Release: Nearly Werewolves

 

Title: Nearly Werewolves

Author: Harper A. Brooks

Genre: NA Urban Fantasy

Cover Designer: Covers by Christian

Publication Date: April 25, 2026

Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR

Blurb: 

They say a werewolf’s first shift is like a meeting of two souls.

I wouldn’t know.

The moon never called to me. Moonlocked, they call it—a were without a wolf. No bite, no claws, no strength. As a pureborn werewolf, daughter of the alpha, I’ve kept that shameful secret buried from everyone.

Except Grayson. He knows the real me.

He wasn’t born a were. He was bitten and turned, so we both know what it’s like to not really fit in. But when he gets sick with moon madness, his only hope is a powerful shaman who might know the cure.

To make matters worse, the packs have hired a hunter to track down all the moon-mad wolves and eliminate them before the disease spreads any further.

And Grayson is next on his list.

To save my friend and the rest of my kind, I’ll have to find a way to unlock the beast inside me. But what if, in the end, I’m the true monster everyone should be running from?

NOW LIVE & AVAILABLE ON KU!

Harper A. Brooks lives in a small town on the New Jersey shore. Even though classic authors have always filled her bookshelves, she finds her writing muse drawn to the dark, magical, and romantic. But when she isn't creating entire worlds with sexy shifters or legendary love stories, you can find her either with a good cup of coffee in hand or at home snuggling with her furry, four-legged son, Sammy.

She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance.

RONE Award Winner

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

International Bestselling Author

Author Links:

Amazon | Twitter | Goodreads | Website 

Instagram | Facebook | Bookbub | Reader Group

NOW LIVE & AVAILABLE ON KU!

 

Book Tour: When June Haunts May

One visible spirit.

Two phantom thieves.

Three courageous friends.

When June Haunts May

The Haunting of Pinedale High #10

by Celaine Charles

Genre: Cozy YA Paranormal Ghost Story

June Brookes has haunted the library at Pinedale High for decades, without attention. Until one day, new sophomore, May Blakely, notices. Could this be June’s chance to cross over to the hereafter? If only she knew what needed to be finished from her old life.

Angsty May prefers solitude. Her deadbeat dad may have ditched her in this small town, but she has no interest befriending this strange girl, or the cute boy across the street.

June’s hereafter hustle goes haywire when two phantom soldiers plot to hijack her passage to peace, at the expense of hurting fellow students. June saves May’s life, igniting their joint efforts to protect the school. Can May help June to her happily ever afterlife?

  

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“Have you ever seen her in a class?”

What was he getting at? “We don’t have any classes together. But I don’t have any classes with you either.”

“Okay, so how about the fact that she was cold as ice when I touched her shoulder?”

The chills she’d sensed from June had felt like relief in the blazing sun, but she had noticed them. “What are you saying?”

Reid pulled her underneath a yellowing oak in an empty yard. Ignoring her look of annoyance, he glanced over his shoulders before whispering low and close to her ear. “Did you know Pinedale High is haunted?”

First the woods and now the whole school? May stepped back, hands up in feigned surrender. “Okay-okay, I get it. Prank the new kid. You know, I’m sorry I even thought about checking in on you. I don’t have time for this.” She about-faced and strode down the sidewalk without him.

“Wait, what? I’m not pranking you.” He caught up in only a few strides, his long legs veering her off to the side. “Please, hear me out.”

May’s mind flipped through any example of a high school boy wanting her to hear him out. This had to be a trick. “No, you listen to me. I’ve been the new girl far too many times than I care to count. And I get it. I’m easy prey…perhaps even a challenge.” She thumped him in his too-close-to-her chest. “But I’m not playing.”

“I think June’s a ghost. I’m not kidding or pranking you. And I need you to listen.”

Flashes of her strange interactions with her new friend…if she could even call her that…flickered through May’s mind. They’d only known each other for a couple of days, but she had sensed something off.

She turned away from him, trying to put everything together. Bouts of June’s chilliness, yes. But earlier, it had been strange how fast she’d flown down the spectator stands. Before that, she struggled to push open the main school doors.

May had attributed June’s glossy hollow eyes to the lighting, but maybe it was because of something else. She closed her own eyes for clarity, kicking her foot into the grass. Maybe allergies?

She tucked her hair behind her ear, running the strands between her fingers as more details registered. June’s peculiar way of speaking was odd, and her clothes that first day, like a blast from the past. She was still wearing her penny loafers…with pennies inside.

May dropped her backpack, shook her head at Reid, who was waiting for her to process. But her brain wasn’t cooperating. “Ghosts?” The word spat off her tongue like she’d swallowed a flick of her cat’s tail.

“I know I sound insane. I’m not. I promise.” He glimpsed her with creamy brown eyes. They were the color of Great-Grandma’s sweet tea, and she was overheating inside and out, ready for a tall glass.

“Is this why you’ve been crying at the pond during lunch?”

“What?” His face scrunched, cheeks burning past the eighty-degree temperature outside to a brighter shade of full-blown embarrassment. “No. I mean—I’m not crying at the pond. What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

They stood at an impasse, shock etching along both their eyebrows and drawn lips. Her mind raced for something to say, and if she had to guess, he was in the same boat.

Don’t miss the rest of the Haunting of Pinedale High books!

Find them on Amazon

Celaine Charles lives in the enchanted Pacific Northwest, teaching elementary school by day and writing by the stars at night. She’s an award-winning, multi-genre author who balances her dual life creating poetry, fantasy, and contemporary romance shorts, while blogging about her journey on Steps in Between. In addition, she’s embarking on the world of children’s picture books.

She’s published collections of poetry through Egret Lake Books and Palmetto Publishing Group, and fiction through The Wild Rose Press and Eliza Storm Books.

Celaine is a member of the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, Storyteller Academy, Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, and reads poetry regularly with the Museum of Northwest Art, Writing’s on the Wall series.

 

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Free Sale: Text

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Kidnapped. Thrown into a hole in the middle of the woods.
But she didn't go down there alone.
Honor snatched her kidnappers cellphone. A spotty signal, a ticking clock and a text to a stranger.
Will he find her?
 
TEXT - a standalone romantic suspense by Cambria Hebert 

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Release: Claimed Without Mercy

Title: Claimed Without Mercy

Author: Dulce Dennison

Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: April 24, 2026

Genre: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Gay, Mafia /Organized Crime

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 150

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Synopsis

Captive. Claimed. Protected by the devil himself. I’m Tyson Hughes’ right hand. Collector. Enforcer. Executioner. When a low-level idiot tries to clear his debt by offering up his own nephew, I expect a clean transaction. A body to move. A message to send. Business. I don’t expect Kellen. Bruised. Beautiful. Untouched by this world in ways that make my jaw lock. He looks at me like I’m either the devil come to claim him… or the only thing standing between him and worse. Taking him wasn’t part of the plan. Delivering him to Tyson would’ve been easier. Smarter. Safer. Instead, I claim him. Now he’s living under my roof, breathing my air, learning the rules of a world I don’t sugarcoat. I’m not a hero. I don’t rescue people. I own what’s mine. I protect it. And I destroy anyone stupid enough to threaten it. But the deeper I pull Kellen into my life—into the violence, the loyalty, the blood that binds us—the harder it is to tell where captivity ends… and desire begins. When the debt comes due, I’ll have to choose. Tyson’s empire. Or the young man I claimed without mercy—and refuse to let go.

Excerpt

Claimed Without Mercy Dulce Dennison All rights reserved. Copyright ©2026 Dulce Dennison Ian I watched the men work, arms folded across my chest. The dim lights of the warehouse cast long shadows as they moved product from one crate to another, their movements precise and mechanical. Nobody spoke much -- they knew better. When I oversaw an operation, I expected efficiency, not conversation. The tattoos on my forearms seemed to pulse in the half-light, a reminder to everyone present of who I was and what I was capable of. The man who made problems disappear. “Faster,” I said, my voice echoing against the concrete walls. “We need this shit loaded before sunrise.” The men picked up their pace, sweat beading on their foreheads. This shipment was worth seven figures -- premium grade heroin straight from our overseas connections. The kind of product that kept Tyson’s empire running and our pockets lined. I paced between the rows of crates, watching each man’s hands, each movement. Trust wasn’t something I gave easily, especially not to the low-level soldiers Tyson assigned to these jobs. Most were competent enough, but all it took was one fuck-up, one greedy asshole, and we’d have cops swarming the place or, worse, a war with another organization. Something caught my eye. A slight hesitation from one of the newer guys -- skinny fuck with a neck tattoo that screamed prison ink. He glanced over his shoulder when he thought I wasn’t looking, then slipped his hand into his jacket pocket just a little too casually. I moved behind a stack of crates, circling around until I was positioned where he couldn’t see me. Three years of working as Tyson’s enforcer had taught me to spot a rat before they even knew they were one. “Something interesting in your pocket, Alvarez?” I asked, appearing beside him like a shadow. He jumped, nearly dropping the bag he was holding. “No, Mr. Grant. Just checking the time.” “Really? Pull it out, then.” His eyes darted to the exit, calculating the distance. I knew that look. I’d seen it dozens of times before on the faces of men who thought they could outsmart me. “Now,” I said, not raising my voice. I never had to. “It’s nothing, I swear --” I grabbed his wrist, twisting until he gasped in pain, then reached into his pocket myself. My fingers closed around a small plastic bag containing about twenty grams of our product. The weight of it told me everything I needed to know. “Everyone stop,” I commanded, and the warehouse fell silent. “Gather round. Seems we need to have a little lesson in loyalty.” The men formed a circle, their faces grim. They knew what was coming. They’d seen it before, or at least heard the stories. I held up the bag. “Alvarez here thinks he deserves a bonus. Isn’t that right?” “Please, Mr. Grant, I wasn’t --” My fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. He stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Good. I wanted him conscious for what came next. “Tyson Hughes pays you well,” I said, addressing everyone now. “He provides for your families. Keeps the cops off your backs. And in return, he asks for one thing.” I grabbed Alvarez by the throat. “Loyalty.” I slammed him against a crate, my hand still tight around his neck. His eyes bulged, face turning red, then purple. “You know what happens to thieves in this organization?” I asked, loosening my grip just enough for him to breathe. He nodded frantically, gasping for air. “Tell them,” I demanded, nodding toward the other men. “They… they die,” he choked out. I smiled. “Usually. But tonight, I’m feeling generous.” Relief flooded his face for a brief moment before I slammed my knee into his groin. As he doubled over, I caught him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling across the concrete floor. The men watched in silence as I approached Alvarez, who was now curled into a ball, blood trickling from his split lip. I knelt beside him, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear. “I’m going to let you live, but not out of mercy.” I pulled a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open. “You’re going to be a message.” What happened next filled the warehouse with screams that the thick walls swallowed whole. The men watched, faces impassive but eyes wide with fear as I made my point in blood. When I was done, Alvarez lay sobbing on the floor, clutching what remained of his left hand. “Get him patched up,” I told two of the men. “Then drop him at the emergency room across town. Make sure he understands that if he says a word about where he was or who did this, the next visit won’t be so pleasant.” They nodded and dragged Alvarez away, leaving a smear of crimson across the floor. I turned to the remaining men, wiping my blade clean on a handkerchief. “Finish loading the shipment. I want everything out of here in thirty minutes.” They scattered like cockroaches under a light, moving twice as fast as before. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the dust and chemical odors of the warehouse. I checked my watch. Almost 3 AM. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Tyson: Need you at the house. 9 AM sharp. Important matter to discuss. I stared at the message, feeling a familiar mix of pride and anxiety. A direct summons from Tyson usually meant one of two things: I’d fucked up, or he had a special job that only I could handle. Given that I’d been running operations smoothly for months, I was betting on the latter. I supervised the rest of the loading in silence, watching as the men carefully avoided the bloodstain on the floor. By 4:15 AM, the warehouse was empty except for me and the lingering evidence of what happened to those who betrayed Tyson Hughes. I locked up and climbed into my black Audi, the leather seat cool against my back. The night had turned cold, but I barely noticed. My mind was already on the meeting with Tyson, wondering what assignment awaited me. Whatever it was, I’d handle it. I always did. That’s why, despite everything, I was still alive when so many others weren’t. I pulled out of the warehouse district, leaving behind the night’s violence and heading toward my apartment for a few hours of sleep before meeting with the only man I’d ever truly respected. The only man who’d ever given me a chance when everyone else saw nothing but gutter trash. The man who’d made me what I was. For Tyson Hughes, I’d do anything. And he knew it. I pulled up to Tyson’s estate at 8:55 AM, early as always. The gates opened automatically -- security knew my car. As I drove up the long, winding driveway, I caught glimpses of the sprawling mansion through the trees. Tyson had built all this from nothing, clawing his way up from the streets to become the most powerful man in the city’s underworld. And he’d picked me. Even after all these years, that fact still hit me in the chest sometimes, a mixture of pride and the constant fear of disappointing him. I parked next to Tyson’s collection of luxury cars and straightened my tie in the rearview mirror. Despite only three hours of sleep, I looked presentable. The dark circles under my eyes were practically permanent fixtures anyway. The front door opened before I could knock. Nick, Tyson’s longtime second-in-command, greeted me with a curt nod. “He’s in his study,” he said, stepping aside. I walked through the marble-floored foyer, past priceless artwork and antiques that Tyson collected not because he gave a shit about art, but because they signified his rise from poverty. Everything in this house was a trophy, a reminder of victories and conquered enemies. The study door stood ajar. I knocked anyway. “Come in, Ian,” Tyson called. He sat behind a massive oak desk, silver hair immaculately styled, wearing what I knew was a hand-tailored suit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. At fifty-three, Tyson Hughes carried himself with the ease of a man who knew his own power and had no need to flaunt it. When he killed, he did it with a phone call, not his hands. Those days were behind him. “Right on time,” he said, looking up from his computer and removing his reading glasses. “How’d the shipment go last night?” “Clean and quick. One minor issue that’s been handled.” Tyson raised an eyebrow. “What kind of issue?” “Alvarez tried skimming product. Won’t happen again.” “Is he breathing?” I nodded. “Missing some fingers, but alive. I figured he’d be more useful as a warning than a corpse.” A smile touched the corners of Tyson’s mouth. “Smart. That’s why I trust you with these things.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Drink?” “It’s not even ten.” “Since when has that ever stopped either of us?” I smiled despite myself and took the seat. Tyson poured two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter, sliding one across the desk to me. “You look like shit,” he said casually. “Not sleeping?” “Sleep’s overrated.” “Not when I need you sharp.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those penetrating gray eyes that saw everything. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.” “Just doing my job.” “Your job is to follow orders and stay alive. Can’t do either if you’re running on fumes.” I took a sip of the scotch, letting the burn distract me from the fact that Tyson was the only person on earth who could talk to me like this without ending up in pieces. “I’m fine,” I said. “What’s this important matter you wanted to discuss?” Tyson’s expression shifted, his eyes hardening. “Sean Collins.” The name hung in the air between us. “What about him?” I asked. “He owes us three hundred grand. Has for almost six months now.” Tyson took a long swallow of his drink. “I’ve been patient. Sent Nick to have a chat with him twice. Sent messages through mutual associates. Nothing.” “You want me to collect.” “I want you to make an example of him.” Tyson’s voice dropped, became colder. “Collins thinks because he’s got connections with the Irish that he’s untouchable. He’s been spreading word that I’ve gone soft in my old age.” My jaw clenched. “That’s a mistake.” “A fatal one.” Tyson stood up and walked to the window, looking out over his manicured gardens. “Sean Collins is a particular kind of vermin. Beats the girls who work for him, sometimes kills them if they try to leave. Has a taste for the young ones too.” “Want me to take care of him permanently?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Tyson turned, his expression softer now, almost paternal. “Not yet. First, get my money. Make him understand who he’s dealing with.” He returned to his desk and pulled out a file, sliding it across to me. “Here’s everything you need to know. Addresses, hangouts, known associates. His nephew lives with him -- kid named Kellen Lin. Collins had custody since the boy’s mother died. He’s an adult now but hasn’t moved out.” I flipped through the file. Photos, financial records, property deeds. Tyson was nothing if not thorough. “The nephew -- he involved in Collins’ business?” I asked. “Not as far as we know. Works at a coffee shop. Keeps to himself.” Tyson refilled his glass. “Use your judgment there.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Collateral damage was part of the job. “When?” I asked, closing the file. “Yesterday would’ve been good. Today’s acceptable. By the end of the week, non-negotiable.” I nodded, downing the rest of my scotch in one swallow. “Consider it done.” “I always do when I give you an assignment.” Tyson smiled, the kind of smile that had always made me feel like I belonged somewhere. “That’s why I chose you, Ian. From the first day I pulled you out of that shithole your father called a home, I knew you were different. You understand loyalty.” “You gave me a life,” I said simply. It wasn’t flattery. It was fact. Before Tyson, I was nothing. A fifteen-year-old kid with a junkie father and violence in my blood. Tyson had channeled that violence, given it purpose and direction. “And you’ve repaid that a thousand times over.” He walked around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Collins is just the beginning. I’m getting older, Ian. Starting to think about the future of this organization.” My heart skipped a beat. We’d never discussed succession before, though everyone in the hierarchy wondered who would take over when Tyson eventually stepped aside. I’d always assumed it would be Nick, but at the same time, Nick was also getting up there in years. Both men were close in age and had worked side-by-side for as long as anyone could remember. But if I thought about it, I was probably the next closest to Tyson, the most trusted after Nick. I left the study with the file tucked under my arm and a sense of purpose burning in my chest. Tyson had called me “his boy.” It wasn’t the first time, but it never failed to hit something deep inside me -- that hungry, abandoned part that had never known a real father’s approval. For Tyson, I’d collect this debt and a thousand more. I’d tear Sean Collins apart if necessary. Because when Tyson Hughes looked at me like that -- with pride and expectation -- I felt like I was worth something. And that feeling was more addictive than any drug I’d ever tried.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Dulce Dennison is a pen name for gay and LGBTQA+ themed love stories from best selling MC romance author Harley Wylde, AKA award-winning science fiction/paranormal romance author Jessica Coulter Smith. From cowboys to shapeshifters, Dulce/Harley/Jess believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.

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Book Blitz: Influence God’s Way With Us

A Faith-Filled Coming of Age Story About Influence, Identity, and Purpose

Coming of Age, Christian

Date Published: April 25, 2026

Jade didn’t set out to become famous.

She just wanted to be seen.

 

When eighteen-year-old Jade Zachary begins experimenting with social media, what starts as curiosity quickly turns into something bigger. Her posts gain attention. Her following grows. But the spotlight comes with a cost. Harsh comments begin piling up, accusations spread online, and strange anonymous messages start appearing in her inbox. Someone is watching her more closely than she realizes.

As the pressure of influence grows, Jade must confront questions far deeper than likes or followers.

Who is she trying to impress?

What does real influence actually look like?

Guided by her faith, her family, and trusted friends, Jade begins to discover that influence is not about popularity or clout. It is about purpose, integrity, and the responsibility that comes with having a voice.

Blending Christian fantasy, suspense, and inspirational storytelling, Influence God’s Way With Us explores the unseen spiritual principles behind identity, discernment, and influence in today’s attention-driven culture. Through Jade’s journey, readers discover powerful lessons about authenticity, humility, leadership, and staying grounded in faith in a world obsessed with approval.

The internet gave Jade a platform.

Faith will decide how she uses it.

This is not just a story about going viral.

It is a story about identity, boundaries, faith, and the courage to influence the world God’s way.

 

If you’ve ever questioned the pressure of social media, identity, or purpose, this story will challenge and inspire you. Get your copy today and join Jade’s journey.

 

 

 About the Author

Lola Salvador Akinwunmi is a writer, songwriter, and leadership architect with a passion for shaping people who shape the world. Drawing from years of creative and leadership work, Lola brings a rare voice to every room she enters, one that is equally at home crafting a lyric, building a leader, and telling a story that stirs the soul.

Her debut novella, Influence God's Way With Us, is the culmination of that journey. It explores what it truly means to lead with divine influence, not ego, strategy, or title, but surrender and purpose. Lola writes for the leader who knows there is something deeper available and is ready to reach for it.

She has been featured in Addicted2Success, LinkedIn, Thrive Global, Brit +Co, CEOWorld Magazine, The Good Men Project, and writes for Entrepreneur Magazine.

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Amazon

Release: Treasure By Chance

Title: Treasure by Chance

Series: University Row, Book One

Author: Brenda Murphy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/21/2026

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 246

Genre: Contemporary, Romance, contemporary, family-drama, BDSM, romantic suspense, interracial, lesbian, firefighter, music teacher, blue-collar, dog, arson, dementia, Domme/sub relationship, butch/femme relationship

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Description

Fire investigator and legendary stud about town Mel Michaels is not looking for love. Raising her niece, Nicole, after her sister's death is her full-time job. Who needs a potential heartbreak when Mel's natural charm and swagger has opened every bedroom door she's ever knocked on?

Music teacher Sofia Ortega has spent the last three years putting her life back together after a bitter breakup. Back in her hometown she is content with her life and has sworn off relationships. After their chance encounter ends in a torrid one-night stand, both women are forced to choose. Protect their hearts or take a chance?

Excerpt

Treasure by Chance
Brenda Murphy © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“Have they set a date for your recital? I need to get it in the schedule.” Mel Michaels kneeled in the foyer to tie her work boots.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nicole shouldered her see-through backpack. “Ms. Ortega said she needed to finalize some things. She’ll let us know in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay.” Mel looked up and tilted her head at Nicole. “You want a ride?”

“No. Steve and Erin’s mom is making them walk to school ’cause she thinks they don’t exercise enough. I promised Erin I’d walk with them.”

Mel stood and met Nicole’s gaze. “Be careful. I’ll pick you up after piano today. I might be a little late. I have to help take Grandma to her doctor appointment.”

Nicole’s brows lowered. “Grandma’s been forgetting a lot of things. Did you see her bruises? Grandad said she fell while he was taking a nap.” She chewed her lip. “What if she falls and one of us isn’t with her?”

Mel shifted her gaze away from Nicole. “We’re going to help Grandad do his best to keep her safe, and to help her remember the important things, okay? I’ll talk with him again about getting help with her.”

“She’ll just wait till he takes a nap and do it again.” Nicole pushed back her hair and shifted on the balls of her feet. “Erin’s mom is taking her to get her temps next week. When will you take me?”

“I’ll take you the first day you’re old enough to test, okay?” Mel rested her hand on her niece’s shoulder. “You’re studying the manual, right?”

“Yeah. Me and Erin are quizzing each other.”

“Good. Now scoot or you’re gonna be late.” Mel gave Nicole’s shoulder a squeeze and urged her toward the door.

“Bye.” Nicole opened the door and hurried down the front steps.

“Bye.” Mel stood in the doorway and watched her niece until she turned the corner. She closed the door and leaned back against it.

The kitchen clock chimed half seven. Mel turned to the entryway mirror and checked her reflection. In the glass, her gaze rested on the photo hanging on the wall behind her. She turned toward it. Nicole’s gap-toothed grin contrasted with her sister Jane’s forced smile and spaced-out expression as she held Nicole’s hand.

Memories of screaming matches with her sister over empty pill bottles and promises to quit, to seek counseling, to take better care of Nicole bubbled up. Mel shoved away her grief and anger. She closed her eyes against the intrusive images of her sister’s body, of Nicole patting her mother’s face, her frightened voice. “She won’t wake up, Aunt Mel.” The memory was as clear and bright as a razor’s edge. Mel’s chest tightened as the images overlapped and morphed into other painful memories too numerous to count. Rage flooded her senses. She snatched the photo off the wall. The edge of the frame dug into her palm. Her hands trembled as she lifted it over her head.

“Get it together, Mel.” She spoke out loud, her words echoing back to her in the empty hallway. “Stop. Stop thinking about it. You got things to do.” She placed the photo face down on the table. Mentally, she slammed the lid shut on her box of memories before she straightened her shoulders and blew out her breath forcefully. She picked up her keys and snatched her gym bag off the floor on her way out the door, counting down the minutes until she could work over the heavy bag.

*****

Sofia splashed water on her face before she picked up the icy cold washcloth. She placed it against the puffy dark circles under her eyes, the chill soothing. When the cloth warmed, she rinsed it and hung it to dry. She tamed her hair with quick strokes of her brush.

She dug an elastic hairband out from the red container on the shelf and surveyed her face in the bathroom mirror while she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. Fine streaks of grey stood out against the dark-brown strands of her hair. Satisfied she was presentable, she pulled her favorite yellow sundress on. The sounds of plates clinking and her mother humming drew her toward the kitchen.

The morning light streamed in, creating a sunbeam across the linoleum. The floor was warm under her bare feet. Her mouth watered with the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and the cinnamon scent of muffins.

“Morning. Coffee’s ready.” Sofia’s mother, Alejandra, glanced up at Sofia as she arranged steaming muffins on a platter. Two place settings and a bud vase with miniature white roses graced the round table.

“You spoil me, Mom. I’m never going to want to find a place of my own.” She poured a cup of coffee for her mother and herself.

“You don’t need to. I’m going to travel after I retire. It will be like living alone. This house is paid for. Save your money. Then you can spoil me in my old age.”

Sofia picked up the grocery list from the tabletop. “Let’s talk about it later.” She held out the paper to her mom. “What’s this one? I can’t read it.”

Alejandra squinted at the list. “A pint of heavy cream. You can’t put me off forever, Sofia.”

“I know, Mom. I know.” Sophia added cream to her coffee before she placed a muffin on her plate. She sipped her coffee, savoring the rich Costa Rican blend. Steam rose from the muffin as she split its top with her knife. Her stomach rumbled as she pulled off a piece and popped it into her mouth. The sweet cinnamon flavor burst over her tongue followed by the rich crumb of the topping. She ate the rest of the muffin in two bites.

“What’s your hurry?” Alejandra’s brow wrinkled. “I won’t force you to talk about it.”

“I’m not avoiding the conversation, Mom,” Sofia lied. “I want to get to the grocery before the yoga mom crowd.”

She scooted her chair back, stood, and drank the rest of her coffee while avoiding her mother’s gaze. Sophia bolted from the kitchen. “Love you, Mom.” She strode down the hall and snatched her purse off the hall table before she plucked her keys out of the rack. “Text me if you think of anything else you want.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Brenda Murphy (she/her) writes erotic romance. Her most recent novel, Double Six, is the 2020 Golden Crown Literary Society winner for Erotic Novels, and Knotted Legacy, the third book in the Rowan House series, made the 2018 The Lesbian Review’s Top 100 Vacation Reads list. You can catch her musings on writing, books, and living with wicked ADHD on her blog Writing While Distracted. She loves sideshows and tattoos and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local library, she wrangles twins, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a free short story, information on book signings, appearances, work in progress snippets, previews and sneak-peeks, sign up for my email list at:

Website: www.brendalmurphy.com

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Book Blitz: A Chatter Of Bones & Baby’s Breath

A Chatter of Bones & Baby’s Breath
Suzanne Phillips
Publication date: April 21st 2026
Genres: Young Adult

From acclaimed author Suzanne Phillips comes this compelling novella collection–gritty coming-of-age stories in narrative and verse that Kirkus Reviews calls “haunting and heartbreaking. . .an unflinching look at surviving trauma.”

A CHATTER OF BONES
Kaitlyn has come to rely on Olivia, the woman who rescued her from human trafficking, but is learning to trust her instincts and lean into her hard-earned strength. All of this will be challenged when a monsoon bears down on their remote spread, a mountain lion, flushed out of the surrounding hills by the weather, attacks, and human visitors push Kaitlyn to face her deepest fears.

BABY’S BREATH
Teen poet bares the geography of her heart and the “no care” foster care system as she mourns the mother she lost, releases dreams of reunification, and accepts that the only life she can live is the one in front of her.

Recommended for readers age 16+

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT (Baby’s Breath):

TRAFFICK
The world is not safe for girls
Broken
Beaten
Forgotten
Sweetened
The world is not safe for girls
Not in twos
Or with mace
Not screaming for help
Or stony-faced
The world is not safe for girls
With pretty hair
Or pocked skin
With muffin top
Or perfect teeth
The world is not safe for girls
Not in your home or mine
Not in school
Or after
Not with two parents
Or none
There’s someone
Always waiting.
Stroked
Or snatched
Held by the hand
A picked flower
Sold
Bartered
Rented by the hour
Always someone waiting
In the shadows
Or under street lights
In the school cafeteria
At the family BBQ
A friend’s father
Favorite uncle
Colleague
Cop
Neighbor
Father
To prove
The world is not safe for girls.

Author Bio:

Suzanne Phillips is the author of YA fiction, the Nicole Cobain mystery series (writing as Emery Hayes), and upmarket fiction. For a peek into the writer's life and updates on book releases & events check out her website.

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GIVEAWAY!

A Chatter of Bones & Baby’s Breath Blitz

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