Book Blitz of A Terror Triptych -Ireland by Kasey Fallon (Contests-A physical copy of both Terror Triptychs, creepy swag, dark art, and a new skull of their very own! 💀)

A Terror Triptych: Ireland
Kasey Fallon
Publication date: October 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Horror

Readers can expect three chilling tales, each steeped in Irish folklore, history, and psychological horror. A Terror Triptych: Ireland is the second set of short horror by Kasey Fallon, with stories that delve into the darker side of the Emerald Isle. Each story is accompanied by original poetry and hand-drawn illustrations, enhancing the atmospheric tension of the collection.

Dark Legends Reimagined

Legacy, the first story, traces the cursed history of the Clairy family. The Clairys have fed centuries of blood into the Fair Farm of Clairy, and as an ancient Gaelic god demands more, their desperate choices lead to devastating consequences. As Fallon writes, “This is the bed the Clairys have wrought. Generations of blood.”

The collection continues with Dungeons Under Dublin, where guards at an ancient prison discover why they should have left the old wing untouched. Fallon’s use of Irish settings is not merely for atmosphere, but to invoke the weight of the country’s past, its myths, and its lingering shadows. Readers can expect historical accuracy intertwined with unnerving fiction, making the horrors all the more visceral.

Finally, in The Dead House, the picturesque Aran Islands become the stage for Clara’s unnerving attraction to the only house on the island left to rot in haunting silence. As one reviewer noted, “These stories are flat out, bone-chilling, creepy… The psychological touch was there, that’s what makes you shiver.”

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

Legacy

“Da, I think he’s just… hungry, maybe?” Finn said, hesitant. He spoke quietly as the wind and rain died down.

Tiernan sniffled and looked at Finn with red eyes.

“He said what now?”

“He was just talking about gifts, and how he didn’t want any moldy bread anymore,” Finn said. “And Lughnasadh, he said the deal was for offers on Lughnasadh.”

“Offerings,” Tiernan corrected absently. His eyes narrowed on Finn.

“Did he say what the offerings are, Finn?”

Finn thought hard. Had The Comm specifically said what the presents were? There was the talk of old people… a whisper drifted over his shoulder.

“Nothing that isn’t already mine, young Clairy. All of Ireland is mine.”

Finn looked up at his Da.

“He said nothing that isn’t already his.”

Author Bio:

Kasey grew up on the East Coast, from Maine to North Carolina. She loves two things above all in nature: the water, and the forest. While she might not love her nightmares, they do inspire many of her works. A recipient of the Editor's Choice Award from the International Library of Poetry, she writes across several genres. She and her dog can be found investigating new hiking trails, or curled up on the couch as he pushes her computer off her lap to make room for himself.

Facebook / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

Book Blitz of My Big Fat Beach Wedding by Melanie Summers (#contests- Enter to win An $50Amazon Gift copy and a Signed Copy of the Book)

My Big Fat Beach Wedding
Melanie Summers
Publication date: April 24th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

The plan was simple: fake the wedding, save her career. Then she met the best man.

Vivian Whitlock’s social media empire is about to crumble. She’s closing in on thirty, and her fans are moving on to their ‘weddings and babies ’era. About to be dropped by her management team, she pretends she and her secret boyfriend are ready to take the plunge.

There’s just one problem: he doesn’t exist.

Enter Dominic James, a charismatic actor working at the idyllic Paradise Bay Resort. He’s got Broadway dreams and the perfect cover story. The two strike a deal—he’ll play her doting fiancé, and she’ll launch him into New York stardom.

But Vivian’s picture-perfect plan takes an unexpected turn when she moves into the beachside bungalow Dominic shares with his brother, Ben—an intense, fiercely-devoted single dad with no time for romance.

Surrounded by swaying palms, ocean breezes, and a precocious five-year-old who steals her heart, Vivian starts to wonder if she’s been chasing the wrong dream all along.

Is she about to lose everything she built—or finally find something that lasts?

My Big Fat Beach Wedding is a STAND-ALONE laugh-out-loud, banter-filled tale of two people who can’t fall in love but do anyway. It’s the perfect heartwarming, feel-good escape from the real world.

WHAT TO EXPECT:

Single Dad who would do anything for his young son

Opposites attract
Living in the Same House

World’s most adorable 5-year-old (with cute red glasses)

Loads of witty banter
A slow burn, plenty of steam, and a hint of spice

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Okay, so slight problem. Dominic left for work early for a pre-show meeting, and Josephine has gone to the other side of the island for a two-day solo hiking trip up a mountain (of course she did). I agreed to go for a sunset dip in the ocean with Henry and Ben this evening, which means we’re all frolicking around playfully in the water in our swimsuits, and Mr. Not-Dad-Bod is in a pair of black trunks that are leaving very little to my imagination. And I know I shouldn’t be looking. Like, I actually do know it, okay. No one has to tell me that it’s completely inappropriate to be ogling my future BIL. But at the same time, my eyes are drinking in the sight of him right now as he gets Henry set up on a surfboard laying on his stomach and sends him back toward the shore. Ben’s arms and chest flex as he pushes the board, and I can’t seem to look away. Also, he’s laughing and smiling, and dear God, but he’s got the best smile I think I’ve ever seen. Better than Giancarlo by about ten million percent. I’m in the water up to my ankles so I can catch Henry if needed, but honestly, he doesn’t need my help. The kid is a total pro, and I’m pretty sure he’s been riding a surfboard since he could walk.

Other than us and the odd seagull, the beach is empty. The waves roll gently in toward the shore in white foamy swirls that disappear into the sand. Behind Ben, the sun is about to dip down to reach the horizon, and the only sound competing with the lapping water is that of Henry’s irresistible little giggle. He reaches the shore and I put my foot out to hold the board steady while he gets off, his life jacket clearly making the task a little more difficult. He adjusts his prescription goggles, then grins up at me. “Come on, Auntie Viv, you’ve got to try it!”

“Oh, no, you keep going. You’re having so much fun,” I tell him, picking up the board and holding it under my arm like the real surfers do.

“I get to do this every day. I want you to try it,” he says, taking my hand while we wade back out to Ben against the gentle surf.

Ben grins at me and lifts Henry up onto his hip. “Yeah, why don’t you give it a try? I bet you’ll love it.”

“Do it! Do it!” Henry chants.

Blushing a little, I say, “All right, but I’m not exactly sporty, so try not to laugh.”

Ben takes the surfboard from me with his free hand, his fingers touching mine as he does, sending a thrill right through me to my toes. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve laid on your stomach before, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can do this.” He holds the board in place for me while I climb on, trying my very best not to think about the fact that he’s so close to my bikini-clad bottom right now. God, I hope she looks good like this. Be perky, bottom.

No, don’t worry about that, silly beans! He’s not looking. He’s a gentleman.

I grip the board with both hands and hold on.

“You ready?” he asks in his deep voice.

“Yup,” I squeak out, even though there’s nothing scary about what I’m about to do.

“Away you go!” he says, pushing the board toward shore.

I squeal and hold on, feeling like a kid again as I zip toward the beach. When I get there, I quickly stand, then turn to Henry and Ben, who are cheering mightily as if I’ve just done something spectacular. I give them a deep bow.

“Again! Again!” Henry says as I walk back to them.

(Okay, so I’m not walking like I normally do. I may or may not be striding toward them with a little extra hitch in my hips and my shoulders back a wee bit more than normal. Bad Vivian. Bad. And yet, still doing it.)

“You know who hasn’t had a turn?” I ask Henry.

“My dad?”

“Yup! Your poor dad, right? I bet he wants a turn.” I give Ben a smile and I have to say, I don’t hate the look on his face right now. All that hip swaying might not have gone unnoticed.

Author Bio:

Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.

Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.

In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally - then she'll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for 'K' Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn't require makeup and/or nylons).

Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she's not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken 'from above'. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something--more like just staying until they turn the lights off.

She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

Book Blitz of A Dead Man Speaks by Lisa Jones Gentry (#contests- Enter to win An Ecopy of the book)

A Dead Man Speaks
Lisa Jones Gentry
(The Clive January Mystery Series, #1)
Publication date: November 29th 2024
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Paranormal, Thriller

Introducing the first in a new paranormal crime mystery series set in 1980s, New York City on Wall Street

Clive January is a driven, self-made Black man, a ruthless, wildly successful investment banker who had it all – until he is shot and killed from behind by an unknown assailant. As Clive lies in a pool of blood, his life slowly ebbing away, he hears voices, unearthly beings tormenting him, telling him that he will burn in hell, unless he finds out who killed him. Now before it’s too late, his ghost must solve the crime of his own murder and his only choice is to work with the white racist cop assigned to his case, Detective Bob Greene.

Their relationship begins in hate and distrust, but soon they each realize that they have more in common than they could ever believe. And in the wrenching ending, they discover the truth that frees them both.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

Lisa will be at the LA Times Festival of Books on Saturday April 26th at 12 noon!

—

EXCERPT:

I slipped into my car, the creamy leather seats enfolding me as I whizzed down the expressway…the smell of the ocean filled the car…an aphrodisiac, teasing my senses. I thought about her waiting for me…opening the door…And then I saw her face, the light green eyes clouded against her golden, taffy-colored skin, the thick mop of dark, curly hair framing her face. How often had I held her, how often had I seen her lips part in that same half-teasing, half-defiant smile…

“Hi…”

I grabbed her, wanting to make love to her before I told her. But she smiled playfully, pushing me away. “Look what I got.”

She pulled out a gram of icy, white coke, licking the edge of the paper hungrily. “To celebrate.” Would she still want to celebrate when I told her that I’m leaving, but not with her? All the years between us, but I still can’t do it; I still can’t surrender my soul to her. Would she understand this time, too?

“Here, Clive. It’s good…” A sucking noise. The dull light glinted against the pipe, trembling ever so slightly. She must really be fucked up.

“Almost as good as the first time…remember…”

That’s what she always said. Ssssssssssssss, a nice long one. My eyes shut tightly, letting the feeling curl over me like a woman’s touch, soft, seductive, and always so deadly.

“I’m gonna get some champagne.” She leaned down over me, kissing me slowly. I could taste the coke on her lips. Her hand rubbed my cheek. Tiny, soft hands.

My eyes followed her small body weaving out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. I closed my eyes again, going over every detail of my plan in my mind for the hundredth or maybe thousandth time; I’d lost track now. Every step sharpened by time and urgency. One more week, and I’d have the final payment and my freedom from a life that was no longer mine.

I was finally starting to relax; the blow was starting to kick in. It always took longer when I was tensed up, but now the tingly feeling was rushing through me. A sharp, searing pain was suddenly tearing through my back, ripping the breath out of me. I doubled over. It felt as if someone had taken a thousand knives and exploded them in me. And it was all a blur, except for blood everywhere: on my chest, covering my hands, the white carpet, and the room’s empty.

And I realize, I’d been fuckin ’shot…somebody’s…but now the room was spinning. I knew this was it. The dark curtains were enveloping me and then the light…like the light at home, soft…beckoning…taking me to the place I thought I’d forgotten. And then I smiled, I understood now, all the years, all the money…the lies, but you could never escape, it would always pull you back…

Author Bio:

People would consider Lisa Jones Gentry, the author of “Forbidden Love” a true renaissance woman, because the former entertainment attorney, became an artist, author, creative executive, and writer-producer for film, television and digital content…

Lisa discovered her passion for the creative side of the business while serving as broadcast counsel at CBS in New York City, where she was the lead attorney on deals ranging from multi-millions to billions, such as the Olympics and Major League Baseball deal. But her Hollywood calling changed from “behind-the-deal” to “behind-the-laptop”, and ultimately moved to LA to break into the business as a writer-producer. As luck would have it, the first film script that she and her writing partner wrote was optioned by Paramount.

For the next four years they had several screenplays and teleplays optioned and set up at networks and studios, including development deals. She then took that creative experience and brought it to her position as EVP of Development for the stalwart Western International Syndication, formerly a division of renowned Western International Media, once the largest media buying entity in the world. Charged with expanding the company’s traditional roster of syndicated programming into network and cable, she executive produced over 100 hours of television in various formats and genres, airing on broadcast and cable. She also structured a joint venture between French broadcasting giant TF-1, Stephen J. Cannell Productions and Western for the international distribution of a one hour dramatic series.

Though “behind-the-deal: again, she didn’t stop her work behind-the-laptop and during that time wrote her first novel, “A Dead Man Speaks.” It garnered her an NAACP Image Award nomination for Best Debut Author, followed by a Literary Critics Award nomination for best general fiction. And her creative roll continued with a First Look Deal for Lisa and her writing partner at Sony Pictures under their Screen Gems banner.

With the cataclysmic changes in the “business,” like many other writers and producers, it wasn’t long before Lisa expanded her focus to digital media and due to her writing and executive experience was recruited to be the CEO of Comedy Express, a start-up broadband network targeting the young adult male demo. Ultimately, Comedy Express was acquired by the famed National Lampoon.

Following the acquisition of Comedy Express, Lisa not only managed to write another book – this time as a co-author of the nonfiction, “So You Want to be A Lawyer,” now in its second printing –she continued her expansion into digital media and technology and worked as Co-CEO of another early stage start-up company that launched two 24/7 television networks on cable, IPTV and satellite networks outside the US in Europe and Asia. Today, Lisa is a frequent speaker on technology and digital media, at the Tribeca Film Festival, the FCC start up conference and many other venues.

As if all that she’s done isn’t enough, Lisa is also an accomplished artist, and has been exhibiting and selling her work for several years. She has had worked featured in television series and TV Movies and buyers of her work have included on air talent, Arthel Neville and television Executive Producer, Samm Art Williams.

And while she loves exploring her artistic side, Lisa has no intention of slowing down her writing, as she continues to flex her creative muscle with several TV and film projects that she’s developing as well as her current book, “Forbidden Love,” the true love story of a white nun and a black priest in the segregated fifties as told by their son Joe Steele.

Website

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

Cover Reveal of Heart Of Montanta by Isabella White

Heart of Montana
Isabella White
(Shadow River Ranch, #1)
Publication date: May 26th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Emily Mulberry’s life is in shambles.
Her father’s suicide shatters the last threads of her old world—but in the wreckage, she discovers a new path. One filled with horses, healing, and hard-bodied ranchers who make her heart race. Emily has always believed her ability to hear horses was a sign of madness, but what if it’s a gift? A gift that might just help her reclaim the horse she lost—and heal herself in the process.

Gadrienne Jemmerson has already lost it all.
Six years ago, a tragic accident stole his wife and left his heart closed off for good. Women? Too complicated. Love? Too painful. He’s kept his promise to never go there again. Until Emily walks into his life—a beautiful, broken woman with a strange connection to the most dangerous stallion in his barn.

Neither of them planned on falling.
But maybe love shows up when you stop looking.
Maybe healing comes when two broken souls finally find each other.

Will Emily and Gadrienne take a chance on love, or will the weight of their pasts keep them apart?

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Author Bio:

USAToday Best Selling author, Isabella White, lives with her family in South Africa where she writes full time. Her debut novel is Imperfect Love, a contemporary romance in the 4Ever series, with the third, called Endless Love due in 2018.

More contemporary romance novels will follow in the near feature. The what if novels that will go together with the 4Ever series, and a brand new title called From a Jack to a King will be available in 2018.

She reached USAToday Best Selling list on September 12 with her title From a Jack 2 A King Exclusive in the Royal and Reckless Romance Boxed set

Facebook / Instagram

—

Guest Post by David Tindell Author of the Silver Falcon

 

The Silver Falcon is down in the wilds of the Yukon, and the country that lost it will do anything to keep it out of the hands of anyone else.

 

 

Title: The Silver Falcon (Book 4 of the White Vixen Series)

Author: David Tindell

Pages: 292

Genre: Thriller

October 1990. A mysterious object is seen floating eastward over Alaska, resembling a silver falcon of Tlingit legend. Air Force radar can't see it. Fighter jets scramble to intercept the object, but all the pilots can do is watch it cruise across the border into Canada, where it comes down in a remote part of the Yukon Territory.
USAF special operator Jo Ann Geary, the White Vixen, is dispatched to Dawson City to assist Canadian Rangers in the search for the object in the Cloudy Range of Tombstone Territorial Park. They've barely started their hike when all radio comms with Ottawa and Washington go dead, but not before Jo is told about an unidentified aircraft dropping paratroopers north of the target's last known location. Who are they, and why do they want the Falcon?
As the weather deteriorates, Jo and the Canadian intelligence agent in command of the mission worry that the Rangers will be outnumbered and outgunned if they encounter the airborne troops, who are almost certainly Russians. At the White House, the president is told that the Falcon's technology, whether man-made or extra-terrestrial, could be so important that the invaders might possibly call in a nuclear strike from an offshore submarine if they're unable to keep the Falcon away from the allied force.
Thrust into the midst of indigenous Rangers who don't really trust her, unable to get help from Washington or Ottawa, and facing an enemy force that could be desperate enough to risk war, the Vixen must call on all her skills to survive and prevent the Falcon, whatever it is, from touching off a nuclear cataclysm.

The Silver Falcon is available at Amazon at https://bit.ly/TheSilverFalconEbook.

Guest Post:

10 Things You Might Not Know About David Tindell

 

1. I was born in Germany, while my father was serving there in the US Army. My parents married in Platteville, Wis., just a few months after my mother graduated from high school. A week later, Dad shipped out. Mom worked as a telephone operator for six months to earn passage to Europe. Then, still not yet 19 years old, she took a train—alone—to New York, then a ship across the North Atlantic. When she came ashore in Bremerhaven, she knew exactly one person on the entire continent: her husband. You want to talk about courage? There you are.
2. I’m a small-town Wisconsin guy. My father finished college after his time in uniform and became a teacher, then an administrator. We lived in towns as small as 100 people up to the suburbs of Milwaukee. Finally, we settled in Potosi, a little town on the Mississippi in southwest Wisconsin. Both sets of grandparents, along with lots of aunts, uncles and cousins, lived in the county. It was a great time and place in which to grow up, although of course I didn’t really appreciate it at the time. But I sure do now.
3. My original choice of profession was radio broadcasting. I wanted to be a sports announcer for a major-college or pro team, like my idol Eddie Doucette, the original radio “voice” of the NBA’s Milwaukee Bucks. I got a degree in the field from the University of Wisconsin-Platteville and embarked on a 20-year radio career that eventually led me to Rice Lake, up in northwest Wisconsin. I never did become the next voice of the Bucks or Badgers, but in Rice Lake I met the love of my life, and I wouldn’t trade that for a dozen Rose Bowls.
4. I first started writing in middle school, or what we called “junior high” at the time. I was inspired by a great English teacher, Mrs. Millman, who introduced me to classic literature. Later on, in high school, I was taught how to write by another English teacher, Mrs. Leonard. Our geography teacher, Mr. Peake, opened my eyes to the world beyond southwest Wisconsin. In those days, the only people who went overseas were rich people, unless you were in the service. Little did I know that I would wind up traveling all over the world, but it all started in a little Wisconsin town on the Mississippi.
5. Believe it or not, radio actually prepares you for a writing career. You have to be on time. You have to be organized. You have to push through the day even when you don’t feel up to it. These things can be applied to any profession, but especially writing, because you have the ability to make your own schedule, for the most part. One of the first things they taught us at UWP was that every time you open the microphone, you had better be “on.” Your listeners are depending on you that morning. They want to hear the latest news, who won last night’s game, what the weather will be like today. They want to hear a good song or a joke. It’s sort of the same in writing. Every time you sit down at the keyboard, you’d better be ready to give it everything you’ve got. Yes, you’ll get some do-overs that you don’t necessarily get in live radio, but the concept is the same. Your readers will want a good story, compelling characters, clean formatting, an attractive cover, and a bare minimum of typos or other mistakes. My radio career enabled me to cover three national championship small-college football games and more than a dozen state high school championship games in four sports. When you go on the air for one of those games, the chips are down, and you have to deliver. When you write that novel, you have to deliver, too.
6. I mentioned the “love of my life.” That would be Sue, my wife. She’s from a small Wisconsin town, too: Chetek, not too far from where we live now, up here in the northwest. I met her on my first day on the air at WJMC/Rice Lake. One of the things I had to do on my show was call this gal at the travel agency and talk travel. Well, what the hell did I know about travel? I’d never been anywhere. My boss suggested that I go to her office and meet her in person. A few days later, I did. Four and a half years after that, we were married. 
7. We have two grown kids, Kimberly and James. When Jim was seven, we started him in martial arts training. I’d been bullied at that age and I didn’t want Jim to experience that. He became a junior black belt in taekwondo at 12 and a first-degree black belt at 15. He still trains in the art and this summer will be making his second trip to South Korea for advanced training. When he was 13, I decided to give it a try. I was in my early 40s at the time. It was very hard, but one of the Five Tenets of Taekwondo is “perseverance,” so I hung in there and got my black belt. Several years later, I had transitioned over to karate and my sensei invited me to join a new class he was starting in Okinawan weaponry. I did, and Sue signed on, too. Four years later, we both received our first-degree black belts in ryukudo kobojutsu, after a physically and mentally rigorous 4-hour-long test at our master instructor’s dojo near Detroit. 
8. My martial arts training has really informed a lot of my writing. When I’m sitting down to write a fight scene, I already have it blocked out in my head. Usually, I’ll have my sensei walk me through it on the mat. Then I can write it, but usually I’ll do it from the other guy’s perspective. Action writers are supposed to “show, not tell.” Rather than give a very technical move-by-move description of the fight (which would be the “tell”), I describe it from the antagonist’s point of view (the “show”). That’s something I picked up from one brief but very effective scene in my favorite Tom Clancy novel, Without Remorse.
9. People often ask me, which of my novels is my favorite? Well, that’s like asking which of your children is your favorite, but in this case, I’d have to give a slight nod to The Heights of Valor. That’s a stand-alone novel, loosely grouped in my “Men of Honor” series, about a young Wisconsin college student in 1898 who quits school to join the Rough Riders and fight for Theodore Roosevelt in Cuba. To get his father’s blessing, he agrees to keep a diary of his experiences and pass it along to future generations in the family, so they’ll know what it means to make this kind of sacrifice. Over 100 years later, it comes into possession of his great-great-grandson, who is also quitting school early to join the Army. So it’s a parallel story, told in the first person both ways. I had a fun time writing it because TR is one of my favorite historical characters, and he figures prominently—and accurately, I’m pretty sure—in the 1898 section of the book. I’ll tell you what, we could use a guy like him today.
10. I’ve now written four novels in the White Vixen series and three in the Quest series. My next novel will be one of the “Men of Honor” group. It’s called The Dance We Shared. It’s about a middle-aged guy who lost the love of his life 20 years earlier because of a stupid mistake he made. He’s never gotten over it, but he’s tried to build a good, if lonely, life for himself. One day, he finds an envelope sent to his office address that he’d misplaced. Opening it, he finds a card, on which is printed a phone number, and in his lost love’s distinctive handwriting, three words: “Please help me.” The problem: the card was sent five years ago, just before she vanished. No foul play was ever suspected, she just ended her marriage, quit her job and dropped off the grid. Now, he has a chance to right the wrong he did two decades ago, but is he too late?

 

Book Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Verkhnaya Zaimka Air Base

Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic of Buryatia

USSR

July 1977

         Ilya Dubrovsky shot to his feet when the Polkovnik entered the sparse conference room. Although Dubrovsky was a Podpolkovnik himself and thus was just one rank below the colonel who was now staring at him with a file in his hand, there was no feeling of comradeship here, not in this room, not on the entire base, as far as Dubrovsky could tell. It was all business, and he had a feeling he was about to find out it was serious business indeed. Why else would he be here?

         “Colonel Lytkin!” Dubrovsky barked the name as he saluted. “Lieutenant Colonel Dubrovsky, reporting as ordered, sir!”

         Lytkin returned the salute with an irritable wave that would have bordered on insolence, had it been directed at a senior officer. “Welcome to Verkhnaya Zaimka, Dubrovnik.”

         “Thank you, sir. And, uh, it’s Dubrovsky.”

         The colonel shook his head. The younger man could see gray bags under the colonel’s eyes, indicating a recent lack of sleep. Perhaps due to this very project, whatever it might be. “Sorry,” he said. The colonel sat at the head of the table and indicated the first chair to his left. “Please, sit.”

         Dubrovsky had to order himself to relax. He slid into the chair and placed his service cap on the table in front of him. He’d already looked around the room, but now he did so again as the colonel fussed with the file. The wooden walls were decorated with stock photos of Soviet Air Force planes. His own skill as a pilot was negligible, but he knew he was here because of his expertise in aerodynamics, not as a pilot. Still, he recognized most of them. There was the MiG-25, one that he had actually flown during training. Another was the Tu-95 turboprop bomber. But there were some he didn’t know. For a moment, he feared there would be a quiz. A cold ball of panic welled up inside him. He knew NATO aircraft backwards and forwards, but his own country’s inventory was largely—

         “Let us begin, Dubrovsky,” the colonel said. “My time is valuable here, and I’m sure yours is, too, back at Gromov.”

The younger man had been posted at Gromov Flight Research Institute near Moscow for three years, ever since his superiors had taken note of his exceptional grasp of aerodynamics. “It is, sir,” he said, “but I serve the Soviet Union, wherever the Rodina sends me. How may I be of service here?”

         Lytkin pushed the file across the table. “I am told you are familiar with these first two aircraft,” he said.

         Dubrovsky opened the file and immediately recognized the airplane in the first photo. What had been an airplane at one time, anyway. “This is an American U-2 spy plane,” he said, noting the remains of the long, narrow fuselage and the even longer wing. Wait, could this be…? He held up the photo to take a closer look. “This is the one we shot down in ’61, isn’t it?”

         “It was 1960, to be precise,” Lytkin said, “but yes, it is the one piloted by the American spy, Powers.”

         “A credit to our air defenses at the time, to bring down the plane the Americans considered invulnerable.”

         Lytkin smiled. “Yes, our defenses were able to shoot him down, but we knew Powers was coming, almost from the moment he took off from Pakistan. Our radar network saw him over Uzbekistan, but he flew another two thousand kilometers before the SAMs took him down near Sverdlovsk. Two thousand kilometers, Dubrovsky. If it had been a bomber, Moscow itself might have been obliterated without us firing a shot. I’m sure you studied the case at Voronezh.”

         Dubrovsky nodded but couldn’t prevent a nervous swallow. He was well aware of the capabilities of the American B-52 strategic bombers, but unlike the U-2, the bombers could not fly above the range of Soviet interceptors. Thankfully, the S-75 Dvina missiles had done their job to bring down Powers. Dubrovsky had indeed become familiar with the U-2 incident at Voronezh Military Aviation Technical School, the Soviet equivalent of the U.S. Air Force Academy, without the pretty mountains in the distance.

         In any event, in the years since Powers, the USSR and its main adversary had grown to rely on intercontinental ballistic missiles for their primary means of retaliation, in case the other side decided to shoot first. Dubrovsky liked to think his country’s leadership had never seriously considered such a thing. As for the Americans, well, they hadn’t fired a shot yet, had they?

The U-2 was certainly interesting, but he still had no idea why he had been brought here, to this remote area near Lake Baikal in the south-central region of his vast country. He suspected it didn’t have anything to do with a seventeen-year-old aircraft that was now obsolete, besides being in pieces somewhere in a Soviet military hangar. Perhaps the second photo would provide some enlightenment. He set the U-2 picture aside and considered the next one. It was a color photo of something that looked right out of Star Wars, the new American science fiction film. Dubrovsky had seen a bootlegged copy just two weeks ago. He studied the photo, and then the realization hit him. “Sir, is this the new American stealth fighter?”

         “It is,” Lytkin said, “and I caution you that it is not to be spoken of outside this room, and only during this meeting. Our friends at KGB will not be pleased if they find out you told anyone about this photo.”

         “Of course, sir,” Dubrovsky said, fighting to tamp down his excitement. He looked at the picture. Even standing still on the floor of a hangar, the swept-winged beauty looked ready to leap into the sky. “Are there any other photos?” he asked. “We have been working on a similar design, but this appears to be much further along than our research has taken us.”

         “There are no other pictures, unfortunately. I am told this is an experimental airframe that will fly within six months. It was built by their Lockheed company. The code name is HAVE BLUE.”

         Dubrovsky was thunderstruck. Soviet engineers were at least seven, probably eight years away from producing a stealth-capable airframe that could do anything other than look good in drawings. “They are that far ahead of us?”

         “Unfortunately, yes,” Lytkin said. “I know you have been working on our own stealth project, in particular an airframe that would allow for high-altitude reconnaissance to a degree Powers and his CIA superiors could only dream of.” He reached forward and took the file, closing it as he brought it closer to his chair. Dubrovsky almost protested, catching himself at the last moment. There were more photos in the file. What might they show? More secret American planes? Perhaps their latest space vehicle? Now, that would be truly exciting. Like every Russian boy, Dubrovsky had at one time dreamed of being a cosmonaut, but his skill as a pilot was not nearly enough to qualify him to go into space. Truly a pity.

         “As you could see, there are more photos in here,” Lytkin said, “but I think you should come with me. Seeing, as they say, is believing, and what I am about to show you, Dubrovsky, is, I would say, best experienced in person.”

         “I am…well, ‘intrigued’ is not quite adequate enough of a word, Colonel.” In truth, the young engineer was also feeling something a bit more pressing: a growing urge to relieve himself.

         Lytkin smiled. “I thought you might be.” He stood, followed quickly by the younger officer. “Follow me.”

         “Yes, sir. And, if I may ask, where is the nearest latrine?”    

***

         Lytkin led him outside, where a UAZ-469 vehicle awaited, engine running, a sergeant standing at the ready. He opened the left rear door as the officers approached and Dubrovsky squeezed himself into the back seat, followed by Lytkin. “Hangar 10,” the colonel ordered when the sergeant was behind the wheel, and no time was wasted as the driver threw the machine into gear and jammed on the accelerator.

         It only took a minute to reach a small hangar, which had a feature Dubrovsky hadn’t seen anywhere else on the base: armed guards. The UAZ pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance and the sergeant got out to open the door for Lytkin. Dubrovsky took it upon himself to exit the vehicle on the passenger side, where he encountered a stern-looking pair of guards wearing the insignia of the Devyatka, from KGB’s Ninth Chief Directorate. He’d seen them before, and knew they were deployed around the nation to guard the country’s most sensitive military installations, including nuclear weapons storage facilities. Could that be what was inside this hangar? He doubted it. Why would Lytkin want to show him a hydrogen bomb? Still, he felt goose bumps on his forearms, in spite of the warm weather.

         The colonel was in command of this base but still had to issue a password for the guards to let him through, and they demanded to see Dubrovsky’s identification. He dutifully produced his propiska, the internal passport every Soviet citizen over sixteen was required to carry at all times. They also examined his Soviet Air Force identification card. Satisfied, they nodded to the colonel and Lytkin led the way into the hangar.

         At an internal doorway there was another check of documents, and this time Lytkin had to produce his as well. They proceeded into a small room and the outer door closed behind them with an audible sucking sound. Dubrovsky turned around in surprise. “A climate-control system,” Lytkin said. “Nothing to be alarmed about.” There was yet another door in front of them, looking like something Dubrovsky might have seen on a submarine. Next to it was a small panel with what appeared to be a radio and a touchpad similar to one of the newer telephones being introduced in the West. Dubrovsky had seen them on a West German TV show a few months ago, when he was on leave in Vienna.

         Lytkin paused as he reached out for the pad. “Dubrovsky, I trust you understand that what I am about to show you is classified ‘Most Secret’?”

         “Of course, sir.”

         The colonel gave him a stern look. “If you were to speak of this to anyone outside of this base, in fact to anyone other than to me personally, our Devyatka friends outside, or some equally determined comrades of theirs, would take you away to someplace that I assure you would be most uncomfortable. And then they would come for me.”

         “I understand, sir. I do have a very high security clearance, as you know.”

         “Yes, but for this, I still had to get confirmation from my superiors at 1^st Red Banner Air Army, and they had to get it from Moscow, from the very top. That should give you an indication of the importance of what I am about to show you.” The colonel paused, for what might have been dramatic effect, but the younger man sensed something else: a tinge of fear. The colonel’s eyes flitted to the inside door, and then back to Dubrovsky. The fear was gone now. Dubrovsky recalled that the general had been a decorated aviator in the Great Patriotic War. There’d been a photo in the conference room of a dashing young pilot in the cockpit of his Yak-3 fighter, with six German crosses on the hull below him. A man who had stared down death in the skies, and yet was still fearful of something in this hangar? Dubrovsky had to make an effort to keep his hands from shaking.

Back in full command now, the colonel said, “You are to have a new assignment. You will be working for me, here, on a project that is considered extremely vital to the interests of the Soviet Air Force and the Rodina herself. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

         “Yes, sir.” Dubrovsky felt his knees beginning to weaken. What could possibly be more important than what he had recently begun working on, which was the aerodynamics of the first Soviet spaceplane?

         It was as if the colonel was reading his mind. “Your work on Project BURAN has been duly noted. We are in need here of a talented aerodynamics engineer. You are said to be one of the best in the Soviet Union.”

         “Thank you, sir. May I ask what it is that I will be working on?”

         Lytkin paused, took a deep breath, and stared at the inner door. He appeared to contemplate something, then turned back to Dubrovsky. “You are aware that we are close to Lake Baikal.”

         “Yes, sir. I flew over it on the approach to the base. Very beautiful.”

         “Yes, and very deep, as well. The deepest lake in the world, in fact. And very large, with more water than all of the Great Lakes of North America combined. Its maximum depth is over sixteen hundred meters.”

         “That is…very deep indeed, sir.”

         “Yes. Consider, Dubrovsky, that the nuclear submarines of our Red Banner fleets typically cruise at five hundred meters.”

         “I see, sir.” In fact, Dubrovsky was now becoming confused. What did his work as an aerospace engineer have to do with submersibles? Feeling at least a little more self-assured now that Lytkin had decided to take him into this supreme confidence, he said, “I must confess, sir, that I am at a loss to understand how I may be of service for a project that involves deep diving in a lake.”

         “Oh, that part is over with,” Lytkin said with a smile. “Our Navy comrades were most helpful in the first phase of our project. You see, Dubrovsky, it was something that we found in the lake that brought you here.”

         “’Found,’ sir?”

         “Yes. Fortunately, it was not in the lake’s deepest part. It rested on the bottom at about a thousand meters, well within the capabilities of our brave sailors to recover.” He chuckled. “You know, I have been in the cockpit of our best high-altitude interceptors, at over ten thousand meters of altitude. That MiG-25 you saw in the photo, in the conference room? That was mine. Ten thousand meters up, though, is a lot different than a thousand meters underwater, in my opinion. Even at ten thousand meters, I could bail out from my aircraft and survive. Theoretically, anyway. Powers ejected at nineteen thousand meters, and he made it. But try escaping from a submersible at a thousand meters, and…”

         “We would be crushed, instantly,” Dubrovsky said.

         “Exactly. So, you can understand that the commander of the naval detachment that performed this very dangerous mission received not just one, but two bottles of very expensive vodka from me when he brought his catch to my base.”

         “I…”

         “Well, enough of this chatting. It is time for me to show you what you will be working on for me, my young friend.”

         Lytkin punched a code into the number pad. Dubrovsky heard gears turning from somewhere in the wall, and then the door released with a hiss and swung outward. The colonel gestured toward the doorway. “After you.”

         Lieutenant Colonel Ilya Dubrovsky stepped through the door and encountered the future.

– Excerpted from The Silver Falcon by David Tindell, KDP Select, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

 

David Tindell lives in northwest Wisconsin, where he dabbles in radio, trains in the martial arts and studies the warrior ethos. His White Vixen and Quest series have earned stellar reviews. With his wife Sue he travels the world, seeking out new places to feature in his next thriller. He blogs at www.davidtindellauthor.com. Connect with him at X at www.x.com/davidtindell1 and Facebook at www.facebook.com/DavidTindellAuthor. 

 

Sponsored By:

Book Blitz of Walk The Line By P. Dombrowiak and N Parker (#Contests- Enter to win an Amazon Gift Card)

Walk the Line
Natalie Parker, Paula Dombrowiak
(Blood & Bone Legacy, #1)
Publication date: April 22nd 2025
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

 

It was supposed to be simple: Film the tour. Build my portfolio. And for Heavens sake, keep it in my pants.

Then I met Felix Krasinski.

The captivating and infuriatingly cocky frontman of Velvet Drift commands attention everywhere he goes—including mine. Am I proud of it? No. I’m supposed to be filming their perfromance, not fantasizing about his perfect abs. I’m determined to be taken seriously, and hooking up with the ridiculously hot rockstar is the fastest way to tank my credibility.

Felix is always in control, and I’m an impulsive rule-breaker. We don’t make sense. But we can’t seem to stay away from each other.

Because, between his uptight habits and annoyingly perfect jawline, there’s more to Felix than his stage presence and legendary last name. He’s protective, vulnerable, and gets me in a way no one else does.

But my career depends on keeping things professional, and his future hinges on staying laser-focused on his band’s success.

Every heated argument, every stolen kiss, makes me want to throw caution—and professionalism—to the wind.

One thing’s certain—this summer tour is about to get a lot more complicated than I bargained for.

Walk the Line is the first book in the Blood & Bone and Turn it Up second generation series crossover. Grab this new adult, angsty, forced proximity, steamy contemporary rockstar romance. Walk the Line can be read as a standalone.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“What the…?” My voice trails off as I take in the dark, angry bruise on my skin.

A hickey.

And not just any hickey—this is the mother of all hickeys.

It’s a masterpiece of malice, blooming in deep purples and reds, unapologetically high on my neck. No amount of foundation could hide this, and it’s far too conspicuous for even the highest collar. There was no fucking around when she decided to do this. She wanted me marked.

“Maggie!” I call, my voice bouncing off the walls as I step out of the bathroom. Her only response is the sound of sheets rustling and a half-asleep groan. I glance back at the mirror, rubbing at the bruise like it might magically fade. Who even gives hickeys anymore?

When I step out, I find her perched on the kitchen counter, one leg dangling lazily while the other’s tucked beneath her. She’s cradling a mug of coffee—my coffee—the steam curling up around her face. And she’s wearing my Henley, the fabric hanging loose on her but clinging just enough in places to make my brain short-circuit. The soft gray color makes her blue eyes pop, and they blink at me with an innocence that’s so utterly contrived, I almost laugh. Almost. And fuck, she made me temporarily forget about the hickey.

“What is this?” I demand, pointing to the bruise on my neck as I stride closer.

She tilts her head like she’s admiring a painting. She leans in, her lips so close I can feel the ghost of her breath. She presses a kiss to the bruise, and I swear my brain briefly loses all function.

“That,” she says, her voice honey-sweet, “is a hickey.”

“I know what it is, baby,” I snap, though the grin threatening to break free betrays me. “I have press with Ivy today.” My tone is exasperated, but she doesn’t look the least bit sorry.

“I know.” Her lips curve into a slow, self-satisfied smile, the kind that makes her look like a sexy as fuck brat. Lucky for her, I happen to like brats.

I grab her coffee mug, setting it down deliberately and grab her by the waist, pulling her flush against me. She lets out a surprised little gasp, her hands instinctively bracing against my chest.

“You fucking scare me sometimes, Sass,” I murmur before claiming her lips.

Author Bio:

Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.

For more ways to learn about Paula and her books, check out her website: @www.pauladombrowiak.com

Natalie Parker resides in the Seattle area with her husband and two rugrats, but is originally a Michigan girl.

She always enjoyed writing and noticed she had a knack for it while earning her Psychology degree and has always been an avid reader, but never thought of becoming an author until one day there seemed to be a story to tell.

In her spare time, she enjoys reading, reading, reading to her kids, drinking coffee, reading, occasional yardwork, reading, listening to music, reading and writing.

Stay tuned for more to come for your favorite characters of the Turn it Up series!

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

—