Promo Post: Coming Home by Shelley Shepard Gray

When three army veterans become volunteer firefighters in small-town Colorado, one's high school romance is rekindled in this sweet romance by bestselling author Shelley Shepard Gray.

In Woodland Park, a small town nestled in the foothills of Pikes Peak, Anderson Kelly and Chelsea Davis were once the high school “it” couple—the star quarterback & prom king and the valedictorian & cheerleader. They broke up when Anderson joined the army and one poor decision at a fraternity party changed Chelsea’s life. Now, she works long shifts in a senior center to support her eight-year-old son, Jack.

After multiple tours in Afghanistan, Anderson has changed, too—he is physically scarred but mentally strong and eager to remain of service, he decides to move back to Woodland Park and become a firefighter.

Anderson and Chelsea steer clear of each other to avoid reopening old wounds, until they are forced to reconnect through the senior center and the embers of their love start to flare once more.

When Chelsea and Jack are involved in a dangerous collision on Ute Pass, Anderson realizes that he’s ready to risk everything—even his heart—for one more chance with Chelsea.

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Chelsea's back was to the main entrance of Granger's but it didn't stop the fresh burst of cold air from sinking into her skin. She was starting to wish she'd chosen a thicker sweater for her night out with Mallory and Kaylee.

Granger's Last Stand wasn't the only option in Woodland Park for burgers, wings, and beer, but it was hands down everyone's favorite spot. Located on the main drag through town, the restaurant had been expanded multiple times over the last twenty years. Now it boasted indoor, patio, and rooftop dining. Local bands played all summer and from time to time in the winter high school and college kids played acoustic guitar near the fireplace.

Tonight, since there was still a chill in the air, most everyone was inside. A couple of people were keeping the old jukebox playing and the buzz from the crowd provided the rest of the noise.

After eight hours of working at the Woodland Park Senior Center, Chelsea was ready to relax and catch up with her two best friends. "Mal, you never finished telling us about the couple who came into the boutique today," she said.

The petite brunette shrugged. "It wasn't all that notable . . . beyond the fact that the husband sat on the pink velvet chair by the door while his wife spent almost a thousand dollars on end-of-season fleece!"

"To be fair, that stuff adds up," Kaylee said. "Last time I bought a Patagonia jacket, I paid three hundred."

"Are you still wearing it, Kay?"

Kaylee picked up the sleeve of her jacket that was draped over her chair. "Obviously."

"Well, there you go."

Chelsea hid her smile by taking another sip of wine. The conversation was nothing new. Kaylee liked to carp about the prices at Mallory's store but always managed to stop by to drool over every new shipment of high-end ski, apres-ski, and mountain gear. Since Chelsea couldn't afford any of it, she enjoyed simply listening and being supportive. "Well, that's great. I'm glad they stopped in."

"Me, too," Mallory said with a smile. "They were on their way to Cripple Creek to gamble. I hope they come in again before they head back to Kansas City."

"I'm really happy for you. Congrats." Chelsea knew that sales like that kept Mallory's spirits up, especially in the spring. A lot of folks were still paying off Christmas bills in March, so the shop suffered a lot of slow days until the weather warmed up and she began selling biking and hiking gear.

"Thanks." Mallory smiled again, but she kept glancing past Chelsea's shoulder.

"What's going on behind me? Am I boring you?" she teased.

"I think she's having a hard time concentrating because the hotties from the fire station just blew in," Kaylee said. "Who can blame her though? It's hardly fair that five guys can look so good."

Chelsea's stomach sank. Of course the firefighters had to show up. It was the first night in ages that she'd gone out instead of hurrying home to Jack.

Not even pretending to look anywhere else, Mallory murmured, "That Mark Oldum is dreamy."

"So is Chip," Kaylee said. "I met him at the gas station a couple of weeks ago."

Oh brother. "How do you know those guys' names?" Chelsea asked her friends. "I didn't know you hung out with firefighters."

"I don't, which is the problem," Kaylee joked. "And, just for the record, I don't know all of their names. Just one or two. And I know because I asked Wendy up at the bar." Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she asked, "Why all the questions? I didn't think you were interested in dating. Or have you finally changed your mind?"

"It would be great if you did start going out," Mallory said. "All you do is work and go home."

"No, that's not all I do. I have Jack, remember? He keeps me plenty busy."

"I get that, but I think it's time you started doing more for yourself. Jack's almost nine, you know," Mallory added.

"Ha-ha, I know."

"Then you also know that he's going to want to start doing more things with his friends instead of just his mom, right?"

"I know that, too." But she also hated to think about it. When had he gotten so big, anyway?

Kaylee sighed. "If you know all that . . . isn't it time you started dating?"

"I've dated," she protested. Though, to be fair, she hadn't dated very much. She'd promised herself years ago to always put her little boy's needs ahead of her own. And, though he probably wouldn't mind if she dated occasionally, she never wanted to risk hurting him.

Or maybe she was simply afraid to risk hurting her heart again.

Anxious to push the attention elsewhere, she smiled at Mallory. "Who are you looking at now?"

"I'm trying to find where Mark went. I lost him in the crowd. I tell you what, half the station must be here."

Chelsea tried not to tense but it was next to impossible. Whenever she was someplace there was a chance of seeing Anderson Kelly, she couldn't help it. "What do the other guys look like?"


Excerpted from Coming Home by Shelley Shepard Gray Copyright © 2022 by Shelley Shepard Gray. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

Photo Credit: Dianne Bomar

Shelley Shepard Gray is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, a finalist for the American Christian Fiction Writers prestigious Carol Award, and a two-time HOLT Medallion winner. She lives in southern Ohio, where she writes full-time, bakes too much, and can often be found walking her dachshunds on her town’s bike trail.

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HTP Fall Reads Blog Tour (Historical Fiction Edition) Promo Post: Angels of the Resistance by Noelle Salazar

The second WWII novel by Noelle Salazar, bestselling author of the THE FLIGHT GIRLS, follows two teenage sisters in the Netherlands who are recruited as part of the Dutch Resistance effort against the Nazis. Inspired by true events, this moving story about ordinary young women who become extraordinary heroes will appeal to fans of Pam Jenoff and Kate Quinn.

Netherlands, 1940. In the small town of Haarlem, fourteen-year-old Lien lives a simple life with her mother and sister in a farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. Elsewhere in Europe bombs are falling, but the pall on their house is more from the recent loss of their baby sister as a result of an accident Lien believes she could have prevented than from the oncoming war. Until the Nazis invade the Netherlands and their lives are overturned once more.

Recruited by their late father’s friend, Lien’s older sister Elif reluctantly joins the Dutch resistance movement. Spurred by the injustice of the Nazis’ treatment of Dutch citizens as well as a terrifying bombing of their small town, and forever seeking atonement for her baby sister’s death, Lien begs to join as well. The sisters’ youthful, innocent looks and ability to disappear into a crowd make them the perfect resistance soldiers. Together with a handful of like-minded youth, including the gallant Charlie with whom Lien forms an instant connection, the sisters are trained and begin to carry out missions, from distributing and collecting information to moving Jewish families from hiding places to luring and killing influential Nazis. The toll of the war and their work is evident in their collective psyches, and Lien starts to make mistakes that could cost her and her newfound friends their lives. Until one very personal mission shows her that the atonement, she desperately seeks for her sister’s death cannot be found at the end of the barrel of a pistol but must be found from within her heart.

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Haarlem, Netherlands

April 1940




Sunlight dappled through the green leaves, scattering golden light across the blanket where I sat, my back against the trunk of a tall birch tree, while I kept watch over the Aberman children.

The rain that had kept me up the night before, pummeling the roof above the third floor bedroom I shared with my older sister, scented the air with the smell of damp grass, stone, and bark. I breathed in, soothed by its familiarity, and yawned, my eyes blurring with exhaustion as I tried to stay present. Too many late nights and early mornings were beginning to take their toll, and the clatter of dice being shaken and rolled by tiny hands before me, accompanied by laughter, shouts of outrage, and harrumphs of frustration, were almost soothing, lulling me into a false sense of security.

I glanced down at the book in my hand and the paragraph I’d read at least a dozen times without retaining one word. Unfortunately, sometimes running from my own thoughts by feeding my brain new information didn’t work. Guilt and fear, it turned out, loved a quiet moment, whispering in my ears at night as I tried to sleep, and nudging at me while I sat at my desk in class, trying to focus on what the teacher said. Which was why I’d decided two months ago that I needed noise. Noise would distract me and help me escape the thoughts running through my mind.

Going, doing, and helping was what led me to taking the Saturday afternoon childcare job. It was why I’d suddenly began offering to run errands or clean for my mother, rather than complaining when she asked. It was why I’d begun staying after school, poring over books I knew I’d be assigned to read the following year in an attempt to get a head start. I’d been determined to become a barrister like my father had been since I was a little girl, and the extra studying filled my head with new and complicated words, lofty ideas, and imaginings of grandeur—which were a much-needed diversion from my otherwise too quiet world. And Haarlem, our sweet little city by the sea, was more than just quiet. It was practically silent, as if all sound emitted was whisked from our homes and carried by the near-constant wind out across the water where it dissipated into the gray clouds above.

“You cheated!”

“I did not!”

I blinked, startled out of my thoughts, and turned my attention to Isaak and Lara, whose earlier mirth had become something less friendly. At six and eight years old, I knew their moments of getting along would become less and less frequent as their interests changed and their peers’ desires began pressuring them in other directions. But for now, they still got along for the most part. Until someone inevitably cheated at a game.

“Lien,” Lara, the younger of the two whined, her wide brown eyes staring up at me, “Isaak cheated.”

“I didn’t!” the older boy protested, his mop of brown curls vibrating with his insistence.

I crossed my arms over my chest, becoming a miniature version of my father when he’d been alive as he’d solved similar skirmishes between me and my elder sister, Elif.

“Well,” I said. “I wasn’t watching to say either way so what shall we do? Quit? It would be a shame. You were both having such a good time. Perhaps have the roll in question rolled again? What would be fair to the two of you?”

Like my father had always done, I gave both participants a choice, rather than accusing or taking sides. If they were having fun, the one at fault would usually feel bad and acquiesce, so as not to ruin the day.

Isaak huffed. “I’ll roll again,” he said.

I hid my smile. Isaak nearly always cheated; Lara was just finally catching on. Keeping my expression thoughtful, I nodded.

“Sounds like a sensible plan,” I said, and then shot to my feet as a sudden shriek split the air in two.

I leaped over their game and stood at the edge of the blanket, a human barrier between whatever trouble was brewing and the children I was responsible for.

“What was that?” Lara asked beside me.

Without looking, I corralled her behind me, my eyes scanning the park around us.

Haarlemmerhout Park covered sixty hectares of land in the southern part of the city. Beech, horse chestnut, linden, and silver maple trees towered above lush green blankets of grass and mossy winding paths where lovers were often caught stealing a kiss by young families out for leisurely bicycle rides. In a park so big, on any given day, one could find a spot to spend several hours in and not be bothered by others. It was strange enough to hear sounds besides ours, but sounds of distress were especially surprising.

Movement on the other side of some nearby shrubbery caught my eye, and I glanced over my shoulder.

“Isaak,” I said. “Watch your sister for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Heart thudding in my chest, I marched across the soft, damp grass, intent to stop whatever danger was in motion. But as I rounded the tangle of budding green plants, all I saw were two boys in the middle of the walking path bent and staring at a small lump on the ground between them.

One of the boys prodded the lump with a stick and the lump shifted and lifted its small head, hollering again at his aggressor. I sucked in a breath, pinpricks of anger and sorrow mixing behind my eyes, making them burn.

“Stop that!” I yelled, trying to make all 162 centimeters of me look taller than they did. “Get away from that bird!”

Two pairs of wide eyes met mine, and then the stick was dropped as the two boys ran off and out of sight.

I hurried to the bird, tears clouding my eyes.

“Hello, little love,” I whispered, looking for an obvious injury. “Did those mean boys hurt you?”

He eyed me from where he lay, and I chewed my lip as I looked him over best I could without touching him. The wing I could see seemed intact, his spindly legs curled into little enraged fists.

“Is he okay?”

I wiped my eyes and glanced up at Lara, who was standing with her brother beside me, their small faces pinched with worry, dark eyes full of concern.

“I’m not sure,” I said, and pointed. “This wing looks okay, but I can’t see the other one without moving him.”

“Should we take it somewhere?” Isaak asked.

I sniffled and leaned back, getting hold of myself before my emotions erupted from the place I kept them shoved inside. It was only a bird after all. Not worth the tremors of despair threatening to burst.

“No,” I said. “But maybe we could move him out of the way.” I pointed to the shrubbery beside us. “Why don’t the two of you build him a little nest over there?”

As they ran off to gather leaves and small branches, I stared down at the creature.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” I whispered, my eyes once more filling with tears.

There was something so awful about seeing a creature, fragile and vulnerable, unable to help itself, left to the devices—or torture—of others. To feel and be so powerless…

“We’re done,” Isaak said, kneeling beside me, his cheeks pink from the effort. “Are you crying?”

I shrugged.

“It’s just a bird, Lien.”

I pursed my lips. “It’s a living creature, Isaak,” I said, my voice soft. “We should always do everything we can to help others. Even if they’re just birds.”

I pulled the scarf from my neck and stared down at the gull. “You ready?” I asked him, and then swooped the fabric over it and wrapped my hands gently around its body.

“Do you think it will live?” Isaak asked as I set the bird in the nest.

A glimmer of sadness pressed at my heart. I knew that sometimes even when the best efforts were made and all the prayers were whispered, they were still not enough.

“I hope so,” I said, setting the grumbling fowl on the nest the kids had made. “The two of you did a great job. It’s a handsome nest. He should be very grateful.”

“He doesn’t sound it,” Lara said, and I managed a laugh.

We watched the gull for a while longer as he warily eyed us back and shifted his small body on the pile of foliage and sticks, and then I shepherded the children back to the blanket and their games.

“Play with us,” Isaak said, holding up a well-loved deck of cards.

I nodded and took a seat, happy for the distraction.

As the afternoon passed, the children, easily bored, moved on from card games to running through the grass, twirling until they were dizzy, and a game of tag until, tired out, they lay side by side, Isaak reading and Lara drawing, while I opened my math book and studied for an exam the following Monday.

A breeze kicked up and I shivered, noticing the light around us had changed from golden hued to dismal. I glanced at the sky to find the sun, tired from her brief exertion, had pulled up her blanket of clouds and disappeared beneath a dark gray cover, giving the cold wind permission to sweep in and scatter the papers Lara was busy drawing on.

“Hurry,” I said, and the three of us took off in different directions, chasing down pictures of dogs, horses, and trees, all the while laughing as papers somersaulted and cartwheeled across the vast lawn.

As I pulled a gangly giraffe drawing from the branches of a budding shrub, and a rotund elephant from a springy bed of moss, I heard the telltale buzz of a plane in the distance. I searched around me for more drawings and then lifted my eyes to the clouds again, listening as the sound amplified, the airplane coming into view, heading in our direction.

“Kids,” I said, my voice a warning. I gestured for them to come closer and then took hold of their arms and pulled them beneath the cover of a tall birch tree.

“It’s just a plane,” Lara said.

But no plane was just a plane when a war was going on.

Lara pulled on my arm and I gave her what I hoped was a smile as a light rain began to fall, tapping on the leaves above us before sliding off and peppering us with drops.

The planes had come more and more often in the past several weeks, but I’d never given them much thought before today. Had never felt even a glimmer of fear, assuming they were headed to France or England where the war was actively happening. But for some reason today, the sight and sound of this one put me on edge and the closer it got, the harder my heart beat.

The drops of rain grew in size with every second I stood with my eyes glued to the plane, watching and waiting, but for what I didn’t know. And then I saw a door open.

“Isaak,” I said. “Lara.” I pushed them behind me, causing Isaak to trip over a large root. He recovered and grasped my hand, his eyes wide with fear as I placed my body in front of theirs, the rumble of the engine above like thunder, shaking the air around us.

But no guns discharged as it flew by. No bombs were dropped. No damage was done at all, save for the fraying of my nerves and a cascade of fluttering white.

“What is it?” Lara asked.

We watched as the wind caught and scattered the overturning debris, sending it floating through the air across what looked like the whole of the city.

“I don’t know,” I said, letting go of their hands and taking a step forward, watching as one of the items landed softly on top of a shrub near where our blanket was laid out.

Isaak reached it first, snatching it from where it lay and turning it over, a frown on his handsome face.

“What’s it mean?” he asked, handing the paper over to me.

I took it and frowned. Vibrant blues, reds, and whites glared back at me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. A white bird on a flag. A drawing of a young, blond man in uniform with a large drum strapped over his shoulder, and words. Dutch words with a German message that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swallowed, my fingers trembling as I held the paper. Because they weren’t just a German message. They were a Nazi message.

A Nazi invitation.

“For the good of your conscience,” it read. “The Waffen SS is calling you.”

My fingers tightened, crumpling the paper. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen one of these garish signs. I’d spotted them a couple of times over the past several months, adhered to light posts and once, shockingly, in the window of a small shop. Was this where they had come from? Or was this a new tactic? Were we to be inundated regularly with this raining down of terrible requests for our men to join the German forces?

Of course, I knew all about the war Germany had started. It was all anyone talked about since the news the year before that Hitler had invaded Poland had come not so much as a shock as it had with a sigh of acceptance. And when England and France quickly declared war on Germany in retaliation, no one was surprised. Scores of Jews had been entering the Netherlands for the past two years in hopes that our neutrality during the Great War would extend to whatever this war turned out to be. But the poster in my hands made me worry that perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps this time we wouldn’t be so lucky.

Because if we were to stay neutral, what was that plane doing here?

“What’s it say?” Lara repeated her brother’s question, reaching for the poster.

“Nothing.” I folded it and shoved it in my coat pocket. “It’s trash.” I checked my watch, noticing a thread had come loose on the worn, too-big brown band, making it sag on my wrist. I tucked it inside the cuff of my sweater. “We should get you two home. Your parents will worry if we’re late.”

The three of us packed away the items we’d brought in a cloth bag, and then I stood by trying to quell my impatience as I watched the two of them take the corners of the blanket and try to fold it into a neat square.

“Here,” Isaak said, handing me the lumpy heap with a proud smile.

I grinned as I tucked it under my arm and took a last look around for stray toys, papers, and drawing implements.

“Ready?” I asked, and the two nodded. “Shall we check on our bird friend before we go?”

“Yes,” they said in delighted unison.

The gull was just as we’d left it, and in fact looked to have made himself more at home, burrowing deeper into his new nest of leaves and twigs, his narrow beak nestled down into his puffed white chest.

“See?” I whispered, glancing at the children crouched beside me. “I told you you made him a handsome home. Look how happy he is.”

Convinced the bird would live, we walked across the grass to the sidewalk. I glanced at the sky and then moved in closer, making sure I was at most an arm’s length away from both kids should I need to protect either of them from an oncoming bicyclist or any other dangers that might befall them.

I knew how fast the unthinkable could transpire. I’d seen it happen before.

“That was a bad one,” Lara said as we walked.

“What was a bad one?” I asked, looking around to see what she was talking about.

“The plane,” she said. “It was a bad one. I saw the spiders.”

Spiders. It was what she called the Nazi insignia.

I nodded. They were the bad ones indeed. I’d never felt that more than I did now, a seed of doom planting itself in the pit of my stomach as I wondered if that plane, its engine noise still reverberating through my body, was just the beginning of something more. The warning crack of thunder before a storm.


Excerpted from Angels of the Resistance by Noelle Salazar. Copyright © 2022 by Noelle Salazar. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

About the Author

Photo Credit: Sharice Salazar

Noelle Salazar was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, where she’s been a Navy recruit, a medical assistant, an NFL cheerleader, and always a storyteller. When she’s not writing, she can be found dodging raindrops and daydreaming of her next book. Her first novel, The Flight Girls, was an instant bestseller, a Forbes, Woman's World & Hypable book of the month and a BookBub Top Recommended book from readers. Angels of Haarlem is her second novel. Noelle lives in Bothell, Washington, with her husband and two children.

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Promo Post: Two Wrongs Make a Right by Chloe Liese

Opposites become allies to fool their matchmaking friends in this swoony reimagining of Shakespeare’s beloved comedy, Much Ado About Nothing.

Jamie Westenberg and Bea Wilmot have nothing in common except a meet-disaster and the mutual understanding that they couldn't be more wrong for each other. But when the people closest to them play Cupid and trick them into going on a date, Jamie and Bea realize they have something else in common after all—an undeniable need for revenge.

Soon their plan is in place: Fake date obnoxiously and convince the meddlers they’re madly in love. Then, break up spectacularly and dash their hopes, putting an end to the matchmaking madness once and for all.

To convince everyone that they’ve fallen for each other, Jamie and Bea will have to nail the performance of their lives. But as their final act nears and playing lovers becomes easier than not, they begin to wonder, what if Cupid’s arrow wasn’t so off the mark? And what if two wrongs do make a right?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo Credit: Chloe Liese's website

Chloe Liese writes romances reflecting her belief that everyone deserves a love story. Her stories pack a punch of heat, heart, and humor, and often feature characters who are neurodivergent like herself. When not dreaming up her next book, Chloe spends her time wandering in nature, playing soccer, and most happily at home with her family and mischievous cats. Learn more at: chloeliese.com.

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Book Review: Archangel's Resurrection by Nalini Singh

New York Times Bestselling author Nalini Singh takes us into the dangerous, haunting world of archangels…and a love that is legend.

For thousands of years, the passion between Alexander, Archangel of Persia, and Zanaya, Queen of the Nile, burned furious and bright, seemingly without end. But to be an archangel is to be bound to power violent and demanding. Driven by its primal energy, Alexander and Zanaya fought as fiercely as they loved. Locked in an endless cycle of devotion and heartbreak, it is only Zanaya’s decision to Sleep that ends their love story.

Eons later, it is the Cascade of Death that wakens them both. The passion between them a flame that yet burns, Alexander and Zanaya stand together in one last battle against the ultimate darkness. But even a warrior archangel cannot win every war. Alexander’s scream shatters the world as Zanaya falls, broken and silent…only to rise again in a miracle that may be a devastating curse. For is it truly the Queen of the Nile who has been resurrected?

Only one thing is clear: this is the last beat of their passionate, angry dance. The final song for Alexander and his Zani…

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Read an excerpt here!

Disclaimer: I received an advance reader's copy from Berkley Publishing Group, in exchange for an honest review. The following thoughts and opinions are my own. I am also a diehard Nalini Singh fan. Spoilers below!

Archangel's Resurrection follows the same format as previous books that deviated from the main couple, Elena and Raphael, to other characters in the Guild Hunter universe. I like the change in point-of-view, especially with Alexander and Zanaya's love story. The overall breadth of their story spans over several millennia. The first chunk of the book featured the backstory of both Alexander and Zanaya. Since the majority of the Guild Hunter books are focused on Elena and Raphael, so we don't know too much about Alexander and Zanaya. Both are archangels and Ancients, but we know very little about them. The first part of the book was necessary. Starting from birth may seem a bit much, but the character profile of A and Z needed to be fleshed out and the depth of their relationship needed to be established. 

The history between the two spans over several millennia and by all accounts, seemed to be stuck in a circular pattern of toxic highs and lows. The pair were on again, off again lovers. The biggest issues between the pair were power imbalances, emotional and physical maturity, and the past traumas that shaped their very being. For Alexander, as a young angel, he felt helpless when it came to protecting his parents (scholars, not warriors) from the machinations and abuse from another higher-ranked angel. From a very young age, Alexander knew that he was meant for the battlefield, rather than scholarly pursuits. His inclination for battle and strategy and his past feelings of helplessness, lead to his thirst and hoarding of power. For Zanaya, it was witnessing her mother's unhinged obsession with her biological father. Her mother's behavior and subsequent isolation of Zanaya from angelkind, put Zanaya at a disadvantage from the start. Wanting to be the complete opposite of her mother, Zanaya threw herself into warrior training and made a name for herself. Zanaya values her independence and having control over every aspect of her life. 

There was also a significant age gap between the two, early on in life. The age milestones for angelkind are different, in that angels are still considered babes until they turn 100 years old. With such a long lifespan, the rules for dating and courtship are a little different with angelkind. Alexander was already a few millennia older than Zanaya when she started making a name for herself. Their initial meeting was an instant attraction and obsession, but due to Zanaya's young age and the sudden obsession he felt, Alexander did not pursue her; by this time, Alexander had become an Archangel. On the flipside, Zanaya did not pursue Alexander due to the feelings of possession and obsession she felt for him. Not wanting to become her mother, Zanaya purposefully turned away from the attraction she felt for him. There was also court politics and loyalties in the mix as further roadblocks. 

When their positions in life were stable enough (Zanaya had risen up the ranks to be a General for another court), they both admitted their feelings and became a couple. Of course, this was the start of their very toxic relationship. Feelings of jealousy, obsession, possession, and stubbornness caused frequent arguments and "breaks" in their relationship. During one of their breaks, Zanaya ascended to the position of Archangel, but rather than feeling dissonance in the presence of another Archangel, the pair were unaffected. This is most likely due to their constant appearance in each other's lives. While angelkind have long lifespans, their mind and temperament are worn down by age and time. Most older Archangels and angels choose to go to Sleep for several millennia at a time to recharge and rest their minds and bodies. 

Recognizing that they both needed to Sleep, Zanaya went to Alexander and rather than understanding, Alexander saw this as a betrayal. To Alexander, she was "leaving him" and not telling him where she would be located. This last "break-up" was a last one for several millennia. During her absence, Alexander continued to rule his territory and eventually fathered a child (Rohan) with another angel. Though they were not passionate lovers, Alexander and the mother of his child, were great co-parents. Once Rohan reached adulthood and was established in Alexander's court, Alexander chose to finally Sleep until he was woken up by Andie and Naasir. 

The middle chunk was barely a chunk. It was from the POV of Zanaya as she awoke from Sleep during the Cascade and before the final fight against Lijuan. Zanaya and Alexander reacquaint themselves and catch-up on all that has happened in the meantime. This chunk ends with Zanaya falling into unconsciousness after getting her lifeforce sucked out by Lijuan during the final battle. Cassandra takes her body to heal and recover.

The last chunk starts with Zanaya recovering in Cassandra's fiery cocoon. Ten years have passed since the final battle against Lijuan. The world has mostly recovered, but the emotional trauma and scarring from the Cascade-fueled battle still marks both mankind and angelkind. During her ten-year absence, Alexander has reflected on his relationship with Zanaya. It was uncertain if Cassandra could heal Zanaya and the other afflicted Archangels, but Alexander held out hope for her recovery. Alexander's main focus was rebuilding and stabilizing his territory after the Cascade, and raising his grandson, Xander. Upon her "resurrection," Zanaya takes her place among the Cadre and establishes her territory in Africa. Zanaya for the most part is healed except for the changes in her eyes that Lijuan induced. 

While stabilizing her territory, Zanaya feels drawn to the resting place of Antonicus, the Archangel who met his death in the black fog of Lijuan's territory. Over the last ten years, any Reborn that scattered from the final battle was hunted down, but it seems that there were some who evolved into more and it's up to Alexander and Zanaya to find out what's causing the change. 

Overall, I enjoyed this book. We see the deep history between the main couple, but also with other Archangels, and in different moments in time. The third chunk was a jump in time, but it meshed well into the current timeline. The pacing was steady and ramped up a bit in the third part. I liked reading little tidbits in part three, e.g. who designed Alexander's insignia and which angels were waking from Sleep. I can't wait to see which character's book is coming up next or if we are returning to the OG couple. 

4.5 stars

About the Author

Photo Credit: Author's Webpage

On Me

I was born in Fiji and raised in New Zealand. I spent three years living and working in Japan, where I took the chance to travel around Asia. I’m back in New Zealand now, but I’m always plotting new trips. If you’d like to see some of my travel snapshots, have a look at the Travel Diary page.

I’ve worked as a lawyer, a librarian, a candy factory general hand, a bank temp and an English teacher, but not necessarily in that order. Some might call that inconsistency, but I call it grist for the writer’s mill.

On writing

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. All of my stories held a thread of romance, even when I was writing about a prince who could shoot lasers out of his eyes. Creating unique characters and giving them happy endings is my favorite thing. I even love the voices in my head, so there’s no other job I’d rather be doing. When I got the call in September 2002 that Silhouette Desire wanted to buy my first book, Desert Warrior, it was a dream come true. I hope to continue living the dream until I keel over of old age on my keyboard.

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Promo Post: Rave Unveiled by Grace Draven

A woman with the gift to speak to the dead—and the assassin pursuing her—may be the only chance a crumbling empire has of holding back true evil, in this electrifying fantasy romance from the USA Today bestselling author of Radiance.

Siora has been on the run for longer than she cares to remember, from her past and her gift. Born with the ability to see and speak to ghosts, she has heard their desperate pleas as an otherworldly predator stalks the dead amid the fertile killing fields of the collapsing Krael Empire. The creature’s power and reach are growing with every soul it consumes, but Siora is preoccupied with her own troubles: namely an assassin who has sworn an oath of vengeance against her.

Gharek of Cabast was once the right-hand man of the reviled empress but is now a wanted fugitive. Although his reasons for hunting Siora are viscerally personal, what Gharek can’t anticipate is that when he finally does find her, she will hold the key to saving his world, or what’s left of it. To make good on old debts and protect the vulnerable dead from a malevolent force, Gharek and Siora will both need to make an ally out of an enemy—and trust that will be enough to save each other.

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Gharek held a small lamp aloft to illuminate the path ahead. He didn't worry that the fragile light might be seen in the distance and alert someone. His mount's hooves crushing sticks and brittle deadfall would accomplish the task long before the light did.

The music of insects and bird calls had been loud just before he crossed the tree line, a cacophony of whistles, rustles, and chirps. Those sounds died away the closer he rode to the ruins of the dead city until the silence itself held its breath and only the gloom shrouding the trees breathed. His amiable mare stopped suddenly then pranced backward, tossing her head and snorting. Gharek tapped his heels against her sides to coax her forward. She'd have none of it, fighting the bit in her mouth as she pivoted on her hooves to trot back the way they'd come.

Gharek reined her to a halt, considering whether it was wise to continue his scouting in another direction or make camp nearby and wait until morning to resume his hunt. He'd lose time with camping but trying to find anyone in this darkness while riding a spooked horse was an exercise in futility. Besides, he could make up the time in daylight. Siora was on foot, he on horseback. He'd cover far more ground in less time than she would, and the chance she'd outrun him if he spotted her was nonexistent.

He guided the mare to retrace her steps, and this time she readily obeyed the command, eager to put distance between them and the city that squatted like a pustule on the landscape. But she'd taken no more than a pair of steps when something wrapped icy fingers around Gharek's spine and wrenched him backward. He flew off the saddle as if lassoed from behind and landed on his back. The ground beneath him vibrated from the beat of his mare's hooves as she bolted past him into the labyrinth of trees.

He lay there for a moment, stunned and winded. The ice shard wedged against his backbone remained, though whatever had ripped him from horseback didn't press him into the dirt. A few more breaths and he lurched to his feet, unsettled by his unusual clumsiness, alarmed by the violence of an invisible force that had so thoroughly unhorsed him. There'd been no trip rope to clothesline him, nor had he been riding fast when he fell. The lamp he held had fallen when he did, lost somewhere in the underbrush when its flickering light had guttered. Darkness hung thick enough to scoop with a spoon.

His muttered curses sounded loud to his ears as he peered into the sepulchral black, hoping he might spot the mare standing nearby or at least find a partially cleared path that led back to open pasture. He took a step only to suffer a hard clamp on his backbone, as if the icicle there had suddenly transformed into a shackle locked around his middle. Invisible tethers seized his arms and legs and he was jerked to one side and then the other as if by a drunken puppeteer with their hands on the strings.

Gharek staggered, struggling to keep his feet, struggling to free himself from the bonds that held him in an unbreakable grip that both dragged and yanked him in the direction of Midrigar's walls. He careened through the dark, along a jagged path that propelled him into tree trunks before spinning him away to tear through the underbrush. He tried planting his feet in the dirt to no avail, his boots carving skid marks as he was pulled along like a cur on a leash. His palms left bloody smears on the bark of those trees he tried to grip for purchase and was wrenched away with little effort.

The iciness slithering down his spine spread in creeper tendrils throughout his body, wrapping around his lungs and heart, his liver, even his tongue so that his curses and snarls slowly ebbed away and his struggles waned. Speaking was an impossibility, breathing a challenge, and he was reduced to nothing more than a grunting, shambling mute driven inexorably toward an ancient city of the damned and a fate he could not know but feared with every part of his soul.


Excerpted from Raven Unveiled by Grace Draven Copyright © 2022 by Grace Draven. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved.

About the Author

Grace Draven is a Louisiana native living in Texas with her husband, kids, and a big doofus dog. She is the winner of the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Fantasy Romance of 2016 and a USA Today bestselling author.

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HTP Fall Reads Blog Tour (Inkyard Press & YA Edition) Promo Post: Silver in the Mist by Emily Victoria

Silver in the Mist by Emily Victoria is a YA fantasy featuring asexual representation that follows a palace spy sent to infiltrate a neighboring kingdom in hopes of returning magic to her dying land.

Eight years ago, everything changed for Devlin: Her country was attacked. Her father was killed. And her mother became the Whisperer of Aris, the head of the spies, retreating into her position away from everyone… even her daughter.

Joining the spy ranks herself, Dev sees her mother only when receiving assignments. She wants more, but she understands the peril their country, Aris, is in. The malevolent magic force of The Mists is swallowing Aris’s edges, their country is vulnerable to another attack from their wealthier neighbor, and the magic casters who protect them from both are burning out.

Dev has known strength and survival her whole life, but with a dangerous new assignment of infiltrating the royal court of their neighbor country Cerena to steal the magic they need, she learns that not all that glitters is weak. And not all stories are true.

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Chapter One

 

The camp around me is shadowy and asleep—vulnerable—just the way I like it. At my back, metal poles hold lanterns that let out an erratic flicker of a glow. But it doesn’t reach as far in as I am, and even the patrolling soldiers barely stray from their circles of firelight. It’s sloppy, this whole camp.

I feel, rather than see, someone slip into the shadow of the tent behind me.

“Devlin.”

Lochlan’s jesting voice is that low tone that barely carries as far as my ears. I shift closer to the canvas of the tent so they can crouch beside me. “Fancy seeing you here,” they say.

Even though this is serious, my own lips twitch in response. Like me, Lochlan is dressed in tight-fitting clothes with their hood up, dark and practical and perfect for getting up to no good. They tug the strip of cloth covering their face down as they let out a huff. “This thing gets so itchy.”

I raise a brow. “That’s not regulation.”

They give me a look, but it’s edged with that sharp ex­citement neither of us can hide in the field. It tingles in my own fingertips. I want to get on with it, but as always, the Whisperer’s voice echoes in my head, tempering the impulse.

Take the time to observe. Know the lay of the land.

No matter how many missions I do, how much experience I think I’ve gained, it’s always my mother’s voice that sounds in my head out here in the field.

I scan the tents in front of us. There are three of them in the inner circle, five in the outer. If this camp has the usual layout, then the barracks, the mess, and the supplies will be in the outer tents. The scribes and those in command—in other words, everyone important—will be in this inner ring.

The tent on the far left is larger than the two beside it. All are in that deep navy color that is dyed even darker by the night, which only serves to offset the fabric’s silver lining. The canvas is thick enough that even if there was light inside the tents, we wouldn’t be able to see any silhouettes. It doesn’t give us much to go on, but at least it means once we’re inside, no one will be able to see us either.

“What did you find out?” I ask.

“Captain’s quarters are in the middle. The large one on the left is for the scribes. The last one houses the captain’s two pages.”

“So are the captain’s office and his sleeping quarters the same?”

“Guess.”

I stifle my sigh. That will be a pain to deal with, but it’s not like we haven’t done it before. Multiple times. “The scribes?”

“They sleep with the soldiers as far as I can tell.”

That’s promising. I scan the area. The captain’s tent is the only one with a guard. The man is bored, idly fiddling with his sword’s sheath. He wears a tunic of soft blue lined with white, so neat it looks as if it’d get dirty if the guard glanced at the ground wrong.

“We can take him,” Lochlan says.

I elbow them. “No evidence outside of the theft, remem­ber?” The scribes’ tent isn’t guarded, and there’s barely a foot of space between it and the captain’s tent beside it. That’s our best chance. “This way.”

We track down the row we’re sheltered by, moving from shadow to shadow, aware of the guards and the torchlight hovering just around the corners. At the end of the lane, I wait for the guard’s attention to shift and then we’re just two shadows slipping over the grassy gap. The canvas of the scribes’ tent is secured with thick ties, and I undo the row to let us in.

The space is shadowy in the dark and I take a moment to let my eyes adjust. Rows of portable desks fill the tent so tightly I have to step carefully as I ghost between them, Lochlan behind me.

The desks are littered with papers and worn writing im­plements, and among them lie pieces of filigree. The deli­cate swirls of the silvery patterns shine in the darkness, like fallen pieces of moonglow. My fingers hover over them. We aren’t supposed to leave any evidence, but I can’t resist swip­ing a couple of the shards into my pocket. This is a Cerenian camp. They won’t notice one or two missing pieces of fili­gree, while we need all the stolen magic we can get.

Behind me, Lochlan pauses as they look at the filigree.

Even though I can’t make out the expression on their face from this angle, I know what will be there. Loss.

I nudge them. “Bet you a week’s worth of chores I can find what we need first.”

Lochlan’s eyes glint in the dark as they grin. “You’re going to regret that.”

“You wish.”

A couple more ties get us out the far wall, and I give a quick glance to make sure the guard can’t see us before slip­ping into the captain’s tent.

He’s a snorer. That much is obvious as we step in and a grinding noise like rocks being smashed together echoes over to us. Lochlan’s face contorts in laughter and I grab their face cloth and yank it back over their mouth.

There’s not much in here. Besides the bed, the only things are a camp desk and a chest. Well, that and the clothes scat­tered all over the place. There’s even a discarded sword not a foot away from where I stand. He’s not a strict captain then. I’m betting he’s the type to leave his papers lying out rather than filing them away at the end of the day.

I take the desk and sure enough, it’s cluttered with writ­ing instruments and parchment. The Whisperer ordered us to bring back the original orders from the Cerenian monarch that sent these soldiers here. I don’t know exactly what they will say, but I can guess. There are a number of patrolling camps that work their way up and down the Cerenian bor­der, making sure it’s secure. Normally they follow the exact same route. This camp, though, is well into the neutral ter­ritory of the Peaks.

The last true attack from Cerena was decades ago, long before I was born, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t planning another. I can’t see why else they would have strayed so far into the Peaks, when it’s such difficult territory to cover. We can’t face the Mists and an army.

My fingers shift through the papers, careful to disturb them as little as possible. Then in the dark, I catch the image of a songbird sitting on a branch: Cerena’s royal seal. The orders themselves are written in code but that seal means this is what we’ve come for.

I lift the paper high, so Lochlan can see it.

I win.

The snoring cuts off. I drop to a crouch behind the desk. As I peer around its edge I see the captain blinking sleepy eyes open.

I look at where Lochlan is hiding behind the chest. They’re closer to where we entered than I am. They should be able to get out if they move right now, before the captain is fully awake.

I wave my hand at them. They hesitate, but I give them a glare. Moving as silent as a shadow, they’re gone.

There’s a creak from the bed as the captain gets up, mut­tering beneath his breath. His footsteps come closer, padding over the canvas floor. My hand finds the knife at my hip. As soon as he’s close enough, I’ll jab the knife in his leg. Then I’ll run.

Fast.

His feet come into view and I’m tensing to move when there’s a panicked shout from outside. It’s taken up, the sound multiplying.

What did Lochlan do?

The captain grabs his boots and races outside. As soon as he’s gone, I slip out the side of the tent. I smell the smoke the moment I’m free, the ring of light at the eastern outskirts of the camp now shining decidedly angrier.

“A lantern has fallen!” someone shouts. “Bring water!”

The camp is a flurry of activity. All of the soldiers, most only half-dressed and with mussed hair, are heading one way. I catch a clear moment and dash in the opposite direction.

I dart between the tents, breaking out of the last line and plunging into the forest at the base of the mountain. It’s darker beneath the trees, the branches scratching at my clothes, and even though I’m risking a broken ankle, I don’t slow. Better a broken ankle than an arrow in my back.

The ground beneath my feet turns from moss to dirt to stone, and the forest fades as I track up the path.

I turn the corner, and there it is.

A wall of white clings to the mountain like a shroud. It’s so thick I can’t even make out the rocks in it. All I can see are the flashes of lightning deep in its depths, bright and fierce.

The Mists.

Lochlan sits on a rock just outside the border of white, idly swinging one of their legs. Their hood is already down, showing their auburn hair with the single streak of gray, cur­rently tied back into a ponytail. The filigree lantern we’d hid­den on our way down shines at their feet, sparking off their bright green eyes.

I tug the cloth away from my face. “What did you set on fire?”

They grin at me. “You’re welcome.”

There’s a shout behind us from the direction of the camp and we plunge into the Mists.

Excerpted from Silver in the Mist. Copyright © 2022 by Emily Victoria. Published by Inkyard Press.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Photo Credit Rebecca Orr

Emily Victoria is a Canadian prairie girl who writes young adult science fiction and fantasy. When not wordsmithing, she likes walking her overexcitable dog, drinking far too much tea, and crocheting things she no longer has the space to store. Her librarian degree has allowed her to work at a library and take home far too many books.

 

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