An Austen-inspired Short Story Duet
Enjoy two tea parties, two romances and two characters from one of the world’s most beloved authors.
Tea for Two:
An Austen-Inspired Short Story Duet
by Bianca White
Genre: Historical Romance
Jane Austen and tea. What more could one ask for?
Enjoy two tea parties, two romances and
two characters from one of the world’s most beloved authors.
In this historical romance short story duet gossip-loving Mrs Jennings meddles
in affairs of the heart, and scandalous Henry Crawford turns heads once again!
Be swept away by the amusements of the Regency tea party in these Austen-inspired short stories. Delight in the sweet romance, dancing, gossip and, of course, tea.
“But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.”
― Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
Tea for Two comprises two short stories:
Jilted
Lord Asher Mandeville is heartbroken when his childhood love, Miss Tabitha Rowe, jilts him only weeks before their wedding.
Asher refuses to accept Tabitha’s rejection and chases after his betrothed to demand an explanation.
Tabitha is determined to escape him, but Asher’s shattered heart will accept nothing other than her return.
Wooing Miss Woodforde
Jasper Trevethan loves Miss Sophie Woodforde, but he is a penniless rake. Sophie would never marry him, even if he were rich.
As an impoverished companion, Sophie serves the whims of others while pining for her employer’s scandalous nephew.
When an unexpected inheritance transforms Sophie’s life, she becomes the target of fortune hunters.
Before another scoundrel steals his love, Jasper must prove his devotion and woo Miss Woodforde. But Sophie would rather become an old maid than marry a man who only wants her for her money, especially Mr Trevethan.
Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads
Excerpt from Wooing Miss Woodforde
He headed to the drawing room.
While Sophie continued to hold his heart, he could not bring himself to marry another. Yes, he had wasted his days living off his brother while indulging in a life of idleness and pleasure-seeking. Now he had no option but to pray his aunt left him her fortune. Perhaps then he could offer for Sophie. She will never marry a rake, you fool. As usual, he tamped down the bitter truth, but the tiny flicker of hope that one day she may be his was the only thing that prevented him from sinking further.
His aunt dropped onto the sofa before the crackling hearth. “It does not help your cause that you continue to associate with that scoundrel, Mr Crawford.”
Sophie carried out her duties in efficient silence, pretending not to hear the details of his scandalous associations. How he longed to take her away from this life of servitude. Someone so good, kind and selfless deserved better.
After pouring the tea, she handed her employer a cup.
Without a word of thanks to her companion, his aunt continued, “There is still talk about his scandalous affair with Mrs Rushworth. You should end the connection, for it will only sully your name further. Your reputation as a rake does not help matters, but being associated with an adulterer will not earn you a respectable bride. What must my dear sister think of her favourite now?”
He accepted his cup from Sophie with his head down and muttered his thanks. Shame gnawed at his insides. If his mother had not died of typhus before he reached his tenth year, she would have been sorely disappointed in him.
Why could he not be a better man? He should have sought a profession after university. If he had done something useful, perhaps, he may have earned Sophie’s good opinion and won her heart. Instead, he had wasted his life. He was a hopeless rake beyond salvage, in love with a woman far above him in noble character. Even if he were rich, she would always be too good for him.
Sophie sat on the sofa next to his aunt and twiddled with a delicate curl at her nape.
He had to ask again. “Are you certain you are well, Miss Woodforde?”
“Stop trying to misdirect the attention from yourself, Trevethan.” Aunt Hammond sipped at her tea.
Wispy tendrils of steam rose from the beige liquid in his cup, and he tamped down the urge to ask for something stronger. Liquor would have to wait. Even though nothing eased the painful longing within him lately.
He could not resist being drawn to the source of his yearning while she stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. What had happened to the woman who enjoyed lecturing him about the latest philanthropic project she wished to support or teased him following the gossip surrounding his misadventures? Not that he had many these days unless one counted spending the evenings drinking brandy with Crawford while they both pined for the women they loved but could not possess.
“Trevethan!” he jerked his head towards his aunt. Her narrowed gaze bore into him. Had he given himself away?
She glowered, then said, “Miss Woodforde has received some surprising news today that has unsettled her.”
Sophie’s head shot up; her wide gaze directed towards her employer.
“I hope it is nothing serious?” My God, she was ill. “Is there anything I can do?”
Aunt Hammond scoffed. “It is not unwelcome news—well, not for Miss Woodforde.”
“Mrs Hammond.” Sophie pleaded, but as usual, his aunt could not be silenced.
“Miss Woodforde is now an heiress with twenty thousand.”
His breath stuttered.
On the opposite sofa, Sophie’s head lolled forward, and she ran a palm across her forehead.
Sophie was a wealthy woman—a single, wealthy woman. That meant she no longer needed to work for his aunt. He would not see her when he visited.
Aunt Hammond asked, “Will you not offer your congratulations?”
He glanced at his aunt before returning his attention to Sophie, whose shoulders slumped.
A burning sensation spread down his gullet, and he swallowed. “Congratulations, Miss Woodforde.”
His aunt sniffed. “She is almost maudlin; anyone would think a beloved family member had died.”
Sophie continued to stare into the teacup in her lap. She would leave, and he would never see her again.
Aunt Hammond prattled on. “Heaven knows why, but she wishes to keep it a secret. She should marry, yet she insists she will remain in my employment.”
Of course, her sense of duty would not allow her to abandon his aunt. Selfish thoughts about her leaving had distracted him from the more pressing issue. Another man would steal her from him. His heart skipped a beat. He could not allow it.
Bianca White writes passionate and spicy historical romance.
Bianca loves history and has a degree in history and history of art. The word “research” is often used as an excuse to drag members of her family around every stately home and castle wherever they go. Nothing, not even the grumbling of said family, will keep her away from a historical fashion exhibition.
When she’s not writing, Bianca feeds her addiction to romance novels. She also loves baking and watching movies. Thanks to her love of baking (and eating), she feels the need to balance it with a little activity and enjoys tai chi, aerobics and swimming.
Bianca lives in West Yorkshire, England, with her husband and two children.
To receive all the latest news from Bianca White, and a bit of history in your inbox, sign up for her mailing list at Bianca White Writes.
Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $10 giveaway!
Share this:
Fur, Fangs & Mistletoe
When a struggling single mom and her adorable toddler get snowed in with a grumpy wolf shifter, Christmas magic starts working overtime.
Fur, Fangs, & Mistletoe
Christmas Cove Book 1
by Jessica Coulter Smith
Genre: Paranormal Holiday Romance
Escape to Christmas Cove, a cozy small town where magic, shifters, and holiday romance collide.
After a painful breakup, Riley is ready for a fresh start in Christmas Cove. All she wants is a peaceful life for herself and her two-year-old daughter, Sabrina. Love isn’t on her holiday wish list. When she’s stuck in a blizzard, help arrives in the form of Alex Conors — a protective, brooding werewolf.
Snowed in with a grumpy shifter and a crackling fire, Riley begins to see the gentle heart behind Alex’s fierce exterior… and Alex finds himself falling for the brave single mom who awakens something he thought he lost long ago.
Hot cocoa and toddler giggles turn strangers into something more. But when Riley’s past resurfaces and threatens the safety she’s found, Alex will have to prove that loyalty, love — and pack — are forever.
A warm, emotional holiday romance filled with shifter charm, second chances, and the magic of Christmas. Ideal for fans of protective alphas, found family, and heartfelt happily-ever-afters.
🏠 Small-town charm &
found family
🐺
Grumpy wolf + sunshine single mom
👩👧
Adorable toddler moments
🎁
Snowed-in & forced proximity
💕
Fated mates and holiday magic
Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads
The sedan’s engine rattled — a sound Riley had learned to distinguish from its other mechanical complaints over the past three states. This particular rattle meant she’d make it another fifty miles, maybe more if she kept her speed steady. Her knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel somewhere around the state line, and she couldn’t remember now how to relax them. The GPS showed their arrival in Christmas Cove, and Riley’s shoulders tensed further, an automatic response to any declaration of reaching a destination.
Dusk had settled over the town. Main Street stretched before her, lined with Victorian storefronts that belonged in a Thomas Kincade painting. White lights twisted around lampposts, and wreaths hung at precise intervals, each decorated with the same combination of pine cones and red ribbon. Fresh snow dusted the sidewalks in a way that seemed too perfect, too deliberate. Riley checked her rearview mirror again — the same compulsive glance she’d made every thirty seconds for the past six hours. Empty road. No one following. No one cared where she went.
She drove slowly past the Sugar Moon Café, noting its warm glow and the silhouettes of people inside. Past a bookstore with a display of holiday romances in the window. Past a hardware store already closed for the evening, its owner probably home with family, sitting down to dinner, living a normal life. The thought made something twist in Riley’s chest, but she pushed it down. Normal was a luxury she couldn’t afford to want.
The residential streets branched off from downtown. Riley followed the GPS directions, checking the crumpled paper in her cup holder against the street signs and the directions from the GPS. One too many times, it had taken her the wrong way. Oak Street. Maple Avenue. Someone had named these roads with an almost nauseating wholesomeness, as if determined to prove the town’s charm. She turned onto Pine Ridge Road, where the houses grew sparser and the forest pressed closer to the road.
A small sound from the backseat made Riley’s gaze dart to the mirror. Sabrina stirred in her car seat, her head rolling to the side as she woke from the nap that had mercifully consumed the last hour of driving. Riley watched her daughter’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness and the strange lights outside.
“Mama?” Sabrina’s voice carried that quality of toddler confusion. Not quite upset, but teetering on the edge of it.
“We’re here, sweetie.” Riley forced warmth into her voice, though her jaw ached from clenching. “Look at all the pretty lights.”
Sabrina pressed her mittened hands against the window, leaving tiny smudges on the glass. “Lights!” She bounced in her seat as much as the straps would allow. “Pretty, Mama! Pretty!”
“Very pretty.” Riley’s smile felt tight on her face. She wanted to share her daughter’s uncomplicated joy, but she kept scanning the streets, cataloging escape routes, noting which houses had lights on and which sat dark. Old habits. Necessary habits.
The GPS announced their final turn, and Riley’s breath caught. The cottage stood at the end of a short gravel drive, a small structure someone’s grandfather had most likely built and barely maintained enough to keep standing. A single porch light illuminated the front door, and beyond it, the forest loomed.
Riley pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy, broken only by Sabrina’s humming as she kicked her feet against her car seat. Riley sat motionless, her hands still gripping the wheel, and studied their new home.
The cottage was smaller than the photos had suggested. Single-story, with a chimney that leaned slightly to the left. The windows were dark, revealing nothing of the interior. Snow had drifted against the front steps, undisturbed except for what looked like animal tracks, probably a deer or raccoon. The porch railing needed paint, and one shutter hung at an angle.
But for now the house was theirs. For six months, at least, with the first month paid in advance with money Riley had saved from extra shifts and skipped meals. Six months to figure out what came next. After that, she’d have to either renew the lease, or move on to another town.
“Out, Mama!” Sabrina had moved past patient and into demanding. “Out now!”
“Just a minute, baby.”
Riley scanned the neighboring properties. The nearest house sat quite a distance down the road, its windows dark. On the other side, nothing but forest. The isolation should have comforted her. Fewer people meant fewer questions, fewer chances of being found. But instead, it made her hyperaware of how alone they were. No witnesses if something went wrong. No one to hear them scream.
She shook her head, dislodging the thought. Nothing was going to go wrong. This was a fresh start in a quiet town where nobody knew her name or her history. Where Sabrina could grow up without her mother constantly looking over her shoulder.
Jessica Coulter Smith is an acclaimed romance writer with a passion for storytelling. Her works showcase the power of love and its ability to transcend boundaries, capturing the hearts of audiences worldwide. With a unique writing style and perspective, Jessica continues to inspire and entertain readers from all walks of life.
Find her online…
Website * Blog * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $20 giveaway!
Share this:
Celebrating Yule
The longest night teaches us that darkness isn’t the end.
It’s the place where light is born again.
Celebrating Yule
The Celtic Wheel of the Year Book 2
by Rionna Morgan
Genre: Teen & YA Holiday Fairytales and Folklore
The long-awaited Winter Break has finally arrived, but Ronan and Croia, 12-year-old twins, find themselves struggling instead of cheering. There is a new kid at school whose cruelty has left deep wounds.
Ronan’s protective instinct towards Croia clashes with his own confusion about what it means to stand up and defend, to fight, or to walk away. On the longest, darkest night of the year, Croia and Ronan’s beloved Irish grandmother, with her gentle insight and patient heart, helps Ronan through the dark storm of his emotions and prepares a special evening for all.
Surrounded by his family—Croia and their new sister, their mother and her new husband—Ronan’s strength and inner peace is tested when an unanticipated guest arrives. Throughout the evening Grandmother continues to help and guide. She weaves stories with strands of folklore and threads of old beliefs, spinning them together, bringing the ancient to the present. While immersed in the traditions of the Celtic holiday of Yule, Ronan learns what it is to see past the darkness.
Come feel the warmth of the hearth and the power of wisdom. Join the journey of the ages through the cold of winter, beyond the shadows of darkness to what comes after and celebrate Yule.
Bonus Materials: Celebrating Yule includes recipes for the traditional Celtic Yule meal.
Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads
Ronan squeezed his hands tight and looked out the window. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his mind, but he just couldn’t. The anger kept building.
Out the window and beyond, into the fields beside his house, snow was falling, that glorious, amazing December, winter break snow. He could see deer walking gracefully along the fence line. In his yard, the tall cottonwood trees stood stately and quiet, their bare black limbs stretching up into the grey-white sky. Huge flakes, perfect flakes, fell easy and gently to cover the ground with another layer of fresh powder.
Normally, he would be out there in it, racing around, laughing, and chasing his sister, Croia, and coaxing Kenna, their new sister, to come play. But not today. And not any day since the first snow.
Around him at the table, he could hear Croia and Kenna chatter with their grandmother, Brighid, who had come from Ireland to spend the year with their family. They were laughing and telling each other about their school day as they sipped their tea.
After-school tea had become an instant tradition when Grandmother arrived in October. Every day, she made some amazing treat and brewed a pot of hot Irish tea, all ready to be enjoyed when the three got home from school.
But Ronan couldn’t bring himself to enjoy today’s raspberry teacake, normally one of his favorites. It just felt like sand in his mouth. The tea was too bitter, and no matter how much sugar and cream he added, he couldn’t get it right. So, he set his teacup down and looked out the window.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Ronan heard his grandmother’s quiet voice ask. He looked around and was surprised to see Kenna and Croia gone and the table cleared. He glanced over and saw Grandmother’s kind eyes watching him, waiting. Right then, he wanted to jump out of his chair and scramble into her arms like he’d done when he was little. He knew if he did, she would hug him and hold him, and everything would be alright.
But he wasn’t little anymore. In a year, he’d be in high school. He was supposed to be a man. Whatever the hell that meant. He blushed at the use of the word, feeling sheepish that he’d say such a thing in front of his grandmother, even if it was in his own mind, and she couldn’t hear him.
But what the hell did it mean? He couldn’t even properly defend his own twin sister. She cried and ran to him for help, and all he did was put his arm around her and help her walk away. All he did, as that new kid hurled insults and mockery after them, was walk beside her and help her get in the car with Kenna. All he did was hold Croia’s hand in the backseat as tears streaked down her face as Kenna drove them home. Every day this week, that’s all he did. Which is different than what he wanted to do.
He wanted to punch the guy’s lights out, knock him flat for making his sister cry. He knew he could do it. He was strong. He even spent time thinking about how he’d make a fist, draw his arm back, and pow—hit him right across his mean face.
“I don’t know, Grandmother.” Ronan scrubbed his hands together and wiped his hair back.
“Okay.” Grandmother patted his hand. “I am here.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip.
“I am so angry!” Ronan blurted. “There’s this new kid at school, and he’s super mean. He’s made Croia cry every day this week. He’s in a couple of our classes, and he says snide things there too.”
Grandmother set her tea down and leaned forward in her chair.
Bonus Author Giveaway!
Celebrate the spirit and magic of Yule with Whitney Morgan Media! In the spirit of the season, they’re giving every participant a prize—including chances to win an autographed copy of Celebrating Yule: The Celtic Wheel of the Year Series – Book 2 and exclusive author swag from Rionna Morgan!
Enter here: https://deformity.ai/d/GdT4YeEfTPix
Rionna Morgan is an international, best-selling novelist, poet, and recognized icon in the Web3 literary space.
Creator of The 7 Love Stories, a digital collection making literary history, her work bridges tradition and innovation, with recent features including a digital poem showcased in Paris.
As owner of Whitney Morgan Media and former Editor-in-Chief of Vagobond Magazine, Rionna empowers writers and builds vibrant communities where stories and creators are celebrated and honored.
Her writing appears with Simon & Schuster, Mythic North Press, and in features like Celtic Life International and Fortune dot com.
A sought-after speaker at NFTNYC and the Academic Web3 Conference, she lives between Montana and New York, always dreaming up new worlds.
Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * TikTok * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $10 giveaway!
Enter the Celebrating Yule Giveaway Here
Share this:
Undisciplined Catalyst
I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid,
but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world.
Guess who gets to stop them? Me.
Undisciplined Catalyst
Coletti Warlord Series Book 19
by Gail Koger
Genre: SciFi Paranormal Romance
I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien
hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world.
Guess who gets to stop them? Me. How?
My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that
instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting
them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do
is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and
poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple,
right?
Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It
could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like
playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.
To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head
and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living
to see eighteen aren’t good.
Amazon * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads
Howdy. My name is Gail Koger and once upon a time I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Too many years of wild requests, screwy questions, bizarre behavior and outrageous demands have left me with a permanent twitch and an uncontrollable craving for chocolate. I took up writing science fiction romance to keep from killing people. So far, it has worked.
Share this:
Amaranthine
Eternal Life.
Endless Love.
Infinite Cost.
Amaranthine
by Delia Strange
Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance
Eternal life comes at a cost
For centuries, Amaranthine has walked through time—an immortal bound by a gift she never asked for. From the opulent halls of the Roman Empire to the decadent jazz clubs of 1920s London, to the futuristic floating city of New Francisco, she has lived countless lives, loved deeply, and lost more than most could ever bear. With each new era comes new faces: lovers, rivals, and those drawn to the mystery of her eternal existence. But immortality comes with a price, and as the world changes, so too does the weight of the centuries she carries.
Torn between living for the future and haunted by the choices of her past, Amaranthine must confront the question that has followed her for an eternity: What does it mean to live forever when everything and everyone else fades away?
“This is the
first book in a while that I have continued to mull over even after I’d
finished reading it as it’s definitely a story that gets you thinking.”
~ Lynne Stringer, Goodreads Review
Amazon ebook * Amazon Audiobook * Audible * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Smashwords Bookbub * Goodreads
The olive trees stood like shadows in the distance, swaying in the night breeze. Amaranthine’s steps were cautious, her eyes scanning the darkness, but as she reached the edge of the grove, there was no sign of him. Her breath hitched in her throat, a sudden pang of doubt freezing her where she stood. Had she waited too long? Her heart sank as she looked around. She’d been foolish to think this was possible, that someone like her could step outside the boundaries of her life, if only for a moment.
But then Marcellus stepped forward, his form emerging from the darkness and appearing in front of her like a dream. His smile was slow, knowing, and when his eyes met hers, she felt that rush all over again, more powerful this time for the waiting.
“I thought you might change your mind,” he said, his voice cutting through the night.
Amaranthine exhaled, the tension leaving her body in a soft, trembling breath. “I almost did,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but then she smiled, feeling the same reckless pull that had brought her here. “But I’m here.”
Marcellus took her hand, his touch warm, and without a word he led her deeper into the olive grove. The trees closed in around them and the world outside the grove disappeared, leaving only the two of them beneath the cover of night. The air smelled faintly of the earth and the lingering sweetness of ripening fruit, but all Amaranthine could focus on was the heat of his hand against hers, the certainty in his steps as he drew her farther away from the villa, away from everything she knew.
When he stopped, she nearly stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden stillness. Marcellus turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over her with an intensity that made her catch her breath. His eyes roamed her face, her body, lingering as though his look could somehow touch her skin. It wasn’t just a glance; it was deeper, heavier.
Slowly, deliberately, Marcellus ran his fingers up her arm, light as a breeze. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, thrilling and delicate all at once. His hand traveled over her shoulder, warm and sure, before brushing against her neck, where her pulse raced beneath his fingertips. He cupped her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as his other hand slid into her hair, gently cradling the back of her neck. The closeness of him—his soft breath against her skin, his scent unfamiliar and intoxicating—made her dizzy.
When he pressed his body against hers, she didn’t hesitate. Amaranthine’s arms wrapped around him as though it was the most natural thing in the world, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She could feel the heat of him through the thin cloth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the thrilling, terrifying anticipation that hovered in the air between them. He leaned in, his lips so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and her body instinctively tilted forward, closing the last distance between them.
The kiss began softly, their lips brushing with a delicate hesitance, as though both of them were testing the boundaries of something new. It was sweet, tender, like a whispered secret exchanged in the dark. Amaranthine’s heart fluttered, the warmth of his mouth against hers sending gentle waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands tightened their grip on his tunic, pulling him closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away—her worries, her fears, even the nagging sense of not belonging. Here, in this kiss, she felt connected, as though they shared something deeper than words.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the kiss deepened. Marcellus’ arms wrapped around her waist, his hands pressing her closer, and the softness between them gave way to something more intense, more urgent. Passion overtook them both, their lips moving with a fervor that surprised her. Amaranthine had never kissed anyone before, but she felt as though she’d always known how, the way their mouths fit together, the way their breaths mingled in the cool night air. Her heart pounded faster, and a strange heat pooled in her chest, spreading through her veins in a way that made her feel alive.
Then something within her awoke. At first, she didn’t recognize it, mistaking the growing intensity for the natural progression of a kiss. There was a pull, a sensation inside her, almost like the drawing of breath, but deeper, fuller. She thought it was part of the magic of kissing, the way it could make someone feel as though they were floating, untethered from everything. No wonder people kiss, she thought, her mind hazy with the thrill of it. It’s wonderful. She let the sensation sweep over her, unaware of what she was truly doing. But then, after a moment, she noticed something different. Their lips had stopped moving. The rhythm they had found, the tender push and pull, had stilled.
Amaranthine opened her eyes, confused, and pulled back. Her breath caught in her throat. Marcellus staggered away from her, his face ashen, his once bright eyes dull and clouded. He looked gaunt, hollow, as though something had been drained from him. His skin sagged against the bones of his cheeks, and before her eyes, he aged—twenty years, maybe more—his youthful vibrance withering into something frail and brittle. He gasped, his hands reaching out toward her as though for help, but no words came. Then, with a final shuddering breath, Marcellus crumpled to the ground, motionless.
The world around her seemed to tilt, the ground beneath her feet suddenly unsteady as she stared at Marcellus’ lifeless body. Her chest tightened, a wild panic rising inside her, but she couldn’t move. Her legs felt rooted to the spot, her mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. Only moments ago, they had been so close—he had been so alive. Now, the boy who had held her in his arms, who had smiled at her like she was a secret worth keeping, lay motionless at her feet, his face hollow and pale, drained of life.
An only child with an active imagination, I created many stories in my head. My bookcase was overflowing, and I loved visiting the library. I’d always been a reader, but I hadn’t considered writing until a childhood friend said we should write our ideas down. Once I started writing my stories, I couldn’t stop.
I gravitated to stories of peculiar places and happenings. I loved twists and dark reveals, so my writing didn’t stray far from that. I was a fan of fantasy—of ancient Greek myths or contemporary paranormal stories. They captured my imagination and opened me to worlds of possibilities. There were no constraints on fantasy, no wrong or right answers; anything I dreamed up was acceptable. And then came H. G. Wells and science fiction, which also opened the door to paranormal and speculative fiction, my three favourite genres.
Website * Facebook * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a $20 giveaway!
Enter the Amaranthine Giveaway Here
Book Reviews by the Reluctant Retiree 