When driftwood artist Marnie Lane’s one-of-a-kind Christmas star vanishes just days before the Seacliff Haven Christmas Market, the last thing she expects is a cryptic note warning her to “forget the past.” With the help of her lovable giant schnauzer, Finn—who has a nose for more than just seashells—Marnie stumbles onto a trail of buried secrets, seaside clues, and a mystery tied to her late father’s legacy.
As the festive coastal town prepares for its biggest event of the year, Marnie teams up with her former rival, the brooding yet talented Sid. Together, they must untangle a treasure map, outwit a secretive saboteur, and discover the truth hiding beneath the sand and snow.
With hot cocoa, holiday cheer, and a touch of seaside romance, Doggone Driftwood Disappearance is a heartwarming, murder-free mystery perfect for fans of clever pets, crafty sleuths, and Christmas by the sea.
Heidi McLaughlin is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of The Beaumont Series, The Boys of Summer, and The Archers.
Originally, from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband, two daughters, and their three dogs.
In 2012, Heidi turned her passion for reading into a full-fledged literary career, writing over twenty novels, including the acclaimed Forever My Girl.
Heidi's first novel, Forever My Girl, has been adapted into a motion picture with LD Entertainment and Roadside Attractions, starring Alex Roe and Jessica Rothe, and opened in theaters on January 19, 2018, and is now available on DVD & Digital.
The authors of Winter's Embrace are here to tell us about their Christmas romance anthology.
There's also a great giveaway.
________________________
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A print copy of 'Winter's Embrace,' autographed by author Jennifer Patricia O'Keeffe. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Embrace the joy of Christmas and some yuletide cheer in this collection of five sweet holiday romances from four of today’s most entertaining authors! Featuring brand new stories from Pamela Ackerson, Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe, Cindy Lewis Smith, and Jae El Foster, this anthology will help you hold the spirit of Christmas and the magic of true love in your heart the whole year round.
Meant to Be by Pamela Ackerson: Single and starting over in tiny Lorman, Mississippi, teacher Faith Anjos dives into home renovations with tools in hand and a boat from her late dad's fishing Sundays. Realtor Gabriel White becomes her unexpected ally, sharing lunches, family barbecues, and stolen kisses under patriotic park lights. But when a sassy ex-roommate stirs trouble and life's curveballs hit hard, Faith learns that true love thrives not just in perfect houses, but in the messy magic of Christmas cheer and forever promises.
Window Shopping by Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe: Single and sentimental, Whitney dives into downtown's dazzling displays—animatronic toys, frosted windows, violin carols—chasing Christmas cheer alone after helping coworker Chad remotely. Fate intervenes with a literal bump into charming Chad, leading to diner laughs, Santa's lap shenanigans, and hand-holding revelations. As they embrace kid-at-heart traditions amid bustling streets and Santa's sly matchmaking, a parade invite blossoms into dinner-and-movie dreams. Proving the season's sparkle uncovers love when least expected.
Mr. Hollister’s Christmas by Cindy Lewis Smith: Thirty-three and resigned to spinsterhood in Goldfield, Josie channels her Georgia Christmas memories into a perfect Eve nuptial for Rose and Hank, footed by taciturn rancher Clint Hollister. Their prickly partnership blooms amid pine boughs, fiddle waltzes, and whispered regrets from a saloon-fueled mail-order mishap. When a wheel-wrecked ride home unveils Clint's hidden role in her arrival—and his lingering loneliness—snowy revelations ignite a romance as timeless as the stars above the Llano River.
What the Snow Blew In by Jae El Foster: Snowbound in Deerborne, Connecticut, during a record-breaking blizzard, editor Carina Whitaker hunkers down with wine, her cat Tom Boy, and cherished Christmas ornaments—until a shivering mailman named Jerry delivers a package and seeks refuge from the storm. As power flickers out and drifts bury her home, candlelit evenings spark unlikely conversations, shared meals, and cozy traditions that warm more than the gas fireplace. Amid reading aloud by firelight and piano carols, holiday magic proves that what the snow blows in might just be the love she's been waiting for.
The Magic of Mistletoe by Jennifer Patricia O’Keeffe: Sarah's winter break turns into survival mode: dodging doll-throwing dollops, sweeping glass shards, and sacrificing her office sanctuary for peace between battling children. Amid cold coffee confessions and contract close-calls with hubby Thomas, festive fumbles—from runaway pillows to reluctant photos—test their bond. Yet as grilled cheeses soothe tears and starry-eyed surprises arrive post-midnight, mistletoe weaves its spell, transforming holiday havoc into heartfelt harmony and impossible dreams come true.
Read an Excerpt from Meant to Be by Pamela Ackerson
Faith Anjos pulled into the driveway of the house she recently purchased. She groaned when the tires hit a deep hole. Her truck responded in kind, letting her know it objected to the rut she’d drove it through. The boat she was pulling didn’t exactly like the driveway either. She white knuckled the steering wheel as the hole rocked both vehicles.
Faith gritted her teeth. Just what she needed. Give the new neighbors a show of incompetence as her boat tipped over.
Bloop. Bye, bye boat.
Nope, not going to happen today.
Pulling back out, she turned the vehicle around and backed the boat onto the grass on the side of the house.
She stood on the walkway, leading to the front door staring at the wood-framed structure. Her dark hair pulled in a ponytail, swayed in the welcoming wind.
A.P. Mobley is here to tell us about The Skeleton Faerie, Children of the Death Gods #1, dark fantasy, fantasy, mythology.
There's also a great giveaway.
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The Skeleton Faerie
A.P. Mobley
(Children of the Death Gods, #1)
Publication date: November 8th 2025
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Mythology
Faerie folklore meets a nuclear postapocalypse in this dark mythological fantasy woven with secrets, treachery, and star-crossed love.
Ninety-nine years after the Nuclear War of 1989, twenty-one-year-old Gus Brandon should only be interested in the survival of humanity and the expansion of his compound. But he’s obsessed with legends from the distant past, superstitions of an expired people.
While searching forbidden ruins for the scraps of stories lost to time, he stumbles upon a mysterious young woman covered in scars. Her name is Saoirse, and their meeting sets off a bloody chain of events—one in which Gus discovers that the folklore he loves just might be real, and that it’s tied to mankind in ways he could have never imagined.
Soon the lines between myth and reality blur, as do the lines between realms.
Gus will have to rely on his knowledge—and Saoirse—to survive the horrors awaiting him… in this world and the next.
When Gus and his teammates were a mere mile from the compound, the sun had almost finished setting, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A breeze grazed the back of his bare neck and arms, sending chills through his body. In every direction, all that was visible were trees, the only noises those of his and his companions’ boots and their animals’ hooves crunching against shriveled grass and fallen leaves. Occasionally, crows—some of them genetically altered, their feathers stained a pinkish color—flapped from branch to branch, their harsh caws piercing the quiet.
Maybe it was because of the extensive amount of folklore he’d been reading, but these days, the dark played tricks on Gus’s eyes, making him see monsters when nothing was there.
Nothing could be there, after all, as the stories he so loved weren’t real.
And even if there was a chance that they were real (and he knew there wasn’t), his compound was on the western side of a mountain range called the Black Hills, located within the fallen United States of America—far, far away from the places those magical tales took place.
Yet he still found himself imagining all manner of malevolent faeries prowling the woods at night. He saw them skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
In masses of collapsed cottonwoods, he imagined there were redcaps hiding, plotting to slaughter any stray travelers passing by.
In murders of crows, he imagined there were sluagh flying, scouring the forest floor for the next unlucky fellow whose soul they might devour.
In fast-moving streams, he imagined there were kelpies biding their time, anticipating the moment a person came close enough to drown and eat.
Thankfully, the logical side of his brain knew he had nothing to worry about—even as far as nonfictional threats went. The worst anyone on scavenge-duty had encountered in the last year was a couple of mountain lions and some rattlesnakes, and although he and his teammates had never run into anything like that, they knew how to take care of it as easily as the other people of the compound had: with bullets.
No one left the compound without a loaded gun and extra ammo.
Gus and his team were safe.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and if it weren’t for the smog blanketing the sky (a lingering effect of the Nuclear War, which the elders said should clear up any decade now), the moon and stars might have lit up the night. The temperature fell even further, clouds of breath filling the air in front of Gus’s face and fogging up his glasses.
“Guess we should have packed our coats,” Nancy remarked as she walked in front of Gus, guiding her pig along. She began to shiver. “I hate when the weather gets like this. Hot during the day, cold at night.”
Twigs cracked to the left. Hand flying to his holster, Gus looked that way, his goat bleating, Nancy’s pig squealing.
A flash of movement in the trees, there and gone in an instant.
“What the . . . ?” Oliver tossed his bundle of birds over his shoulder and retrieved his flashlight, his teeth chattering. He and Adam stood several feet to Gus’s right. “Did you guys see that?”
Adam drew his handgun. “Probably a mountain lion. We’re almost home, so just keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”
“Maybe speed it up a little too,” Gus added, and he and Nancy pulled out their handguns. The team continued toward the compound.
Not five minutes had passed before more branches snapped behind them. Again, the goat bleated, and the pig squealed.
Everyone swung around, preparing to shoot. Oliver shined his flashlight into the trees.
The glow revealed a creature that made Gus’s skin prickle with goose bumps.
Author Bio:
A. P. Mobley is the Halloween-loving, rock-music-obsessed author of dark fantasy inspired by mythology. She doesn’t only write about her favorite myths, folktales, and fairy tales in books, though; she discusses them on her podcast, Myths (& Folktales & Fairy tales), as well as on her blog and newsletter. She grew up in Wyoming and Nebraska and currently lives in South Dakota, and when she’s not up to her elbows in research for her next project, she can be found consuming dangerous amounts of coffee, reading speculative fiction, or rewatching The Good Place.
Never miss an update from A. P. by signing up for her newsletter. Full list of books and Content Warnings on her website.
Adir Biniamini is here to tell us about his self-help book The Art of Human Connection.
There's also a great giveaway.
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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.
Kev Harrison is here to tell us about Pyres, dark supernatural horror.
There's also a great giveaway.
____________________
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.
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 wakeher 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 notjar
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.
Jessica Coulter Smith is here to tell us about Furs, Fangs & Mistletoe, Christmas romance in a small town with shifters.
Read on for details...
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Christmas Romance, Shifters, Small Town
Date Published: December 12, 2025
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.
EXCERPT
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 pinecones 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.
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.
Riley checked the mirrors one more time, then opened her door. The cold hit
her immediately, sharper than she’d expected. Mountain air, clean and
biting. She pulled her jacket tighter and circled to Sabrina’s door, her
boots crunching in the gravel.
“Cold!” Sabrina announced as Riley unbuckled her.
“Very cold. That’s why we’re going to get inside quick,
okay?”
She lifted her daughter out, settling Sabrina on her hip with the ease of long
practice. Sabrina immediately buried her face in Riley’s neck, seeking
warmth. Riley grabbed the diaper bag and her purse from the front seat. The
car’s trunk held everything they owned -- three suitcases, two boxes,
and a garbage bag of toys. After struggling to pay the bills and stay one step
ahead of her ex, she didn’t have a lot left over for extras.
Riley approached the cottage slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness beyond
the porch light’s reach. The forest was quiet -- too quiet, maybe, but
she didn’t know enough about forests to judge what was normal.
She’d grown up in the suburbs and spent the last two years in a city
apartment. Trees and wildlife were outside her experience.
The lockbox hung on the doorknob as promised. Riley shifted Sabrina’s
weight and worked the combination with icy fingers. The key fell into her
palm, small and ordinary. She fitted it into the lock and felt the deadbolt
slide open with a solid click.
“New house, Mama?” Sabrina lifted her head, looking at the door
with wide eyes.
“New house,” Riley confirmed. “Our house.”
The words felt like a promise and a lie at once. This wasn’t really
theirs, just borrowed space, a temporary shelter. But Sabrina didn’t
need to know that. Sabrina needed to believe in stability, in permanence, even
if Riley couldn’t.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open, reaching inside to find the
light switch. Yellow light flooded a small living room, revealing worn
furniture and walls badly in need of fresh paint. Still, the space felt clean.
Warm air drifted out from inside, proof someone had turned on the heat before
their arrival.
Riley stepped over the threshold, carrying her daughter into their new life,
and tried not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
About the Author
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.
Kristen Zimmer is here to tell us about Reclamation, Dark Horse series #1, dystopian, NA, scifi.
There's also a great giveaway.
______________________
Reclamation
Kristen Zimmer
(Dark Horse Series, #1)
Publication date: December 9th 2025
Genres: Adult, Dystopian, New Adult, Science Fiction
Kristen Zimmer, author of The Gravity Between Us, When Sparks Fly, and Forbidden Girl takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled dystopian journey into the future where a scrappy band of rebels rise up to bring down an unequal and unrelenting government.
This is your future.
The United States of America has been gone for over a century.
In its place, The Unified American Territories—a nation divided, the impoverished and the wealthy are separated by a looming steel wall. In the Northern Territories—The Vault, as it is known by its inhabitants—the government rules with an iron fist: All citizens are tested for intelligence and aptitude, thrust into compulsory higher education and saddled with insurmountable debt. All student loans are granted and controlled by a branch of the regime called The Federal Bureau of Education. Failure to repay their debt consigns borrowers to the Knowledge Reclamation Process, a mysterious government-sanctioned brainwashing program that strips them of their education with dire mental and physical side effects.
Fletcher Daniels is a recent college graduate struggling to stay ahead of her arrears. After a visit from Reclamation Agents, she knows her life is about to change for the worse. Enter Youth Opposed to Reclamation, a scrappy band of rebels who try in their own small way to bring some relief to the people of The Vault by smuggling as many potential Reclaimees to safety as possible. When Fletcher meets and falls for fellow female YOR member, Sparrow, her world is twisted away from the one she once knew even more radically. The group offers Fletcher a chance to escape her fate, but through them, she sees the promise of bringing real change to The Vault. History has taught her that even the smallest rebellions can trigger revolutions. It’s time for history to repeat itself.
FLETCHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING the luxury of her sole day off work, reading The Scarlet Letter. Happily. Quietly. Until some unknowable thing, a strange tug in her chest, made her look up. She shut down her antiquated digireader with a tap of the cracked screen and watched from her bedroom window as a sleek, silver sedan pulled to a stop at the curb outside of her dilapidated row house. Agents.
She couldn’t see them through the car’s blacked-out windows, but it was obvious. The simple fact that the vehicle had the shine of something new was enough to give the Agents away. Being from The Vault, or The Northern Territories, as Fletcher’s part of the country was known officially, she rarely saw any cars on the road at all; cars in such impeccable condition were all but complete anomalies. Why do they even bother plastering the Department of Reclamation’s seal on the doors? She wondered.
That hideous seal. Words failed to capture how much Fletcher both loathed and feared it. The great red and black per bend crest, showcasing a scroll of parchment in one half and a tasseled mortarboard in the other, had always been reviled by citizens of The Vault. It meant that someone hadn’t paid their dues, and The Department of Reclamation had come to collect.
The Department of Reclamation employed the Agents who did the strong-arming for The Federal Bureau of Education. While the BOE housed the bookkeepers, The Department of Reclamation’s Agents handled the unseemlier work… and their work was generally quite unseemly. The Governing Council of The Unified American Territories had long ago authorized Reclamation Agents to use brute force “in the event of necessity.” More often than not, visits from Agents did end in violence—if not on their first visit, when a potential Reclaimee received their Notification of Violation, then most definitely on their second visit, when the Agents returned to take the Reclaimee into custody. Reclaimees seldom initiated said violence, of course; Fletcher had heard that most cried or begged for just a few more moments with their loved ones. They would be flogged once or twice and give up or otherwise be knocked out with narcotics. Occasionally, a Reclaimee would try to escape. Those individuals had it much worse. Fletcher closed her eyes and, although it pained her to do it, allowed herself to envision the brutality Agents inflicted upon braver people: Arms twisted so violently that shoulders snapped out their sockets, fingers bent backward with such force that the metacarpals fractured, skulls cracked against living room floors. She shuddered as if her skin had been kissed by an icy wind.
Reclamation Agents were no strangers to The Vault, considering it was the part of the country reserved for the impoverished, the destitute and the disillusioned—those who needed “excessive assistance” from the Government. Those like Fletcher. She would need at least ten more fingers to be able to count the number of times she had seen Agents in her neighborhood in the last week alone. Watching these two men march toward her home, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for her this time.
“Fletcher,” her father’s voice boomed through the dimness of her room. “Can you come out here, please?”
“I’ll be right there.”
She peered into the tarnished mirror atop her bedside table. Using the remnants of daylight to aid her vision, she pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. “Alright,” she sighed to herself, her sharp jawline clenching and her hazel eyes burning with angst. “If they are here for you, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Author Bio:
Kristen Zimmer is the author of The Gravity Between Us, which spent 12 weeks as the number one best-seller in both the Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian Romance genres on Amazon. It was listed as one of USA Today’s “10 Best books to read for Pride 2018” and in December 2021 was named one of Reader's Digest '50 Best Romance Novels of All Time'
That same year, her follow-up novel, When Sparks Fly, debuted as the best-seller in Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian romance, and clung to the spot for four weeks.
Her latest novel, Forbidden Girl, a dark mafia sapphic romance, is available now.
Kristen lives in Salem, Massachusetts— yes, where the witches were.
