Martha Wickham is here to tell us about By Dawn, The 13th House, horror-paranormal.
Read on for details...
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Horror/paranormal
Date Published: 11-22-2025
Nine Tales. Nine Secrets. All Before Dawn.
In the shadow of Bloomstone
Manor, a dilapidated estate hauntingly known as "Lily Lane", the veil between
the living and the dead is impossibly thin. This collection of nine paranormal
mystery stories explores inheritances, dark family legacies, and spectral
demands, all bound by the Manor's enduring, dark influence.
This
Halloween, meet the three students who dare to knock on the door of "The 13th
House"—a black, unnumbered prison that holds the sinister secrets of the
past. Their trick-or-treating leads them to a terrifying collection of
artifacts: a bent spoon, a rusted key, and a doll's eye. Every artifact is a
clue left by a child who vanished, whispering pleas for help from beyond the
grave. The teens must solve the mystery and free the spirits before the
night's magic fades, or they might become the next secret the old house
keeps.
Every house has a debt. Every ghost has a tether. Uncover the
restless spirits and broken promises that demand attention and resolution.
When the clock strikes dawn, the secrets settle back into the dust and the
lilies—and it may be too late.
Excerpt
Night of the Spirits
Anthony pushed through the thick brush that had swallowed the old path. His
friends told him the house was hidden somewhere ahead, rumored to be haunted.
When he finally saw it, the place looked half-demolished, with climbing walls
that had paint curling and peeling. Yet every window was perfectly intact.
He
opened the front door. Stale, cold air rushed out, thick with dust. His
footsteps echoed through the empty living room.As he moved down the hallway,
the front door suddenly slammed. He spun around and ran back, and in that
moment, he was sure he heard a whisper: Sam.The door wouldn’t budge. He
was trapped. He tried the windows too none of them opened.
Again, the
whisper came, louder this time. Sam.
“Who’s Sam? I’m not
Sam!” he shouted.
A hiss answered him, followed by footsteps
upstairs. Heart pounding, he raced up the stairs. At the top, he stopped and
listened. The footsteps were clear, moving steadily into an empty room. He
followed them.
Moonlight spilt across the floor through a bare window.
The invisible footsteps crossed the room and came to a stop at the closet.
Inside, there was only a small box containing a single book. The spirits
wanted him to find it; maybe it would explain everything.
He lifted the
book. It was an old, battered ledger. Inside, a name was written: Samuel. He
began to read.I made a promise to the spirits trapped here. One of them is
buried downstairs. I swore I would help free them with my rituals. I study the
occult, and they own a golden statue worth a fortune. It must be used in the
ritual. If I hide it now, I can return for it later. No one alive will see me
take it.
Anthony reached deeper into the box and pulled out a loose page,
a torn sheet from another book. It carried a chant and the instructions for a
ritual to free spirits.A freezing gust swept through the room. Then a booming
voice declared:“Complete the ritual by dawn, or be trapped here
forever!”
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked the
spirit.
Once again, he heard footsteps descending the stairs and followed
them. Near the kitchen, the basement door creaked open. He cautiously stepped
down the dark basement steps and saw the cloud-like spirit hovering over a
crypt in the floor, where it looked like a ritual had been started over
someone’s grave. Candles and matches were scattered nearby.
About the Author
Martha Wickham has a knack for finding the
ghosts hidden in the dust. A lifelong student of the arcane and the artistic,
Martha has an Associate's Degree and professional writing credentials, but she
honed her skills in the thrilling shadows of screenwriting and horror. Martha
lives for the secrets that only come out "By Dawn". You can discover more of
her work, including her newest audiobooks, at your favorite retailer.
Delia Strange is here to tell us about Amaranthine, a scifi, time travel, historical, paranormal, vampire romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
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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
The olive trees stood like shadows in the distance, swaying in the night
breeze. Amaranthine’s steps were cautious, her eyes scanning the darkness, but
as she reached the edge of the grove, there was no sign of him. Her breath
hitched in her throat, a sudden pang of doubt freezing her where she stood. Had
she waited too long? Her heart sank as she looked around. She’d been foolish to
think this was possible, that someone like her could step outside the
boundaries of her life, if only for a moment.
But then Marcellus stepped forward, his form
emerging from the darkness and appearing in front of her like a dream. His
smile was slow, knowing, and when his eyes met hers, she felt that rush all
over again, more powerful this time for the waiting.
“I thought you might change your mind,” he
said, his voice cutting through the night.
Amaranthine exhaled, the tension leaving her
body in a soft, trembling breath. “I almost did,” she whispered, her voice
barely audible, but then she smiled, feeling the same reckless pull that had
brought her here. “But I’m here.”
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.
The world around her seemed to tilt, the
ground beneath her feet suddenly unsteady as she stared at Marcellus’ lifeless
body. Her chest tightened, a wild panic rising inside her, but she couldn’t
move. Her legs felt rooted to the spot, her mind unable to comprehend what had
just happened. Only moments ago, they had been so close—he had been so alive.
Now, the boy who had held her in his arms, who had smiled at her like she was a
secret worth keeping, lay motionless at her feet, his face hollow and pale, drained
of life.
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.
K.M. Gruchelska is here to tell us about The Tahra Files: Merry Christmas Tahra Mamoun, a paranormal thriller.
Read on for details...
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Thriller/Paranormal
Date Published: Expected 3rd December 2025
A strange boy. A shortwave radio broadcasting numbers. A kidnapping
plot.
Tahra Mamoun uses her power of remote viewing to escape the monotony of
London, only to find herself trapped in the frozen tensions of East Berlin.
There, she witnesses a spy drama unfolding around teenage Heinrich and his
illegal shortwave radio: a device receiving messages from a clandestine
numbers station.
Is it connected to his missing father? And will the Stasi kidnap the boy as an
asset designed to serve the secret police?
Thrust into the heart of a Cold War conspiracy, Tahra must rely on her friend
Edward to warn his mother. But how can one girl's mind save his family?
Megan Slayer is here to tell us about Taken by the Sorcerer, paranormal women's fiction - urban fantasy.
Read on for details...
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Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Urban Fantasy
Date Published: October 3, 2025
Publisher: Changeling Press
She’s never been taken seriously. He’s seen as a geek.
Together, they could be unstoppable.
Skylar Graves is a synth -- she can shift into anything. She’s also
known all around the world as a billionaire playgirl fool. Parties?
She’s had them. Money? Bucketloads. Brains… Well, there’s
the rub. No one’s ever believed she had the brains to make the money. No
one’s ever believed in her at all.
Enter Brody and a reason to use those brains.
Brody isn’t the best sorcerer. He knows his spells and how to create
them, but he’s still learning to control his magic. When he finds his
perfect mate, he’ll be set. But is she out there? The trouble is,
he’s been tasked with helping other paras find Eerie and he can’t
do that alone.
The mome he meets Skylar, he knows he’s found his match, but the problem
lies in convincing her she’s more than she ever believed.
Not impossible… right?
EXCERPT
“I am getting into this party.” Brody Teague drove up the winding
road to the gravel area at the base of the Skylar Graves property. The music
blared and vibrated the ground, even this far out. He hated loud noise and
didn’t really want to be here, but he needed to speak to Skylar.
He just knew she was a para and could help him. He knew it.
Still, he couldn’t hide his irritation. How did one woman have so much
ridiculous wealth? This wasn’t just opulence, but obnoxious opulence.
He’d bet the people attending this party spent more on one pair of shoes
than he did on his rent for the month.
Right now, he needed to speak to her. What would she say if she knew she was
meeting a true sorcerer who wanted her help? She’d probably laugh. If
she helped him, he could develop his potion to allow paras to move in regular
society, and also concoct the signal to help paras who didn’t even know
they were para to find refuge in Eerie. He knew there were more people out
there who could come to the town and find a place to exist and understand
their abilities, if they had the signal to get there.
He left his car and trudged the last few hundred yards up the road to the main
gate. The number of cars parked every which way in his path amazed him. How
were these people going to leave? They’d need choreography or a cop to
help them.
Didn’t matter to him. He wasn’t going to be there when they left.
He’d get in, give his pitch, hope for the best, and get the hell out of
there. He walked up to the gate and admired the wrought iron. The doors swung
loose, allowing him onto the property. He’d bet this gate was locked up
tight any other time. He touched the iron and the chill settled in his bones.
The gate was spooky, really. It looked like a cartoony alien in the middle.
Aliens… He knew they existed, but they didn’t look like the
Roswellian versions. They were much more like humans than the actual humans
believed. But aliens were good at morphing and shifting to fit their
environment.
As he walked among the people having conversations and dancing, he realized he
shouldn’t be there. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion. He’d
never seen so much purple in his life. People danced by the pool, swaying and
gyrating. The men tended to be dressed in suits and tuxedos. The women wore
evening gowns. The plethora of sequins caught the light. Glasses clinked and
laughter rang out. The music blared even louder and the water seemed to thrum
with the beat.
Would anyone notice him? Somehow, he doubted it.
He spied the buffet of food. Every fruit and veggie possible for a tray were
spread out on the table, along with a chocolate fountain and a stack of
glasses, no doubt filled with champagne. He’d bet it was the most
expensive bubbly, at that.
There were people at the side table with powder that might or might not be
drugs. He forced himself away from that area. He’d never had a problem
with drugs or wanted to try them but didn’t judge anyone who did.
He fought the urge to cover his ears. The noise bothered him. He was a
scientist and sorcerer. He needed to concentrate. This place didn’t
allow him to do that. He could barely focus.
He scanned the various people at the party and shook his head. She
wasn’t there. He’d know Skylar in a heartbeat. Then again, she was
about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Silky blonde hair,
willowy and tall, a few curves, and kissable lips. He wanted to look into her
brown eyes and get lost.
He balled his hand and gritted his teeth. Damn it. He wasn’t there to
drool over her. He was there to ask a question.
Brody focused on the money spent to not only throw the party, but to have this
house and lifestyle. The paintings weren’t photos or pictures printed on
canvas, but actual works of art. Was that a Picasso? Nah. He tipped his head.
Well, maybe. She had the money to buy whatever she wanted, so it was
plausible.
He couldn’t imagine having that much cash. He’d barely scraped by
all his life. But by being poor, he’d learned how to use what he had and
make it stretch to work for his needs. It taught him to be humble, too.
A woman in a blood red body-hugging gown grabbed him. “Look at you. Are
you one of the dancers?” She yanked him close and kissed him right on
the mouth. “You sure taste good.”
He wriggled in her grasp. “I’m not a dancer.” He had two
left feet. “Sorry.”
“Then stay with me.” She tugged him across the expanse of lawn
toward the pool. “She brought a few newbs. This one’s right off
the farm.”
He managed to disengage himself from her and darted back to the safety of the
bigger crowd on the veranda. Why anyone thought they had the right to force
themselves on someone else was beyond him. She’d touched him without his
permission. Gross.
He didn’t know that woman and was sure she wasn’t a para. Hell,
she’d probably slash his ass if she found out he was one. Would they
turn on Skylar when they found out she was one? If she was one…
He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the crowd again. If she’d
used some of her money to help paras and not buy another sports car,
she’d be a folk hero. There were plenty of paras who needed a hand in
getting to Eerie and more who could use help in figuring out what their magic
might be.
But she’d chosen to be decadent.
He moved through the people again, looking for her. Nope, she wasn’t
there. He’d never forget her hair or smile.
A woman with bright red hair bumped into him, but he doubted she knew he was
there.
“I hear she’s a para,” the woman said. “I don’t
know how. She’s so normal.”
What a reductive thing to say. He kept his back to her but continued to
listen.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” the woman with her said.
“She’s a freak. I mean, how else could she have this kind of money
and do absolutely nothing? It’s supposed to be her father’s money,
but has anyone ever seen him? No. He doesn’t exist. I bet she stole it
or it’s created money.”
Judgmental much? He rolled his eyes, then resumed looking through the crowd.
“Think she really is manufacturing the money?” the first woman
said.
“Nah,” the other woman replied. “It’s just a way for
her to get attention. She’s probably got a dead husband or ex that she
bled dry financially.”
“She is an attention-grabber.”
He hated that these people who’d been invited to the party -- or maybe
they’d crashed it like he had -- so openly dismissed her. Like she
didn’t have feelings or didn’t matter and wasn’t a person.
So rude.
Still, he wasn’t so thrilled with Skylar. He wished she’d donate
her money or time back to Eerie to help the para community. Paras were dying
from harm coming to them via the human and outside world. Vampires were staked
for being different. Faeries slaughtered for making magic. Trolls and gnomes
killed for being perceived as ugly. It wasn’t right.
A golden eagle soared into the space and flew right past him. The bird seemed
to keep circling him.
“Go,” he muttered. “I’m not dinner. Shoo.” Why
was this eagle focusing on him? He wobbled. Shit. Was it trained to find the
crashers? Could be. He wanted to use a spell to get the fuck out of there, but
he’d have to return to get his car. Goddamn it.
The bird flew around him again, then soared across the expanse and landed on
the upright next to the DJ stand.
The DJ stopped the music. “And there is Skylar Graves’ famous pet
eagle. Who else but Skylar would have an eagle as a pet? So majestic and
graceful. But watch out. She has a nasty bite! Let’s give it up for
Audra, her eagle!”
The crowd cheered and the eagle soared out of the way, behind the second floor
of the mansion.
He groaned. What a ridiculous show of extravagance. It displayed her wealth,
sure, but it was a waste of money. The bird should be in the wild or a zoo,
where it could be appreciated and admired. Not stuck in a damn mansion with a
woman who had more money than brains.
He snorted to himself. Good God, he was being harsh and judgmental.
“Is she here?” someone asked.
“She’s having a party and doesn’t care to show up,”
another said. “She’s probably out of the country. She’s
never here.”
“I bet we could rob this place blind and she’d never know,”
a third person said.
“Except she’s got the best security system. This place is
protected better than government vaults,” another voice said.
“Don’t try it. This joint will scream and lock down in
seconds.”
Brody gritted his teeth again. She had to be there. He had no choice. People
were discussing robbing her and belittling her… just like he had. Damn
it.
He bowed his head. He had to think about her as a person and para, not a
source of money. That’s how they all saw her -- a reflection of her
disposable income. She lived her life like nothing mattered. It was all a big
party. She didn’t command respect.
Then again, he didn’t exactly command it, either. He did better behind
the scenes. Let him stay in his lab with his medicines and potions. There he
was fine. All he wanted to do was help his fellow paras.
“Excuse me.” A woman tugged his arm and yanked him out of the main
space and behind a curtain.
“What the?” He stared at her. He’d never seen anyone with
golden brown eyes. They were transfixing. But she’d grabbed him.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
He couldn’t look away from her. Most of her face was concealed behind a
black, feathery mask. He could swear he knew her, but he couldn’t place
her.
“I need to speak to you.” She held onto him. “Do you know
Skylar?”
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
Laura Daleo is here to tell us about her dark urban fantasy paranormal romance My Name is Death.
There's also a great giveaway.
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"I am known to some as the Grim Reaper, or the Angel of
Death. Death is my preferred name. It's stylish and modern, and it goes well
with my Armani suits. I don't have a fascination with robes, scythes, or
skeletons, especially when I'm releasing souls."
My Name Is Death
by Laura Daleo
Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
My Name Is Death takes the Grim Reaper concept in a creative
direction. Put aside the image of a scary, sickle-carrying, robe-clad entity.
There are no shortages of Italian suits, velvet neckties, and oxford shoes in
Death's wardrobe.
Death encounters a terminally ill young lady, Annalise,
during a holiday in New Orleans. As she approaches the afterlife, Death wants
to ensure she makes the best of her final moments. It is not long before they
become friends.
A peaceful coexistence between angels and humans is what God
desires. This plan is contrary to one of God's other sons' belief that angels
are far superior to humans.
Devastation begins, and only God knows how it will end.
"Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes. I
hold this statement in high regard. Why? There are two possibilities. I could
be a tax accountant-borrrinng-or I could be Death. If you guessed the latter,
advance to go and collect $200. My name can influence anyone in a room; some
say Grim Reaper, others say Angel of Death. I like to call myself Death. It has
a pleasant ring and a powerful effect on people. The way "Death"
embodies the style and pizazz of my attire, which includes Armani suits, ties,
and shoes, influenced my decision to select it as my name. It had never
occurred to me to dress in a dark robe, to carry a scythe or an hourglass, or
to assume a skeleton physique."
I was born and raised in sunny San Diego, California. A
creative writing class in junior high ignited my passion for storytelling;
however, it was Anne Rice who truly inspired me. Her novel, Interview With The
Vampire, has become one of the best-selling books of all time and fueled my
desire to craft my own vampire legend. In 1996, I created Immortal Kiss, which
patiently waited until 2014 for its publication.
At present, my published works include Immortal Kiss, Bound
by Blood, The Vow, The Vampire Within, The Soul Collector, The Doll, Once We
Were Witches, and My Name Is Death. My current project is an urban fantasy
titled The Wolf Experiment.
Here are some fun facts about me: I love enjoying Starbucks
coffee while I write. I'm also obsessed with shoes. I have two furry kids named
Rose and Cooper. And, of course, I'm a huge fan of all things vampire.
Avery Sterling is here to tell us about her New Adult paranormal romance The Cardinal Code.
There's also a great giveaway.
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The Cardinal Code
Avery Sterling
Publication date: August 4th 2025
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Vampires are real. Powerful, organized, and nearly untouchable, they move through society under the governance of the Cardinalis Order—an ancient system built to protect their kind and punish those who defy its laws.
Michael Chamberlain is one of them. A successful entrepreneur with a carefully buried past, he returns to The Hamptons to take over his father’s elite nightclub—and to secure a contracted blood source. Cold, controlled, and emotionally detached, Michael has long accepted the rules of his world. That is, until he meets Paislee Sullivan.
A determined college student working to fund her future, Paislee doesn’t know the truth about the Order—or that her presence at the nightclub is more dangerous than she realizes. When her path collides with Michael’s, she’s pulled into the shadows of a world built on power, secrecy, and blood.
As their attraction deepens, Paislee must navigate a society where consent is contractual, love is forbidden, and ignorance offers the only safety. But some connections can’t be denied—and breaking the rules could mean losing everything.
The Cardinal Code is a seductive and high-stakes romance set in a world where the elite don’t just run society—they feed on it.
As they pulled into her uncle’s driveway, the house was shrouded in darkness.
Michael killed the engine and was out of the car in an instant. She fumbled for her keys and was surprised when he opened her door.
“Thanks,” she murmured, taking his outstretched hand as she stepped onto the driveway.
“How’s your ankle?”
She tested it. “Actually, it’s not that bad. Thanks for the ride.”
“Let me walk you in,” he offered.
Her heart thudded in her chest. “That’s…really not necessary.”
His lips quirked. “You have to let me finish redeeming myself, Paislee.”
With a dramatic sigh, she dangled her keys in front of him. “Very well, Sir Knightly. Here.”
Michael unlocked the front door, and they stepped into the house. His gaze swept over the modest furnishings as she turned on the lights.
“How long have you been working at Allusion?” he asked, pausing in the living room.
“A couple of weeks.” She slid her bag off her shoulder and set it on a nearby chair. “I came here for school. Allusion helps pay the bills.”
He stepped further into the room.
She busied herself with slipping off her sneakers, but the silence stretched long enough that she turned around.
He was inches away, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly changed the subject. “So, am I safe? No danger lurking in the shadows of my house?”
Michael reached for the strap on her skirt, and his fingers traced it slowly before he hooked it and tugged her forward.
“Why do you look so frightened?” he murmured, his brow furrowing.
“I’m not frightened,” she shot back, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
He arched a brow. “You’re shaking.”
Her cheeks burned. “Because I know you’re going to kiss me,” she admitted.
His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “Last night, you didn’t seem so afraid of me.”
Her resolve ebbed as his face inched closer. “That was impulsive,” she whispered. “Now I’m just…questioning what I’ve gotten myself into.”
He laughed softly, and the sound was rich and unguarded. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, ducizza,” he breathed.
Author Bio:
Avery Sterling's love for the romance genre began in her teen years when she picked up her first novel. She was captivated by the sweeping scale of emotions brought about by the words. The experience catapulted her towards learning the art of wielding a breathtaking adventure, with a love that felt authentic. Wanting to inspire people with her own thoughts and words, she finished her first novel at sixteen. It was a step towards understanding the essence of what she wished to create.
Most of her youth was spent traveling, searching out the romance and beauty in her everchanging world. From the waves that crashed against the rocky shores of Downeast, Maine, to the warm breezes of the Caribbean, she discovered that love was universal, apparent in its grandest and simplest of forms. Her goal is to write novels an audience can relate to, one that conveys the truth and nature of love… with all that steamy romance.
