocket for my old flip phone, and then
remembered we’d had to leave all electronic gear with the driver. The NSC
expressly forbade anyone to carry anything that could be used to reveal where
we were going. I doubted if the clock really showed the correct time. It would
be too easy to work out where you were from the time traveled.
Ruby gave a start. “Oh my God.” She was staring out the window. I followed her
gaze. In the distance, a band of bikers were riding through the wasteland,
heading towards the transporter. I recognized them. “Krails,” I said. “I’ve
never seen them up close.”
Others on the transporter had seen the Krails, too. They watched fascinated as
the gang approached. As they came closer, I could make out the lined, tough
faces of the riders. Although all were dressed in the same tight black
leathers, some wore black bandanas or had long scarves covering their necks and
faces. Many had grown their hair out, letting it fall down to their waist,
while others had it shaved off completely. It was hard to tell the women from
the men. All looked equally tough, with lined faces browned in the sun.
More than anything else, Krails were proud of their bikes. Despite the dust,
each machine had been meticulously cleaned so their chrome and steel handle
bars shone. Some riders had bows slung over their shoulders, quivers of arrows
hanging from their belts. Others carried long hunting knives stuck into ornate
belts, and handguns stuffed into leather holsters. The man on the lead bike
looked huge and terrifying. He was bald, and his face was crisscrossed with
long scars.
Ruby made a face. “Disgusting. How can anyone live like that?”
“Maybe they ask the same thing about us,” I said as the transporter accelerated
away.
Staring back, I saw the big bald man, the Krail leader, raise his hand and
indicate the rocky outcrops on the horizon. Pulling his bike around, he started
to ride in the direction he’d indicated. The others followed in V-formation.
Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of books and
screenplays and has worked all over the world as a Film/TV director, writer and
producer. He has written six books, most recently 'All Or None', the second
novel in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series.
Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
A Simple Regret
Title: A Simple Regret
Series: Cooper Town Boys #4
Author: Lacey Black
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Tropes: Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town Romance
Cover Design: Kristie Leigh, Vanilla Lily Designs
Photographer: Eric McKinney, 6:12 Photography
Model: Quinn B
Release Date: September 1, 2026
BLURB
Camden
The day she left town was the day I changed. Maren Holm walked away without so much as a glance back, taking my heart with her. Everything we had talked about, planned for, the life I thought we both wanted together, just vanished, leaving me alone and miserable. That’s when old Camden was replaced with the fun-loving, carefree guy I am today.
Then, out of the blue, she returned.
My new next-door neighbor and I have a past, and it’s one I don’t want to dredge up. The problem is she has a son. The cutest three-year-old boy, who pulls at the strings of my damaged heart and refuses to let go. Together, they make me want…more.
But I just don’t know if I’m capable of giving her my heart a second time.
Maren
Returning to Cooper Town was exactly what I needed. I wanted my son, Theo, to experience all the perks of small-town living. With the help of my dad, I found the perfect location to start over. Except, my new neighbor and I have a history. A very painful one, and even though I knew I’d likely run into him again, I never expected it to be in my own driveway.
Suddenly, my past is standing directly in front of me again.
He’s still angry, not that I blame him. I walked away from him, from the life we both wanted. It wasn’t easy or right, but I had my reasons. Now, being around him is stirring up old feelings, especially when I see him with my son. Their bond is instant, and before I know it, I’m being drawn right back in to the Camden I used to know and love.
Only this time, it’s not just my heart I’m risking, but Theo’s too.
PRE-ORDER LINKS
AVAILABLE NOW
AUTHOR BIO
USA Today Bestselling Author Lacey Black is a Midwestern girl with a passion for reading, writing, and shopping. She carries her e-reader with her everywhere she goes so she never misses an opportunity to read a few pages. Always looking for a happily ever after, Lacey is passionate about contemporary romance novels and enjoys it further when you mix in a little suspense. She resides in a small town in Illinois with her husband, two children, and three rowdy chickens.
AUTHOR LINKS
Wednesday, July 29, 2026
The Belgravia Phantom
Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before
–
from well below stairs.
The Belgravia Phantom
The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries Book 1
by Ellis Blackwood
Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery
How do you prove you
didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?
Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now
Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.
Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up
for in allies.
There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around
this – they’re petty thieves.
There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s
Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).
And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado,
lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective
duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the
smelling salts.
Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty
lords and ladies who attended the séance?
And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?
The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder
mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect
fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s
gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps
approach...
**New Release on July 31!**
When Kate closes the iron gate behind her
and turns onto Settles Street, she all but barges into Constable Gibb.
“Miss Quill!” His feigned surprise would
draw catcalls from a seasoned crowd.
Kate looks him up and down. His custodian
helmet sits lopsided, his acne practically throbs, and his tawdry ’tache
appears patchier than ever.
“Have you been here all night, Constable?”
Flushing, he plays with a brass button.
“Why, no, miss, not at all. Constable Blake relieved me at… And then…” He has
said too much, it occurs to him, and he clams up, transferring his attentions
to his boots.
Kate cannot decide whether to be bemused or
perplexed.
Passing him without another word, she
strides self-consciously on, the theatre in her sights. Something tells her to
stop. She does so without warning and turns.
Constable Gibb, ten paces behind, stops
also, gazing up and around, whistling.
Kate blinks back her amazement. “Are you
following me, Constable Gibb?”
He affects noticing her. “Not at all, Miss
Quill. Not at all. Merely… strolling.”
“Then perhaps you could stroll,” she
gestures back the way they came, “that way?”
He turns, strokes his chin, and after a
moment’s hesitation shakes his head. “I think I’d prefer this way,” he says,
pointing.
Shaking her head, she sets off apace. “Have
it your way. It’s a free world, after all, Constable.”
“Well,” he returns, almost to himself. “I’m
not sure about that, miss.”
Gibb is still following when she reaches
Fieldgate Street, idly swinging his truncheon. She avoids the night-soil cart,
pulled by a limping horse so glum it seems resigned to its purpose, and hurries
to the stage door.
A light drizzle is falling, so fine it
resembles a mist. It lends a kick to the air that might almost smell clean.
She knocks with no reply and turns
anxiously. Gibb is chatting to the night-soil man.
She tries again, harder, and hears movement
the other side of the door.
“Hurry up,” she urges through gritted
teeth. She cannot have the police connecting Daisy with the case.
Charlie, the old stage-door keeper, blinks
in the daylight. “Hmm?”
“Daisy Quill?”
“What of her?”
“I’m her sister. Remember? I was here…”
“Yes, I remember you. Daisy’s sister.”
She wants to punch him, but remembers her
warning to Ned. “That’s right. Can I come in and see her?”
He gazes back into the womb of the theatre.
“Can’t say as she’s here.”
“Can I check? Please. I know where she’ll
be.”
He flicks something off his coat and stands
aside. “Suit yerself.”
She motions behind. The cart has moved on
and Gibb is barely a dozen yards distant, still affecting nonchalance. “See
that copper?”
He peers through misted specs. “Just
about.”
“Can you stop him following me?”
He sucks in a breath. “Don’t see how I can
do that, miss. Officer of the law an’ all that.”
She pushes inside. “Tell him you saw a
drunkard with a knife heading that way.”
He chuckles. “Can’t see ’im falling for
that.”
“You don’t know him as well as I do.”
Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries:
fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and
plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in
17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian
Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the
crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.
A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK's most
popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his
wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which
explains a lot.
He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators,
graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He
prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly
convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.
"Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of
intrigue and fun" – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries
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