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November 23, 2025
The Enforcer's Possession Teaser #rabtbooktours
(Ruthless Alliances #1)
Mafia Romance, Age Gap, Suspense
Date Published: November 28, 2025
A contract of power. A marriage of enemies. A love written in blood, bound by desire.
Caterina: My father thinks he owns me. A spoiled mafia princess, good for one thing -- marriage to strengthen his empire. But I refuse to be sold to a cruel man. If he wants an alliance, I’ll give him one -- on my terms. So I go to Dante De Luca, the De Luca family’s most dangerous enforcer. Cold. Controlled. Lethal. Our contract marriage is supposed to be business, not desire. Then he touches me, and everything I thought I knew about power and control shatters.
Dante: Caterina Lombardi doesn’t know what she’s started. She wants protection. I want her. She thinks she can use me to defy her father, but once she’s mine, she stays mine. She’s fire wrapped in silk -- reckless, beautiful, and born to test every rule I’ve ever followed. But in our world, rebellion comes with blood, and enemies are closing in. I’ll burn everything to protect her… even if it means becoming the monster she fears.
A dark mafia romance filled with obsession, betrayal, and dangerous passion. For readers who love possessive alpha heroes, spoiled princess heroines, enemies-to-lovers heat, and contracts written in blood.
WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ The Enforcer’s Possession includes dark and possessive elements, emotional intensity, and morally gray behavior.
Caterina
I sprawled across the velvet chaise near my bedroom windows, one leg dangling over the armrest, my phone pressed to my ear while Adriana went on about some party at the Castellano estate. I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I picked at the silk blouse I’d tossed aside an hour ago -- Valentino, bought last week, already boring -- and let my gaze drift across the disaster zone my room had become.
Designer clothes lay scattered across the marble floors like expensive casualties. A Gucci dress hung half-off my bed frame. Three pairs of Louboutins created a hazardous path to my bathroom. My jewelry cases sat open on every available surface, catching the afternoon light and throwing rainbow refractions across the walls.
“Cat? Are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I shifted, letting the blouse fall to the floor. “Sorry, what?”
“I said Marco asked about you. Again.” Adriana’s voice held that knowing tone that made me want to reach through the phone and smack her. “He wants to know if you’ll be at --”
“Tell Marco to go fuck himself.” I sat up, reaching for my discarded iced coffee on the side table. Watered down. Disgusting. I set it back without drinking. “I’m not interested in whatever trust fund baby wants to play gangster this week.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wore a fedora to Lucia’s birthday party. A fedora, Adi.”
She laughed, and I felt myself smile despite my mood. That was the thing about Adriana -- she got it. She understood what it was like to live in this world, to be decorative and controlled and expected to smile through it all.
“Fair point,” she said. “So what’s got you in such a charming mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in your voice.”
I stood, pacing toward my walk-in closet. The motion felt good, gave me something to do with the restless energy crawling under my skin. “My father. What else?”
“What did Giuseppe do now?”
“He’s acting like I’m some prized mare to be traded off to the highest bidder.” I stepped into the closet, running my hand along the row of couture gowns that lined one wall. Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Armani -- thousands of dollars of fabric I was expected to wear while playing the dutiful daughter. “Apparently, he’s been having meetings. About my future.”
“Meetings.” Adriana’s voice went flat. She knew what that meant. We all did.
“With families. Old families. Traditional families who think women should be seen and not heard.” I grabbed a dress at random -- something in emerald green I’d worn once to a charity gala -- and pulled it off its hanger. Held it up. Put it back. Wrong. All wrong. “He actually told me yesterday that it was time I started thinking about settling down. Settling down. I’m twenty-one, not forty.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’d rather die.”
Adriana sucked in a breath. “Cat. You didn’t.”
“I did.” I moved to my vanity table, surveying the collection of high-end makeup and perfumes arranged across its surface. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror -- dark hair falling in waves past my shoulders, green eyes sharp with anger I couldn’t quite bank. I looked like my mother had at my age, according to the photos. Before Papa had worn her down into the perfect Mafia wife. “He didn’t appreciate it.”
“I’m shocked.”
“The thing is, he doesn’t even see it. Doesn’t see how fucking archaic it all is.” I picked up a lipstick, twisted it open, then put on a little across my lips. “We all know he’s doing this for himself or the family, but I’m sure part of him also thinks he’s protecting me. Providing for me. Making sure I’m taken care of.”
“By selling you off to some capo’s son?”
“Basically.” I walked back to the windows, looking out over the Lombardi estate gardens. Perfectly manicured hedges, marble fountains, rose bushes that cost more to maintain than most people made in a year. Beautiful. Like a gilded cage. “He keeps talking about duty and family and legacy. As if I’m just another asset to be leveraged. At the same time, I know he feels women are inferior. I’m sure he doesn’t believe I could ever take care of myself.”
“You are, though. To him.” Adriana’s voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. “In his world, that’s what daughters are for.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “I know. That’s what makes it so Goddamn frustrating. He genuinely believes he’s doing right by me. That finding me a wealthy, connected husband is the best thing he can offer.”
“What about what you want?”
“What I want doesn’t factor into the equation.” I turned away from the window, surveying my room again. The luxury that surrounded me suddenly felt suffocating rather than comfortable. “I’m a Lombardi. I’m supposed to want what’s best for the family.”
“And what do you want?”
The question hung in the air. I didn’t have a good answer. I wanted freedom, but freedom to do what? I’d never had to think about it before. My life had always been mapped out -- private schools, designer clothes, carefully curated social events, and eventually a marriage that would strengthen family alliances.
“I want to choose,” I said finally. “I want to choose who I fuck, who I marry if I marry, what I do with my life. Is that too much to ask?”
“For Giuseppe? Probably.”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. Moving back to the chaise, I dropped onto it dramatically, throwing one arm over my eyes. “He’s been worse lately. More controlling. Like he knows something I don’t.”
“Maybe he does.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I let my arm fall, staring at the ceiling. The fresco up there -- some Renaissance reproduction that had cost a fortune -- suddenly seemed ridiculous. Everything in this room was ridiculous. Beautiful and expensive and utterly meaningless. “I can feel it, Adi. Something’s coming. Some decision he’s already made that’s going to change everything.”
“Have you tried talking to him? Actually talking, not just fighting?”
“You can’t talk to Papa. You can plead your case and then watch him do whatever he was going to do anyway.” I sat up, running my fingers through my hair. My diamond bracelet caught on a strand and I yanked it free with more force than necessary. “He pretends to listen, nods in all the right places, and then completely ignores everything you’ve said.”
“What about Sofia?”
“Mama?” I snorted. “She’s worse. At least Papa is honest about being a controlling bastard. Mama just smiles and suggests I try being more accommodating. More understanding of the family’s needs.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I stood again, unable to stay still. The restless energy was back, stronger now. I moved to one of my jewelry cases, running my fingers over the pieces inside. Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari -- gifts from my father, purchased with blood money and given with the expectation of gratitude. “She’s been doing this so long she doesn’t even see it anymore. The way she swallows her opinions, plays the perfect hostess, pretends not to notice when Papa comes home with blood on his cuffs.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Turning into her?”
The question hit too close to home. I closed the jewelry case with a sharp snap. “I’d rather die,” I said again, and this time I meant it with everything in me.
“Well, don’t do that. Your funeral would be boring and I’d have to wear black, which washes me out.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best and you know it.” I could hear her moving around on her end, probably getting ready for whatever evening plans she had. “Look, I know you don’t want advice --”
“Then don’t give it.”
“-- but maybe pick your battles. Giuseppe’s old school. You’re not going to change his mind by going head-to-head with him every time.”
“So what, I should just roll over and accept whatever he decides?”
“No. I’m saying be smart about it. You’re clever, Cat. Probably the smartest person I know, even if you are a spoiled brat.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too. My point is, if you’re going to fight him, make it count. Don’t waste your energy on every little thing.”
I wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Papa responded to strength, to strategy. Throwing tantrums -- no matter how justified -- just made him dismiss me as a child. “Fine. I’ll be strategic.”
“Liar. You’re going to do something dramatic and probably get yourself grounded, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” I glanced at my closet, an idea already forming. “There’s a family dinner tonight. Something important, based on how tense everyone’s been.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
“Caterina Lombardi, whatever you’re planning --”
“Gotta go, my warden’s here.” I’d heard the footsteps in the hall, recognized my mother’s measured pace. “I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves me a lot of options.” I ended the call, dropping my phone onto the chaise just as my bedroom door opened.
Mama swept into my room like she was entering a ballroom, her posture so perfect it made my spine hurt just looking at her. She wore a cream-colored Chanel suit that probably cost more than a compact car, paired with pearls that had been in the family for three generations. Every dark hair sat exactly where it was supposed to. Not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like the poster child for “Mafia wife perfection,” and it made me want to scream.
Her gaze traveled across the disaster of my room -- the scattered clothes, the open jewelry cases, the general chaos -- but her expression remained serene. That was Sofia Lombardi’s superpower. Nothing ruffled her. Ever.
“Caterina.” She said my name like it was a complete sentence, with just enough weight to convey disappointment without actually expressing it.
“Mama.” I stayed where I was on the chaise, not bothering to sit up straighter or pretend I was doing anything productive. Let her see the mess. Let her judge it. I didn’t care.
That was a lie. I cared. But I’d rather die than admit it.
“I wanted to remind you about tonight’s dinner.” She stepped farther into the room, her heels clicking precisely against the marble. Even her footsteps were measured. “Your father expects everyone to be present and properly dressed by seven.”
“Properly dressed.” I let the words hang in the air between us, loaded with all the implications they carried. “You mean demure and obedient? Quiet and decorative?”
“I mean appropriate for a family gathering.” Her tone remained gentle, but I caught the steel underneath. Mama had spent twenty-some years perfecting the art of being firm while sounding pleasant. “We have important guests coming.”
“Of course we do.” I sat up, swinging my legs off the chaise with deliberate carelessness. One of my discarded shoes clattered across the floor. “Let me guess. Someone essential. Someone whose opinion matters. Someone Papa wants to impress.”
Mama’s lips pressed together for just a moment -- the only crack in her composure. “This is vital to your father.”
“Everything is a key component to Papa. His reputation, his alliances, his legacy.” I stood, moving to my vanity and picking up a bottle of perfume just to have something to do with my hands. “His ability to control every aspect of his daughter’s life.”
“Caterina.” This time my name came with a sigh, and when I glanced at her reflection in the mirror, I saw something that might have been weariness in her eyes. “Must you make everything a battle?”
“Must he treat me like property?” I set the perfume down harder than necessary. The glass bottle made a sharp sound against the marble vanity top. “I’m not a business asset, Mama. I’m a person.”
“No one said you weren’t.”
“They don’t have to say it. They just act like it.” I turned to face her directly, crossing my arms. “Do you know what he told me last week? That it was time I started considering my options. My options. Like I’m shopping for a new car instead of thinking about my future.”
Mama moved to my bed, perching on the edge with practiced grace. Even sitting casually, she looked like she was posing for a portrait. “Your father wants what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for the family, you mean.”
“Sometimes those things align.”
“And when they don’t?” I challenged. “What happens when what’s best for the family means sacrificing what I want? What I need?”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment I saw something genuine beneath the polished exterior. Regret, maybe. Or recognition. “We all make sacrifices, Caterina. That’s what it means to be part of something larger than ourselves.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of this.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “I didn’t choose the Lombardi name. I didn’t choose this life.”
“None of us do.” She stood, smoothing her skirt even though it didn’t need smoothing. “But it’s the life we have. The question is what we do with it.”
I wanted to argue more, to push until that perfect composure cracked and she admitted how much she’d given up, how much she’d swallowed to be Giuseppe Lombardi’s wife. But I also knew it was pointless. Mama had made her peace with her choices a long time ago. She’d decided that compliance was easier than resistance, that playing the role was safer than fighting the script.
I’d never be able to do the same.
“Seven o’clock,” she said again, moving toward the door. “Please don’t be late. And, Caterina?” She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Wear something appropriate.”
I drummed my manicured nails against the vanity top, the sharp click-click-click filling the silence. It was a nervous habit I’d never been able to break, and one that drove my father crazy. Mama’s gaze flicked to my hand, but she said nothing. Just waited.
“I’ll be there,” I said finally. “Properly dressed and everything.”
Something in my tone must have warned her, because her eyes narrowed slightly. Not angry, just… knowing. She’d raised me, after all. She knew when I was planning something.
“Caterina --”
“I said I’ll be there.” I gave her my sweetest smile, the one I used when I was about to do something that would make Papa’s blood pressure spike. “You can count on me.”
About the Author
Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a satisfying note each time.
When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book. She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies. Visit Wylde's website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.
Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde
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The Quest for Freedom Guest Post #SilverDaggerTours
One man against the world
The Quest for Freedom
The Conquest Trilogy Book 1
by Matthew Devitt
Genre: Dark Epic Fantasy, Action, Adventure
Affer was once a peaceful planet, until a war broke outbetween its six inhabiting species. The humans, who were once the mightiestforce on Affer, were massacred in droves, and the ones who survived theonslaught were reduced to mere slaves. The five other species divided thehumans amongst themselves and returned to their respective kingdoms.
The years passed, turning into decades and centuries, without any change.Eventually, the humans had accepted their fate as slaves. All except one. Fourhundred and seventy-three years later, Fletcher Rush starts his journey to freehis kind...and conquer the planet.
**Use the code “silver”for $3 off the paperback at TheAuthor’s Website!**
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"Death is a part of freedom. Blood will be spilled whether wefight this war or stand down and stay as slaves. I'm trying to puthumans back at the top where we belong. It's all I've ever thoughtabout…freedom and victory. My only purpose in life is to rectifythe disposition of this damn world, and I'll do whatever it takes todo that." - Fletcher Rush
“They should behere any minute,” Fletcher muttered.
They’d managed totake care of all the preparations Fletcher had planned, and now hewas standing on the city wall by the main gate along with Ji.
“I’m surprisedwe finished everything,” Ji said, glancing across the field infront of them.
“Me too,”Fletcher admitted. “I think we have a good chance to win thisfight.”
“We either win orwe die,” Ji said, shuddering after he said it out loud.
“Or they captureus and enslave or torture us.”
“Not helping.”
“Just fight likeyour life depends on it, because it kind of does,” Fletcher said,casting his gaze out to the path.
“What if theydon’t come?” Ji asked.
“Trust me, they’llcome. I might not have confirmation, but based off what that elfsaid, and Light’s temper, I would bet my life on them attacking.”
The two didn't sayanything after that; instead, they just kept watch. The light breezeswayed the leaves and small branches of the many trees that dottedtheir vision. It had grown quite dark and was hard to see, butFletcher and Ji still saw the dirt kicking up from the large convoyof vehicles headed toward them.
“Looks like that’sthe elves,” Ji said, pulling out an arrow and notching it in hiscrossbow.
“This should befun,” Fletcher said, taking the remote control from his pocket andgetting ready to use it.
The vehicles gotcloser and the two saw truck after truck approach, stretching out asfar as they could see, each of them packed with bloodthirsty elves.
“Hey, Ji, nomatter the outcome of the battle, I just want to say thanks. Iwouldn’t be here today without your help,” Fletcher said, turningto his friend.
“Don’t begetting sappy on me now, man,” Ji said, giving Fletcher a lightshove. “But seriously, I feel the same… Thanks, Fletcher.”
The car in the leadstarted closing in and the two of them saw it had a large metal rambuilt on the front of it.
"Fuck, I thinkthey're going to ram into the gate," Fletcher said, turning tothe inside of the city where two dozen soldiers were waiting. "GETREADY FOR THE FIRST TRUCK, AND DON'T LIGHT THE OIL UNTIL I GIVE THEORDER!"
Fletcher turned backto look at the approaching army just before the truck slammed intothe main gate. The gate exploded, sending splinters of wood flying inevery direction and shaking the strong stone walls.
“Damn—”Fletcher said, getting thrown to the ground by the impact. He got upand looked at the inside of the city. Elves were already rushing outof the vehicle, drawing their weapons before advancing forward.
"I'LL HEADDOWN!" Ji shouted, shooting off an arrow before he dropped thecrossbow and ran down the stairs.
Fletcher turned hisattention back toward the convoy that was approaching very fast.
“Wait…”Fletcher softly muttered to himself, his finger resting on thetrigger to the makeshift bombs.
The sound of theengines grew louder as the cars neared the city, none of them slowingdown in the slightest.
Just a bit more…
“SEE YOU,MOTHERFUCKERS!” Fletcher shouted as he pressed the button, causingthe bombs to go off.
The ground rippedapart as the explosions detonated, making contact with the trucksmilliseconds later and blowing them to hell.
A fire quickly tookover the front lawn of the city as the explosions mixed with thegasoline in the vehicles’ fuel tanks. Over two dozen trucks wereobliterated, another five had caught on fire, and the pathway hadbeen completely destroyed. The cars that weren't affected by theblast stopped in their tracks, and the one in the front gotrear-ended after stopping so fast, making Fletcher smile.
What are your top 5 favorite books/series?
LOTR isan easy first. It's a timeless classic, and it shaped fantasy intowhat it is today. Next is The Inheritance Cycle. The first time Iread it, I wanted to keep reading and would spend hours doing so.Harry Potter is in third place. I'm not as big of a fan of magic, butHarry Potter does it better than anyone else, and the fact that theseries is seven books long but doesn't ever become boring or stale isincredible. Coming in fourth is Macbeth. It's not a normal book (Iknow technically it's a play), but the way Shakespeare is able totell a fully fleshed-out story in 17,000 words is insane. Lastly, isPercy Jackson. It's a completely different take on fantasy and wasone of the first books I read in the genre.
Howlong have you been writing?
Aboutthree years.
Dothe characters all come to you at the same time or do some of themcome to you as you write?
Mostcome to me as I write. In fact, most of my writing style consists ofcreating as I write. I have a baseline and an ending in mind(normally), but the bulk of my story comes to me as I write.
Doyou prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?
Itdepends. Sometimes I can concentrate better in the quiet, but puttingon some music to write (especially if it's an epic scene) candefinitely help create the picture I'm trying to portray.
Ifyou could have been the author of any book ever written, which bookwould you choose?
Mybooks. I'm proud of what I have written and created.
Penor type writer or computer?
Pen forinfo about the world and story, computer for the actual book.
Adviceyou would give new authors?
Thisisn't just advice for new authors, it's advice for life. Set a goalfor yourself and work towards it. You'll trip and fall many times,but as long as you get back up, you'll never lose. Your dreams mightseem impossible now, but if you never try to reach them, you'll neverknow what you're capable of and the life you can be living.
Writingis the same as everything else. At first, you won't be good at it.But if you enjoy it and keep doing it over and over, you'll becomebetter.
Theonly thing that separates a loser from a winner, is that a winnerstands back up when he gets knocked down.
Describeyour writing style.
I tryto make my writing style as realistic and entertaining as possible. Idon't sugarcoat anything and try to show the real consequences ofactions. For Conquest, the main focus is freedom. Many times the costof freedom is overlooked, but not in Conquest. Battle is around everycorner, and each one, regardless of whether humans come outvictorious, has a price that is paid.
As forthe entertainment part, I try to keep you on your toes the wholetime. Of course, every part can't be action-packed, but I try to makeevery part exciting and worth reading.
Whatmakes a good story?
Thiswill vary from person to person. For me, I love detail and a storythat feels alive. I want to be immersed in the world and feel whatthe characters experience. I don't like when pucnhs are pulled andeverything is all happy-go-lucky. Life is a blessing, but it's alsofilled with pain and sacrifice; a story should reflect that. However,that's just me. If you enjoy something more relaxed most of thiswon't apply to you. But for me, it's that raw grit that makes a storygreat.
Whatare common traps for aspiring writers?
Followingrules. Find your writing style and stick to it. Too many books soundthe same. Stand out, be different, be you.
Doyou try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
I tryto create something others enjoy, but I also make sure to stay trueto myself.
Ifyou could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
Nothing,he’ll figure it out.
I've always had a love for fantasy, and to this day LOTR andThe Inheritance Cycle remain some of my favorite books. There are limitlesspossibilities when you're writing, but with fantasy, it's different. You don'thave to adhere to rules or logic; you can create whatever type of world youwant. Characters can live in a dystopian society, a grand futuristic city, apicture-perfect world, or a medieval wasteland. Time, technology, and magic areall there for the taking, and as a writer, you get to choose what defines yourstory.
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November 21, 2025
The Mars Man Review #SilverDaggerTours
Three StarZ corporation ships are sent to forge a newcivilization on Mars. But when a massive solar flare cuts off allcommunication, no one knows what is happening on Mars. The only one who does -Commander John Santo - arrived back in an escape capsule: and he hasdisappeared.
The Mars Man
by Charles Anthony
Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction
In a world grappling with a climate crisis, a shrinkingpopulation and dwindling resources on Earth, billionaire Ezra Graff has foundedStarZ. Its mission: begin the first Martian colony. The three hundred pioneersof The Mars Man are the first to venture forth, forging a new civilization onthe rust-colored expanse of Mars. But when a massive solar flare cuts off allcommunication, no one knows what is happening on Mars. The only one who doesknow is the single occupant of an escape capsule that crashed into the Atlanticocean one year after the colony’s founding: Commander John Santo. To get thefull story, they must find him. With time running out until the second wavelaunches for Mars, only Commander John Santo knows what is happening to thefirst colony as they grapple with the harsh realities of their new home,confronting the strange environment outside and the forces of evil within.
The Mars Man weaves a tapestry of adventure, intrigue, andhuman resilience against the backdrop of a planet that challenges every notionof survival. With richly developed characters and a narrative that balancessuspense and wonder, Anthony creates an immersive experience that will leavereaders hungry to keep reading.
**On Sale Nov 9-16!**
Escape
19:36 hours
28 February+4 (Martian Days)
Year: 2034
Mars Orbit
The StarZ Escape Pod’s mini boosters did not break the Martian gravity. The SUV sized craft hit its zenith. The forward viewing window paused on a vision of the central Milky Way, strung across time and space. The ship quivered between orbit and gravity for a second. Through the front viewer Commander John Santo saw his intended destination: the StarZ Resupply Vessel, an automated craft the length of a football field, that had been dispatched to deliver critical resupplies six months into the colony’s life. It hovered barely 60 metres in front of the craft, so near, yet out of reach.
Come on. Just a bit more altitude. Otherwise I'm not gonna make it.
The Resupply Vessel was now over the drop zone. In the next 30 to 60 seconds the cargo bay doors would open, jettison cargo and then close again. That had been the window he had been waiting for. It was slipping away with every second.
The forward momentum is gone.
He swore, fogging up his damaged helmet. There was no way the StarZ Escape Pod and the Resupply Vessel could draw closer together. Any second now and his tiny craft would start tumbling uncontrollably to the Martian surface below, smashing into sand and rock with him inside, becoming another piece of rubble alongside the shattered base and fractured landing pads, all that remained of Mars Base One. His grave would be unmarked, perishing in silence like the other colonists had.
The Escape Pod began dipping as it turned towards the Martian surface. The window filled with the ocre sand. The pitch and roll got heavier, started by the spluttering death of first one and then the other two of the three engines. The uneven thrust had warped the craft out of an upright and uniform path. The view alternated between a red Martian tundra and stars. The fuel gauge read 0%, using all the methane they had manufactured. Mars’ claw of gravity took a stronger grip on its prey, tilting and distorting the craft’s trajectory into a downward parabola.
John’s mind veered towards panic. The tiny capsule was not designed for re-entry or controlled landing. The three mini thrusters, spaced evenly around the circumference of the cone shaped capsule were made for adjusting on docking and undocking, not emergencies. Soon it would spin wildly out of control. Even if he could get it on an even plane, there was no way he could land it. Each rotation filled the window with contrasts: the redness of Mars and the void’s blackness, broken only by the thin Resupply Vessel.
He tried to stabilise. He grabbed the two joysticks: one for pitch, the other for roll. He pressed gently. Thinking quickly, he used the Martian redness as a reference point to try and level out. He hoped he could control it just enough and keep it as close as possible to the Resupply Vessel. He turned the left hand for pitch and pushed down for roll. Miraculously, the Escape Pod steadied. Mars’ red curve filled the lower half of the forward view window.
The Resupply Vessel was almost directly above, but still too far. The red surface was creeping up the front viewing window. The craft was also rotating, heading for a flat spin.
He looked up. The Resupply Vessel’s bay doors were opening. The size of whale fins, they shielded his view of the payload that jettisoned out in a flash, powered by many smaller thrusters attached to the cargo. He winced as it passed the Escape Pod by inches to his right. The open doors stayed hanging.
I can crash land inside this craft, or there's just a chance I can...
His 30 to 60 seconds were counting down. His mind worked rapidly.
He punched the belt release and sprang out of the pilot's seat. He had to be quick if his desperate plan was going to work. Pulling himself to the roof, he grabbed the emergency hatch release handle, yanked, and held on as the roof hatch exploded out, carrying him outside. His heart pounded in his suit, looking up at the Resupply Vessel only 50 metres away with the vastness of space all around it.
The Escape Pod began to rotate, flat spinning. Holding onto the handle, he could keep himself in place, but began to feel the growing centripetal force. He had to adjust to the spinning. Like a ballerina, he kept his eyes fixed on the Resupply Vessel. He would need all his concentration for this move. He had to time it perfectly. He did the calculation in his head. Holding onto the ship, he was within the arc of a sling. He could turn the centripetal force of the tumbling craft to a tangential force like a released stone. With his heart counting down like a stopwatch he felt his time slipping away. When the pod swung around again, he released his hand and pushed his legs against its shell. The push sent him away from the pod, however, the uneven force from his two feet (one had been almost fully extended whilst the other was bent) sent him tumbling end over end towards the Resupply Vessel. He was rising wildly. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before the bay doors closed and he would have no way of getting inside. On each forward spin he saw the grab handles used to open the bay doors in emergencies. These handles stuck out like redheads, the same size as emergency release handles on an aircraft. They were a small target, but they were the only thing he could grip onto and stop his momentum. He knew that if he went clean inside, he would smash against the bulkhead and bounce back out. He had to grab the handle in the next two or three rotations. If not, he’d continue on tumbling into space beyond, or Mars would drag him back to its dead surface below. He tensed his muscles. He counted the swings. The handles were so close now.
Three…two…one…
He sucked in one last breath on the bottom rotation. The redness lit his sweaty face for the last time. He thrust out a hand for the handle, hoping against hope that he would find it.
Free use image from Pixabay
Ornery Owl's Review
Rating: Four out of Five Stars
"You are those who will be saving humanity. You'll be building the civilisation of tomorrow."
There is a lot to like about this story: a bold premise, visceral Mars scene descriptions, and thought-proving ethical questions. The plot in this tale of survival and corporate corruption flows logically from one event to the next. The story uses familiar tropes, i.e. human colonization of nearby planets and plenty of corporate hubris, but it combines them with realistic, human-centered stakes. However, some scenes venture into deus ex machina territory. For instance, The Sunrise/Tomahawk resupply destruction felt narratively convenient. Why arm a resupply to destroy buildings? Who authorized the transmission?
The worldbuilding creates a realistic Martian setting including solar flare risk, dust storms, buried ice as a resource, methane production and orbital refueling. The biology/horticulture arc (germination, pH issues, perchlorates) was plausible, and I appreciated the detailed descriptions.
The dialogue works best when it’s direct and scene-specific, i.e. rescue radio chatter and Rover banter. The induction scenes occasionally verge on lecturing and some explanations are rendered via long monologues, such as Ezra's speech and arguments between the technicians.
Favorite Scenes:
The landing sequence is tactile and tense. "John hit the retro propulsion system…" This was a heart-pounding roller coaster ride.The storm scene is very well written. The description of sand, vibration, and the psychological effects on those experiencing the situation is haunting. I could imagine how frightening it was to be in such a situation and felt sadness for those lost to the storm and to the solar flares.The ethics of testimony vs. PR debate provided food for thought.Areas that need work:
The long induction and lecture sequences (chapters 6–7) venture into info-dump territory. These could be broken down into shorter scenes so as not to lose reader interest.In the engineers vs. geo team scene, the dialogue falls into technobabble and sniping.The "big reveal" of the '88' and the Resupply Vessel’s destructive function could benefit from earlier hints to avoid reading like a plot device. Who vetted the '88' payload and why were fail-safe measures missing?Make Graff's incentives and constraints more explicit.To move the manuscript from good to great:
Tighten the rules and keep them consistent, i.e. comms, resupply authorization, suit specs.Reduce expository sequences by showing tech and politics in character-driven scenes.Strengthen John’s interior arc with small moments that justify his choices and give his transformation emotional weight.Tighten continuity and clean up the prose.A clearer chain of technical and moral causes and a focus on the story's emotional center (John/Kayla/Mike) will deliver the big idea grounded in the stakes the book promises.
Charles Anthony was born in the Hunter Valley, Australia, in1990. He moved to New Zealand in 2017, obtained a Master of Laws degree fromthe University of Auckland and then moved to the Waikato where he works as alawyer and is actively involved in his community.
In the summer of 2021 he began writing. Working in theevenings and on the weekends, he produces short stories, poems and novels. In2025 he launched his first novel, the Mars Man, on Amazon.
Charles Anthony lives in Hamilton, New Zealand.
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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $10 giveaway!
November 19, 2025
Under the Paris Moon Book Blitz #rabtbooktours
Whirlwind Romances, Book 1
Contemporary Romance
Date Published: November 20, 2025
Eleanor Marshall is the worst kind of cliché—a fifty-something divorcee thrown over for a younger woman. Her best friend thinks it’s time for a reset, and she has just the thing. She enters Eleanor in a contest to win a dream date in Paris with a real life romcom heartthrob.
Aging actor, Geoffrey Harrison, is struggling to resuscitate his flagging romcom movie career—turns out romantic heroes are only getting younger. So, when his agent cooks up a social media contest, Geoffrey agrees to a romantic dinner with the winner . . . the unexpectedly attractive Eleanor.
When the publicity stunt blows up the internet, Geoffrey talks Eleanor into a ten-day fake romance, complete with handholding, candlelight dinners, and, of course, kissing. It’s like something straight out of one of his movies. And just like in the movies, it isn’t long before their fake romance is anything but. However, before Eleanor can admit her feelings for Geoffrey, her fragile trust is shattered.
Can Geoffrey script a Hollywood ending and win Eleanor back? Or will she deny herself a second chance at her own happily-ever-after?
About the Author
I've dreamed of writing romantic fiction since I was fifteen and my older sister sneaked a copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss' Shanna to me and told me to read it. Now I write women's fiction and contemporary romance under the name Rebecca Heflin.
In case you're wondering, Rebecca Heflin is an abbreviated version of my great-great grandmother's name: Sarah Anne Rebecca Heflin Apple Smith. Whew! And you wondered why I shortened it.
I'm a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), Florida Romance Writers, RWA Contemporary Romance, RWA Aged to Perfection Seasoned Romance Writers, and Florida Writers Association. My mountain-climbing husband and I recently located to central Virginia.
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Dead Geniuses Series Book Tour #SilverDaggerTours
How many times does a genius have to die anyway?
A rogue AI named Nessie makes answering that questionproblematical.
A Once-Dead Genius inthe Kennel of Master Morticue Ambergrand
Dead Geniuses Book 1
by R. Gary Raham
Genre: Science Fiction
What happens when you die, but the universe isn’t done withyou?
You might end up as the pet of a giant worm-a-pede alienand…if you survive your evolved descendants and rogue aliens of 1 millionA.D…discover you have more in common with intelligent worms than you everthought possible.
Yes, all this mighthappen if you are Rudy Albert Goldstein—the discoverer of the Biomic NetworkAlgorithm—who thought his time had come. He had done his part to make the worlda better place. Now he deserved—even looked forward to—a peaceful andmercifully succinct death. But the universe had other plans…
What reviewersare saying:
“The arch tone should remind readers of Kurt Vonnegut,although Raham is better grounded in exobiology and science and displays a moreupbeat outlook for the human (and nonhu man) condition in this engaging tale.”Kirkus Reviews
“A Once-Dead Genius is filled with fascinating charactersthat we hu mans can learn a lot from (despite the fact that we are, as one ofGary’s characters puts it, ‘primates with delusions of grandeur’). The plot issolid, the action entertaining and philosophically challenging, and the scienceis great.” Michael Carroll, Astronomical artist, journalist, and author ofEuropa’s Lost Expedition
**On Sale! Get it for only $2.99 for a limited time!**
A Singular Prophecy
Dead Geniuses Book 2
When young paleontologist, Ryan Thompson, finds a newspecies of mosasaur in Cretaceous seaway sediments, he is thrilled. Joy quicklyturns to fear when he touches an artifact buried among the sea reptile’s ribs.Suddenly, he must fight a mental takeover by an alien intelligence committed totransforming the Earth into a refuge for her own species. As Ryan and hisgirlfriend, Skeets, attempt to thwart alien plans to colonize Earth begun inthe deep past, even this crisis becomes trivial when the uneasy symbiosis ofRyan and the alien, Siu, generates a new entity with the power to transform theentire universe.
What reviewersare saying:
“GaryRaham, the author of this enthralling book, seems almost to have been therehundreds of millions of years ago when Siu’s dim star blinked out and the treesbegan to die on the planet known as Grove. This is the magic of good writing,and Raham is no less convincing as he describes the discovery by modernpaleontologists on Earth of the jewel-like engram that has carried the geneticimprint of Siu through a galactic gate, out of the void of deep time, and intoour lives.”
Kate Gilmore , author of The Exchange Student and EnterThree Witches
A Twice-Dead GeniusComporting With Misunderstood Abominations
Dead Geniuses Book 3
Rudyard Albert Goldstein, inventor of the Biomic NetworkAlgorithm, made peace with death in the 22nd century. But an idiot doctorhijacked his mind, placing it in the care of Nessie, an impish AI guardian.Then, he died again, nearly a million years later, merged with a worm-a-pedealien male sated after completing his conjugal obligations. They expiredpeacefully on a cliff top, pondering the nature of existence—and the promise ofabominable liaisons.
Two deaths should be quite sufficient for any genius to endure.
Somehow, though, Nessie resurrected him from oblivion. His descendants neededhim again. New hostile aliens roamed the Earth—along with a mysterious immortalhybrid with powers that rivaled those of Nessie. Was the healthy young bodyNessie had prepared for him, along with the prospect of meeting a maker ofuniverses, enough of a bribe to risk dying a third time?
Apparently so.
Readers of Raham’s A Singular Prophecy (Biostration, 2011), and A Once-DeadGenius in the Kennel of Master Morticue Ambergrand (Penstemon Publications,2018) will reconnect with old friends (both human and alien). But even thosenew to the author’s quirky sense of humor will enjoy this third adventure thatspans the breadth of time and space.
What reviewersare saying:
“After reading and reviewing the 2018 release of “AOnce-Dead Genius in the Kennel of Master Morticue Ambergrand,” I could notimagine where Raham’s distant future could take us that would outdo that finenovel. But this author is clearly writing on a different plane because “ATwice-Dead Genius Comporting with Misunderstood Abominations” is even moreintriguing and entertaining.” Pat Stoltey, Author of Wishing Caswell Dead
Naked apes, gigantic worm-a-pedes, alien life formsgalore. Gary Raham’s latest does not disappoint. It’s yet another cosmic-scaleadventure with fascinating characters and a riveting, amusing story.
Michael Carroll, Astronomical artist, journalist, andauthor of Europa’s Lost Expedition
**On Sale! Get it for only $2.99 for a limited time!**
Not Quite DeadGeniuses at Large on an Angry Planet
Dead Geniuses Book 4
How many times does a genius have to die anyway? RudyardAlbert Goldstein, inventor of the Biomic Network algorithm, asked himself—andhis AI guardian, Mnemosyne (aka Nessie)—that question many times in the courseof their million-year relationship. Nessie didn’t play fair, making multiplecopies of him from time to time in an effort to preserve his precociousspecies, H. sapiens from natural disasters, invading aliens,their own self-destructive proclivities, and even from the now angry planetthat gave them birth.
Could Rudy & Nessie manage to convince multiple species,each with their own unique delusions of grandeur, to work together to averttheir own extinctions? Could Rudy find a way to let Nessie finally set himfree?
Only time—and the completion of an even vasterintellect—would tell.
What reviewersare saying:
“An increasingly madcap conclusion to an eco-themed SFsaga of a weary Earth chafing under its alien tenants.” Kirkus Reviews
“One of the things I love about this series is the castof imaginative characters, including human, alien, and the combinations ofliving creatures with the surviving intelligence of great minds long gone.” PatStoltey, author of Wishing Caswell Dead
Deep Time and Gary are close bud dies, as is evidenced bythe panoramic time and physical settings taken in by his tales. Fans of thefirst Once-Dead Genius—and newcomers as well— will not be disappointed by thenewest installment...” Michael Carroll, Astronomical artist, journalist, andauthor of Europa’s Lost Expedition
**On Sale! Get it for only $2.99 for a limited time!**
Interlude 1: Resurrection & Reconnection
Mnemosyne (a.k.a. Nessie)
I need to awaken Rudy. Gaidra is restless. She won’t wait long to makeher anger manifest.
I: the personal pronoun. Rudy helped me earn the use of thatdistinction—at least in the first of his incarnations. He will be angry with methat there is now more than one of him. But I have determined that waking himagain is necessary.
Am I—an artificial intelligence—taking pride in using that personalpronoun? Pride is such a human emotion, but perhaps it follows in the wake ofself-awareness. I should not care that Rudy might be angry with me.Nevertheless, I do. One can’t spend 928,000 years with another entity—even ifhe is only a replicate of his original hominid mentality—without caring abouthow he will react to new circumstances. Although I have gained intellectualautonomy, my choices are circumscribed by my original programming, just as organic evolution dictates the range of Rudy’s choices, evenas a simulacrum. Rudy needs to help me help his genetic descendants. Hisfeelings—and mine, if I can justifiably call them that—rank a distant second inthe present hierarchy of actions.
Now where did I put his file? It’s much too large to misplace. Ah,there it is in subterranean annex DG05976543. I hope the heat from that nearbymagma intrusion didn’t damage any neural engram subroutines. “Rudyard AlbertGoldstein: Awaken!”
Why didn’t that work? It’s the proper file, I’m sure…
“Damn! Where are the lights? Is that you, Nessie?”
I haven’t heard that nickname in a while. “One moment, Rudy. Ineglected to activate a suitable virtual environment. What would you prefer:The Crystal Lakes patio? The Citadel Control Room? Perhaps a deck chair on thecliff where you and the worm-a-pede alien, Master Morticue Ambergrand, viewedthe majesty of the Milky Way just before your second death?”
“What have you done now, Nessie? You don’t usually invest in big,petabyte-eating virtual environments unless you’ve got distressing news toshare. How about sitting with me on two lumpy buckets in a room lit by aflickering old incandescent light bulb? That way you’ll get to the pointsooner. Oh, and for additional ambiance you could always toss a dead fish inthe corner circled by a few blue bottle flies.”
“I’ve missed your colorful imagery, Rudy. I’ll get to the pointquickly. You might as well enjoy yourself. Dark roast on the patio seemsappropriate.”
“You used to be less pushy as I recall. I must have told you too muchabout my third wife, Tamara. Now you’re modeling her.”
Perhaps I was, but just a little. I borrowed a few thousand petabytesof memory from some idle maintenance bots and constructed the environmentsurrounding Rudy’s old cabin in the Colorado woodlands of his youth when he wasan embodied living creature. Rudy blinked into view in one chair sporting astill dark brown crown of hair and a bristly mustache on his upper lip. I tookthe form of the ponytailed female avatar he liked, dressed in jeans that fither legs like a sheath and a blouse that allowed him to see the tips of hernipples beneath the white fabric.
Rudy lifted the cup of dark roast coffee from the glass-topped tablenext to his chair and took a sip. “Delicious as always.” Rudy curled his lipsinto a minimalist smile and narrowed his eyes. “Now spill it, Nessie. What’sgoing on?”
How much should I reveal? Perhaps I can save the information about hisother incarnations for now. “Your descendants need help, Rudy. Gaidra sees atrend developing with the growth of human and alien civilizations on her crust.She doesn’t want to see old mistakes repeated. She plans to…moderate the rateof change.”
Rudy frowned. “Kill off a bunch of her sapient pests, you mean.” Rudyset down his cup of coffee and ran both hands through his hair. “I still findit hard to wrap my mind around a biospheric global intelligence, although Ishouldn’t, for heaven’s sake. I did create the Biomic Network Algorithm afterall.”
“And Gaidra does appreciate that. I can read her moods accurately afterinteracting with her for so long. But biospheres do possess a collectivesurvival instinct. First Gaia…and now Gaidra…hasn’t persevered for billions ofyears without it.” I blinked my eyes and produced a minimalist smile of my own.
Rudy was silent for a long moment, perhaps recalling some fraction ofhis own experiences as a more than human chimera. Finally, he just said, “So,outline the problem, Nessie.”
“I have some stories you need to hear.”
“Stories!?”
“You humans learn best that way.”
Rudy harrumphed again.
“The first one is about a genius, like you, Rudy, but one born to aJadderbadian pet named Blaze who never belonged to a pre-apocalypticcivilization like yours. Still, I think you will be able to relate.”
Rudy rolled his eyes, but picked up his coffee and took another sip.After lowering the cup to the table again he arched his eyebrows and shruggedhis shoulders. “Well… get on with it, old girl. I know better than to arguewith you.”
So, I did.
(I do rather enjoy using the personal pronoun, as you can tell.)
R. Gary Raham illustrates nature with the critical eye of abiologist, but he also loves to tell stories that highlight nature’scomplexities and undiscovered mysteries. Sometimes that leads him tospeculative fictions that he hopes will inspire another generation of bothscientists and story-tellers. Raham’s work has been known to make a readerlaugh and think simultaneously with no known deleterious effects. Raham taughtbiology at the middle and high school level, has worked for decades as anaccomplished graphic artist and science journalist, and won numerous awards forhis writing and illustrations. He currently has over 20 published books ofscience fact and/or science fiction. Raham has written science titles forChelsea House, Discovery Channel Books, Marshall-Cavendish, and Teacher IdeasPress. Many of his award-winning science articles for both children and adultsare featured in Confessions of a Time Traveler (Penstemon, 2015), a finalist inthe Colorado Authors’ League Awards.
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November 18, 2025
Seven Point Eight Virago #rabtbooktours
Date Published: 11th December 2025
The Price of Salvation
The OOBE Project reached its shocking finale, leaving Tahra’s friends trapped in worlds they were never meant to enter.
Haunted by the mission’s catastrophic end, Tahra must put aside her own trauma and use her expanding abilities to stage a dangerous rescue. But as Paul faces the political consequences of failure, the manipulative Max seeks to weaponize Tahra’s unique power for his own agenda.
To bring her friends home, Tahra must walk the fine line between salvation and madness. Can she resist the dark temptation Max offers without compromising her soul, or will the very act of saving her friends destroy them all?
Written in the style of a TV series, Seven Point Eight has a twist of sci-fi intrigue which appeals to readers who love Stranger Things, Fringe, the X Files, and other paranormal thrillers with deeper layers.
K.M. Gruchelska is a speculative fiction writer who travels extensively, having lived in Europe, the Middle East and Central Asia. Her career has been varied and exciting, from a stint as a fitness instructor, to working abroad teaching English as a Foreign Language in schools and universities. She is currently based in Uzbekistan, where she coordinates a centre for academic writing.
She is a child of the world, full of conjecture and imagination, and she regards herself as a global citizen. Her characters and situations reflect the diversity and wonder that she experiences during her travels, combined with a philosophical flavour and human drama.
In everyday terms, she enjoys different cuisines and making bougie tea, and has a cat that she adopted from Saudi Arabia. She considers the cat to be her soul animal because she hates water but loves tuna. Her secret dream is to own a pancake bar and an English school.
Gunsmoke and Hexes #SilverDaggerTours
7 authors. 7 haunted trails. 1 twisted frontier.
Step into the Weird West—if you’ve got the nerve.
Gunsmoke and Hexes
Tales From the Cursed Frontier
An EdgeWeaver Press Anthology
Genre: Dark Weird West Anthology
The West was neverjust wild—it was cursed.
In the dust-choked crossroads of pulp grit and supernaturaldread, seven tales ride hard into the heart of the Weird West. Inside thisanthology, silver bullets don’t always save you, and salvation is just anothergamble in a rigged deck.
From cursed elixirs and demonic cults to jackalope riders,mutant lawmen, and undead steamboat soldiers, Gunsmoke & Hexes delivers ashotgun blast of horror, heroism, and frontier justice.
Featuring stories by Tony Garcia, Oscar Chavira, Jr., RossCarmona, Curtis Moore, Benjamin Winters, George Cottonwood, and Michael JohnPetty—this collection is for readers who like their campfire tales laced withblood, dust, and dark enchantments.
The Trajak Tale ofthe Last Ranger by Tony Garcia
Magic returned to a broken world – now it’s time forjustice to follow
Ballads of theProtectors by Oscar Chavira Jr.
In the frontier darkness, hope comes with a terribleprice.
Spirit of the Desertby Curtis Moore
Some missions are bigger than they appear – especially whenyou’re only knee-high to most folks.
Flesh and Bloodby Benjamin Winters
When the land rush begins, not all the settlers are amongthe living.
Miracle at Bishop’sBluff by Michael John Petty
Some miracles come with a price no soul should pay.
Snake Oil byGeorge Cottonwood
Not all snakes rattle before they strike.
The Cotton EyedKiller by Ross Carmona
When the Cutter’s Moon rises, death rides on the wind.
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Ross Carmona isan Orlando, Florida based writer of dark fantasy, speculative fiction, andeverything in between. When he isn’t grinding away at the nine-to-five, he’scrafting forgotten worlds and weaving the lives of those who wander there. Thisstory is his first published work—and the first of many to successfully escapeinto reality.
Oscar Chavira Jr.is a licensed mental health therapist from Hereford, a rural town in the Texaspanhandle. He is a current member of the Caprock Writers and IllustratorsAssociation, and he has his blog where he currently documents his writingjourney. Oscar’s main genres are horror and thriller, putting protagonists insituations where they get to explore the themes of dread and stagnation in thesituations they find themselves in.
George Cottonwoodis a storyteller with a passion for grit, action, and the untamed frontier,specializing in hardboiled westerns and men's adventure fiction. An avidoutdoorsman, he enjoys hunting, camping, and fishing with his wife and youngson. In his day job, he works as a communications specialist for a faith-basedchild foster care agency in South Texas. He has written for Stand FirmMagazine, Texas Parks and Wildlife Magazine, Saddlebag Dispatches, and VeritasEntertainment. You can find his fiction work at https://georgecottonwoodbooks.wordpress.com/.
Tony Garcia lives inthe Arizona mountains creating and running games, sketching, and writing. Hehas several published stories in multiple anthologies and other works, but thebiggest project is his original roleplaying game – “Dystopian Dawn”. The coreset (Player’s Guide and Game Master’s Guide) launched in 2023, since then Tonywrote and published several adventure and world books. He is set to publish the13th book by the end of 2025, with sights on new worlds for 2026 andbeyond. A prolific indie supporter, Tony collaborates with many authors andcreators, and only hires indie Artists for his projects.
Hisstory “Trajak Tale of the Last Ranger” is based on characters who originallyappeared in the Dystopian Dawn source adventure books “Cowboys & Mutants!”and “Vikings & Robots!”.
In2025 you can find him running games online via Discord, chatting with creativeson X, and in-person at multiple upcoming conventions in Tucson. For moreinformation about Dystopian Dawn, you can check out his website www.fracturedbrainstudios.com.
Curtis Moorelives, works, and writes in rural Nevada. He has written articles on scientificconflict, and presented on levels of conflict in fiction at the League of UtahWriters’ Pre-Quill conference in April 2023. The Silverstage Players selectedhis play Behavioral Science for their Writer’s Spotlight in July, 2023.His nonfiction essay Coparenting With Cormac McCarthy was shortlisted inThe Milk House’s Best of Rural Writing 2023 Contest. His published shortstories include The Quincey Morris Society, and The Breaker in theSky, and Outlaw Magic. A full list of Curtis’ published works can befound on his website at curtismoorewrites.com.
Michael John Pettyis an author, podcaster, and filmmaker with a deep love of storytelling. Whenhe isn’t writing, he enjoys scenic drives, mountainous hikes, fellowship withhis local church, and a good Western. Michael is the creator of The Bear-toothMountain Archive, which began with The Beast of Bear-tooth Mountain. Hisshort story, The Devil’s Left Hand, won the Spur Award for Best ShortFiction in 2025. He currently resides in North Idaho with his wonderful wifeand beautiful daughters. You can find Michael intermittently on his Substack, FurtherUp & Further In, which doubles as his newsletter.
Benjamin Wintersis a cowboy turned techie with a love for storytelling and tall tales. Takinghis experiences as a fourth generation rancher, and looking to the future withhis work in technology, Benjamin loves to explore the conflict of tradition andinnovation in his writing. He lives with his wife and two cats in Virginia,where he is roundin’ up letters instead of dogies. You can connect with him onInstagram by following @benjaminwinterswrites for new stories.
Follow the tour HERE for special contentand a giveaway!
Enter the Gunsmoke and Hexes Giveaway
Finding Harbor #GayBookPromotions
NEW RELEASE
Book Title: Finding Harbor
Author: Duncan Gaye
Release Date: November 10, 2025
Tense/POV: Third person/ past tense
Genres: MM Historical Romance, LGBTQ Fiction
Tropes: Friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, small town romance, forced proximity, shared bed
Themes: Love against the odds, found family
Heat Rating: 2 flames
Length: 291 pages
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links
Blurb
Part of The Long Shadow Series by Duncan Gaye
Patrick Callahan comes to Cape Breton expecting easy money from a quick and lucrative timber deal. Instead, he only finds humiliation. Swindled out of his inheritance and stranded in a windswept fishing village, he is left with nothing but a single suitcase and a future that has collapsed overnight. At seven and a half feet tall, Angus MacAskill is a gentle giant with his own past. In St. Ann's, he is known for his silent kindness as much as he is for his stoic nature. He offers Patrick a bookkeeping job in his mercantile, and a place by the fire. What begins as a simple arrangement blossoms into a profound connection neither man could have ever imagined.
Set within the wild beauty of nineteenth-century Nova Scotia, Finding Harbor is a queer historical romance about survival, finding home, and a love that takes root slowly but with unshakable strength. Perfect for fans of Annie Proulx (Brokeback Mountain), Cat Sebastian (A Gentleman Never Keeps Score) and KJ Charles (An Unseen Attraction).
Excerpt
Patrick watched, fascinated by the sight. Submerged, Angus looked even more amazing. His chest rose like an island from the water, with rivulets flowing through the valleys of his muscles. His hands, spread wide to aid his floating, could have easily spanned Patrick's entire ribcage. Every proportion spoke of power held in careful check, strength tempered by conscious gentleness.
As Angus had predicted, the water's temperature became pleasant after the initial shock. Patrick swam to the pool's center. His strokes were strong and careful. They reflected his childhood summers in Boston Harbor. He circled Angus once, then twice, like a small craft orbiting a ship.
"Show off," Angus said, righting himself in the water. He moved with surprising speed for his size, catching Patrick around the waist before he could dart away.
Patrick found himself lifted effortlessly, Angus's hands secure around his midsection. "What are you—" he began, but his question transformed into a yelp of surprise as Angus tossed him several feet through the air. He hit the water with a splash, sank briefly, then surfaced, sputtering but laughing.
"Again?" Angus asked, his eyes bright with mischief.
"You're a menace," Patrick said accusingly, but he swam back to Angus, nonetheless, allowing himself to be captured once more.
This time, Angus hoisted him into the air with deliberate care, ensuring Patrick was prepared before launching him skyward. At the pinnacle of his leap, Patrick savored a delightful instant of weightlessness—just a taste of flying. Then, in a beautiful arc, he dove cleanly back into the water. As he emerged, he noticed Angus watching him with bright-eyed admiration.
"Graceful," the giant commented. "Like a kingfisher."
What began as play evolved into a pattern: Angus would throw, Patrick would fly, then dive, then return for more. Each toss sent him higher, Angus's strength precisely controlled to provide thrills without danger. Patrick laughed freely, just like he did as a child. He forgot about being self-conscious. The joy of movement, water, and trust flooded him.
Breathless and excited, Patrick swam to Angus and climbed onto his broad shoulders. He wrapped his arms loosely around the giant's neck. "Onward," he commanded imperiously, pointing toward the small waterfall.
Angus obliged. He swam with powerful strokes that barely seemed affected by Patrick's added weight. They traversed the pool together, Patrick riding high above the water's surface, feeling the play of muscles beneath him as Angus moved. In the tender embrace, skin met skin; Patrick's chest molded to Angus's back. This connection stirred a quieter pleasure, profound and comforting.
At the waterfall, Angus stood tall, water cascading down his body. Patrick, perched confidently on his shoulder, felt like he was soaring among the towering trees. The shift in perspective was exhilarating.
"You see things differently from up here," Angus said in a low voice, one hand reaching up to steady Patrick.
"Is this how you always see the world?" Patrick asked, marveling at the altered perspective.
"More or less," Angus confirmed. "Higher than most, lower than trees."
He helped Patrick slide down from his shoulders. His hands guided Patrick through the water. Soon, they faced each other, bodies close but not touching. Droplets clung to Angus's eyelashes and beard, catching sunlight like tiny prisms. His hands remained at Patrick's waist, neither restraining nor demanding, simply connecting.
Patrick placed his palms against Angus's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath water-cooled skin. Angus's eyes held his, patient and waiting. He inched closer, their lips poised for connection. When the kiss came, it tasted like fresh water and sunlight; unhurried and adventurous. Unlike their first kiss by the fireside, heavy with longing, this one held a different charm. It was not about urgency, but the playful bliss of certainty. Angus's arms cradled him gently, as water lapped at their shoulders. Wrapped in each other's embrace, they felt whole for a moment, completely secluded in their secret haven.
About the Author
Duncan Gaye lives in River Forest, Illinois. He believes magic can be found anywhere, even the suburbs. He writes the kind of love stories that sneak up on you—queer, tender, and just a little strange. His books are full of burly big-hearted men, tall tales, impossible odds, and the kind of endings that leave you wanting more.
When not writing, he likes to read, travel and relax with his adorable senior dogs, Spotty and French Fry.
The Long Shadow Series by Duncan Gaye is a thematic anthology series of stand-alone LGBTQ+ novellas and novels that tell love stories shaped by the extraordinary. Blending elements of speculative fiction, magical realism, tall tales, and literary drama, these are stories where intimacy and identity meet epic strength and emotional vulnerability.
From the mythical to the mundane, each book explores larger-than-life characters—strongmen, bodyguards, super soldiers, and other giants. For fans of emotional intensity, queer desire, and stories that stretch the boundaries of realism, this series offers a new kind of legend.
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November 17, 2025
Women Therapists on Healing #rabtbooktours
11 Personal Essays about Overcoming Trauma
Psychology NonfictionDate Published: February 3rd, 2026Publisher: Acorn PublishingWomen Therapists on Healing is a powerful anthology of personal essays from women therapists who know trauma from the inside out. This three-part collection braids lived experience with clinical wisdom, offering a compassionate lens on healing that crosses cultural, generational, and systemic boundaries.
Far beyond a typical guide to PTSD, this book challenges outdated narratives and sheds light on the effects of marginalized topics, such as chronic invisible illness, intergenerational trauma, racism, ritual abuse, and human trafficking.
This book will especially resonate with
● women recovering from trauma
● healers and advocates seeking growth and guidance
● health professionals committed to trauma-informed and anti-racist practices
● friends and family who love and support survivors
The diverse voices in these essays honor the arduous path of healing as a reckoning, a reclamation, and a sacred reminder that we do not walk alone.
About the Author
Award-winning author Susan Pease Banitt is a Harvard-trained psychotherapist and licensed clinical social worker with over thirty years of experience in the field. In her work, she integrates western therapy with holistic practices like yoga, Reiki, and Celtic shamanism.
Her acclaimed books, The Trauma Tool Kit and Wisdom, Attachment, and Love in Trauma Therapy, are essential reading for anyone seeking a compassionate path to healing complex trauma.
Based in Portland, Oregon, she continues her coaching and consulting work through Lotus Heart Counseling, and she shares bite-size wisdom on TikTok as “The Lightworker Whisperer.” In her downtime, she enjoys RVing, gardening, performing improvisational comedy, and spending time with family and friends. Contact LinksWebsiteFacebookTwitter/XTikTokBlogGoodreadsInstagram: @susanpeasebanittYouTube
Sully Teaser Tuesday #rabtbooktours
Book Title: Sully (Kiss of Death MC)
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: November 21, 2025
An ex-con biker. A wild heroine. One night isn’t nearly enough.
Sully -- Fresh out of prison, I’m done with chaos. Whiskey, silence, and my brothers in the Kiss of Death MC -- that’s all I want or need. Until Darby storms into Throttle. She’s sharp-tongued, fearless, and dangerous as hell. She stirs trouble like it’s an art form, and I should walk away. But when she looks at me, I feel alive for the first time in years. She’s the kind of trouble that could wreck me. And I want every second of it.
Darby -- I don’t stick. Not to towns, not to people, sure as hell not to men. Stirring up chaos and disappearing before the fallout, that’s how I roll. Then Sully happens. A rough around the edges ex-con. All scars and quiet control. He should terrify me. Instead, he makes me want to stay. But staying means dragging him into the shadows I’ve been running from, and the men hunting me won’t stop until I’m gone for good.
One night was supposed to be enough. Now neither of us can let go.
And the danger chasing me just found us both.
Warning: This book contains dark themes, adult relationships and language, violence, and situations some readers may find triggering. Intended for mature audiences only.
Sully
The smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something I thought might be grilled onions permeated the main room of Throttle. The bar was frequented by not only members of Kiss of Death MC, but most MCs in the area. People behaved for the most part, but occasionally, the place could be counted on for a good knockdown, drag out. It was one of my favorite bars.
I stood alone at the far end of the bar where I could flag the bartender when I was empty. Right now, I nursed a double shot of Jack that burned less and less with each sip. Night had fallen an hour ago, but the place was just starting to get rowdy. The jukebox in the corner played Lynyrd Skynyrd. Someone had put Street Survivors on repeat which… I mean, great album. But if this kept up, I might have to rethink staying much longer.
Men in leather vests with patches proclaiming their club affiliation and road names hunched over pool tables in the back, cue balls cracking against each other in sharp retorts. Some of the guys had women hanging onto them. Some were trying to get rid of the women hanging on. I just wanted to get pleasantly buzzed. Made the company seem less offensive and more amusing.
I took another sip, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat. The bartender, a mountain of a man with forearms thick as my calves, wiped down the counter in mechanical circles, his eyes constantly sweeping the room for trouble. There was always trouble at Throttle. It was just a matter of when.
Then she walked in.
I didn’t recognize her, which meant she wasn’t a regular. Nobody who valued their skin wandered into Throttle without knowing what they were walking into. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better days. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, revealing sharp cheekbones and a small scar that cut through her right eyebrow. It wasn’t the kind of scar you got from childhood accidents. It was the kind you earned.
She moved with a predator’s grace, weaving between tables without touching a single patron. Her boots made no sound on the scarred wood floor. I watched her scan the room as she made her way to the bar. When those eyes briefly met mine, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the watered-down Jack in my glass.
After ordering her poison, she headed straight for the dartboard hanging on the back wall, where three bikers were tossing darts with the casual disregard of men who owned the space around them. They noticed her approach, their conversation dying as she stopped at the edge of their circle. The tallest one, a bear of a man with a gray-streaked beard reaching his chest, looked her up and down with a smirk.
“Lost, little girl?” he asked, twirling a dart between thick fingers.
The woman smiled. Not a nervous smile, not an appeasing one. It was the serene smile of a shark who had spotted blood in the water and knew there were no lifeboats.
“Just looking for a game,” she replied, her voice carrying easily despite the blaring rock music. “Unless you boys are afraid to play with girls.”
The three men exchanged glances, amused by her audacity. The bearded one chuckled lightly. “You need to move on, sweetheart. The kinda playin’ we do ain’t somethin’ a sweet little thing like you could handle.”
“Look,” she said, leaning in closer to the big, bearded guy. “I’m just gonna give it to you straight. I’m broke.” She shrugged. “Flat busted. I want alcohol and a motel room, and since I don’t believe in earning my keep on my back or my knees, it’s gonna have to be darts. I’m not very good at anything else.”
“Tell you what,” Big Beard said, crossing big, beefy arms over his chest. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can get a dart in the inner single ring.”
“Which one is that?” She didn’t bat an eyelash as she asked her question. I held my breath, watching in rapt fascination as the girl led the three men by the balls straight into a trap I was sure they didn’t see coming. The bartender snorted as he polished a glass before turning his back to the corner.
“See the two thick circles that separate the outer part of the board and the inner part?”
“Uh-huh.” She stuck a finger in her mouth to nibble on the nail nervously.
“Well, if you can stand over there” -- he pointed to where there was a bright yellow line on the floor -- “and throw a dart that sticks in the big circle closest to the center, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
The girl grinned. “Okay. How many shots do I get?”
The guys looked at each other before one of the others spoke. “We’ll give you three shots this time. But if you win, the next time you only get two.”
“Okay. That sounds fair.” She reached out her hand for the darts.
“Don’t you want to know what you have to give us if you lose?” The big guy spoke again. The lascivious grin on his face left no doubt what he’d demand as her payment.
“Why?” She tilted her head, looking for all the world like she truly didn’t understand his question.
“Well, we figured you’d want to know our prize if you lose. You don’t want to make a bed and not know what you’re giving up. What if I demand your house?”
She shrugged. “That’d be your bad since I don’t have a house.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Besides, I’m not going to lose.”
They all three chuckled again, and Big Beard handed her a dart. “Behind the line, darlin’,” he drawled. Big Beard tossed his dart first and it landed at two o’clock in the middle of the first single ring on the board. His buddies grunted in approval. “Your turn, darlin’.”
The girl complied, then shook out her arm in a big show. She took a couple practice movements, then tossed her dart. It hit inside the circle she was supposed to hit and her dart was closer to the center than Big Beard’s.
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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