Jazz Bang Boom - Gay Cyberpunk Adventure Romance #Romance #GayRomance #CyberpunkRomance #AdventureRomance #GayCyberpunkAdventureRomance

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is here to tell us about Jazz Bang Boom, a gay cyberpunk adventure romance.

Read on for details...

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Gay Cyberpunk Adventure Romance

Date Published: August 14, 2026

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

 

EXCERPT

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that -- oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two --

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before -- BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."

"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."

"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"

"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."

"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.

"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?"

"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms -- that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."

Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess."

"The one you just blew up?"

"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.

"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."

"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.

"Later. For the moment --"

"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"

"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.

"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."

Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"

"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."

"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope? How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot? How high?"

"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And," Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'"

"I am so on my way now."

"Fast?"

"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking to?"

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

 

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

 

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

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

 

Order Today

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Bringer of Chaos - Military Science Fiction - Space Opera #MilitaryScienceFiction #Space Opera

Kayelle Allen is here to tell us about Bringer of Chaos, military science fiction, space opera. Part of the Immoral Empires and Fallen Empires story unverse.

The book explores loyalty under pressure, chosen brotherhood, survival and consequence, immortality and mortality, redemption and forgiveness, trust earned through action, and leadership without certainty.

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When survival depends on trusting your captor in a desolate world, you question your life choices. Get ready for a thrilling #SciFiBooks adventure with a touch of trust and a whole lot of cheekiness.

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK (All sites/formats)

BUY FROM AUTHOR (EBOOK)

Blurb:

Friendship was never part of eternity's bargain—until now.

For the first time in his long, barren life, the immortal king Pietas fears the isolation he once accepted as inevitable. Friendship was never part of eternity's bargain—until Six.

Six is mortal. His immortality is temporary, and he refuses to live on anyone else's terms. When it fails, his body will fail with it. No revival. No return. Only a slow, irreversible end.

Pietas has survived exile, betrayal, and endless solitude—but he will not lose his shield brother. Not after what honesty and loyalty have already cost them.

To save Six, Pietas must set aside his pride and work with the enemy who exiled him. Doing so means breaking a vow forged in his darkest hour—a promise of vengeance he has never questioned.

He can preserve a world.
He can secure a future.

But even if it costs everything—
Pietas will not let Six go.

Watch Your Six concludes the Bringer of Chaos storyline that began with Lights Out and follows the evolving relationship between the immortal king Pietas and the former Ghost Corps soldier known as Six.

Set on a world abandoned mid-terraforming, the novel explores loyalty, trust, survival, and the cost of choosing connection over isolation.

Excerpt:

“Joss,” Pietas called.

She stood, clutching the blanket around her. “Yes, my king?”

“How many bodies?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You answered that rather quickly. Are you certain?”

“Yes. I knew you’d want exact figures.”

“Joss... You didn’t touch the bodies, did you?”

She looked away. “There weren’t enough people to help. I had to.”

Six squinted. “That’s gross, but why is that an issue?”

“Joss is a Scripter. When she touches someone, she reads their future. But she can also read their past. Including how they died.”

Joss shuddered. “I picked up more than their deaths. I think they were part of a failed mission, and they were killed for it.”

Six swore under his breath, crossing himself. “Joss, much as I feel for you having to go through that, I gotta ask. Did you get any sense of other ghosts?”

She pulled the blanket up over her head, clasping it beneath her chin. “It’s one reason why I risked traveling at night to get here. They all had two words foremost in their minds. But it makes no sense. I don’t understand why they’d all be thinking same thing when they died. Or why it would be that.”

Unable to determine if the sudden chill was weather-related or his own ability to frost the air, Pietas folded his arms, shivering.

Six gestured toward her. “What words?”

She bit her lower lip, looking over at Pietas with a forlorn expression. “Operation milkweed.”

“Milkweed?” Six repeated. “You’re sure?”

She gave him a droll smile.

“Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.” Six turned to Pietas. “Does that mean anything to you? Do you understand it? Is this some kind of Ultra thing?”

“Milkweed is a plant. A member of the apocynaceae family. Comparable to family orchidaceae in complexity. The genus is known for over two hundred species.”

“Yo, Ultra.” Six set a hand on his hip. “Real people language, okay?”

“It’s a plant pollinated by many species, but it’s chiefly beneficial to danaus plexippus. For you, Six, that’s the Monarch butterfly.”

The man stared at him, unblinking. “And...? What does that have to do with a bunch of ghosts’ dying breath?”

“At the beginning of her terraforming career, my mother conducted an experiment to see if butterflies would adapt to alien vegetation. Monarch butterflies lay their larvae on milkweed. She posited that if deprived of their favorite plant, they’d adapt. Use another plant.”

“So what happened?”

“She tried three times, but each time all Monarchs died after one generation. Turns out, milkweed is crucial to their survival. No Monarchs were ever used in terraforming another world, because milkweed was deemed nonviable. Unnecessary.”

“Uh huh.” Six rubbed his forehead. “Still don’t see how that relates to these ghosts.”

“She called it Operation Milkweed.”

“Ya know, Pi, sometimes you think you’re explaining, but you’re really not. Lay it all on the table, okay?”

“The point is that if you starve the Monarch and deprive it of its support system, you don’t only kill the Monarch. You wipe out its entire species, once and for all.”

Realization dawned on Six’s face. “And you’re the monarch they want to destroy.”

“Likely.”

“If that’s true, then we need to get busy with these rollers so we can get as many pods out as quick as possible.”

“I agree, Six, but make your point.”

“It’s the reason they landed these units in one place, all crammed together.”

“You think the Ghost Corps intended for these dead ghosts to carry out a mission to destroy us. But Joss said they were killed because they failed. They couldn’t do it.”

“Okay, Pi, but here’s the thing. Counting twenty-two ghosts in the crate, the others that I know died, and include me, you get thirty-six.”

Pietas made a rolling gesture.

“At any one time, there were only ever fifty ghosts. So if we know the location of thirty-six…”

An icy wind dragged its cold fingers up across Pietas’s back. “Then where are the other fourteen?”

About the Author:

Kayelle Allen writes character-driven science fiction and romance featuring larger-than-life characters, complex relationships, and immersive worldbuilding. She is the creator and curator of the interconnected Immortal Empires and Fallen Empires story universe.

A veteran of the U.S. Navy, she brings a lifelong fascination with leadership, loyalty, and survival to stories spanning planets, empires, and millennia.

Author Website:
https://kayelleallen.com/

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Secrets of the Cryptids - Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1 - Paranormal Romance - Romantasy - and a Giveaway #ParanormalRomance #PNR #Romantasy #Giveaway

Sharon Buchbinder is here to tell us about Secrets of the Cryptids, Cowboys and Cryptids book 1, paranormal romance, romantasy.

There's also a great giveaway.

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She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.

Secrets of the Cryptids

Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1

by Sharon Buchbinder

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romantasy

She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.

Cybersecurity expert Hayil Rufus Rose has spent her life hiding one impossible truth: she’s a werewolf who has never shifted, a failure by her pack’s rules and a woman on the brink of exile. A solo hike in Glacier National Park is meant to clear her head—but instead, a chance meeting with Will Penn, a guarded federal agent with powerful instincts and secrets of his own, changes everything.

As Hayil becomes entangled in a missing persons case involving Will’s brother, she uncovers corruption, cartel money laundering, and violence threatening the Blackfeet Nation. She forms an unexpected bond with a Bigfoot family, who are not monsters, but an ancient people who recognize her latent power. Through trauma, loyalty, and near‑fatal danger, Hayil finally undergoes her full transformation, claiming her identity at last.

Secrets of the Cryptids launches a thrilling paranormal romance series about found family, fierce hearts, and the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be.

 

Amazon * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

Hayil had the advantage of excellent night vision—super vision compared to other humans. Plus, she possessed an almost uncanny ability to connect with most wild and domestic animals. Hayil mentally grimaced. She could also thank her grandmother for her long overdue ability to shift. What would it take to trigger her body into the lupine version of herself? Was it like a growth spurt that hadn’t hit her body yet? Or was Hayil destined to remain the one person in her pack who wasn’t able to wolf out?

 

Once again, her mother’s constant refrain came back to her: “You’re a late bloomer, like your grandmother. She was older than you when she shifted. All in good time. You’ll see.”

 

Sure, Mom.

 

Hayil knew her mother wanted the best for her, but found her cheerfulness a bit forced. Beneath her mother’s optimism, Hayil sensed an undercurrent of concern about her thirty-year-old daughter’s ability to integrate into the red wolf clan. This missing piece of Hayil’s identity called to her like a siren’s song, demanding she complete herself. Would she ever be a true part of the pack? Or would she forever be the unmated one? What then? She was an anomaly, something the pack didn’t tolerate well. Tradition dictated that if a pack member didn’t shift by the end of their third decade, they were banished.

A chilling thought struck Hayil mid-stride.

 

If I don’t shift this year, will they force me out of the pack?

 

They were the only family she’d ever known. Her mother would fight for her to stay and would probably win. But at what cost?

 

Hayil would be an outcast. She’d never be invited to pack meetings, deliberations or celebrations. Those were reserved for shifters. If she married a non-shifter, the pack would drive her out, of that she was sure. What if her offspring were able to shift? Would that make things better? Would the pack let her stay then? It wasn’t as if she could go to a genetic counselor and ask for a DNA test for werewolves.

 

The thought of losing her extended family through no fault of her own made her gulp back tears. Angry at herself for allowing her thoughts to go down that dark rabbit hole, Hayil reminded herself she was a scientist. Review the facts, not the fears.

 

Fact one: Grandma had been in labor with Hayil’s mother when she’d shifted for the first time.

 

Fact two: The majority of the pack members had shifted when they’d hit puberty.

 

Fact three: Hormones! It had to be related to hormones! The rush of hormones at puberty and the flood of pregnancy hormones had to be related somehow.

 

Hayil was long past puberty and the associated mood swings and acne, thank you very much. She was not ready to be pregnant. For starters, she would need a romantic partner in her life. She’d had zero luck on that score so far.

 

“I still have time. It’s not too late. I won’t give up hope.”

 

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Hayil double-checked her wild animal deterrents. All in place. Then she tugged her knit cap down over her ears and pulled her hands-free headlamp into place. She zipped her fleece jacket against the breeze and adjusted her twenty-five-pound backpack. With an altitude gain of almost nineteen hundred feet, she planned to take her time, pacing herself for the strenuous four-hour hike. She grasped her lightweight hiking poles and took a last look up at the stars. Time to see that spectacular view at the top.

 

As promised by the trail blog, the dirt path was well maintained. The morning air was cold and crisp, layered with the woodsy scent of damp earth and pine needles. An owl hooted, and Hayil spotted movement in the brush between the thick pines beside the trail. Her headlamp reflected in the eyes of small critters, all of whom skittered deeper into the woods.

 

For three hours, all she heard was the crunch of her hiking boots on dirt and gravel, the rasp of her own breaths, the glug of water when she drank and the jingle of her bear bells. She looked at yet another incline on the trail and decided she needed a hiking song for inspiration.

 

“Country roads, take me home,” she sang, belting out “Mountain Mama”—and something crashed through the bushes ahead on the trail. Something large.

 

She froze.

 

An enormous black bear stood on its hind legs at the top of the hill.

 

Shit, shit, shit. If only I could shift, shift, shift!

 

The animal had its back to her, but if it got her scent, it could turn and charge at her in a flash.

 

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, she placed her hand on the bear spray.

 

A breeze sprang up, making her eyes water with its intensity. The good news was that it meant she was downwind of the bear. The bad news was that the air smelled like a wet dog had rolled in a dead animal. The worst news was that the bear turned and looked right at her.

 

Omigod. It’s not a bear. What the heck is it?

Sharon Buchbinder is an award-winning author who has been writing stories since she could hold a pen. The paranormal romance genre is her writing home, a place where the impossible is simply the beginning, where women find their power in the most extraordinary circumstances, and where love is always worth the danger of seeking it.

A Maryland-based author with a background in healthcare and higher education that has informed her vivid, grounded storytelling, Sharon is drawn to heroines who have been underestimated — women who carry something extraordinary inside them and spend the whole book learning to trust it. Sharon believes passionately that readers deserve stories where the heroine doesn’t just survive — she transforms. When she’s not writing, Sharon can usually be found unplugging in her garden, obsessing over cryptid mythology, and convincing her pets they are not, in fact, supernatural.

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Enter the Secrets of the Cryptids Giveaway Here

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The Ties That Bind - The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller #1 - Thriller - and a Giveaway #Thriller #Giveaway

James Rosenberg is here to tell us about The Ties That Bind, The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller #1, thriller.

There's also a great giveaway.

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The Ties that Bind

James Rosenberg

(The Legacy of Lies Legal Thriller, #1)

Publication date: July 27th 2026

Genres: Adult, Thriller

Some families build empires. Others bury secrets beneath them.

Bill Simon thought marrying Sharon Green meant entering a powerful legal dynasty and finally proving he belonged. Fresh from his honeymoon and eager to succeed at his new firm, Green & DeWitt, Bill is handed a complex real estate transaction tied to the influential Green family empire.

What begins as routine due diligence quickly spirals into something far more dangerous.

Hidden behind layers of shell companies, offshore accounts, and falsified property records, Bill uncovers connections to cartel money, political corruption, and a network of powerful men determined to keep their secrets buried. The deeper he digs, the more he realizes the conspiracy may reach directly into his father-in-law’s inner circle—and possibly into his own marriage.

As Bill digs deeper, Sharon Green fights to protect her family’s public image while uncovering other sinister connections between her family and the drug cartel. As others question the legitimacy of her father’s enterprises, she tries to find answers about the empire she was born into.

As they uncover disturbing connections between her father and the Mexican drug lord,Sharon and Bill are trapped between loyalty and truth, ambition and survival.

And in a world where power protects its own, exposing the truth could cost them everything.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

The heat wafted above the scrubland. Three trucks waited in line, engines idling low in the darkness.

Each truck had a driver and one passenger, and together their primary responsibility was to get the trucks over the border less than thirty miles away.

Rafa Medina kicked at the dried ground as he waited for confirmation to move. They were still on schedule, but barely.

Luis Cortes sat in the passenger seat of the second truck, window cracked. A folded manifest lay on his lap. Medina tapped his window twice. Luis glanced over and gave a short nod.

The third truck’s driver shifted in his seat. Medina caught the movement and shook his head once. He could accept fear. Panic only caused mistakes.

Medina felt the vibration in his pocket. The signal, at last. He raised his hand.

As the trucks shifted into gear, the whine of their engines intensified. The first truck rolled forward, followed by the second, and then the third. They stayed in tight formation as they turned onto the paved road heading north.

Medina jogged to his Jeep, climbed in, and maneuvered his vehicle in behind them.

He considered moving to the front of the line to take control, but before he could decide, gunfire echoed from the brush to his right. The lead truck swerved, glass spraying off to its side.

The truck regained its footing, tires screaming, as it came out of its fishtail.

The second shot came from the opposite side of the road, from cover behind a grouping of bushes.

The muzzle flashes were sequenced and controlled. Now was not the time for panic. He knew immediately it was a rival crew, one that had studied the route and wanted it.

The first truck accelerated, pushing past the shots.

When a new round of shots burst from the right, the second truck was directly in front of it and caught a barrage of automatic fire in the passenger side door.

As the bullets tore through the truck, Luis jerked sideways, his body snapping against the window as glass exploded outward. The driver screamed and hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, out of the danger zone.

As the trucks moved ahead, Medina pulled out his Glock and aimed toward the brush where he had spotted the muzzle flashes. From his slightly elevated position, he fired twice, forcing the shooters back. They withdrew, retreating into the darkness.

Their message had been delivered.

Medina didn’t chase. The trucks came first.

He ran to the second truck. Blood was everywhere.

The driver was shaking, hands locked on the wheel, eyes wide. Medina yanked the door open and pulled him out.

“We have ten minutes. Your truck won’t make it to the border. Transfer the cargo. I’ll take care of Luis.”

The driver nodded.

Medina climbed into the cab. Luis’s eyes were open, unfocused. He checked for a pulse. There was none. This simplified matters.

Medina scampered to the other side of the truck and grabbed Luis under the arms, dragging him from the cab.

Ten minutes. That was all they had.

He pulled the body into the brush. He worked with his hands and a tire iron he grabbed from the back of the truck, digging quickly, ignoring the ache in his shoulders.

Medina lowered the body into the ground, then shoveled dirt to cover it. The land closed over the shape easily, swallowing it. He didn’t mark the grave and offered no words.

He crossed himself and then wiped his hands on his pants.

The damaged truck was next. Medina drove it behind a clump of bushes. No one would notice it for months. No one would care.

This was no man’s land.

The other trucks waited.

Medina jogged back to the road and waved the trucks forward. They didn’t hesitate. The second truck’s payload had already been transferred.

Medina climbed back into his vehicle and pulled in behind them.

The convoy moved north, engines steady.

Dust flew from their tires and then settled behind them.

Author Bio:

James Rosenberg is a 3rd generation trial attorney with plenty of stories to tell.

Inspired not only by the courtroom stories his father and grandfather used to tell

him when he was a child, but also by the wild adventures he’s encountered through

his own experience as a lawyer. James is fascinated by the intricate, interpersonal

dynamics of every trial he’s endured. Whether it’s the raw emotion on display in

court, the tension in the air that builds until someone wins, or the impact that a

case’s decision has on the parties involved, James is always paying attention and

keeping tabs on what’s happening.

In his debut novel, “Legal Reserves”, James flexes his creative muscle outside of the

courtroom to share his stories, with a fictional twist, through the eyes of archetypes

he knows well.

A native of Pittsburgh and a graduate of Taylor Allderdice High School and the

University of Pittsburgh School of Law, James has been a trial attorney in Pittsburgh

for almost 30 years. He started writing legal thrillers as a stress reducer and finds

this creative outlet to be a fun and meaningful diversion from his day job.

When he’s not trying cases, he’s either dreaming up his next book idea, spending

time with his wife and three kids, or both.

To contact James email Rosenberg@marcus-shapira.com or follow him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/RosenbergWrites/

Check out his website: www.JamesRosenbergAuthor.com

Please become part of my email list and get updates about my latest launches. https://subscribepage.io/fcVT4h

GIVEAWAY!

The Ties that Bind Blitz

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The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books - The Apothecary's Secret #1 - Fantasy - Urban Fantasy - and a Giveaway #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #Giveaway

R.J. Blain is here to tell us about The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books, The Apothecary's Secret #1, fantasy, urban fantasy.

There's also a great giveaway.

_____________________

The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books

R.J. Blain

(The Apothecary’s Secret, #1)

Publication date: July 6th 2027

Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy

To master the art of keeping dangerous books, one must learn the golden rule: some knowledge should never be shared.

Bookshop owner by day, restorer of rare and dangerous books by night, Kita James is thrilled to acquire a new poisonous book from the Victorian era. From the swirling patterns on the cover to its unusual leather binding, IN SEARCH OF LIFE is truly a unique find. However, testing of the vibrant tome reveals its darker nature: the leather is that of a human along with an extinct animal from the ice age. To further complicate matters, a new radioactive element is discovered lurking within its pages.

The deeper she delves into the toxic text, the less she likes about what she learns. From the dawn of humanity, people had searched for the secrets of eternal life and resurrection. And if Lugalbanda-Alad, the author of the mysterious volume, was to be believed, he had found it.

Joining forces with Dav, a rather vocal book in her collection, Kita works to unveil the apothecary’s secret. With the right magic and a strong enough will, the forbidden lore might be able to set Dav free along with the other sentient books confined within her shelves.

But all knowledge comes at a price: if IN SEARCH OF LIFE were to fall into the wrong hands, it could usher in the destruction of all Kita holds dear and the enslavement of all mankind.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Copper, when mixed with arsenite or its equally toxic cousin acetoarsenite, created a vibrant green. Some dubbed it Paris green. Some preferred the name emerald green. No matter what one called the pigment, it remained a silent killer of those foolish enough to handle it for long.

It had come as no surprise to me, when I first began learning the art of keeping dangerous books, that nobody knew for certain how many had died to the beautifully lethal covers and the pages they contained. One confirmed mortality from the pigment had involved a floral arranger specialized in artificial blooms by the name of Matilda Scheure, and she had breathed in the substance on a daily basis while going about her work.

The Victorians had adored brilliant shades, and they had unwittingly sickened themselves with color. Mercury, in the form of the vibrant vermilion pigment, could bring about madness among other things. Lead, offering shades from pristine white to fiery reds and oranges, sickened in a myriad of ways. Then there was cadmium red, which had limited toxicity unless handled often.

I marveled over how the Victorians had managed to discover so many shades of toxic pigmentation.

Within the walls of my personal library, tucked behind a secret door in the back of my bookshop, I owned books of every hue from every era I could get my greedy hands on. I’d outgrown my single shelf of emerald hue years ago, and the toxic volumes now consumed an entire wall. Each color of the rainbow offered some new and interesting way for someone to perish should they fail to handle my collection with care.

To the few who knew of my art, I offered a glimpse into a dark past decorated with a glorious veneer, one willing and able to kill at a single mistake.

I charged a reasonable amount for access to specific volumes of my archive, making use of a different room on the other side of the bookstore for those sessions. I required waivers, and I even had an agreement with an insurance company so I held no liabilities should they be sickened from the inappropriate handling of any one of my pieces.

The waivers eliminated my personal risk, as I refused to hold responsibility for the stupidity of others.

But the colors I held in safekeeping were not, by far, the most dangerous of the volumes.

Knowledge had become power, and I safeguarded all from the deepest of darkness and the brightest of light, for both, when used inappropriate and to their extreme, caused equal harm.

A little after midnight, after closing my cash, locking the doors, cleaning up the self-serve coffee machine, and otherwise preparing for yet another grind in the morning, I retreated to my sanctuary. Most of my work—and all of the magic—took place in the ten by ten closet with a ventilation fan installed, which piped through a series of specialty filters to keep any fumes or residue from making it outside. Those filters would cost me my sanity one day.

They needed to be cleaned or replaced every three weeks, and failure to do so ran the risk of making me the next victim of my collection.

The latest tome to be tamed waited within a glass box on my desk, and it was a marvel of toxicity, magic, and lore, most of which society would deem forbidden if they knew it existed. Thus far, nobody had unlocked the secrets of raising the dead, but the author of the volume had gotten uncomfortably close.

With the right materials, skills, and incantations, the dead could walk again, puppets for the book’s owner to control.

On the outside, it seemed harmless enough for those who lacked knowledge of dangerous books. Swirls of bright reds, oranges, and white decorated the spine with stamps of vibrant emerald green declaring the book to be titled In Search of Life. Everything within had been penned with a careful hand, and a date on the first page declared it to have been from the year 1725, over a hundred years before the popularization of the toxic tomes made famous in the Victorian era.

In 1725, magic had not yet been acknowledged, although society had always told tales of witches and arcane arts in hushed whispers.

In Search of Life, should I be able to authenticate it, would once again change the timeline on humanity’s introduction into practical magics and the role of superstitions in protecting from malevolent incantations. But as was the nature of my work, if all went well, only I would know.

The knowledge held within the pages, which defied time and refused to turn brittle, was best kept a secret.

Author Bio:

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

AI is never used in the creation of RJ's novels.

 

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