A Novel & Expose A Real Collusion by Stu Strumwasser

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

A Real Collusion is about the secret conspiracy between the Republican and Democratic parties to control the US government through an illegal duopoly.

From the author of the bestselling novel, The Organ Broker, (hailed by Lee Child, New York Times # 1 bestselling author of the Jack Reacher series as, "Exciting and thought-provoking--the perfect package") comes, A Real Collusion, a stunning political thriller and expose.

A Real Collusion is a David Vs. Goliath(s) story about a man who accidentally becomes the leader of an independent political movement that nearly takes down the two-party system in America, while exposing a conspiracy that affects the results of the 2016 election. It explores universal and deeply human themes of loss, and the tension between justice and power. In the opening sentence the narrator points out that, “Ordinary people often do extraordinary things.” The characters in the book do, and the action is driven by the fantastic events of a unique political satire. It is also the heartfelt story of regular people struggling with lost love, alienation and nearly universal disaffection who find strength in enduring loyalty and friendship

This is the story of John Campbell (a regular guy from the lower east side of Manhattan) as recounted by his friend Skip Winters. Skip becomes John’s campaign manager and later, a congressman in his own right. He narrates the stunning-but-plausible story of how John Campbell and The American Coalition race to popularity, raising over a hundred million dollars from grassroots contributors—and become a threat to the political duopoly of the Democratic and Republican parties. The book sprinkles in references to real events from recent history, and real political leaders including Trump, John McCain, and more. This imbues the novel with a sense of realism, albeit one of an alternate reality. Skip discovers a deep-seated conspiracy within our political system whose leaders orchestrate a murder, destroy his friend and tip the scales of the election. The novel turns out to be Skip’s exposé of the secret collaboration between the two major political parties in our country—a cooperation to protect the duopoly that is, in part, real.

Read an Excerpt

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is John Campbell, from the lower east side."

The crowd responded with another enthusiastic round of cheers, but this time John held up his palm and said, "Please, please…." And that threw a quasi-hush over the audience.

"Thank you for coming to this little park tonight to hear me speak. Three nights ago, on the evening of July 10th, I attended our local Community Board meeting to propose that cigar smoking not be allowed on the sidewalk in front of bars and restaurants. That's all. I was not there to critique our government and I didn't ask for any of the attention that I have since received. I'm just like most of you, and I never anticipated that newspapers and newscasters would ever solicit my opinions on political issues. But now they're asking, and I have decided that I have a responsibility to answer. I am not embarrassed to say… I care."

Then, John paused. He had their rapt attention and he knew it. He looked directly at me, suddenly brimming with confidence. It might have been the kind of glance that Keith and Mick sometimes give to the roadies right before they go into the encore. I think that the feeling which washed over me then was pride. John turned back to the crowd and loudly said, "So, would you like to hear my answer?!"

Thunder from the crowd. "Yeah!" they yelled, some pumping their fists in the air.

"I won't give it to you!" John shouted, but then quickly added, "Instead, I will give you my proposal for OUR answer!" which elicited yet another roar.

"In recent years our system of government has broken down. Everyone knows it. Washington has become caught up in never-ending partisan fighting. It was on display during the recent government shutdown. The two major political parties no longer represent us. Frankly, how could they represent the spectrum or sum total of the thoughts, feelings and will of three hundred million citizens? There is a reason that more young people now choose "Independent" than either party when they turn eighteen. The political parties today exist as little more than machines for the never-ending raising of money to combat the enormous amount of money raised by their opponents (their "enemy counter-party" or, as I prefer to refer to them: "fellow Americans.") Let's stop standing for it. The Democrats and Republicans currently run our nation like two petulant children fighting over which show to watch on TV and who gets to hold the remote. When one party chooses the program, the other storms out of the room. Is that really the way we want to be led?

About the Author

Stu Strumwasser is a modern-day muckraker who writes literary novels that address important sociopolitical issues. His first novel, The Organ Broker, was published by Skyhorse (distributed by Simon & Schuster) and shortlisted as one of five finalists for the Hammett Prize for literary excellence in crime writing. Strumwasser was also the primary songwriter and drummer for the indie rock band Channeling Owen. He is a longtime investment professional (investing in sustainable technology that improves the manner in which we make food) and hails from Brooklyn NY. His new novel, A Real Collusion, is both an exposé and analysis of broken government and a fictional David Vs. Goliath(s) story of the man who almost took down the two-party system in America.

WEBSITE: https://www.arealcollusion.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/244895746-a-real-collusion
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To read the first two chapters of the novel please visit: https://arealcollusion.com/first-two-chapters/

Amazon Link to pre-order Amazon EBook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G5K3BJ1K
Amazon Link to pre-order Amazon Hardcover: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GCCR2XMS
BN.com EBook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-real-collusion-stu-strumwasser/1148954359?ean=2940185040737
BN Hardcover: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-real-collusion-stuart-strumwasser/1148954359
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-real-collusion
Google Play EBook: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=NxSlEQAAQBAJ&hl=en_US
Google Play Audiobook: https://play.google.com/store/audiobooks/details?id=AQAAAEDqp1LnqM&hl=en_US
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Payhip for the book: https://payhip.com/ARealCollusion

Orlan Drake The Broken Crown Saga Book Tour and Giveaway

 

Where loyalty shatters, legends are forged.

The King’s Fall

The Broken Crown Saga Book One

by Orlan Drake

Genre: Epic Fantasy

A Gripping Tale of Royal Betrayal and Hidden Romance

When darkness falls on the kingdom of Ardanthia, readers will find themselves caught up in a story where nothing is what it seems. Princess Eloise faces impossible choices as murder and betrayal tear her world apart. Her secret love for the Prince of Caladorn adds another layer of danger to an already deadly situation. This isn't just another royal romance - it's a heart-pounding adventure where love and loyalty clash in the most dangerous ways possible. You'll feel every moment of tension as Eloise walks the razor's edge between duty and desire.

 

Mystery and Investigation That Keeps You Guessing

Sir Cedric Blackthorn brings detective skills that would make any crime solver jealous. His brilliant mind works to solve puzzles that could save or destroy an entire kingdom. As Ambassador Zafir arrives with hidden motives and Baron Gorgo schemes from the shadows, every character becomes a suspect. The investigation twists and turns through palace halls filled with secrets. You'll find yourself trying to solve the mystery alongside Cedric, picking up clues and second-guessing every revelation. The chase scenes will have you on the edge of your seat as our heroes race against time through a kingdom ready to explode into war.

 

Fantasy Adventure That Brings Legends to Life

The Broken Crown Saga starts with this incredible first book that mixes political drama with fantasy elements that feel fresh and exciting. Secret groups work behind the scenes, pulling strings that control the fate of nations. The world-building draws you in completely, making you believe in a place where magic and politics dance together in dangerous ways. This story proves that sometimes solving one crime can prevent an entire war - and that the most important battles happen in the shadows.

 

For readers of David Eddings and Terry Brooks, this sweeping tale of betrayal, magic, and destiny will leave you breathless.

 

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The King's Fall opens not in a throne room, but underground. A secret order — no names, no titles, only cloaks and the authority of old purpose — has gathered around a rune-carved table to debate an incident that should not have happened: a full diplomatic party has been wiped out on the road between two kingdoms, and neither king ordered it. Someone is pulling strings that no one can see. The council is about to do something dangerous. They are going to look.

 

There existed beneath the old earth a sanctum kept from all maps and memories, shielded by corridors that twisted into each other with a geometry of deliberate confusion. In the deepest of its halls, a chamber circular and primeval waited in perpetual shadow. The room's centrepiece, a stone table whose circumference rivalled a city well, had been carved from a single slab of basalt. Its rim and surface bore etched runes and ancient sigils, their purpose unclear to any but initiates of the silent order that convened there.

Around this table, shrouded figures gathered, their cloaks indistinguishable but for subtle variations in the weave — one a blue so dark it drank in the torchlight, another a coarse grey laced with fine metallic thread, a third in deep forest green that shed a dusting of spores with every movement. Even in the heart of stone, the air hung moist and cold, saturated with the scent of burnt tallow and the musk of old water. From sconces in the arched walls, torches spat and guttered, casting orange light that slithered across faces as pale and anonymous as death masks.

No titles were spoken here, only the functional necessity of names earned and worn like invisible crowns. The magister at the head of the table, tall, angular, motionless save for the slow folding of gloved hands, did not need to identify himself. When he spoke, the voice cut through the stillness as though it had been whetted on the stone itself.

"Our watchers are not in agreement." The words were uninflected, carefully measured.

A murmur passed around the circle, not of dissent but of discomfort. The second figure, smaller but with an evident coiled energy, leaned forward. Her hands were bare, fingers long and stained black along the creases, and she tapped the table where the runes formed a broken circle.

"It is a minor border skirmish, Sentinal," she said. "Bloodier than most, but hardly unprecedented. Let the kingdoms squabble among themselves — Ardanthia and Caladorn have always warred at the fringes." She sounded impatient, as though summoned for a lesser concern.

The magister in blue, whose hood cast his face into shadow, spoke with a slight tremor. "The killing was not so minor. An entire diplomatic train vanished — every courier, every retainer, every guard. The ambassador's body was not even left for ransom. That is new. That is calculated."

The Sentinal allowed the words to settle, scanning the circle with a gaze that seemed to fix on each magister, regardless of where his face was aimed. "Six months ago, an envoy of Ardanthia, Lord Marcus Blackbriar, journeyed south with full ceremonial escort. Their course was direct: Eldoria to Delrith, then through the corridor to Mirashar. Before reaching Delrith, they were set upon and destroyed. Only one man survived, and he staggered back to Eldoria."

"Coward's tale," said the woman with the ink-stained hands. "Most witnesses die of their wounds, the lucky ones first."

The Sentinal ignored the snipe. "Our watcher in Eldoria heard the testimony. The survivor told King Leofric himself that the attackers wore the livery of Caladorn. Our watcher in Caladorn, however, tells a different story: they found no evidence of a sanctioned operation. If anything, Caladorn's own patrols have increased since the incident. Their court desires peace. Their king is tired of war."

A rustling of fabrics, the weight of suspicion shifting around the table. The green-cloaked figure finally broke his silence, voice low and gravelly. "If both kings are ignorant, then who profits from the attack? It's no longer a border dispute. It's something else."

A pause, broken only by the hiss of a torch collapsing into itself. The Sentinal's next words fell heavier for the silence.

"Our order exists not to shape events, but to understand them. Yet this affair grows more opaque with every new witness. Either our watchers lie, or we are being lied to. That alone is reason to intervene."

"There's little evidence it threatens the Balance," the woman pressed. "What can it matter if kingdoms grind each other to salt? We have seen worse in the east. Nothing endures but the Pattern."

"Unless the Pattern itself is being rewritten," the blue-hooded man said.

At this, the Sentinal brought his palms flat on the runic table, producing a hollow note that echoed into the stone. "We are not theorists. To maintain the balance we need clarity, not further confusion. We will look. Tonight, we summon the memory of that day and see for ourselves."

The woman's upper lip curled. "The power to see through time is not borrowed lightly, Sentinal. It leaves marks on both the living and the dead."

"We risk more by not knowing," the Sentinal said. "If our council cannot agree on what is, how can we guide what must be?"

The blue-hooded man lifted a hand, uncertain. "If it is as you say, and both sides are being manipulated, then the ritual may be hazardous. Memory is often trapped by the will of those who shaped it."

Twilight’s Dominion

The Broken Crown Saga Book Two

The peace was always a lie. They just didn't know whose.

Queen Eloise of Ardanthia has done everything right. She negotiated the alliance with Caladorn, married the prince, held her court together through blight and borderland attacks and the whispered threat of an ancient secret order. Now, with villages vanishing overnight — crops blackened, livestock dead, people simply gone — she does what any good ruler would do. She sends her best.

Sir Cedric Blackthorn, the precise and principled knight-investigator. Captain Elira, a soldier who has survived too much to flinch at anything. Tomas, a scholar more at home with footnotes than fistfights. Ryn, a street thief from the Saltspire docks whose instincts are worth more than anyone's education. And Auralias — the Court Mage, brilliant and unsettling in equal measure — who brings knowledge of old magic that none of the others possess, and who may be the only thing standing between Ardanthia and the League of the Moon.

Together, they are hunting the League before the League can finish what it started.

What they find will change everything they think they know — about the attacks, the conspiracy, and the true scale of what is being assembled in the dark. There are artifacts, older than any living kingdom, whose power was thought lost to history. There are secrets buried so deep that uncovering them will cost more than anyone is prepared to pay. And there is a question, growing louder with every mile: who, exactly, is the enemy?

Twilight's Dominion is a story about loyalty tested to breaking, courts where every smile hides a calculation, and the particular horror of realising that the enemy has been in the room all along. It is about a queen learning that the peace she built was built for her — and a company of mismatched, battle-worn companions who keep fighting even after the ground gives way beneath them.

Set across mountain fortresses carved from living rock, fog-wrapped port cities, a besieged royal palace, and the treacherous corridors of two kingdoms in collision, this is epic fantasy for readers who like their politics sharp, their magic consequential, and their betrayals earned.

Perfect for readers who love:

*The political intrigue of A Song of Ice and Fire

*The ensemble loyalty of The Lies of Locke Lamora

*The world-building depth of Robin Hobb

*Characters who are competent, scarred, and worth caring about

"There's no certainty in what's ahead. But I'd rather die among friends than watch the world go to monsters."

The Broken Crown Saga:
Book One: The King's Fall
Book Two: Twilight's Dominion
Book Three: Echoes of Kings - coming soon

 

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Twilight's Dominion opens on two stories running in parallel. In the first, Lady Seraphina D'Argent — a diplomat travelling alone through the unforgiving Crownspine mountains — has just been surrounded by armed strangers on a mountain pass. She has been riding for ten weeks on orders she doesn't fully understand, heading toward coordinates her queen gave her without explanation. She is about to discover something that will change everything she thought she knew about the world she serves.

~820 words

 

The figures came on in absolute silence, fanning out across the trail with the efficiency of wolves. In a matter of seconds they had closed off her retreat and were sliding, almost bonelessly, down the talus to encircle her.

Their leader wore a helm that entirely concealed his face, its visor painted with a crude snarl of animal fangs. The others carried composite bows at the ready, arrows nocked, but pointed down — a gesture that managed to be both merciful and contemptuous at once. Seraphina drew Cassia to a halt and set her hands openly on the pommel, every muscle rigid with calculation.

"State your business," the leader growled, voice rendered inhuman by the tin of his visor.

Seraphina debated, for perhaps two breaths, whether to attempt bluff or bravado. The bows decided the matter. "I am Lady Seraphina D'Argent, of Armathor," she replied, "on a mission from Her Majesty Queen Evelina."

The leader turned, a lazy gesture that made mockery of her authority, and a snort went up among his lieutenants. "And your escort?"

"Was not permitted." Seraphina kept her gaze level, though the blood pounded furiously in her ears. "I am to meet with a representative of the Riders, if you are such."

The mention of the Riders produced a shift in the circle. The archers exchanged glances, some wary, some almost amused. The leader drew closer, boots crushing the shallow crust of snow.

"You speak too much for a courier," he observed. "But too little for a spy." He swept a gauntleted hand at her pack horse. "Open your satchel."

She untied the travel case from the gelding, working fingers gone numb in the cold, and fished out the scroll tube. It was heavy, made of dark wood and brass, the wax seal untouched. She held it up so they could all see the sigil of Caladorn: a pair of crossed sabres over a seven-pointed star. There was a stillness, then a slow, careful release of tension among the archers as the leader nodded, almost respectful.

"Walk forward. Slowly," he said.

They escorted her up the ridge, off the trail, through a section of scree so loose that even Cassia balked. For an hour, maybe more, they wound through impossible switchbacks and across narrow spines of rock, each step a new exercise in balance and terror. Finally, the leader raised his hand and the party halted at a narrow saddle between peaks.

Seraphina caught her breath, took a long swallow from her water skin, and paused as she noticed what lay beyond the saddle.

The city was carved into the living stone of the mountain's interior, hidden from the world by both geometry and design. Terraced galleries spiralled down the inside face of a gigantic crater, studded with windows and fire-gleaming vents that gave the place an eerie, hive-like vibrance. Slender bridges of bone-white stone spanned the void between rocky spurs, connecting to massive towers whose roofs gaped open to the sky. Far below, at the crater's deepest point, a plaza of blue granite caught the light of a hundred lanterns, transforming it into a pool of shimmering stars.

She had never seen such a thing. She had never heard of such a thing. And yet, as she stood there, wind plucking at her cloak, Seraphina understood instantly, with a sick clarity, that Queen Evelina had always known.

They did not take her down the public steps. Instead, the archers led her along a narrow spiral cut into the stone, half-tunnel, half-balcony, with just enough space for one person and a horse at a time. The air grew colder with every turn, and the hum of unseen machinery — bellows, pulleys, some kind of water-driven elevator — echoed from deep within the walls. At last they emerged onto a flagstoned platform where the leader, visor now up, gestured for her to dismount.

"Wait here," he said, less threatening now. "You will be summoned."

Seraphina did not ask how long. She untethered her gloves, flexed her hands, and tried not to shiver in the thin mountain air. The view from the platform was staggering; across the chasm, the terraces of the city glimmered with what looked like glass or ice, and tiny figures moved between the arcades.

A boy in a grey tunic arrived, bearing a tray of tea and something that looked like bread but tasted of cedar and salt. He smiled at her with a gentleness that belonged to another world. When she asked him his name, he merely gestured for her to drink.

Time stretched, then snapped back when the leader returned, flanked by two more guards in matching visors. "You will come," he said.

I am a new author writing under the pen name Orlan Drake, my real name is Chris Hills Farrow.  I've worked as a freelance writer for magazines in the past but have always wanted to write fiction, and after having more free time during the lockdowns, I have made some progress. I enjoy fantasy because it opens my mind to other worlds or ways of life that do not exist in real life, or have ever existed.

 

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Enter The Broken Crown Saga Giveaway Here

Leah Miles Baby Consealed Release Tour and Giveaway

 

The family he didn't know he wanted might be the only thing worth dying for.

Baby ConSEALed

SEAL & Shelter Book 1

by Leah Miles

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Baby ConSEALed won the 2024 Georgia Romance Writers' "Maggie Award"!

 

Rissa Parker struggles to support herself and her daughter by working overnights as a home health nurse. After witnessing her employer's murder, she has no choice but to grab her two-year-old and run toward the one person strong enough to protect them, the Navy SEAL who fathered her child during a one-night stand.

Navy SEAL Bernard "Burn" Cruz is a straight arrow, approaching work and play in equal parts. He doesn't regret much in life, except for one woman he's never forgotten. Nearly three years after their initial encounter, she shows up in San Diego at the bar his team likes to frequent, and he believes Forever might have knocked on his door. Until a child cries, and all hell breaks loose.

As bullets fly and bodies drop, Rissa must outrun a killer whose connection to her past threatens to destroy any chance at a future with the father of her child, and Burn discovers the family he didn't know he wanted might be the only thing worth dying for.

Baby ConSEALed, an award-winning contemporary romantic suspense novel, is fast-paced, steamy and suspenseful. Pick up your copy today!

  

“A tightly plotted, fast-paced whirlwind of a ride fraught with secrets, danger, and an emotional love story that focuses on family—the kind you choose.” —Lena Diaz, Publishers Weekly best-selling author

 

“With a to-die-for hero, sizzling tension, and edge-of-your-seat suspense, this romance delivers all the feels in an unforgettable, heart-pounding read!” – Charlee Allden, Goodreads Review

 

“A fast-paced, slow-burn romantic suspense where danger, secrets, and second chances collide….  With bullets flying and hearts on the line, Leah Miles delivers high stakes and emotional impact in equal measure.” – Cam Torrens, Goodreads Review

 

**NEW RELEASE – GET IT NOW!!**

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 “A Cosmopolitan, please.” After this, she’d call it a night. Get a cab back to Liesel’s place. Maybe read a few chapters of a book. Wild and crazy. That’s me.

She took a sip of the drink the bartender delivered, letting the tart cranberry linger on her tongue as she watched the television mounted above the bar. A bowling tournament played, of all things, the announcer droning on about a perfect strike. A man slid between her stool and the next one, close enough that the heat of his body radiated toward her.

“Sorry to crowd you.” His voice was deep, smooth, and impossibly calm despite the chaos of the crowd around them.

She turned—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

He was tall and built like he actually used his gym membership. His dark skin contrasted against the crisp blue of his button-down, and when he tilted his head, the light caught his short black curls. But it was his eyes that stole her attention, a golden shade, piercing yet unreadable.

For a moment, she thought he might be about to hit on her, but he only raised a hand, signaling to the bartender. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. She needed to finish her drink and go back to the apartment. Rissa gulped down a large swallow and barely managed not to cough.

“Patrick. Beer for me and one of those for the lady.”

She blinked. “You’re buying me a drink?”

Amusement flickered in those striking eyes. “Only if you want it.” He wedged himself farther into the space, turning sideways to fit, with one elbow propped on the bar and his free hand tucked in his pocket.

She absently swirled a finger through the condensation on her mostly empty glass. One more drink might be too much. “I think I want a soda,” she said.

He gave a slight nod of approval and called out the order to the bartender. While he did, she took the chance to study him more closely. The sharp angles of his face, the short-cropped hair, and the faintest hint of a scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

“The golden color of your eyes reminds me of a stray cat I sometimes feed near my apartment. I mean, they’re nice,” she added quickly, when she realized that may have sounded a little weird. “Not that I’m calling you a cat.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound. “I’ve been called worse.”

She glanced down at her glass, unsure what to say next.

“You here alone?” he asked.

“No. My friend is over there.” She motioned toward Liesel, who was dancing with a guy who looked like he belonged on a recruitment poster.

His gaze followed hers, and something flickered in his expression. “The guy she’s dancing with is from my SEAL team.”

Rissa’s stomach dropped at his words. “You’re a Navy SEAL?” He was so far out of her league.

“Nine years.” His eyes locked on her, and he seemed to be waiting for her to comment.

She didn’t know much about military ranks, but the way he carried himself suggested he wasn’t just some guy on weekend leave. “I’ve seen that TV show, Navy SEAL, but I don’t know anyone in the military.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “You do now.”

 

Leah Miles writes romance and paranormal fiction from her small-town in South Georgia, where she lives with her husband and cocker spaniel while running an insurance agency and Airbnb business.

After a dozen years in news production at CNN, Leah Miles now manages an insurance agency and an Airbnb business in rural Georgia, while writing romantic suspense and paranormal romance featuring take-charge heroes and fierce heroines.

 

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Dana Wayne Firestorm Book Tour and Giveaway

 

Some fires are set...others are felt

Firestorm

by Dana Wayne

Genre: Contemporary Small Town Romance

The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning between them

Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.

Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.

When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.

When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home, he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.

But someone wants to keep their secret buried.

As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking everything.

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Jenna shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.

She landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting on her thigh.  

Suddenly, his hand moved, and the spider vanished.

“You’re okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”

Laughter filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Something wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.

“I t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the quiver in her voice.

The man’s arms tightened slightly.

“Did you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”

***

Donovan couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart raced like a runaway train. 

She’d dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How pathetic was that?

Everything from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class. Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.

When their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.

The returning look of interest stole his breath.

Every unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.  

Oscar's joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth would a woman like her associate with him?

Thoughts in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.

He’d never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons registered, his protective instincts surged.

A shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling something he didn’t catch.

“It’s gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

She made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her arm for stability.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”

Face flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to blame—not you.”

Donovan lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

She managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”

 Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled insincere words of gratitude.

“Anytime.”

At his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.

She frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”

He hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”

A harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.

“Oh my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”

“Donovan.”

“Mr. Donovan. Please—”

“No mister. Just Donovan.”

Lips slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for the dry cleaning.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes. It is.”

Cheeks the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.

“Please.”

That one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their fingers brushed.

“Donovan,” said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”

“No problem, ma’am.”

“And dinner’s on me tonight.”

“Actually, I was just leaving.”

She looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”

He shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this happened.”

“Then please accept a raincheck for next time.”

He nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.

Katie rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”

Donovan barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.

Jenna’s gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”

“I’ve never seen you react that way before.”

She glanced at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”

He immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.

“I told him they bothered me.”

And that’s the understatement of the century.

 “And you’d already told him to back off,” added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t hurt.”

This time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him. A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

Or was it unshed tears? 

Texas Winds

by Dana Wayne

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust again.

 

Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.

Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.

When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with downcast eyes steals her heart.

Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating pull.

But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.

Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to dust?

 

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Ankle and hip throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.

She took a breath and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my first vacation in years.”

She adjusted her grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.” Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.” She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one. “Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.” 

“Don’t reckon that’s gonna help much.”

An f-bomb exploded before she could stop it.

***

Startled by the man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.  Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.

The brim of a dark Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall, at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned, muscular forearms.

He hesitated, then picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed her the container before stepping back.

His husky, just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.”  She glanced past him and noted a grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.” 

He made no effort to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”

She gripped the door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”

“You have blood on your face. And mud.”

His intense gaze traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.

“Were you ejected?”

“No. I slipped when I got out.”

He tipped his head toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”

She glanced at Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before? “Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

The dog stoically endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.

“Looks like he bit it. Probably on impact.”

It took tremendous effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah. Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.” 

He looked at the luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?” 

She glanced up and discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense. His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark, fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front pockets.

Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.

“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming, have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than the destination.

“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016. I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”

Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.

 

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Costi Gurgu The Cursed Book Tour and Giveaway

 

The gods are not dead. 

They are waiting in the dark between the stars.

The Cursed

by Costi Gurgu

Genre: Space Opera Horror

The Earth is compromised and forbidden. The human Imperium stretches throughout the galaxy. It terraforms planets with indigenous life, destroying it. An organization fights against these terraforming projects, and it is pronounced a terrorist organization by the government and the Imperator.

JO WARWICK, the heiress of Warwick Galactic Enterprises, is on an archeological mission on the forbidden Earth. She contracts an unknown disease, and her expedition leaves Earth. While in space, the disease kills everyone on board but her, as she seems protected by an invisible shield.

Captain TOSHI HUNTER and his crew are activists fighting against the terraformation projects, and after a failed attack on one of these projects, they are pursued by the imperial ships. The chase goes on, but they manage to escape.

And by chance, they discover the unmoving, silent ship of Jo Warwick. They board it and see the massacre inside, but manage to save Jo.

Jo and Toshi begin their adventure in uncovering the truth and the origin of this mysterious disease that now threatens the galaxy, while being hunted by the imperial troops.

 

What readers are saying:

 “…Prose that is gritty, direct, and sometimes a touch awkward powers a voyage of grand proportions as a diverse cast, ancient aliens, sensory worldbuilding, and space battles entertain with thrilling action. In this quick read, Gurgu reveals the foolishness of humanity, moral dilemmas, the folly of war, and the hope of second chances in a hearty science fiction adventure.” _BookLife Review

 

“…Ultimately, The Cursed delivers the pleasures of expansive science fiction: big stakes, bigger ideas, and heroes whose personal journeys matter as much as the fate of the galaxy. Gurgu offers an energetic, imagination-rich ride that will appeal to readers eager for adventurous sci-fi drama—and leaves the door open for further exploration among the stars.”  —CANREADS BOOK REVIEW

 

“Overall, the author has a keen knack for mixing and melding SF and the supernatural in all kinds of intriguing ways. Clear allusions to vampirism would be too obvious; Gurgu opts instead for more obscure archetypes: When was the last time one read about a wendigo in outer space? A fast-paced and fun adventure beyond the stars.” - _Kirk’s Reviews

  

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1.      The Red Tattoo

 

      The archeology team was busy and noisy inside the Bats Cave. The huge boulders blocking the entrance of the dry, large, very deep cave had not been a real deterrent for Jo Warwick. Young, strong, and beautiful, she was not used to rejection or defeat.

The cave was a hidden gem discovered recently in the Carpathian Mountains on Earth. The entire place seemed to be a treasure trove. And “discovered recently” meant after the interdiction against stepping on Earth had been put in place. After the interdiction and especially the defense mechanism had been put into place. But that was not something to keep Jo’s family, the powerful Warwicks, away. Not even the imperator could stop a Warwick if they put their mind to doing something.

The co-op students were giggling as they worked, sometimes louder than they thought they were. With the help of electrical lamps they were collecting and cataloging ceramic pieces, stone tools, animal remains. Next to them, real archeologists were slowly carving into the floor after more remains. The cave was full to the brim with signs of a very old civilization. A civilization that Jo hoped to prove was part of the Vinca culture. The project of her life.

Professor Hannigan, a corpulent man of about sixty, was studying some cave paintings. He tried not to expose them to too much light, or heat, or sweat, or anything else for that matter. He was mumbling while studying. His custom, as Jo knew, adding to the general noise in the confined space of the cave. It was becoming quite claustrophobic.

Jo was in her mid-twenties, athletic, newly graduated from the university, and already in charge of her first dig. She knew how students could get, but that didn’t mean she agreed with the practice and the indulgences.

She approached the walls with paintings, or more accurately, pictographs. One of them in particular had drawn her attention. The drawn figures were vaguely human. Most had huge round eyes and concentric circular shapes on their bodies. That was specific to the Vinca culture, to the fashion or aesthetics of their times. That was why she could barely contain her enthusiasm, her joy—she was ninety-nine percent sure she’d just made the discovery of her life.

The pictograph that had drawn her attention was part of a group, representing small humanlike figures interacting with huge masked beings in weird, ritualistic suits. In the first panel in the group, the humans bowed to the masked figures, obviously their deities. There were no written sources for the Vinca culture, so nothing was known of their religion or mythology.

Jo got closer to the drawings.

“Silence!” she barked over the background noise in the cave. Everyone looked at her and shut up. She was known for a frightful temper and no one wanted to enter into a conflict with her.

“They’re just students on their first practicum,” said Hannigan in a low voice only the two of them could hear. He was like a grandfather to everyone on the team, always ready to indulge them and spoil them.

“Not on my money, they’re not,” said Jo. “They’re students in their first practice and one day they could brag about the experience they got here. They could brag and get the best paid gigs because of this.”

“Yes, but young people…” Hannigan hesitated, looking at Jo. Then, probably realizing he was talking to a young person, he gave up.

The best practice was to ignore the old man and leave it be. She had to put up with all his eccentricities because he was the best in the field and expert on this period of time in Earth’s history. And he was easy to satisfy in terms of credits and accolades. He valued money above all else.

So Jo returned to the pictographs. She got closer to the next one. In it, a man with a wolf head shot stars through some sort of weapon toward one of the masked figures. The masked figure’s body was covered in symbols and shone a bright red.

In the next panel, the masked figure had collapsed, probably dead. His body was still covered in unknown symbols.

Jo returned to the previous panel. The weapon looked like a bone, a real bone encrusted in stone. The stars shooting from it had started to sparkle and fluctuate. What the… Jo got even closer and tried to discern what could make it sparkle like that. There didn’t seem to be anything on the stone base but the painting. She extended her hand and held it above the sparks. No heat. She then touched the bone embedded in the stone. Dry, porous bone. She walked her fingers over the sparks and the shooting stars and then, a red spark passed from the stone to Jo’s skin.

Where it touched the skin a red impression, like a tattoo, spread on Jo’s skin. It had happened so fast that Jo couldn’t do anything else but watch the whole thing with curiosity. She lifted her camera to take a picture, but froze. The tattoo had spread up her arm and down her other arm and she realized it was all over her body, flickering on her skin. It felt like an electric shock. Jo shuddered and collapsed.

Costi’s fiction has appeared in Canada, the US, and Europe. He has sold 8 books and over 50 stories for which he has won 32 awards. He was three times a finalist for the Canadian Aurora Awards.

His latest sales include the anthologies Tesseracts 17, The Mammoth Book of Dieselpunk, Dark Horizons, Street Magick, Water, and Alice Unbound.

His bestselling novel RecipeArium has won three awards (Kult, Nemira, and Vladimir Colin) and was a 2018 finalist for the Aurora Awards.

His novels, “Servitude”, “Green Corrosion”, “Pink Corrosion”, and “Black Corrosion” were published in 2022, 2023, 2024, and 2025. And his latest novel “The Cursed” was launched on April 1st, 2026.

“Green Corrosion” has won four awards (Book Excellence, The Typesmith Writers, The International Impact Book, and the Maincrest Media Award).

“Black Corrosion” has been an Amazon Bestseller for three weeks and is a finalist for Canreads Awards 2026.

 

To find out more about Costi Gurgu visit https://costigurgu.com/

  

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