Katherine Maw of Mayhem MC Book 4 by AK Nevermore Book Tour! @SilverDaggerBookTours #Katherine #MawOfMayhemMC @AKNevermore

Here Comes the Queen...

Katherine

Maw of Mayhem MC Book 4

by AK Nevermore

Genre

 Paranormal MC Erotic Romance

Voted in as prez and back at the clubhouse, Grimdarke James has won back the Maw of Mayhem MC, but his problems are far from over, and his migraine isn’t helping. Neither is the arrival of a rival MC, a wolf pack, or the crime lord en route.

And Reaper’s still on the loose.

Grim definitely can’t seem to catch a break, and neither can Kit. Now that she’s been officially introduced to the club as Grim’s ol’ lady, it’s up to her to get a handle on the mollys. Will she be able to keep them in line and prove she’s the rightful queen of Mayhem, or will someone else try to usurp her throne?

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Grimdarke

Maw of Mayhem MC Book 1

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Darker

Maw of Mayhem MC Book 2

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Kit-Kat

Maw of Mayhem MC Book 3

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Kit stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. Clay’s bathroom was definitely nicer than the one in Grim’s room. Or it had the potential to be, once all the filth from Nikki’s infestation was expunged. Woman was a pig. Kit frowned at the drifts of body glitter, smears of self-tanner, and spattered toothpaste around the sink. She rubbed at it with the corner of her towel. Maybe that’s what she would do today. A dedicated session of rage cleaning sounded pretty damned good… after she sorted things out with Mr. Asorav and Chanté.

—Ain’t nothin’ to sort— Kat chuffed. —They got our back as queen. It’s the rest of them that are gonna have to fall in line.—

Um, no, just because we’re queen doesn’t mean they get to disrespect Grim.

—How is answering to the queen disrespecting him? They’re not a part of Mayhem.—

Kit toweled off her hair, teeth dimpling her lip. No, but he’s right. This is his MC, and they’re his guests. While they’re here, they have to follow his rules.

—So where does that leave us?—

I dunno yet, and I don’t think he does, either. Kit was pretty sure that her being with him meant she was the alpha female for the club and in charge of the ol’ ladies and the mollys. But since Clay had never officially taken Kit’s mother as a mate, Kit hadn’t actually seen what that looked like. She vaguely remembered a woman with shoulder-length hair that seemed like she was in charge of the kitchen, but Kit had been so young when they moved out of the clubhouse…

She shook her hair out and scrubbed at it with the towel. Do you remember?

—No. I wasn’t awake then.—

Right. And it’d been so long since there had been a shifter queen, no one knew what that looked like, either. Well, Mr. Asorav probably did, but Kit was pretty sure she shouldn’t take everything he said as gospel. Not after the last shifter queen had partially succeeded in turning the current vampire queen into a fox. Aryanna had killed her for it, but she was still rocking whiskers. Their sects weren’t on great terms.

Kit sighed. God, how was she going to do this?

Whatever. Clothes would help. Dress for the job you want, right? Except she didn’t. Not really. Well, to be Grim’s queen, yeah, but the rest of it?

—Girl, you’ll see. Once they accept that we’re it, the rest is gonna be gravy.—

If you say so, but what about until then?

Kat paused like she wasn’t sure either. —Um, until then—

Ahem.

Kit froze at the decidedly masculine interruption in her brain. Her mouth went dry. M-Mr. Asorav?

Yes, my dear. Pardon me for the intrusion, but I couldn’t help but note your angst and feel compelled to relieve you of it. After Ms. Yewling’s reel of your confrontation last night and the resulting transformation of Ms. Hale, there is little doubt that you are the true shifter queen and the sects are responding in accordance. Mr. James’s motorcycle club has accepted you as such and is thoroughly apprised of your status as his, ah, old lady.

Oh. Um, thank you?

My pleasure. I look forward to seeing you at brunch. Do come down as you are able.

Kit stood in the bathroom gripping her towel and listening to the silence in her head, afraid to think. Is he gone? she thought-whispered.

—Son of a bitch had better be.— Kat spat, her proverbial tail thrashing. —Vamp is creepy as fuck.—

Shh! What if he’s listening?

—Then he can listen to this! YOU’RE CREEPY AS FUCK!—

Oh my God, you need to stop.

—No, only thing I need to stop is him from climbing into our head.—

Good luck with that. Kit sighed, going back into the bedroom. It looked like Nikki had just opened all of Kit’s suitcases and shaken them out into one big pile before strewing things around the room. She stepped around the slick of nasty still coating the floor in front of the vanity to the largest pile of clothes, her anxiety ticking up. The bar downstairs sounded packed with brothers, and as soon as she walked into that room, all eyes were gonna be on her.

What the heck did a queen wear?

—Aside from being banned from bedsheets, whatever the hell she wants to— Kat murmured distractedly. —What if I—

Something twanged in Kit’s head. She winced, but the static that’d been buzzing in the back of her brain since she’d changed abruptly cut off. A weird visual of Kat in coveralls messing around in her psyche with a wrench flitted through Kit’s mind’s eye. Great, just what she needed; a mind mechanic.

—Take that, motherfucker.—

You do it?

[SHRUGGING]

—I dunno, but it did something.—

You are not helpful.

—Oh please, like you need help. Bring your A game and all of ‘em will be eating out the palm of your hand, including that man of yours. Remember Timmons, in Acquisitions? Absolute prick on the phone, tongue dragging in person. Once you get all dolled up and walk into the room, ain’t nobody gonna remember who was waiting on whose say-so about what.—

Kit tapped her teeth. As much as she hated skating by on her looks, that would definitely make things easier. My A game, huh? Her A game was what Chanté referred to as boardroom boudoir. A smile tipped up Kit’s lips as she knelt, sorting through the mess of clothes.

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

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In the Midst of Shadows Nicola Italia Book Blitz! #XpressoTours @XpressoTours⁣⁣ #nicolaitalia #⁣⁣IntheMidstofShadows

 

In the Midst of Shadows

Nicola Italia

Genres

Adult, Historical, Mystery

In the Victorian era, a cheap and popular form of entertainment has entranced the population often known by the name; penny dreadful. Costing a penny, readers purchased the stories and entered the fantastic world of superhuman men and damsels in distress.

The stories have been popular for over fifty years and Lavinia Howard is a young woman who dreams of being such a writer. Having recently lost her father, she turns to a family friend who puts her in touch with Jasper Courtenay, owner of Courtenay Publishing.

Writing under the pen name G. R. Howard, Lavinia creates a character who becomes a huge success as her penny dreadful stories are the most popular ever printed. Her character is brash and obnoxious and has no respect for authority as he solves London murders and the working classes adore him!

But strange things begin to happen as the stories Lavinia writes start to come true. Two very similar deaths mirror those she writes about, and Detective Chief Inspector Harrison Bryce is assigned to investigate. Inspector Bryce soon discovers that Lavinia has become so popular that she has also made enemies along with her legion of fans.

He realizes that everyone surrounding Lavinia has a motive to have committed the crimes. He must work fast to determine who wants to harm her as he suspects Lavinia may be the next target on the killer’s list.

Also on audio – The Belle of London

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EXCERPT:

Casimir Kimberly strode resolutely past the throng of people gathered in the alley who were trying to catch a glimpse of the body of the woman lying at the foot of the wooden stairs. His black woolen overcoat reached to his knees and he could feel the material swirl about his legs as he walked. Casimir was not a man given to fanciful dress or cologne as some dandies and French men were known to be, but damn did he love his coat.

He made eye contact with a policeman keeping the crowd under control and the man immediately motioned for Casimir to make his way through the circle of people. Casimir glanced over his shoulder and saw that Ralphie was behind him but lagging. The man was always falling behind.

As he came closer to the body lying in an odd position from the fall, a flash of lightning dominated the sky and he looked up. It was early in the morning and most people were still in bed. The crowd that was gathered now must be the dead woman’s neighbors or local tradespeople.

He felt around in his coat pocket for his John Millar & Sons tin and took out one drop and popped it into his mouth. As the delicious flavors of black currant and licorice filled his mouth, he began to study the crowd surrounding him. He first surveyed the middle-aged men, then the women. He knew what he was searching for and his heart beat faster as the lightning flashed once more through the morning sky.

He sat back on his haunches, surveying the body before him. He had been told a portion of the woman’s story when the police had summoned him. The charwoman had lived on the second floor and the stairs leading to the flat were outside in the alleyway. Sometime in the night, the woman had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Some in the police said it was an accident, others were not so convinced. He had been called in to look over the scene and give his opinion. Casimir wasn’t a detective with Scotland Yard nor a private investigator who worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, but he was blessed—or cursed, depending on whom you asked—with an abnormal understanding of crime, its victims, and most importantly the offenders.

Casimir suddenly looked up. He sniffed the air distinctly with several sniffs to the right and then to the left and narrowed his eyes.

“Ralphie,” he growled once.

“Yes, Guvnor,” came the quick reply from the man standing nearby.

“Move that fishmonger down the lane,” Casimir said simply. “All I can smell is his two-day-old mackerel.”

“Aye, Guvnor.”

The fishmonger was moved along but Casimir’s sense of smell was compromised. He swore inwardly. He always liked to get a sense of the crime scene’s smell. The blood, the vomit, the rain, the earth. Each had its own distinct smell and each told its own story. He looked down at the body and noticed the shabbiness of her nightdress, the small feet, and the hands used to hard work. The woman was probably in her forties but her weathered face looked closer to sixty. Her forehead was deeply lined, her eyes sunken into her skeletal face.

As he took in her worn hands, he noticed something peculiar. On the ring finger of her left hand there was no ring but lighter skin where a ring had once been. He knew the woman was married.

Casimir stood up abruptly, causing the onlookers around him to gasp. He shook his head and looked about at the group. He had been so absorbed in concentrating on the woman he had forgotten about the people surrounding him in the alleyway. He looked back into the group, his eyes searching for what he had seen before to assure himself that he was correct. His eyes narrowed when he saw the exchange and then he almost grinned. This was too easy, he told himself.

He strode forward, his long legs covering vast amounts of space before he stood before a stout, well-built man in the crowd. The man had the look of a stonemason, not very tall but built like a solid bull. He eyed the man quietly, looking over his beefy chest, his bulging forearms, his black hair sprinkled with gray, and the cap he held in his hands respectfully. Casimir narrowed his eyes and watched the man glance quickly to his right and then away again.

Following his gaze, he saw what the man was looking at. A small red-haired woman with a large bosom and thick ankles. She smiled shyly back at the man before he looked away.

“He did it,” Casimir said loudly and strongly, pointing to the stonemason.

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

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Heroic Measures by Joel Shulkin, MD September 16-20, 2024, Book Blast!

 

Death Benefits

Stephen Englehart, an Armed Forces medical examiner. dedicates his life to bringing peace to the families of fallen soldiers. Tagged as one of the best, he’s able to spot forensic clues others miss. But when the body of a US Marine, supposedly burned beyond recognition, shows up with hardly a scratch, even Stephen is stumped. Were the bodies switched? Then, in the middle of the autopsy, the impossible happens.

The soldier wakes up.

Something incredible—and dangerous—is happening to the military’s elite, and Stephen may be the only one who can figure it out. And when Stephen’s sister, a Green Beret, goes missing, the entire military machine seems designed to stop him from finding her. To find the truth and save his sister, one man must stand against an army. Can he be the hero he never thought he could?

Praise for Heroic Measures:

"A rollercoaster ride filled with thrills and intrigue."
~ Reader's Favorite

"A high-octane blend of action and intrigue where the momentum rarely lets up."
~ Book Viral Reviews

"A powder-keg combination of military, medical, and technothriller. Buckle in for a wild and suspenseful ride."
~ Meg Gardiner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

"Rips through twists and turns that will make you dizzy."
~ Lisa Black, New York Times bestselling author

"If you want a fast, heart-pounding thriller that you can't put down, make Heroic Measures your next read."
~ Jennifer Graeser Dornbush, crime author

"If you love a good thriller, Heroic Measures is a must-read...With plot twists around every corner, this novel will have you hooked from the very first page, making it a great choice for just about any reader."
~ Book Nerdection

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller (forensic military thriller with superhero and sci-fi tropes)
Published by: Zero Dark Publications
Publication Date: September 17, 2024
Number of Pages: 382
ISBN: 979-8990018808
Series: Death Benefits
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | BookBub | Goodreads || Additional Formats & Editions - including Hardcover and Audio

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The first thing US Marine Corporal Mark Greenwood noticed when he woke up half-buried in a sand dune was the intense heat. He hated the heat. He hated the desert.

So, when he realized he was on fire, he was downright pissed.

“Shit!” he shouted, and patted his burning arms. He rolled in the sand until he managed to douse the flames on his head and shoulders.

When he was sure he was no longer burning, he stood and assessed his situation. He was outside the ruins of what looked like some kind of medical building. Chunks of rubble lay scattered around him, half burying the broken and charred bodies of what he assumed had once been human men. A smoke trail rose from inside the building and twisted away on a dust devil. The interior walls glowed amber. Mark sniffed the air. Odors of propellant, charcoal, and blood assaulted him. An air traffic control tower loomed over him, and beyond it, an air strip stretched toward the horizon.

Pain shot through his skull. Electric.

He jammed one palm against the back of his head—it felt wet, sticky. He gnashed his teeth.

“Relief,” he whispered. “Relief, damn it.”

A cool wave washed over his body. The pain subsided.

The corporal lowered his hand. Blood covered it. Blood and some kind of grayish stuff.

The world around him shimmered, like a mirage. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten, then opened them again. Blinked several times. No more shimmering. Better.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt pain like that. Something must’ve hit him hard. But he didn’t have time to figure out what it was.

“Foxtrot team,” he said into his radio, his voice deep and raspy. “What’s your position?”

The radio crackled and hissed.

“This is Greenwood. Hostiles are down. I repeat. Hostiles are down. Awaiting orders.”

Still no response.

“Sergeant, where the fuck are you?”

Automatic rifles popped in the distance. Mark scanned the ground. Where was his M27?

More gunfire. Well, he didn’t need a rifle, anyway.

Pebbles kicked up in a wake behind him as he sprinted across the sand.

Something felt off. His right leg wobbled with each footfall. He had to fight to keep his six-foot frame balanced as he ran. After a few seconds, he stopped and looked down.

A jagged piece of white bone poked through his Combat Utility Uniform below the knee. The camouflage was stained black.

“Shit on a stick.” Mark bent over to push the bone back into place. Pain shot up his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he kept his fingertip pressed on the bone and started counting. He could feel the bone weaving together, and when he reached sixty, he let go. The bone still felt unstable, but it would have to do. He resumed his sprint.

The Humvee stood perched atop a dune half a klick away, the front passenger tire flat. He spotted Lance Corporal John Kirby inside the armored turret, manning the M2 cannon. He couldn’t see Sergeant Grant or the others.

Movement caught his eye. Off to the left.

Two soldiers holding rifles raced toward the Humvee.

A fly buzzed by his ear. Mark swatted it away and focused.

Hostiles!

Something popped inside his skull. Tiny shocks jolted his brain, forcing him to stop running. He pressed both palms against his head and roared in agony.

“Relief. Relief. Relief.”

The pain washed away. He lowered his hands.

Eliminate all resistance.

The voice came from inside his head. Toneless. Genderless. Commanding.

Adrenaline surged through his body. The last remnants of pain vanished.

Mark squinted. The hostiles were only a quarter klick from the Humvee. Why wasn’t Kirby shooting at them? It was almost like . . .

Eliminate all resistance.

With a grunt, Mark ran. Harder. Faster. He closed the distance in less than five seconds.

The hostiles turned and raised their rifles.

He ripped their weapons away, snapping their wrists. The hostiles screamed.

He tossed one rifle to the ground and swung the other with both hands. The stock smashed in the face of one of the hostiles. The other tried to run. Mark shot him in the back, turned, and finished off the one he’d battered.

Another fly buzzed in his ear. He wiggled his finger in the canal until it stopped. Fucking desert bugs.

Someone shouted from the Humvee.

The M2 roared to life, fifty-caliber rounds whizzing through the air.

Mark froze. Why was Kirby firing at him?

A round slammed into Mark’s shoulder, ripping a hole through the muscle. He screamed and forced himself to stare through the haze of white-hot pain at the Humvee turret.

No, it wasn’t Kirby. Son of a bitch. That was why he hadn’t shot at the hostiles. The man at the cannon was a hostile.

Another round grazed his thigh. Rage burned a swath through his body. He threw away the rifle and dashed toward the Humvee.

The cannon kept firing at him. He ignored the rounds pummeling his body armor, even the ones that managed to penetrate his side and abdomen.

Mark scrambled over the Humvee’s hood and leaped onto the roof.

The hostile punched at him. Mark caught the fist and twisted, hearing and feeling a loud crack.

That earned a scream. Mark grabbed the hostile’s throat with his other hand. He squeezed, and the neck snapped.

Mark hurled the lifeless body onto the sand.

“Greenwood!”

The voice sounded familiar. Mark looked down.

A US Marine stood next to the Humvee, aiming an SSW40 grenade launcher at him. It took a moment for the corporal to recognize Sergeant Gardner Grant. He was about Mark’s height and build but lacked the hard edges. On the ground nearby, another Marine nursed her injured leg with one hand and leveled an M18 pistol with the other. Corporal Micaela Deodato.

Grant’s eyes widened, his lips twisting into a grimace as he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

Mark tried to process a response but couldn’t. He’d just saved them from the hostiles. Why were they pointing guns at him?

“Why did you kill those men?”

Again, Mark stumbled over the question. But this time he was able to find an answer. “I was following orders.”

“Not my orders. Whose?”

Eliminate all resistance.

The world shimmered. That fucking fly buzzed in his ear again.

Mark rubbed his eyes and squinted.

Something about Grant’s face wasn’t right. It looked like him—but it wasn’t. Mark glanced at Deodato. Same with her. Their eyes were cold. Distant.

They’d flipped sides.

Mark swung the M2 around and locked on to Grant.

“You traitors!” he shouted.

“Corporal,” Grant said, keeping the SSW40 trained on Mark. “Stand down.”

Sweat streamed down the corporal’s cheeks. His shoulders tightened. This was total FUBAR. His whole team couldn’t have betrayed him.

Eliminate all resistance.

He tightened his grip on the cannon. It didn’t matter. He had to complete his mission.

“Get down, Sergeant!” Deodato shouted. Her pistol fired.

Bullets streaked toward Mark. One grazed his cheek. The other buried itself in his arm. He roared and rotated the M2 in her direction. The cannon spat at Deodato, and she crumpled to the ground.

The SSW40 in Grant’s hands made a heavy thump-thump sound. Grenades whizzed toward Mark.

The world exploded.

***

Excerpt from Heroic Measures by Joel Shulkin, MD. Copyright 2024 by Joel Shulkin, MD. Reproduced with permission from Joel Shulkin, MD. All rights reserved.

Joel Shulkin, MD is the author of Adverse Effects and Toxic Effects, the first two novels in the Memory Thieves series, and he has penned award-winning short stories and poetry. A developmental-behavioral pediatrician and United States Air Force veteran with a master's in public health, Joel lives in Florida with his wife, two daughters, and two puppies.

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Bandy By Craig R. Hipkins Book Tour! @CraigHipkins @cathiedunn @craighipkins3 @thecoffeepotbookclub

Book Title

Bandy

Author

Craig R. Hipkins

Publication Date

February 15, 2024

Publisher

Hipkins Twins

Pages: 337

Genre

Historical Fiction / Young Adult

Triggers

Mild violence, race issues.

Isaac’s only friend is a passenger pigeon named Bandy. He deludes himself in believing the bird talks to him. Bullied, he is resigned to a life of being the misunderstood bookworm by neighboring boys until a disastrous fire kills his parents and little sisters, sparing only his younger brother, Thomas.

He and Thomas are taken in by their Uncle Raymond, an abolitionist, who plans to send Isaac to Virginia to buy Joy, a young slave with debilitating health, from her slave owner, Wil Jericho. Shortly after arriving in Virginia, Isaac learns the ugly truth. The butler who accompanied him on the journey killed his uncle before leaving and plans to do the same to Isaac to steal Raymond’s estate.

Isaac, with Joy, escapes into the backwoods of Virginia. Discovering passages of the Underground Railroad, stowing away in carriages, hiding in churches, and outwitting the mercenaries hired by Jericho, the two teens fight tooth and nail to make it to Boston before they’re caught.

Will Joy be taken from this life by sickness before she’s found freedom? On their journey, they learn a lot about each other. Isaac promises to bring Joy to Bandy's pond, a heavenly place where peace and serenity reign.

This novel is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Buy Link

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Excerpt

Bandy 

Isaac awoke with a start. For a few seconds, he lay there listening. Something had awakened him. He heard it again. A dull thumping sound from up above.

The first thing he noticed was that the lantern had gone out. He could hear Joy’s shallow breathing next to him and he decided not to wake her. It might be nothing but his imagination running wild. He felt for his belt and pistols. They were still next to him. He told himself to calm down, but when the thumping sound was heard again, his heart began to race. This time it was much louder, and it awakened Joy. She instinctively tapped Isaac on the shoulder, not being able to see him in the darkness.

“Isaac, what was that?” “I don’t know.”

She nudged closer to him and heard him cocking one of his pistols. “It might be Ada or one of the other conductors,” she said.

“I wish that lantern had not gone out,” Isaac whispered.

“Well, that might be for the best right now,” she said. “If someone does happen to find this room, they won’t think there would be anyone down here in the darkness.”

Isaac agreed but fumbled around in his duffel bag searching for his tin. He finally found it and struck a match, holding it over the lantern.

“There is still oil,” he said. He then looked at his pocket watch.

“It is half past six. We have been sleeping for hours,” he said, blowing out the match.

Another loud thump caused them to jump. Isaac clutched the Colt tighter. Suddenly, a grating noise and a soft light appeared at the curve of the stairway. They held their breath and waited.

Craig R. Hipkins grew up in Hubbardston Massachusetts. He is the author of medieval and gothic fiction. His novel Adalbert is the sequel to Astrolabe written by his late twin brother Jay S. Hipkins (1968-2018)

He is an avid long-distance runner and enjoys astronomy in his spare time.

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Amazon Author Page

https:// www.amazon.com/stores/author/B004RDJMNC 

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https:// www.goodreads.com/author/show/19975162.Craig_R_Hipkins 

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