Goddess Fish Promotions: RESORT, TWO, MURDER Blurb Blitz & Giveaway – 12/15 to 01/09

Posted on December 17, 2025 by Sahara Foley


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Joanna Campbell Slan will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.


Kiki Lowenstein heads to Florida for sand, sunshine, and family time—until a shocking death pulls her into a mystery simmering beneath the resort’s perfect surface. With craftiness and heart, she dives into a dangerous tangle of lies that only she can unravel.


Read an Excerpt

The scream ripped through the dawn and straight into my spine. I didn’t breathe until I reached the balcony.

Seven floors below, a housekeeper stood frozen at the pool’s edge, hands over her mouth. The turquoise water rippled around hair the color of fire.

Copper hair.

Floating.

Still.

My blood turned to ice.

“Mom?” Sixteen-year-old Anya whispered behind me. Pale. Too pale. “What happened?”

“I don’t know yet. Stay back. Keep your brothers inside.” My voice didn’t tremble, but everything inside me did.

I yanked the curtains closed, but not before my mind captured every detail: the purple satin gown billowing under the water, the bare feet, the drifting red hair like a drowning sunrise.

Then Brawny — my fierce, loyal Scot nanny — sprinted into the courtyard and dove in, shoes and all. She flipped the girl over, started mouth-to-mouth, refusing to accept what the water already knew.

Could this be real?

Sirens wailed in the distance. And I stood frozen on the balcony, one hand pressed to my heart, silently begging for a miracle.

It didn’t come.

The red-haired model from last night’s fashion show was gone.

About the Author:

Joanna Campbell Slan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling author known for her engaging women’s fiction and mystery novels. With nearly 80 books to her credit, including contributions to the original Chicken Soup for the Soul series, Joanna specializes in stories featuring strong female protagonists and the power of women’s friendships. Her tagline, “Creating a better world one story at a time” perfectly captures the spirit of her work, as she has a keen interest in presenting all sides of social issues. Joanna is best known for her Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series, which spans 19 books and 42 short works, chronicling the growth of a widowed mother who finds new purpose through crafting and sleuthing.

Living on a nearly deserted island off the coast of Florida, Joanna draws inspiration from her surroundings and her love for various crafts, including Zentangle®, crochet, and upcycling. Her accomplishments include winning the Daphne du Maurier Award for Literary Excellence for her continuation of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Contact her at JCSlan@JoannaSlan.com

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Goddess Fish Promotions: THE ART OF HUMAN CONNECTIONS Book Blast & Giveaway – 12/16

Posted on December 16, 2025 by Sahara Foley


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Adir Biniamini will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

In an age of extreme technology and growing separation, we’ve lost our way. We’ve traded authentic human connection for a world of aggressive tactics, self-serving behaviors, and fleeting transactions that leave us feeling isolated and unfulfilled.

The Art of Human Connection offers a powerful and ethical alternative, a return to our shared humanity.

This educational book is your essential guide to mastering the simple yet profound skills that form the bedrock of true success. Through a series of practical insights and transformative principles, you will learn how to:

– Cultivate Self-Awareness: Understand your own emotional landscape and its impact on every interaction.

– Build Authentic Relationships: Master the art of empathy and genuine communication to forge instant rapport and build lasting trust.

– Navigate with Confidence: Learn to move through professional and personal challenges with less friction and more grace.

“The truest version of a person is never who they perform to be, it is who they become when they forget to perform!”

This is a powerful call to action, inviting you to reflect on your own experiences and visualize a clear path to improvement. By embracing this approach, you will discover a liberating truth: your greatest success and most profound connections begin the moment you stop performing and simply start being.


Read an Excerpt

How often have you caught yourself rehearsing a conversation, worried about sounding “too pushy” or “not professional enough”? That internal hesitation, the voice that whispers, “I shouldn’t share that anecdote” or “I can’t ask that question”, is a massive barrier to real connection. It’s called Waiting for Permission, and it keeps you locked into a rigid script, sacrificing genuine curiosity and spontaneity for safety. But here’s the game-changer: you don’t need external approval to create a powerful, human connection. The permission slip is self-written.

Here is your three-step guide to stop waiting for permission and start showing up as your most impactful self.

Write Your Own Permission Slip: Trust Your Gut

The key to unlocking connection is recognizing that your authentic impulse is valuable. Stop seeking external validation and start acting on your intuition.

Practice Proactive Empathy: Show genuine interest right away with a sincere opener like, “I know you’re busy; thanks for making time,” to establish a welcoming tone.

Share with Courage: If you feel an authentic impulse to ask a slightly more personal or relevant question, or share a relevant story, do it. That’s where real connection happens.

Not long ago, I was coaching a client who was preparing for a high-stakes networking event. She had rehearsed her “elevator pitch” dozens of times, but when she practiced with me, it felt stiff and distant. I asked her to set aside the script and instead share why she cared so deeply about her work. She hesitated, “That’s too personal, isn’t it?”, but then told a short story about how her project had helped a struggling family regain stability. The moment she spoke from that place of authenticity, her entire presence shifted. Her voice carried warmth, her eyes lit up, and suddenly, she wasn’t performing, she was connecting. At the event, she led with that story. Instead of polite nods, she received genuine engagement, follow-up questions, and even an unexpected partnership opportunity. The difference wasn’t in her words; it was in her willingness to stop waiting for permission and trust her authentic impulse.

About the Author:


Adir Biniamini is a visionary coach and the author of The Art of Human Connection. His journey into coaching began after a long and successful entrepreneurial career where he learned firsthand that genuine connection is the cornerstone of success.

From working at a flea market as a teenager to launching multiple businesses, Adir quickly discovered the power of authentic communication. A pivotal piece of advice, “Be exactly who you are . . . real, friendly, inviting,” became his guiding light. Thirty years and successful businesses later, this commitment to genuine human connection remains the cornerstone of his success.

Adir’s unique philosophy, forged from a lifetime of business and personal challenges, is built on the belief that a deep connection to ourselves is the key to creating meaningful relationships with others. Through his work, he helps clients master the essential skills of emotional intelligence and rapport, empowering them to navigate challenges and create lasting success in every facet of their lives.

Website: https://adirbiniamini.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/60102851.Adir_Biniamini

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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Fur, Fangs, & Mistletoe Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/11 to 12/25

Posted on December 15, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


When a struggling single mom and her adorable toddler get snowed in with a grumpy wolf shifter, Christmas magic starts working overtime.


Fur, Fangs, & Mistletoe

Christmas Cove Book 1

by Jessica Coulter Smith

Genre: Paranormal Holiday Romance



Escape to Christmas Cove, a cozy small town where magic, shifters, and holiday romance collide.

After a painful breakup, Riley is ready for a fresh start in Christmas Cove. All she wants is a peaceful life for herself and her two-year-old daughter, Sabrina. Love isn’t on her holiday wish list. When she’s stuck in a blizzard, help arrives in the form of Alex Conors — a protective, brooding werewolf.

Snowed in with a grumpy shifter and a crackling fire, Riley begins to see the gentle heart behind Alex’s fierce exterior… and Alex finds himself falling for the brave single mom who awakens something he thought he lost long ago.

Hot cocoa and toddler giggles turn strangers into something more. But when Riley’s past resurfaces and threatens the safety she’s found, Alex will have to prove that loyalty, love — and pack — are forever.

A warm, emotional holiday romance filled with shifter charm, second chances, and the magic of Christmas. Ideal for fans of protective alphas, found family, and heartfelt happily-ever-afters.

 

🏠 Small-town charm & found family
🐺 Grumpy wolf + sunshine single mom
👩‍👧 Adorable toddler moments
🎁 Snowed-in & forced proximity
💕 Fated mates and holiday magic

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

 



The sedan’s engine rattled — a sound Riley had learned to distinguish from its other mechanical complaints over the past three states. This particular rattle meant she’d make it another fifty miles, maybe more if she kept her speed steady. Her knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel somewhere around the state line, and she couldn’t remember now how to relax them. The GPS showed their arrival in Christmas Cove, and Riley’s shoulders tensed further, an automatic response to any declaration of reaching a destination.

Dusk had settled over the town. Main Street stretched before her, lined with Victorian storefronts that belonged in a Thomas Kincade painting. White lights twisted around lampposts, and wreaths hung at precise intervals, each decorated with the same combination of pine cones and red ribbon. Fresh snow dusted the sidewalks in a way that seemed too perfect, too deliberate. Riley checked her rearview mirror again — the same compulsive glance she’d made every thirty seconds for the past six hours. Empty road. No one following. No one cared where she went.

She drove slowly past the Sugar Moon Café, noting its warm glow and the silhouettes of people inside. Past a bookstore with a display of holiday romances in the window. Past a hardware store already closed for the evening, its owner probably home with family, sitting down to dinner, living a normal life. The thought made something twist in Riley’s chest, but she pushed it down. Normal was a luxury she couldn’t afford to want.

The residential streets branched off from downtown. Riley followed the GPS directions, checking the crumpled paper in her cup holder against the street signs and the directions from the GPS. One too many times, it had taken her the wrong way. Oak Street. Maple Avenue. Someone had named these roads with an almost nauseating wholesomeness, as if determined to prove the town’s charm. She turned onto Pine Ridge Road, where the houses grew sparser and the forest pressed closer to the road.

A small sound from the backseat made Riley’s gaze dart to the mirror. Sabrina stirred in her car seat, her head rolling to the side as she woke from the nap that had mercifully consumed the last hour of driving. Riley watched her daughter’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness and the strange lights outside.

“Mama?” Sabrina’s voice carried that quality of toddler confusion. Not quite upset, but teetering on the edge of it.

“We’re here, sweetie.” Riley forced warmth into her voice, though her jaw ached from clenching. “Look at all the pretty lights.”

Sabrina pressed her mittened hands against the window, leaving tiny smudges on the glass. “Lights!” She bounced in her seat as much as the straps would allow. “Pretty, Mama! Pretty!”

“Very pretty.” Riley’s smile felt tight on her face. She wanted to share her daughter’s uncomplicated joy, but she kept scanning the streets, cataloging escape routes, noting which houses had lights on and which sat dark. Old habits. Necessary habits.

The GPS announced their final turn, and Riley’s breath caught. The cottage stood at the end of a short gravel drive, a small structure someone’s grandfather had most likely built and barely maintained enough to keep standing. A single porch light illuminated the front door, and beyond it, the forest loomed.

Riley pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy, broken only by Sabrina’s humming as she kicked her feet against her car seat. Riley sat motionless, her hands still gripping the wheel, and studied their new home.

The cottage was smaller than the photos had suggested. Single-story, with a chimney that leaned slightly to the left. The windows were dark, revealing nothing of the interior. Snow had drifted against the front steps, undisturbed except for what looked like animal tracks, probably a deer or raccoon. The porch railing needed paint, and one shutter hung at an angle.

But for now the house was theirs. For six months, at least, with the first month paid in advance with money Riley had saved from extra shifts and skipped meals. Six months to figure out what came next. After that, she’d have to either renew the lease, or move on to another town.

“Out, Mama!” Sabrina had moved past patient and into demanding. “Out now!”

“Just a minute, baby.”

Riley scanned the neighboring properties. The nearest house sat quite a distance down the road, its windows dark. On the other side, nothing but forest. The isolation should have comforted her. Fewer people meant fewer questions, fewer chances of being found. But instead, it made her hyperaware of how alone they were. No witnesses if something went wrong. No one to hear them scream.

She shook her head, dislodging the thought. Nothing was going to go wrong. This was a fresh start in a quiet town where nobody knew her name or her history. Where Sabrina could grow up without her mother constantly looking over her shoulder.



Jessica Coulter Smith is an acclaimed romance writer with a passion for storytelling. Her works showcase the power of love and its ability to transcend boundaries, capturing the hearts of audiences worldwide. With a unique writing style and perspective, Jessica continues to inspire and entertain readers from all walks of life.

Find her online…

 

Website * Blog * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $20 giveaway!


Enter the Fur, Fangs, & Mistletoe Giveaway Here

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Goddess Fish Promotions: HIGHLANDER’S HOLLY & IVY Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/1 to 12/19

Posted on December 15, 2025 by Sahara Foley



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Margaret Izard will be awarding a Highlander’s Holly & Ivy swag box* ($100 value) to a randomly drawn winner *US Only*. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

*Inside the box: Kissletoe Holiday Crystal Ornament, signed copy of book, Highlander’s Holly & Ivy book bag, Insulated wine glass with Highlander’s Holly & Ivy logo, Dublin shot glass with etched Highlander’s Holly & Ivy logo, Highlander’s Holly & Ivy bookmark, Highlander’s Holly & Ivy recipe card, Wild Rose Press (publisher) 2026 calendar delivered in custom printed Margaret Izard Author Book Swag Box.



A Christmas Companion book to the Stones of Iona Series.

In a land torn by politics and heritage, Alex MacDougall—Scotland’s Lord Justice Clerk—balances loyalty to the British crown and his secret role in preserving outlawed Scottish traditions. When tasked with retrieving a mystical stone tied to Scotland’s destiny, he crosses paths with Lady Iris Erskine, an Englishwoman captivated by Scottish culture. Disguised as Ivy, Iris masquerades as a highland lassie to be close to the dashing highlander.

Love blossoms between Alex and Ivy as tensions simmer between the English and Scots. While Iris vexes over revealing the truth to her handsome Scot, Alex grapples with his family’s secret duty to protect magic Fae stones. With his beloved targeted and hidden truths emerging, the world he once knew dissolves before his eyes.

Can two hearts bound by fate be enough to stave off an evil Fae intent on destroying the MacDougall Clan, or will Alex lose all he loves?



Read an Excerpt

Iris strode down the street beside her faithful maid, Laurel. “Miss, yer Gaelic is awful, and that accent.”

Iris clipped her reply. “What of my accent?”

Laurel groaned. “It’s English, very English. Ye’ll stand out like a sair thumb among all the Gaels.”

She wrapped the plaid, no arisaid tighter around her. “Sair, you mean sore?” She kept walking. “I am dressed like you. I can walk like you. I’ve un-styled my hair.”

Laurel barked a laugh. “Ye walk like royalty, and no matter how much Gaelic ye learn, ye still sound like the Queen of England.”

Iris stopped and turned to her maid. “I want to meet your people. Not because of the novelty.” Laurel rolled her eyes, making Iris smile. “Well, aye, the novelty, but I want to learn the culture, about yer people.”

Laurel’s eyes crinkled. “Ye really want this lass?” Iris nodded. Laurel took her arm in hers as they continued at a slower pace. “Then we need a plan, a canny one at that.” She breathed. “Ye’ll be my cousin. Ye wear the Comyn plaid, so ye’ll be a Comyn. Stay beside me, and for all that is holy, don’t speak. We’ll say ye have a throat injury, so ye can’t talk.”

Iris stopped. “But what if I have a question or something to say?”

Laurel pulled her along the lane. “Ye don’t have anything to say, and questions are for later. Just watch and listen. No talking.” They came up to the bridge—many had already gathered as the slaughterhouse’s smell blew their way. Iris held her wrap to her nose, wondering how they tolerated the stink.

A woman approached and took Laurel into a hug. “So glad I am to see ye today.” Laurel hugged her back. “Mabina, glad I am to be here.” She waved to Iris. “My cousin, who is mmmm…”

Iris’ eyes went wide. She didn’t want to use her real name and be found out before it was all over. She panicked and glanced around. The pub beside the bridge already had decorations for the holiday season, and holly and ivy graced the doorway.

She pointed to the ivy, and Laurel grinned. “Ivy. Ivy Comyn.” She leaned over, whispering to Mabina, “She doesn’t talk, an old injury from a redcoat who tried to have his way with her. Her throat don’t work no more.”

The woman tsked, “Sorry I am to hear it, Ivy.” Iris nodded as the plaid fell away from her head.

Mabina smiled. “Ye are a pretty thing, though.”

 

The Magic Beneath the History: How the Stones of Iona Megaverse Threads Through the Christmas Books

Readers often tell me how immersive the Highland world feels in Thistle in the Mistletoe and Highlander’s Holly & Ivy—the winter rituals, the candlelit halls, the emotional weight of Scotland reshaping itself after Culloden. These Christmas romances are my most historically grounded stories. But even within that rich history, something deeper hums beneath the surface: the magic of the Stones of Iona megaverse.

The Stones are the quiet heartbeat running through every book I write.
The Good Stones—Love, Hope, and Faith—carry the power to heal, guide, and unite.
The Evil Stones—Fear, Lust, and Doubt—hold the darker forces that tempt, corrupt, and challenge. And all of them ultimately lead toward the greatest of them all: The Stone of Destiny.

Thistle in the Mistletoe explores tradition preserved—love and hope surviving despite hardship.
Highlander’s Holly & Ivy explores tradition transformed—faith and resilience rising from loss and change.

Those emotional beats mirror the Stones themselves. Love binds what seems broken. Hope lights what is dark. Faith endures when everything feels uncertain. Fear lurking in grief. Doubt creeping in through heartache. Lust emerges as longing or temptation. All these forces shape the character long before the Stones appear on the page.

The Christmas stories may be grounded in real history, but the greater mythos is always present. The Stones subtly influence fate, guiding hearts, revealing character, and quietly weaving threads between generations. Readers who continue into the main series often tell me they realize, looking back, that the magic of Iona was present even in the quietest winter scenes.

History forms the setting. Romance carries the heart. But the Stones—good and hunted—shape the soul of the world.

And every path, no matter how small or tender, eventually leads toward Destiny.


About the Author:



Margaret Izard is an award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. Her latest awards are 2024 Reader’s Favorite Honorable Mention for Stone of Love and 2024 Spring BookFest Silver Award for the same title. She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her desire for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets.

Website: http://www.margaretizardauthor.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mizardauthor
Buy Links: https://linktr.ee/mizardauthor

 

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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Celebrating Yule Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/9 to 12/30

Posted on December 12, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


The longest night teaches us that darkness isn’t the end.

It’s the place where light is born again.

Celebrating Yule

The Celtic Wheel of the Year Book 2

by Rionna Morgan

Genre: Teen & YA Holiday Fairytales and Folklore



The long-awaited Winter Break has finally arrived, but Ronan and Croia, 12-year-old twins, find themselves struggling instead of cheering. There is a new kid at school whose cruelty has left deep wounds.

Ronan’s protective instinct towards Croia clashes with his own confusion about what it means to stand up and defend, to fight, or to walk away. On the longest, darkest night of the year, Croia and Ronan’s beloved Irish grandmother, with her gentle insight and patient heart, helps Ronan through the dark storm of his emotions and prepares a special evening for all.

Surrounded by his family—Croia and their new sister, their mother and her new husband—Ronan’s strength and inner peace is tested when an unanticipated guest arrives. Throughout the evening Grandmother continues to help and guide. She weaves stories with strands of folklore and threads of old beliefs, spinning them together, bringing the ancient to the present. While immersed in the traditions of the Celtic holiday of Yule, Ronan learns what it is to see past the darkness.

Come feel the warmth of the hearth and the power of wisdom. Join the journey of the ages through the cold of winter, beyond the shadows of darkness to what comes after and celebrate Yule.

Bonus Materials: Celebrating Yule includes recipes for the traditional Celtic Yule meal.

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads



Ronan squeezed his hands tight and looked out the window. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his mind, but he just couldn’t. The anger kept building.

            Out the window and beyond, into the fields beside his house, snow was falling, that glorious, amazing December, winter break snow. He could see deer walking gracefully along the fence line. In his yard, the tall cottonwood trees stood stately and quiet, their bare black limbs stretching up into the grey-white sky. Huge flakes, perfect flakes, fell easy and gently to cover the ground with another layer of fresh powder.

            Normally, he would be out there in it, racing around, laughing, and chasing his sister, Croia, and coaxing Kenna, their new sister, to come play. But not today. And not any day since the first snow.

            Around him at the table, he could hear Croia and Kenna chatter with their grandmother, Brighid, who had come from Ireland to spend the year with their family. They were laughing and telling each other about their school day as they sipped their tea.

            After-school tea had become an instant tradition when Grandmother arrived in October. Every day, she made some amazing treat and brewed a pot of hot Irish tea, all ready to be enjoyed when the three got home from school.

But Ronan couldn’t bring himself to enjoy today’s raspberry teacake, normally one of his favorites. It just felt like sand in his mouth. The tea was too bitter, and no matter how much sugar and cream he added, he couldn’t get it right. So, he set his teacup down and looked out the window.

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            Ronan heard his grandmother’s quiet voice ask. He looked around and was surprised to see Kenna and Croia gone and the table cleared. He glanced over and saw Grandmother’s kind eyes watching him, waiting. Right then, he wanted to jump out of his chair and scramble into her arms like he’d done when he was little. He knew if he did, she would hug him and hold him, and everything would be alright.

            But he wasn’t little anymore. In a year, he’d be in high school. He was supposed to be a man. Whatever the hell that meant. He blushed at the use of the word, feeling sheepish that he’d say such a thing in front of his grandmother, even if it was in his own mind, and she couldn’t hear him.

            But what the hell did it mean? He couldn’t even properly defend his own twin sister. She cried and ran to him for help, and all he did was put his arm around her and help her walk away. All he did, as that new kid hurled insults and mockery after them, was walk beside her and help her get in the car with Kenna. All he did was hold Croia’s hand in the backseat as tears streaked down her face as Kenna drove them home. Every day this week, that’s all he did. Which is different than what he wanted to do.

He wanted to punch the guy’s lights out, knock him flat for making his sister cry. He knew he could do it. He was strong. He even spent time thinking about how he’d make a fist, draw his arm back, and pow—hit him right across his mean face.

“I don’t know, Grandmother.” Ronan scrubbed his hands together and wiped his hair back.

“Okay.” Grandmother patted his hand. “I am here.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip.

“I am so angry!” Ronan blurted. “There’s this new kid at school, and he’s super mean. He’s made Croia cry every day this week. He’s in a couple of our classes, and he says snide things there too.”

Grandmother set her tea down and leaned forward in her chair.





Bonus Author Giveaway!

Celebrate the spirit and magic of Yule with Whitney Morgan Media! In the spirit of the season, they’re giving every participant a prize—including chances to win an autographed copy of Celebrating Yule: The Celtic Wheel of the Year Series – Book 2 and exclusive author swag from Rionna Morgan!

Enter here: https://deformity.ai/d/GdT4YeEfTPix



Rionna Morgan is an international, best-selling novelist, poet, and recognized icon in the Web3 literary space.

Creator of The 7 Love Stories, a digital collection making literary history, her work bridges tradition and innovation, with recent features including a digital poem showcased in Paris.

As owner of Whitney Morgan Media and former Editor-in-Chief of Vagobond Magazine, Rionna empowers writers and builds vibrant communities where stories and creators are celebrated and honored.

Her writing appears with Simon & Schuster, Mythic North Press, and in features like Celtic Life International and Fortune dot com.

A sought-after speaker at NFTNYC and the Academic Web3 Conference, she lives between Montana and New York, always dreaming up new worlds.

 

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * TikTok * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 


Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $10 giveaway!


Enter the Celebrating Yule Giveaway Here


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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Amaranthine Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/2 to 1/2

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


Eternal Life. 

Endless Love. 

Infinite Cost.


Amaranthine

by Delia Strange

Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance



Eternal life comes at a cost

For centuries, Amaranthine has walked through time—an immortal bound by a gift she never asked for. From the opulent halls of the Roman Empire to the decadent jazz clubs of 1920s London, to the futuristic floating city of New Francisco, she has lived countless lives, loved deeply, and lost more than most could ever bear. With each new era comes new faces: lovers, rivals, and those drawn to the mystery of her eternal existence. But immortality comes with a price, and as the world changes, so too does the weight of the centuries she carries.

Torn between living for the future and haunted by the choices of her past, Amaranthine must confront the question that has followed her for an eternity: What does it mean to live forever when everything and everyone else fades away?

 

“This is the first book in a while that I have continued to mull over even after I’d finished reading it as it’s definitely a story that gets you thinking.”
~ Lynne Stringer, Goodreads Review

 

Amazon ebook * Amazon Audiobook * Audible * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Smashwords Bookbub * Goodreads



Marcellus took her hand, his touch warm, and without a word he led her deeper into the olive grove. The trees closed in around them and the world outside the grove disappeared, leaving only the two of them beneath the cover of night. The air smelled faintly of the earth and the lingering sweetness of ripening fruit, but all Amaranthine could focus on was the heat of his hand against hers, the certainty in his steps as he drew her farther away from the villa, away from everything she knew.

When he stopped, she nearly stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden stillness. Marcellus turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over her with an intensity that made her catch her breath. His eyes roamed her face, her body, lingering as though his look could somehow touch her skin. It wasn’t just a glance; it was deeper, heavier.

Slowly, deliberately, Marcellus ran his fingers up her arm, light as a breeze. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, thrilling and delicate all at once. His hand traveled over her shoulder, warm and sure, before brushing against her neck, where her pulse raced beneath his fingertips. He cupped her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as his other hand slid into her hair, gently cradling the back of her neck. The closeness of him—his soft breath against her skin, his scent unfamiliar and intoxicating—made her dizzy.

When he pressed his body against hers, she didn’t hesitate. Amaranthine’s arms wrapped around him as though it was the most natural thing in the world, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She could feel the heat of him through the thin cloth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the thrilling, terrifying anticipation that hovered in the air between them. He leaned in, his lips so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and her body instinctively tilted forward, closing the last distance between them.

The kiss began softly, their lips brushing with a delicate hesitance, as though both of them were testing the boundaries of something new. It was sweet, tender, like a whispered secret exchanged in the dark. Amaranthine’s heart fluttered, the warmth of his mouth against hers sending gentle waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands tightened their grip on his tunic, pulling him closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away—her worries, her fears, even the nagging sense of not belonging. Here, in this kiss, she felt connected, as though they shared something deeper than words.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the kiss deepened. Marcellus’ arms wrapped around her waist, his hands pressing her closer, and the softness between them gave way to something more intense, more urgent. Passion overtook them both, their lips moving with a fervor that surprised her. Amaranthine had never kissed anyone before, but she felt as though she’d always known how, the way their mouths fit together, the way their breaths mingled in the cool night air. Her heart pounded faster, and a strange heat pooled in her chest, spreading through her veins in a way that made her feel alive.

Then something within her awoke. At first, she didn’t recognize it, mistaking the growing intensity for the natural progression of a kiss. There was a pull, a sensation inside her, almost like the drawing of breath, but deeper, fuller. She thought it was part of the magic of kissing, the way it could make someone feel as though they were floating, untethered from everything. No wonder people kiss, she thought, her mind hazy with the thrill of it. It’s wonderful. She let the sensation sweep over her, unaware of what she was truly doing. But then, after a moment, she noticed something different. Their lips had stopped moving. The rhythm they had found, the tender push and pull, had stilled.

Amaranthine opened her eyes, confused, and pulled back. Her breath caught in her throat. Marcellus staggered away from her, his face ashen, his once bright eyes dull and clouded. He looked gaunt, hollow, as though something had been drained from him. His skin sagged against the bones of his cheeks, and before her eyes, he aged—twenty years, maybe more—his youthful vibrance withering into something frail and brittle. He gasped, his hands reaching out toward her as though for help, but no words came. Then, with a final shuddering breath, Marcellus crumpled to the ground, motionless.




An only child with an active imagination, I created many stories in my head. My bookcase was overflowing, and I loved visiting the library. I’d always been a reader, but I hadn’t considered writing until a childhood friend said we should write our ideas down. Once I started writing my stories, I couldn’t stop.

I gravitated to stories of peculiar places and happenings. I loved twists and dark reveals, so my writing didn’t stray far from that. I was a fan of fantasy—of ancient Greek myths or contemporary paranormal stories. They captured my imagination and opened me to worlds of possibilities. There were no constraints on fantasy, no wrong or right answers; anything I dreamed up was acceptable. And then came H. G. Wells and science fiction, which also opened the door to paranormal and speculative fiction, my three favourite genres.

 

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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Pyres Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/9 to 12/23

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


As the artworks – and charred bodies – mount up, 

can Angela and Becky find out what’s happening, and how to stop it?


Pyres

by Kev Harrison

Genre: Dark Supernatural Horror


“Horror’s Kev Harrison is on fire with his latest novel, Pyres, a blistering murder mystery with echoes of Dorian Grey that compels with its artistry as much as its political commentary. Set in the New Forest and conjuring ancient gods, Pyres is darkly revelatory. Definitely make this your next read.”—Lee Murray, five-time Bram Stoker Award®-winning author of Grotesque: Monster Stories

Angela has been a spirit painter for years. Channelling the spirits as they commit memories to canvas through her: childhood pets, favourite holiday locations, and sprawling homesteads. But now, something has changed.

The paintings take a dark turn just as her sister, Becky, returns from Italy. People burnt alive, their smouldering remains a vivid, visceral stain on Angela’s canvasses. Already disturbed, her life is thrown into turmoil when a right wing TV news presenter is found incinerated in a facsimile of her new painting.

As the artworks – and charred bodies – mount up, can Angela and Becky find out what’s happening, and how to stop it?

From the Independent Press Award-winning author of Shadow of the Hidden, Pyres is a tense, taut novel of supernatural horror.

 

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There’s a bite in the air that I haven’t felt since … well, since the last time I was here. I pull the jacket round me and do the zip up halfway.

After unlatching the gate, I walk it back, fastening it in place with its rope to a hook on the old stone wall, then dash back to my car and park up.

The house seems at first to be in darkness, but then I catch the orange quiver of candlelight through the windows.

Angela must be painting. Just my luck.

I grab a holdall from the boot—the rest of my things can wait until the morning—and make for the front door. I knock. Wait. And, as expected, there’s no reply.

A glance up at the sky tells me this pause in the rain won’t last long, so I head around the back of the cottage, through the knee-high grass and wildflowers to the old wooden summer house. I lift the locking bar and let myself in.

Cobwebs stretch from corners, telling tales of a summer to forget. I swat them away, careful not to catch any spiders in the process, then make for the curtain at the back. Sweeping it aside, I find the painting—my sister’s first ‘with help’, as she likes to put it—and take it down. The front door key is, as always, nestled in the corner of the frame.

With the summer house locked up, I traipse back to the front door and carefully unlock it. I creep inside, leaving my bag under the coat rack, then lock the door with as much stealth as I can manage.

Now, all that’s left is to follow the wavering shadows from the candlelight, and the pungent fragrance of henbane, to Angela’s studio on the other side of the cottage. I think about using the torch on my phone, but fear the consequences if I wake her while she paints.

The walls are emblazoned with canvases from the hall through to the lounge. The styles are eclectic, so varied you could never say they prescribed to any specific theme. Such is the way of things in her line of artistic expression.

When I reach the glass panelled door to the studio, I pause before turning the handle, knowing as I do that what I’m about to witness will never not jar with me. I take a breath, hold it, and push.

The door glides silently open and she’s there, facing me, hands frantically swiping with the brush on the portrait canvas before her. She balances with poise on the high artist’s stool, despite the extravagant motions of her painting, despite the fact her eyes are rolled back, the bulging sclera pulsing, criss-crossed with angry-looking pink veins. The shadows, swaying in the candlelight, render the scene still more other worldly. Unsettling.

The decades-old futon in the corner looks so inviting, especially as I have no idea how long this could continue for. But curiosity tugs at me, even through the fog of my exhaustion. I always want to know what she’s painting, even if I’m not wholly convinced by the way she describes her methods.

Taking care not to get too close, I tiptoe around the edge of the studio and come to a stop behind her. Her brush hand continues to thrash one way and the other, while mine are drawn, without my permission, to my mouth.

On the canvas, there is a room. The utterly unremarkable magnolia walls and fireplace are not what has stolen my breath. That prize goes to what’s at the centre of the piece. A green, leather armchair, somehow, remains intact, as do one and a half of the legs ‘sitting’ on it, if you can call it that.

At the top of the worst affected of the two legs, the thigh is a bubbled, overcooked mound of flesh, from which a charred femur extends. The torso is missing, but for a blackened imprint melted into the fabric of the chair behind. Despite this, the right leg remains covered in a fragment of a pressed, grey trouser leg. Each foot remains encased in a perfectly preserved shoe.

I try to breathe. Try to remember the mechanism by which my lungs have been pulling in air for the length of my life to date. The extremities of my vision begin to darken, my balance slipping away, when I hear Angela’s voice.

“Not again.”







Originally from the UK, but now living in Lisbon, Portugal, Kev Harrison is the Independent Press Award-winning author of Shadow of the Hidden and his newest novel, Pyres, as well as the novellas, Below and The Balance. His short fiction has appeared in more than twenty venues and is collected in Paths Best Left Untrodden. When not crafting creepy tales, he can be found travelling and eating with his partner in crime, Ana, or singing bizarre songs to his three cat overlords.

 

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Goddess Fish Promotions: A MURDER ON CALL Blurb Blitz & Giveaway – 12/8 to 12/19

Posted on December 10, 2025 by Sahara Foley



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jes Bogg will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



He only wanted to help. Now he’s being hunted.

When community carer, Baz Bexon, discovers a murder victim at a new client’s home, his life unravels. With unrestricted access to the property, he and his colleagues fall under suspicion.

Determined to clear his name, and wishing to safeguard the disabled occupant he’s employed to assist, Baz turns amateur sleuth on the seedier backstreets of Hull.

But his questioning arouses the interest of a killer. One fixated on revenge…

A Murder On Call is the gripping first novel in the Baz Bexon series. If you enjoy unlikely heroes, break-neck action, and gritty blends of mystery and thriller, dive into Jes Bogg’s debut.



Read an Excerpt

The house remained silent, apart from the background buzz of the central heating.

“I reckon she’s still in bed,” Baz said.

“Yup. Let’s go.” Shell took the lead. When she glanced through the open doorway beside the kitchen, she halted, staring into the darkened room.

“Hey, warn me when you’re gonna do that, would you?” Baz chided, stepping aside so as not to plough into her.

“Oh, crap!” Shell motioned through the door.

Baz followed her gaze. Someone lay on the threshold between the dining room and lounge.

“She’s fallen.” He swallowed.

They hastened to put on their disposable gloves, Shell pausing to turn on the dining room light.

A woman wearing a pink fluffy nightgown and matching slippers was curled on her side, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pair of round-lensed spectacles askew on her large, aquiline nose.

Baz crouched beside her and took her hand with care. It chilled his palm.

“Jasmine, can you hear me?” His voice sounded foreign to his ears.

No response.

Pressing his fingertips into the woman’s neck, he felt for a pulse. Nothing.

He held his wrist to her mouth, hoping to feel the faintest tickle of a breath.

Again, nothing.

Pulling aside her robe, he checked for chest movements and froze.

A large kitchen knife protruded from her stomach, sticky blood coating the inside of her gown. He snatched his hand away and leaned back. “She’s dead.”

About the Author:



Jes was born, raised and continues to reside in England’s northern city, Kingston Upon Hull. She lives with her mother, eight-year-old daughter and their Abyssinian cat, Petrie.

Growing up, she was inspired by Point Horror stories, Sweet Valley High and anything by K A Applegate, and as an adult she was gripped by the writers Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child, Lee Child and Scott Mariani.

As an advocate of breastfeeding, Jes volunteers for a local trust, assisting mothers to feed their children, in addition to promoting the benefits of human milk to their relatives. She has also taken on a new role at a nearby gymnastics club, a sport she loves to watch if unable to participate in.

A fair warning—don’t get her talking about ancient Egypt or cats, you’ll never get away.

Throughout her adult life, Jes has always been the one persuaded to produce thank you cards, letters of complaint, résumés, advertisements, and much more for family and friends. The constant excuse being, “You know how to write.”

And so, A Murder on Call was born.

Substack: https://substack.com/@jesbogg
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61559894321509
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_jes_bogg/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Call-Baz-Bexon-Book-ebook/dp/B0FX5ZV2RT/ref=sr_1_1
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Call-Baz-Bexon/dp/1919314113/ref=sr_1_2
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/a-murder-on-call
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-murder-on-call-jes-bogg/1148566957?ean=9781919314105
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/a-murder-on-call/id6754258225

 

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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Dragonsong Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/5 to 12/12

Posted on December 9, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


Sometimes, nothing but the death of your father will do


Dragonsong

by Michael Forester

Genre: Epic Fantasy Adventure



Rebekah, noblewoman of Albion, has been driven to madness by the murder of her lover Vidar. In her torment she bargains with the Prince of Demons to turn her into a dragon. Thus transformed, she seeks to take revenge upon her father, Merlin, whom she is fooled into believing is responsible for Vidar’s death. To save the world from the ravages of Dragonsong, Merlin is forced to banish his beloved daughter to hell, regardless of the consequences for him personally. 

Behind the subterfuge stands Oberon, Captain-King of Elves. He does not foresee the devastation his jealousy and unrequited love for Rebekah will unleash upon Gaia when he frees her from Merlin’s spell and summons her from hell to support his war against Albion.

To save Gaia a second, Merlin is forced to travel back in time to prepare a warrior capable of overcoming the dragon through the power of the Sleep Stone. But he does not foresee the bond that will develop between the dragon and his own assistant, the Seer, Michael of Albion. If Lady Attie and Michael prove unable to return the Sleep Stone to the mouth of Hell in time, the Demon Army will be swarm out of Hell and overrun Gaia.

Time. Time is the key. Time is the only solution to Gaia’s destiny – but only if the gods of Asgard can find a way to stop it.  

 

What readers are saying:

“On a par with the epic of Beowulf, this modern day classic never ceases to amaze. Gripping, thrilling, twisting and turning, the plot of this epic piece of verse (an achievement unrivalled in the 20 the century, I’d say), will have you gripped from start to finish. Don’t just dream of dragons and elves, Kings and Warriors, heaven and hell: read about them and allow the mythology to soak deep into the fibre of your being! You, and your deepest soul, will be thrilled.” -Rod Boothroyd

 

Absolutely beautiful book I loved this book. It is a tale of wizards, demons, dragons, elves, love and treachery set around the Arthurian court but written in rhyme. I have not read any poetic literature for over 40 years since studying Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight at university so this book intrigued me. I am full of admiration for anyone who can write beautiful poetry but when they can also tell a story at the same time I find that quite remarkable. It is about the battle between elves and men, love stories ending tragically and deceit and treachery. I would urge people to read this even if they haven’t read poetry in a long time, I just found it so beautiful and the story will entrance you. The last lines as written by the Scribe are “Or wilt thou, reader, now persuade me once again to take my pen And make another story come to be? All I can say is that I really hope so!  – A 5 Star ***** Review By Breakaway Reviewers

  

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Michael Forester is a deafened author who lives between the New Forest and the sea. He is a full time author and public speaker, travelling both in the UK and internationally, speaking inspirationally and signing his books for readers in locations as far apart as the UK, Thailand, Cambodia and the Philippines. He is the author of ten published books to date, on subjects as diverse as business strategy, spiritual inspiration and epic fantasy poetry.

Michael’s own journey has taken him from early years in academia into middle years in management training and Neuro Linguistic Programming. It has taken him from normal hearing to near-profound deafness and the life-changing arrival of a hearing dog, Matt. It has taken him through a miraculously survived suicide attempt in 2002, into a spiritual awakening.

He has travelled to over forty countries, from the Amazon Rainforest, encountering ecological devastation, to South Africa, experiencing post-Apartheid forgiveness; from a personal pilgrimage in search of the singing bowls of Nepal, to a first-hand examination of the darker side of economic modernisation in the Philippines, besides many other destinations.

 

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Silver Dagger Book Tours: Undisciplined Catalyst Book Tour & Giveaway – 12/4 to 12/25

Posted on December 8, 2025 by Sahara Foley

 


I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, 

but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. 

Guess who gets to stop them? Me.


Undisciplined Catalyst

Coletti Warlord Series Book 19

by Gail Koger

Genre: SciFi Paranormal Romance



I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. Guess who gets to stop them? Me. How?

My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.

To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living to see eighteen aren’t good.

 

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“Give ‘em hell.” A wild look in his eyes, Uncle Ben tapped on the portal’s control console.

The circles of light surrounded me, but this time it felt like a zillion fire ants were crawling over my body. Holy hell! Something had gone wrong! I appeared in midair and dropped like a rock. Smack! I slammed into someone, and my Glock went flying.

My eyes bugged. I was on the bridge of a futuristic warship, and the viewscreen showed one hell of a space battle that was going on. To make things even more fun, I was lying across the lap of a huge, muscle-bound male wearing black battle armor. Since he was sitting in the captain’s chair, I was assuming he was the boss.

A very angry-looking boss. I blinked. Holy cow was he good looking, if you were into the whole merciless predator thing. Huh? The red chains woven into his black warrior’s braids matched the communication device on his left wrist. Who knew aliens accessorized and why did I care? I took a deep breath trying to control the panic streaking through me.

A low growl rumbled in his chest

One look into his disturbingly hostile amber eyes and I knew I was in big trouble. I reached for my retrieval button.

His arms clamped around me painfully and he spat a bunch of gobbledygook.

“Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” I replied mentally. Somehow, I knew he was psychic.

A harsh voice sounded in my head, “How did you get through our shields.”

“Dunno. My uncle is the scientific genius, not me. I’m just the delivery girl.”

“What do you deliver?”

Did I look stupid? The minute I told him bombs; he’d kill me. I pasted a friendly smile on my face. “Stuff. I’m Lexi and you are?”

“Battle Commander Kaelen. I serve Zarek the Coletti Overlord.”

I had no clue who Zarek was, nor did I want to meet him. “You must be so proud.”

“Do you have a death wish, female?”

I grimaced. “Some people would think so.”






Howdy. My name is Gail Koger and once upon a time I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Too many years of wild requests, screwy questions, bizarre behavior and outrageous demands have left me with a permanent twitch and an uncontrollable craving for chocolate. I took up writing science fiction romance to keep from killing people. So far, it has worked.

 

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