Hidden Words by Christine Roy blitz with giveaway
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Hidden Words
Christine Roy
Publication date: September 22nd 2026
Genres: Adult, Gothic, Mystery
A Novel by Award-Winning Author Christine Roy
Some secrets don’t stay buried. They wait for the right mind to hear them.
In 1994, on the rocky shores of Cape Ann, Massachusetts, Ben Barrows begins his senior year at Masters’ Preparatory like a dead man walking, half his friendships already over, just not yet buried. Then Dana Kirkland arrives: a new student, a rival dancer to his powerful ex-girlfriend, and the one person who might save him. Together, Ben and Dana try to hold on to love against a tidal wave of pain and treachery neither of them saw coming.
In the present, Joey Barrows is drowning in grief. As he crosses the graduation stage, a terrifying gift awakens, the unspoken words of everyone around him, pouring uninvited into his mind. When Joey discovers his distant, unstable father shares this same curse, the door to a devastating past swings open, releasing secrets, obsession, and ghosts that refuse to stay silent.
Told across two timelines, Hidden Words is a gothic, speculative mystery about the inheritance of trauma — and the terrible cost of truths left unspoken.
Perfect for fans of We Were Liars, Black Swan, and The Turnout.
Hidden Words deals with mature themes including trauma, family abuse, and sensitive interpersonal relationships. Recommended for mature young adult and adult readers.
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EXCERPT:
Raising his head, he approached the distinguished, black-gowned dean. The ringing in his ears pitched higher. With cold dread sluicing through his veins, he shook the dean’s hand. His mind crackling with a storm of energy, he looked the man straight in the eyes and took his diploma.
Guess scholarship kid didn’t waste our money.
“I’m sorry, Sir. What?” He squinted up at the unsmiling man. A distorted hum circled around him as the man’s words echoed in his head—clear, yet unspoken, not the shadowy wisps of noise he’d experienced before.
“Keep it moving, Barrows.”
“It’s just that I…” Joey stammered, his breath ragged. Shame bubbled up through the scars on his body like oil from the ground. He gaped at the dean’s stone face. “I heard you.” The words slipped from his lips.
“Christ, just move Barrows.”
I’ve had enough of your pathetic sad-boy act.
Joey nodded, stomach twisting. His thoughts raced and twisted in his head. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t psychic; nobody was. Withering beneath the dean’s glare, he flicked his tassel to the left and stumbled to the end of the stage. Desperate, he scanned the crowd, fairytale hope rising in his mind.
Maybe he was there.
Not likely.
Ben Barrows worked and hid. A son’s graduation didn’t fall into either of those categories, especially since these were the halls of Ben’s past. Traces of that Ben, shining and connected, existed in pictures behind glass cases like an extinct museum specimen.
They looked so similar, with their dark hair, wide-set green eyes, and lanky frames.
But that Ben was a ghost.
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When Frost Was Spectre Grey by Nicola Italia blitz with giveaway
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
When Frost Was Spectre Grey
Nicola Italia
Publication date: August 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery
Yorkshire, 1881. Imogene York has one job: authenticate a dead man’s signature and witness the reading of his will. It should take an afternoon.
But the moment she arrives at Trelawney Grange, she can tell the people gathered to hear Lord Alaric Trelawney’s final wishes aren’t waiting on an inheritance. They’re waiting on something they’ve spent fifteen years hoping would stay buried.
Every person in that house-the doctor, the solicitor, the reverend, the aristocrat, the household staff who move through it like they were never there at all-is bound together by a secret from one terrible summer years before, and no one will say what it is. As the snow closes in and the will’s true purpose comes to light, Imogene realizes she wasn’t hired to verify a signature. She was hired to witness a reckoning fifteen years in the making, and there is no walking away from the past.
A gripping Victorian mystery about the debts the past never stops collecting, and the lengths people will go to keep a secret buried or to finally bring it to light.
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EXCERPT:
1866
London England
Prologue
He shivered as a draft moved through the room. He sorted through documents spread out before him, organizing them into careful piles. He thought about the conversation that had occurred and anger exploded inside his head. The upstart!
What did he know about anything? He, who had studied with Dr. John Snow, so renowned in his field. His throat was dry. He pulled the decanter of whiskey toward him and poured. The amber liquid splashed on a piece of paper but he brushed at it dismissively.
He drank it quickly and it seared his throat but he poured himself another. He contemplated the glass this time before drinking. He should have known. Those do-gooder types didn’t understand the true sacrifice he was making. They couldn’t see the big picture. They couldn’t see what was really happening. What he was trying to do. He set the glass back down without taking a sip and saw that his hand was shaking. Blast it! It had all been going so well. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? Now what.
He looked about the room. The draft no longer bothered him and he felt a sweat break out on his brow. There was much to do. But most importantly, he must find his medical notes. They had been right here on his desk. He was certain. It was a necessity. No one would have come into his room and removed them, had they? No. They wouldn’t dare.
He pondered it. Perhaps his assistant, the new fellow fresh from school, had simply moved them. No. He wouldn’t. He had expressly told him not to meddle with his things. He didn’t like it and he had everything just as he liked it. So where were they, dammit!
A knock sounded at the door and almost caused him to jump. The hour was late. Who could it be?
“It’s me,” the familiar male voice called out.
His benefactor. The one with all the purse strings. He must play the part at least for him.
“Just a moment,” he called back.
He looked at his reflection in the window and saw that his hair was disheveled. He took out a comb and quickly brushed his wavy hair in place. The desk was in disarray and he quickly placed the papers in neat stacks to show the appearance of order.
Jesus, what awful timing. He called the man to enter and the visitor did, looking about the room.
“Am I interrupting you?” the older man asked.
“Certainly not,” he replied. “I was looking for some misplaced medical notes. That blasted assistant must have moved them. I told him not to meddle.”
The older man settled himself into the red leather chair. “I wanted to speak with you privately. It’s important.” He swallowed visibly and appeared to be trying to find the words.
“The hour is quite late.”
“It is. You’ll forgive me.” The older man nodded. “I would have waited but—” He almost stumbled over his words.
“It must be something of great importance to bring you here at this late hour,” he noted.
His benefactor seemed to take in the words and almost seemed dazed. “Yes,” he said in agreement. “Something most concerning has reached my ears, most concerning,” he repeated for emphasis.
The man had no time for this. What’s more, he didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. It was irritating that in all of his important work, he had to give the man anything. For Christ’s sake! Didn’t this feather-head realize what was at stake? But he steeled himself and responded as he should.
“What is this concern?”
But instead of answering outright, his benefactor merely looked about the room. “I scarcely know where to begin.”
In a flash of blinding anger, he resisted the urge to stand up and reach over the table to slap the man’s face. Who did he think he was? How dare he presume anything? The man might have status and money but little else. Just because he had been born into the right family, what else did he have? Brains? Certainly not. If he had been born a common person, he would be selling fish at the docks.
But he calmed himself. He knew who he was. He was the one with brilliance and brains, decidedly so. He was the one who had risen and become the man he was today. He was the shining star. But he needed the older man’s patronage. He knew that. He would have to play the game, then, and pretend to care about whatever was preying on the man’s mind.
If the man told him something stupid like they had not enough places set at the dinner table or the china was mismatched, he might strangle him.
Instead, his expression stayed mild, untroubled. “Tell me the concern. Perhaps together we can alleviate the issue.”
Relief eased across his benefactor’s face. “Yes. This must be a mistake. It can’t be what I’ve been told. I heard something from my sister, but she can ramble. But then the vicar came to me—”
“Oh yes?”
“And the family solicitor—”
“Him as well? My, my,” he said, trying to pretend to care. “What is it they are saying? Tell me quick.”
He only hoped he would tell the story quickly so he could be on his way.
Then without preamble, his benefactor began to speak. He laid out the whole issue, the concerns, the rumors and the whispers that were being spoken about and how grave the matter was. He mentioned his sister’s concerns and a young man who had spoken to the solicitor’s son and on and on the man babbled. He thought if the man was a tenor opera singer, his aria would last thirty minutes. It was exhausting and supremely irritating.
“It’s fantastic – is it not?” His benefactor said. “Most fantastic. I can hardly fathom it myself. I told Delly she was ridiculous. She should know better than to pass on rumors.”
“That is – quite a story,” he agreed as he pulled the decanter to him once more. “Quite a story.”
He poured the man a drink and pushed it across the desk to him. He took up his glass from earlier and took a long sip. “What proof is there of these allegations?”
His benefactor’s shoulders dropped. “That’s just it. Some rumors and whispers. But as it’s reached my ears, as your benefactor, we must discuss it.”
“My, my.” He set his glass down. “And what are you prepared to do?”
“Get to the bottom of it!” His patron said passionately. “Good God, man! These are lies, slander! I’ll not have you slandered! You could sue in court. I’ll be your witness,” the older man’s face grew red with exertion.
“Very decent of you,” he murmured. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass absently. “Very decent of you indeed.”
“Of course, my dear chap,” the older man looked relieved. “Least I could do.”
The mantel clock chimed the half hour.
“That’s of course assuming these rumors are false,” he said quietly, taking another sip. “What if they are true?”
His benefactor looked slightly irritated. “This is no time for jests, old boy,” the older man said curtly. “The rumors are grave. I might even say macabre.”
“Macabre?” he echoed.
“Yes!”
But he just continued to stare at his patron while swirling the liquor in the glass.
“Wait. What are you – what are you saying?” His benefactor suddenly straightened up in his chair. “In plain English. Gentleman to gentleman. I demand you tell me what is happening.”
“Your witnesses speak the truth.”
The silence between the two men was deafening.
“No. No, that can’t be.” His patron grew pale.
“I assure you, it is,” he said, his mouth curving.
His benefactor suddenly looked sick in the low gas lights. “No. I- I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
“Well, you certainly don’t need to believe it.”
“But if the witnesses are correct, and the rumors are true,” he visibly swallowed, “you’re a—” He shook his head.
“Yes? Go on.” He was amused at the turn of conversation. The man was an idiot.
“You’re a monster.”
He sat back in his chair and surveyed his patron. “Come now. There’s no need for dramatics.”
But his benefactor stood up then. He looked flushed now.
“I demand you refute these rumors laid at your door! I demand it!”
Calmly without saying a word, he pulled a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. He took a long drag before responding. “The rumors are not rumors,” he said steadily. “Your witnesses are correct.”
The man’s face drained of color.
“I’m leaving tonight,” he told him. “There need not be any fuss or theatrics. I will leave quietly and continue my work in India. The matter will end and you will squash the rumors.”
“The hell I will!” His face was now mottled with anger. “The hell I will!”
He took another sip of whiskey completely unbothered by the man’s outburst.
“If these things are true, you should be imprisoned! Hanged even!”
“No, sir. I won’t be.”
“Why won’t you be?” The patron demanded.
“For the simple reason that you helped me. Your family helped me, your vicar helped me. You are complicit. Whether you like it or not,” he told him.
“No,” he whispered and fell into the chair. “I’m not. That’s not what I did. I thought – I thought you were helping. I thought you were a savior. We all thought that.”
“Hmph! Did you really? Or did you also want to be involved with the discovery of a lifetime?” he said coolly. “Perhaps you wanted to even take a bit of credit as my benefactor.”
His benefactor sputtered out several words but nothing made sense until he finally whispered, “How dare you?”
He poured himself another glass enjoying himself and the interaction. “So. As I said. I will leave quietly. You will let everyone know that I was called to India of the utmost importance, and nothing else will be said.”
“You can’t get away with this,” he said weakly. “You can’t.”
“My dear chap,” he said, his face showing no emotion. “I already have.”
Author Bio:
Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.
Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.
She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.
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When Frost Was Spectre Grey Blitz
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Cover Reveal: Blood Code by Hazel St. Lewis
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
Blood Code
Hazel St. Lewis
(Fury Verse: Volume 1, #2)
Publication date: October 15th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Dark Romance, Romance
I’ve spent years hiding in plain sight. The Russians call me a ghost. A myth. A monster lurking in the dark.
Good.
I am taunting Severin Volkov. I am hunting him. But the closer I get to crossing his name off my ledger, the harder it becomes to remember why I’m supposed to hate him. He should be my enemy and my final victim.
Instead, he’s becoming my greatest weakness.
⸻
The Ghost is no longer a rumor. Every lead points to a woman who shouldn’t exist. Every answer uncovers a new lie. Someone is manipulating my organization from within, feeding information to our enemies and staying one step ahead of me at every turn.
I will find the traitor.
I will find the Ghost.
And when I do, I’ll make them regret they were ever born. But as old secrets surface and loyalties begin to fracture, I’m forced to confront a possibility far more dangerous than betrayal: What if the woman I’m hunting is the one person I can’t afford to lose?
BLOOD CODE is book two in Fury Verse: Volume 1. It is a dark mafia romance featuring a female serial killer, enemies-to-lovers tension, and obsessive romance.
Author Bio:
Hazel St. Lewis is a Romantasy author. Diagnosed with dyslexia at a young age, she struggled to read and write, but fantasy stories inspired her to start storytelling. Unfortunately, now, she is a little too obsessed with morally gray characters. When she isn’t writing, she can be found playing with her hoard of cats (too many to count…it’s a problem), singing songs to said cats, or painting.
Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok / Newsletter
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Cover Reveal: Annwyn Park by Jennifer Silverwood
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
Annwyn Park
Jennifer Silverwood
(The Borderlands Saga, #4)
Publication date: January 13th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Romance
“Turn back! Turn back, before it’s too late. Before you become one of us forever…”
The clock is ticking, and Lord Gareth Alderson has come for his due.
Years ago, Dameri Pendraig made a wicked deal with the goblin king.
She won back her child, and that child has become Queen of Silver Hollow.
The last thing Dameri expected was for Amie to wish her mother away to Annwyn Park.
**Book 4 in the Borderlands Saga, Annwyn Park will release in 2027.**
Author Bio:
Jennifer Silverwood lives in the middle of an enchanted forest surrounded by cursed books, nosy spirits, and mischievous goblins she calls her children. After beginning several nonsensical degrees, she found her calling helping other authors bring their books to life. Jennifer is the author of two fairy tale fantasy series: the Borderlands Saga and Wylder Tales. Because she wasn’t satisfied writing in one genre, she also invites you to explore uncharted space with the Heaven’s Edge Novellas—and dare to fall in love again with the standalone romance titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight.
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In the Frame by Hayden Stone blitz with giveaway
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
In the Frame: A Fake Dating Queer MM Romance
Hayden Stone
(The London Arts Club, #2)
Publication date: August 29th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance
An artist. A developer. And an art gallery which they both want—for very different reasons.
When recent uni grad Matty Gowen-Smith, a talented painter and not so talented bartender, spills a tray of drinks on a hot-shot investor, Florian de Ligt, he’s left with no choice to make amends. Especially after Matty ruins Florian’s suit on a big night out for Florian’s birthday.
Trying to make things right, broke artist Matty offers Florian his only suit in a desperate effort to not get fired from his job. Conveniently, Matty is flat sitting around the corner, where his one prized suit awaits his friend’s wedding next weekend. Not so conveniently, they are soon trapped together in an elevator at Matty’s flat, and things rapidly go from bad to worse until landing on an uneasy truce.
Which is where a pact is born to come right from this mess. Florian needs a date for an upcoming art gala, a world he knows little about. Matty desperately needs a respectable date for his friend’s Brighton wedding to prove he’s a success in his new London life.
Two fake dates and an unexpected kiss later, fake feelings begin to feel a bit too much like real feelings. Which wouldn’t be a problem if Florian wasn’t so determined to dismantle Matty’s art community by redeveloping a popular local art gallery into luxury condos. An art gallery which may give Matty the solo exhibition he’s dreamt of to launch his art career. And now Matty must choose between his community or what might be a real chance at love…
In the Frame, the second book in the London Arts Club series, features forced proximity, boy next door, and fake dating in a fun new adult romcom.
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EXCERPT:
The fact is I’m kind of a shit bartender in a not-so-shit London bar. A popular bar full of discerning hipsters with deep pockets and others who want to be seen. It’s my first Saturday night working here at my new job. Which is exactly what I need to be doing to bring in some cash, and not spending money I can’t afford on supplies from the local art shop around the corner in Soho.
Forget that my new boss has all the makings of a tyrannical dictator—one who already has me nestled comfortably in his crosshairs. It’s not all smooth sailing despite the luxurious queer glamour of Ivan’s. Dramatic high-coffered ceilings soar overhead with gleaming chandeliers,
and chic paintings from highly successful contemporary artists hangs on dark walls. The last part’s like artisanal sea salt in a career-shaped wound.
I have no idea why they hired me. Aside from me technically being qualified for the job. And also technically having the right references.
I mean, they obviously needed another bartender, after one of their old ones left. Which is a reasonable thing for a bar to want to keep running smoothly and keep their customers in suggestively named cocktails, like Get Your Freak On or Banger Baby or classics like Sex on the Beach. But just because I gave them my resumé doesn’t automatically mean I’m the best man for the job.
Never mind. I’m here now and I need to get on with it. The paycheck will make up for my current suffering, and, at best, low-key competence.
Around me, the upscale bar glows with burnished wood counters, gleaming glassware, and a stylishly imposing pink neon display (saying you have arrived and it reminds me a little of Tracey Emin’s works in neon), accompanied by a thousand bottles of premium, backlit spirits on the brick wall behind me that the finest of London’s equally premium queers will enjoy. Backlighting optional.
Clenching my jaw, I wring the bar cloth into the sink, rinse it, and give the counter in front of me a quick wipe, because I inadvertently slopped some ale when I should have slid the glass over with a certain panache expected of a bartender in a place like this. With every last drop of said ale staying within the confines of its glassware.
Except I panicked, because nerves.
Because Saturday night. Because there are hot men everywhere, where the hotness per capita rating is off the charts—to the point there should be a public health warning and an exclusion zone for the susceptible to distraction, like me. It’s definitely the sort of hotspot in London where people go when they want to be noticed. The occasional celeb makes their way through here too, tipping off the paparazzi who wait outside. There’re regularly high numbers of influencers in Ivan’s, all vying for social media clout.
Meanwhile, the remaining froth I missed looks obscene on the walnut bar. I wring out the cloth one more time for luck.
People in the queue for drinks are thankfully looking at the mess and not at me. In my crisp white shirt and black waistcoat and pressed trousers, I at least look the part like the rest of the wait staff, if not the clientele. In fairness to me, I do tidy up quite nicely when I try. Except I’ve got no chill, especially not tonight.
Author Bio:
More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone (he/him) is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. Hayden is the author of the When Snow Falls, Being Royal, and The London Arts Club romcom series. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. You can find out his latest news on Instagram or his website: haydenstonebooks.com
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