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Friday, April 28, 2023

Release Day Blitz- WANTED BY THE FORBIDDEN WOLF by @rachelmedhurst With An Excerpt & $10 Amazon GC #Giveaway!

I am so excited that WANTED BY THE FORBIDDEN WOLF by Rachel Medhurst is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $10 Amazon GC and an eBook courtesy of Rachel & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.


About The Book:

Title: WANTED BY THE FORBIDDEN WOLF (Brothers of the Lawless Pack Book 1)

Author: Rachel Medhurst

Pub. Date: April 28, 2023

Publisher: Rachel Medhurst

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 119

Find it: GoodreadsAmazon

When the forbidden werewolf howls for her, she runs... straight into his arms.


Fender Gregory humiliated me. His rock solid body and dangerous tattoos might attract every stray female from the Brothers of the Lawless Pack, but not me. He might claim to have rescued me from my nasty step-father, but he ruined any chance I had at becoming the alpha of my ancestral pack. All because of money.

So what does a girl do with a too sexy forbidden werewolf who has a thing for female alpha-heirs? Why use him, of course. Not just for his glorious body, but to help me leave the Lawless Pack and reclaim my rightful role as alpha.

Fender Gregory owes me and I'm about to collect.


Violet thinks she has me under her claw. Admittedly, when I first saw her, I wanted - no needed - to have her. And she used that to her advantage. Until now.

She has something I want and as heir to the Fire Moon Pack, she's in the best position to get it. I just have to make sure she doesn't get under my skin. If I fall for her, my life will be over, and so will hers.

Violet Woodville can't find out who I really am or she'll end me herself.

This paranormal romance series follows stray bad boy werewolves who just might bite...



The engine of the bike revved as it pulled up right next to me, making me jump. An arm with tattoos extended, motioning for me to stop walking. The stench of oil and sandalwood whipped around my head when a sudden gust of wind swirled my dark blonde hair into my eyes.

“Little lost pup,” the deep muffled voice said. “Where are you heading?”

As my hair settled back around my shoulders, I swallowed down my sarcastic response and carried on walking, ignoring the rumble of Fender’s chuckle as it sounded behind me. 

“Come on!” he called. “Don't you want to know why I outed you?”

“Outed me?” I squeaked, turning abruptly. “You lied about me. I've never slept with any of your disgusting brothers. I've got more decency than that.”

He'd taken his helmet off and put it on the handlebars of his Harley Davidson. I raked my gaze over his dirty leather jacket and the strong sharp angle of his stubbled jaw. The sparkle of his blue eyes glistened, too clean for such a rough man. 

Tilting his head to the side, he smirked. “I've seen you around, training with your pack and pretending to fit in.”

Raising my eyebrows, I stared at him. “Don't act like you know me. Who the fuck are you, anyway? The leader of the Lawless Brothers? You're so notorious, I don't even know who you are.”

My sarcasm wasn't lost on him... In fact, he smiled, clearly amused by me. If he carried on staring at me, I'd give him something to be amused about... with my fist. 

“I'm a nobody, just one of the original brothers. That's why I fit in with the Lawless. You could be one of us too.”

It was my turn to be amused. I snorted, too tired to play the stupid game. “If you think the alpha-heir to the Fire Moon Pack would fit in with.... those who don't belong anywhere, you don't know what you're talking about. You know what?” Waving my hand in dismissal, I spun on my heel. “I don't have the energy for you.”

“Shame,” he called, his voice heavy, “because I'd have the energy for you. Over and over again.”

About Rachel Medhurst:

Rachel Medhurst grew up in Surrey, England. She writes to prove that no matter where you come from, you can be anything you want to be. Your past may shape you, but it doesn't define you. When Rachel isn't writing, she can be found reading and walking in nature.

Check out more at: www.rachelmedhurst.com and sign up for her newsletter!


Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Pinterest | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub


Giveaway Details:

1 Winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC and an eBook of WANTED BY THE FORBIDDEN WOLF, International.

Ends May 5th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, April 27, 2023

Cover Reveal- THREE MEANT TO BE by @Quirk_Zombie With An Excerpt & $10 Amazon GC Giveaway!

Today MN Bennet and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover for THREE MEANT TO BE, his new Urban Fantasy which releases July 10, 2023! Check out the awesome cover and enter the giveaway!


On to the reveal! 

About The Book:


Author: MN Bennet

Pub. Date: July 10, 2023

Publisher: M.N. Bennet LLC

Formats:  Paperback, eBook

Pages: 410

Find it: GoodreadsAmazon

Telepathic high school teacher Dorian prepares teen witches for professional casting because going in unprepared is what killed one of his partners. But new state mandates on magical proficiency make it nearly impossible, and Dorian worries he can’t give his students the education they really need. Seeking a distraction from work, Dorian kisses his still-living on-again off-again clairvoyant boyfriend, Milo. Instead of a distraction, Dorian glimpses Milo’s vague vision involving the murder of Caleb—one of Dorian’s new students.

Already devastated by the loss of his partner, Dorian refuses to stand aside and let Caleb die. He searches for clues by delving into Caleb’s mind. Rooting through Caleb’s memories alongside teaching classes leads Dorian to two more students: Caleb’s ex-best friend turned rival and the prodigy with connections to dangerous warlocks. However, each step further into his students’ minds forces Dorian to confront his deteriorating relationship with Milo.

After discovering a link involving illegal casting, Dorian resolves to work with Milo to prevent the impending vision. To succeed, Dorian will have to explore the potential of a future with Milo and find closure on their third partner, whose loss looms between them. But meddling with fate to save Caleb inadvertently draws the warlocks near, putting all his students in danger. Dorian will have to risk his life and gamble his second chance with Milo to keep his students alive.



I held my breath as his cologne hit my nose, sending a blissful reminder of lust indulged over the summer. I did like his persistence, his unyielding care. Everything about Milo was perfection, from his sweet smile to his eternal understanding, all the way to his puppy dog eyes. Whereas I was a mess of unbridled anger, constant regrets, and looming guilt that reminded me every minute of every day that I wasn’t worth his compassion. Wasn’t worth his love, time, or kindness.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” Milo said, backing away from the protection of the awning. “It’s just…we had fun over the summer. And then Finn’s birthday rolled around, and you ghosted me—which I allowed because it’s Dorian fashion—but I missed you. I miss us. Sometimes I think you work up how much—”

Fuck it.

I’d already made a thousand mistakes opening the box of emotions between us. What was one more?

I yanked his tie, pulling him into a kiss.

His soft lips met mine, and his tongue eased its way into my mouth. I found myself lost in his embrace, excited and eager but reminded this happiness wasn’t meant to be.

I dropped my drink, the glass clinking and cracking against the concrete. I couldn’t even feign care for the lost screwdriver. I knew I shouldn’t be kissing him. This would only further complicate things—for him, for me—but I didn’t care. Right then, all I wanted was the sweet taste of his mouth and the firm press of his muscles as I pulled him closer.

He ran his hand through my hair, tilting my head in a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The sort of thing I couldn’t handle. Surrendering myself to another person, their desires, their dreams, their life—I wasn’t made for it. I wasn’t meant to co-exist with another person. It involved a type of effort I’d never quite fathomed.

Yet I lost myself in the smack of his lips, the grind of his hips against mine, the lust oozing from every pore of his body filling my mind with infinite flashes of every time we’d spent together.

Milo’s lips broke away from mine, and I craved their supple touch again. A breathy chuckle escaped his mouth, and he smiled. A coy smile that curled into a minxy grin. “You know, I really did come here to talk.”


About MN Bennet:

M.N. Bennet is a high school teacher, writer, and reader. He lives in the Midwest, still adjusting to the cold after being born and raised in the South.

He enjoys writing paranormal and fantasy stories with huge worlds (sometimes too big), loveable romances (with so much angst and banter), and Happily Ever Afters (once he’s dragged his characters through some emotional turmoil).

When he’s not balancing classes, writing, or reading, he can be found binge watching anime or replaying Dragon Age II for the millionth time.

Sign up for MN’s newsletter! (Scroll to the bottom of the page)

Find MN- https://linktr.ee/mnbennet


Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.

Ends May 4th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tuesday, April 25, 2023

Blog Tour- THE BABEL APOCALYPSE by @VyvEvans With An Excerpt & #Giveaway!

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the THE BABEL APOCALYPSE by Vyvyan Evans Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!


About The Book:

Title: THE BABEL APOCALYPSE (Songs of the Sage #1)

Author: Vyvyan Evans

Pub. Date: May 2, 2023

Publisher: Nephilim Publishing

Formats:  Paperback, eBook

Pages: 388

Find it: Goodreadshttps://books2read.com/THE-BABEL-APOCALYPSE 

"They who control language control everything."A dystopian, cyberpunk, sci-fi odyssey that will make you think about language in a whole new way.

Language is no longer learned, but streamed to neural implants regulated by lang-laws. Those who can't afford language streaming services are feral, living on the fringes of society. Big tech corporations control language, the world's most valuable commodity.

But when a massive cyberattack causes a global language outage, catastrophe looms.

Europol detective Emyr Morgan is assigned to the case. His prime suspect is Professor Ebba Black, the last native speaker of language in the automated world, and leader of the Babel cyberterrorist organization. But Emyr soon learns that in a world of corporate power, where those who control language control everything, all is not as it seems.

As he and Ebba collide, Emyr faces an existential dilemma between loyalty and betrayal, when everything he once believed in is called into question. To prevent the imminent collapse of civilization and a global war between the great federations, he must figure out friend from foe-his life depends on it. And with the odds stacked against him, he must find a way to stop the Babel Apocalypse.

“A perfect fusion of SF, thriller, and mystery—smart speculative fiction at its very best.”- Kirkus

"With a perfect blend of Sci-Fi, mystery, and thriller, its unique method of crashing a near-future Earth society had me hooked from start to finish."- Reedsy


"They who control language control everything."

From the Babel Apocalypse Manifesto

by Professor Ebba Black



My mother's dying wish was to be buried in Wanstead earth.  The place of her birth. Near the end of her existence, her skin  became veiny and translucent and her memory as frail as her  body. By then she had begun to address me by my late father's  name. I felt repulsion. I'm Emyr, I had wanted to scream, I'm not him. I was nothing like him. I was tall, dark, and had a  strong moral compass. He was slight, with a ruddy complexion,  and lacked scruples. But at least I no longer harbored anger for  my mother's betrayal, for my boyhood trauma; that had gone. The solace of time. But I hadn't forgiven her either. And as I  hurried away from the cemetery once it was done, I felt only  ambivalence. 

By the time I reached Manor Park, twilight had become  darkness. I walked along the pedestrian corridor, heading back to where I had parked my Skyraider. The cold air swirled around me, so I pulled up the collar of my Napa coat against the chilly November evening. Soft grain leather. Italian design.  I loved that fur-lined coat. I hated this foreign city. I wanted to  get back to my life, and my job across the water; to get home. 

The networked system of LED streetlights slowly dimmed  behind me before slipping into darkness, while those ahead flickered on, transmitting my location to one another and  London's communication nerve center, hosted on an aging server in space. The electric glow dappled the walls of the buildings, making the windows appear to pucker in the  shadowy light. 

I heard a group of drunken revelers behind me. “He always has a line for the ladies," said one slurred voice. The boozy pitch contour wobbled toward me, bouncing along the polycarbonate surface. Then came an eruption of cackling. 

As I was about to glance back at the voices, a light flickered in my peripheral vision, drawing my gaze upward to the night sky. A soft white glow, high up in the dark. At first it  was indistinguishable from the airway lights. But it persisted, the size of a small disk at first, before shifting to red-orange, getting larger. At that point I realized it definitely couldn't be a  hover car. This was farther up, probably low Earth orbit, which explained the initial white. But the shift in coloration—that meant a detonation, producing nitrogen dioxide, which turned deep orange when mixed with air. A gaseous cloud has reached the atmosphere, I thought. I was witnessing a chemical explosion in space large enough to be visible to the naked eye. But what was exploding? 

As I continued looking up, the orange grew in intensity until it flared across the skyline, illuminating the entire landscape around me with an eerie red-orange. It was only then that I  became aware of the newly hushed silence of the drunken revelers nearby. And the silhouettes of other people too, who had also stopped and peppered the pedestrian corridor. We were all now strange red creatures, watching transfixed in rapt silence as the night sky was on fire. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone; the orange light faded back into a  deep well of pitch black. 

I was pulled out of my reverie by the sight of a hover car descending onto the vertipad ahead of me. A three-wheeler autonomous hackney cab; mass-produced model. I watched in idle distraction as the glass frontage descended level with my eyeline, not twenty meters from me. Inside, I saw a woman, illuminated by the interior safety lighting-late twenties, perhaps, with a small child, a boy of about three or four. The red glow of the vertipad's perimeter security lights bounced sharply off the polymer composite shell, which advertised the taxi company in holographic lettering. The vehicle came to a standstill on the vertipad. 

But something about the hover taxi held my gaze. I realized it was the autogyro system. Something was wrong. Instead of self-stowing, it remained deployed. And the vehicle stayed in place where it had landed, in the middle of the vertipad. Strange, I thought. It should have taxied away onto the transit corridor by now. Maybe the explosion had affected the landing  telemetry circuit. Stranger still, given the passengers were now stuck inside, why hadn't they voice-activated the exit? The gull-wing doors remained closed. 

I climbed over the thermoformed pedestrian barrier, ignoring the warning sensors as they flickered on, blinking at me, and walked up the vertipad incline toward the hover cab. The woman peeked out, panic etched on her face. As she glimpsed me through the glass, she suddenly began banging as if in desperate supplication. I mouthed that she should issue her door deactivation voice command into the piloting VirDa. She didn't seem to understand me, so I spelled out Virtual Digital Assistant with my forefinger on the window-VirDa; a crude attempt to make her react. 

She stared out at me with wild eyes through the gull- wing window; a look of incomprehension. I realized that her apparent lack of understanding could only mean one thing: she was feral! Her language streaming service was out. She had no idea what I was saying, nor could she communicate with her VirDa. And then she screamed. 

Helpless, I watched the terror contained within the soundproofed confines of the plastic hull. The little boy's upturned face shifted to fear and then distress as he witnessed his mother's frenzied panic; the child began to cry. I watched through the glass, witness to the sobs I couldn't hear. 

Just then, I heard the roar of VTOL thrust engines. I glanced up. Another hover car was descending, way too fast, dropping directly onto the vertipad, destined for the hackney cab that lay stationary beneath. 

I was trained to process details happening in real time with the precision afforded by the slow dilation of protracted duration. With focus, I could unpick the frenzy of multiple rapid events within a temporal landscape perceived with an ethereal slow-motion calm. I observed that the descending hover car was a private vehicle-it had four wheels with expensive alloys that glinted in the marker lights of the VTOL corridor. And as it dropped, I saw that it had air capture ducts underneath and a CO, cooling condenser, allowing supersonic flight in international sky lanes. This was a beast of car with a truly global range, an expensive piece of engineering. 

There was a man seated at the piloting console. I glimpsed him in the shimmering red of the security lights. To my shock, I realized the descending car was in manual flight mode, which was not permitted in class R airspace, above the city. What was the guy thinking? A collision was now inevitable. 

Just before the two vehicles came together, I saw the woman following my gaze. She glimpsed what was about to befall her, the edge of the other hover car tumbling fast toward her. She  made a sudden, startled move for the child. An instinctive shielding gesture, perhaps. 

To protect myself, I ran back several meters from the vertipad as the falling vehicle smashed into the roof of the stationary cab. Then came a deafening bang. The impact severed the  autogiro blades of the vehicle beneath, which snapped off the roof bearing and spun across the adjacent taxi lane, making a sickening scything sound on the hard plastic surface. I squinted through the darkness as smoke rose from the wreckage. A hissing sound was coming from the tangled mess of the upper vehicle. The hackney cab underneath had somehow resisted the impact. Its reinforced plastic structure appeared largely intact. 

I returned to the crash site and climbed onto the protruding front hull, from where I was able to peer into the stricken car on top. The lighting on the piloting console was dimmed, but I could make out splashes of blood on the inside of the cracked windscreen. Some of the ceiling safety lights were still lit; they dimly illuminated the twisted, seemingly lifeless body of the pilot, lying across the front passenger seats where he had been tossed by the collision. 

I jumped back down onto the vertipad, searching for the woman and child in the car underneath. My training dictated aiding the most vulnerable first. I turned to a group of onlookers, and called for assistance with getting the injured out. 

It was then that I became aware that they were strangely silent, especially given what they had just witnessed-the first hover car crash in years. Each individual was eyeing the others, attempting to mouth something. Only one man seemed still able to speak. He began talking excitedly. But, to my surprise, he was speaking in a non-Union official language. I recognized it as Mandarin. Others nearby stared at him in startled bafflement. And as he heard the strange sounds coming from his mouth, his words slowly lapsed into silence as a look of darting fear flashed across his face. 

I resumed my rescue attempts on the vertipad, picking up a broken piece of carbon-reinforced sidebar lying next to the wreckage. I used it to try and prize open one of the gull-wing  doors of the hackney cab, but the weight of the upper vehicle prevented the door from deploying. I ran around to the other side. This time I managed to apply enough pressure to gain leverage. The door hissed as the hydraulic mechanism deployed and the gull-wing slowly opened up and out. The woman and child lay crumpled and still on the floor of the vehicle beneath the concave splintered roof. 

As my first aid training kicked in, I checked they were both breathing. Then I lifted the child out, supporting his head, followed by the woman using a shoulder pull. I quickly carried the boy down the vertipad incline, away from the vehicle, then carefully pulled the woman along until they were both a safe distance from the wreckage. The woman's nose looked broken and blood oozed from her nostrils. She had been thrown forward against the glass passenger cabin frontage. I suspected there may be internal injuries, too. 

Just as I finished placing them both in the recovery position, a flicker of flame began nibbling gently from somewhere beneath the plastic front of their cab. I smelled the distinct odor of rotten eggs-the toxic combination of sulfur at high temperature that had leaked from the ion-sulfur battery and reacted with hydrocarbons in the taxi shell to create hydrogen sulfide. The flames began spreading rapidly. Before I could act, they had engulfed the second vehicle. The man, even if still alive, was now beyond my help. 

I felt the vibrations of an incoming alert in my ear implant-I tapped my left wrist to activate my holotab. The chip in my wrist glowed briefly green before projecting a holographic screen. There it was-a Europol alert banner scrolling across  the small translucent screen floating above my wrist. A red alert status had been triggered. 

"Global language outage. Report to HQ." The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A language outage. What does that even mean?

I knew I had to get help for the hackney cab passengers before responding to the alert. That was the protocol: ensure no immediate danger to life before answering another request. 

I scrolled through the menu on my holotab using the eye-tracking sensor tech, selecting the London emergency services app with a blink command. Then I issued an in-app voice command, placing a facecall. 

The connection should have been instantaneous. But instead, I heard the distinctive shrill pitch of an unrecognized call attempt. I frowned and tried again. This time I was patched through to a human dispatcher. An actual human! But then again, the Old Kingdom was just a Tier Two state. Soc-ed classification and the United Nations' job automation agenda didn't fully apply. 

The dispatcher was a young woman with her headset slightly skewed. She appeared surprised to see me through her screen. 

She began speaking: "Toate serviciile de urgenţă sunt indisponibile.I regarded her in surprise. As my auditory nerve activated, my language chip began to auto-parse. I recognized her words as the state official language of Romania. What the hell ..... 

"All emergency services are down?" I asked. She looked at me, both confused and alarmed. It was clear she had no clue what I had just said. I blink activated the language app on my holotab before issuing my voice command. 

"Switch to Romanian as default,” I said. The single vibration in my ear implant indicated that my language setting had been changed. I addressed the woman again. "Toate serviciile de urgenţă sunt indisponibile?" I repeated, this time in Union Standard Romanian. 

"Da." She nodded. 

Eşti româncă?" I asked. She shook her head. If she's not a Romanian national, then why does she have her language set to Romanian? I thought. Especially working in the London emergency services center, where the VirDas operated solely  on the local state official standard. Last time I'd checked, there was only one state official language in the Old Kingdom. And since Unilanguage's decision to stop supporting King's English at the beginning of the year, all official VirDas in London now only ran on the North American Standard variety. 

"Nu mai pot vorbi engleza, nu înţeleg ce s-a întâmplat," she replied with a small shrug, tears welling in her eyes. And abruptly, she pulled off her headset and ended the call. She seemed equally shocked at her inability to speak English anymore. 

“Dezactivează limba română. Setează limba engleză ca implicită,” I said, issuing my voice command into my holotab to deactivate Romanian and return to English. "Facecall Europol SOS." 

I was patched through to the Europol virtual emergency response center. The standard, flaccid face of the dispatcher VirDa appeared on the holographic screen, which projected from my wrist like an ethereal membrane in the dark of the autumnal evening. 

"Commander Emyr Morgan," the VirDa said, addressing me in the Europol default, North American Standard English. 

"I've received a code red alert. And I have civilians down. The London emergency center is no longer operational." 

"Yes, a catastrophic language outage has been reported," the VirDa confirmed. "What do you need, Commander?" 

"An air ambulance, a paramedic, and direct access to a local ER." 

After a slight pause, the VirDa responded. "I have placed an emergency request. A Union crew is assigned, traveling across the Old Kingdom channel via the South Holland airway.” 

"Copy, thanks. End call," I said. Catastrophic language outage? What the hell's going on



About Vyvyan Evans:

Dr. Vyvyan Evans is a native of Chester, England. He holds a PhD in linguistics from Georgetown University, Washington, D.C., and is a Professor of Linguistics. He has published numerous acclaimed popular science and technical books on language and linguistics. His popular science essays and articles have appeared in numerous venues including 'The Guardian', 'Psychology Today', 'New York Post', 'New Scientist', 'Newsweek' and 'The New Republic'. His award-winning writing focuses, in one way or another, on the nature of language and mind, the impact of technology on language, and the future of communication. His science fiction work explores the status of language and digital communication technology as potential weapons of mass destruction.

Website | Series Website | Twitter | FacebookInstagram | TikTok | YouTube | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub


Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a finished copy of THE BABEL APOCALYPSE, US Only.

Ends May 9th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:


Mythical Books

Excerpt/IG Post


#BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog

Excerpt/IG Post


Two Chicks on Books

Excerpt/IG Post


A Backwards Story

Excerpt/IG Post


Cara North

Excerpt/IG Post


Jazzy Book Reviews

Excerpt/IG Post


Books and Kats




IG Post


Reads by Radus

Excerpt/IG Post


Two Points of Interest


 Week Two:


Rajiv's Reviews

Review/IG Post


Review Thick And Thin

Review/IG Post


Confessions of the Perfect Mom

Review/IG Post



IG Review/TikTok Post


Brandi Danielle Davis

IG Review/TikTok Post


Texan Girl Readz

Review/IG Post


Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post


The Real World According To Sam

Review/IG Post



IG Review


The Momma Spot


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