Carries Book Reviews

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Bewitching the Vampire
Brooklyn Ann
(Brides of Prophecy, #9)
Publication date: July 21st 2023
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

The Lord Vampire of New Orleans meets his match in the leader of the local witch coven.

Magic is returning to Earth, and Raina Callahan’s witch coven is growing more powerful. She’s been warned to be wary of catching interest from dangerous people, and sure enough, she discovers that someone is following her. Her stalker turns out to be the owner of a vampire-themed club—who really is a vampire. And although he is dead sexy and charming, Raina is not okay with his surveillance or his intent to claim her as his. She will use every means of magic at her disposal to thwart him.

Valentin St. Scarasse, Lord Vampire of New Orleans, has a weakness for voluptuous women with magic in their blood. Just when he has his sights set on what promises to be a delicious meal—and maybe a few passionate nights in bed—the Thirteenth Elder commands him to watch over the witch and her coven and keep them safe. But when Raina catches Valentin spying on her, the witch and the vampire embark on a battle of wills that will only end if they surrender to the heat between them.

As the Evil One’s cultists invade the city, Raina and Valentin must learn to trust each other and together, help their communities form an alliance that both sides swore would never happen.

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EXCERPT:

The sun had set by the time they left the restaurant. Raina groaned to see Valentin leaning against her car. “Did you even have time to feed?”

The vampire smirked and put his hand over his heart. “I’m touched that you care.”

“I just want to make sure that you aren’t planning on biting one of us.”

“And now you wound me.” Valentin gave her an unfairly sexy pout. “Ms. Callahan, I told you that your safety is of utmost importance to me. Now, may I have a ride, or will you make me walk?”

“Can’t you fly?”

His laughter held the texture of roughened velvet. “That is a rare ability with my kind.”

Raina wanted to ask more about what he could do but held her face in an impassive mask. “I guess you’ll have to take an Uber, then.”

With that, she and Alma got in her little Nissan Leaf and drove home. But when they pulled into the narrow driveway, Valentin was waiting on the curb, just outside the protective wards.

Raina glared at him as she got out of the car, noting that he remained outside the barrier. “I thought you couldn’t fly.”

“I can’t.”

“Did you turn into a bat then?” Alma asked him. “Or teleport?”

“I have my ways.” Valentin stood and dusted off his jeans. “You may as well invite me in.”

“Hell no,” Raina said as she shut her car door. “I’ve seen enough movies.”

The vampire laughed. “I don’t need an invitation to go inside your house. I’ve been in there before. You both have interesting taste in art. I especially like the movie posters. I’d just appreciate it if you to let down your ward.”

“No.”

His pout twisted things beneath her ribs. “I am tired of being outside.”

“Then go home.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Raina threw up her hands in exasperation, and she and Alma went into the house. They tried to ignore the fact that a vampire was lurking outside and watch a movie, but ended up turning it off and going to bed early. Despite her exhaustion, Raina tossed and turned for an hour, countless questions burning in her mind. She gave up on sleep, put on her robe, and went outside. Valentin was still sitting on the curb, reading a book.

He looked up with a smirk. “I’m glad you’re here to alleviate my boredom.”

“Who is Xochitl’s uncle?” Raina demanded, marching up to him.

Valentin’s eyes widened, and he visibly shuddered. “Probably one of the most terrifying beings in existence. I don’t know how much I’m allowed to tell you about him.” He sighed. “I honestly am sorry. I hate all these unknowns and uncertainties.”

“Me too.” She thought of her own concerns with the Nightwatch Society visitor and Xochitl’s email that gave her more questions than answers. Remembering the email, she found herself blurting, “Xochitl said you were watching me during the backstage meet and greet back in February. She said you looked like you wanted to eat me. What did she mean by that?”

The vampire’s lips curved in a wicked smile. “Exactly that.”

“But what—”

Suddenly, he stood behind her. Too late, she realized she’d stepped passed the protective barrier. Valentin’s fingertips swept her hair to the side, and his lips grazed her neck as he whispered, “If you’re asking if I want to sink my teeth into your pretty neck and taste your powerful blood, the answer is yes.”

Before she could respond, he appeared in front of her, his green eyes glowing like dark emeralds. “Or, if you’re asking if I want to part your luscious thighs and plunge my tongue into your plump pussy until you scream my name in pleasure, the answer is also yes.”

Raina shivered uncontrollably as the mental picture he painted sent frissons of arousal jolting between her legs.

“Of course, I will not do either unless you ask me to,” he finished while his eyes continued to blaze emerald flame.

Finally, her faculties recovered enough for her to pull away and step back into the safety of her barrier. “Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I have low enough self-esteem to fall for your attempts to flatter me.”

Valentin’s eyes hardened. “Just because society often lauds thinner women as paragons of beauty doesn’t mean I have to change my own personal tastes. Nor does it make you any less beautiful. Furthermore, I’ve never felt the need to feign attraction to someone. My flirtations are sincere. It’s one thing if my advances aren’t welcome, but quite another if you think I’m a liar.”

 

Author Bio:

Formerly an auto-mechanic, Brooklyn Ann thrives on writing romance, urban fantasy, and horror novels featuring unconventional heroines and heroes who adore them. Author of historical paranormal romance in her critically acclaimed “Scandals with Bite” series, urban fantasy in the cult favorite, “Brides of Prophecy” novels, rockstar romance in the award-winning, “Hearts of Metal” series, and horror in the “B Mine” series, horror romances riffing on the 1970s and 1980s B horror movies that feature a Final Couple instead of a Final Girl.

She lives in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho with her gamer son, rockstar/IT Guy boyfriend, three cats, a few project cars, an extensive book collection, and miscellaneous horror memorabilia.

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The Fall That Saved Us
Tamara Jerée
Publication date: September 5th 2023
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Paranormal, Romance

Nephilim—humans with direct lines to the angels—are natural demon hunters. All nephilim, it seems, except Cassiel. The weakest among a family touched by archangels, she’s abandoned her angelic inheritance for a mundane life as a bookseller. But even in the noise of the city, she remains burdened by the strict tenets of her old life. And recently, something far more sinister haunts her.

Avitue is a succubus out for revenge—though she has little say in the matter. As part of the greater demons ’plan to ruin Cassiel’s family for slaying a duke of Hell, Avitue’s been sent to claim a particular nephilim soul, one she’s told will pose little challenge. It should be an easy seduction. Quick, fatal. But Avitue is surprised to find her own pain reflected in Cassiel, a nephilim deemed fallen by her own family’s standards.

By choosing trust, they reveal the lies that bind them, but as unwilling participants in an eternal war, trusting each other is the most dangerous thing they can do.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

 

Author Bio:

Tamara Jerée (they/them) is a graduate of the Purdue University MFA Program and the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Their short stories have appeared in the Shirley Jackson Award-winning anthologies Unfettered Hexes: Queer Tales of Insatiable Darkness and Professor Charlatan Bardot’s Travel Anthology. Their poem “goddess in forced repose” in Uncanny Magazine was nominated for the inaugural Ignyte Award. They’ve worked as an indie bookseller and a writer in the video games industry. The Fall That Saved Us (out 9/5/2023) is their debut novel.

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Well folks, here we are at week seven and I’m still behaving! Who ever would have thought I’d go on such a long streak?? This week I only have three new titles to share with you and add to my ever towering TBR. One of these I definitely wouldn’t pass up being a favorite author so of course I figured with one already there why not click a couple more. 🤣

As always clicking the covers will take you to the book on Amazon!**

New additions from Netgalley July 16th – July 23rd

New York Times bestselling author B. A. Paris captivated psychological thriller readers everywhere with Behind Closed Doors. Now she invites you into another heart-pounding home full of secrets, in The Guest.

Some secrets never leave.

Iris and Gabriel have just arrived home from a make-or-break holiday. But a shock awaits them. One of their closest friends, Laure, is in their house. The atmosphere quickly becomes tense as she oversteps again and again: sleeping in their bed, wearing Iris’ clothes, even rearranging the furniture.

Laure has walked out on her husband—and their good friend—Pierre, over his confession of an affair and a secret child. Iris and Gabriel want to be supportive of their friends, but as Laure’s mood becomes increasingly unpredictable, her presence takes its toll.

Iris and Gabriel’s only respite comes in the form of a couple new to town. But with them comes their gardener, who has a checkered past.

Soon, secrets from all their pasts will unravel, some more dangerous than they could have known.

What happens if you find your true love too soon? Could one night off a year save your marriage—or destroy it? In this bold and sexy debut, a young couple discovers that a little freedom has surprising consequences.

“A delicious novel . . . Nora Ephron fans will delight in this debut.”—Amanda Eyre Ward, New York Times bestselling author of The Jetsetters

Dominic and Daphne met in their first week of college, and they’ve been happily married for three years. They love each other deeply but perhaps have become too comfortable, and their sex life isn’t what anyone would call thrilling. So, on New Year’s Day, Dominic blurts out a suggestion before it’s fully worked out in his mind: what if they open up their marriage?

Daphne reluctantly agrees—with conditions. They can sleep with one other person, one night a year, and the agreement has a five-year expiration date. It’s not a total free-for-all on their vows, but an amendment. They call it the Freedom Clause.

It isn’t long before Daphne and Dominic find themselves—and their marriage—altered in unexpected ways. Embracing the spirit of the Clause, Daphne pushes herself to be more assertive in asking for what she wants. She begins chronicling her journey of self-discovery in an anonymous newsletter, sharing recipes inspired by her conquests, and soon realizes that one night off a year isn’t a small change . . . it’s a seismic one.

Eventually, Daphne and Dominic are reconsidering everything—each other, their relationship, and themselves. Can they survive the Freedom Clause? Do they even want to?

From the internationally best-selling author, a chilling fresh spin on the classic horror novel • When the voices call, don’t answer.

“In The Night House, the horror begins immediately. And it only keeps calling from there.”—Josh Malerman, New York Times best-selling author of Bird Box and Spin a Black Yarn

In the wake of his parents’ tragic deaths in a house fire, fourteen-year-old Richard Elauved has been sent to live with his aunt and uncle in the remote, insular town of Ballantyne. Richard quickly earns a reputation as an outcast, and when a classmate named Tom goes missing, everyone suspects the new, angry boy is responsible for his disappearance. No one believes him when he says the telephone booth out by the edge of the woods sucked Tom into the receiver like something out of a horror movie. No one, that is, except Karen, a beguiling fellow outsider who encourages Richard to pursue clues the police refuse to investigate. He traces the number that Tom prank-called from the phone booth to an abandoned house in the Mirror Forest. There he catches a glimpse of a terrifying face in the window. And then the voices begin to whisper in his ear . . . 

She’s going to burn. The girl you love is going to burn. There’s nothing you can do about it.

When another classmate disappears, Richard must find a way to prove his innocence—and preserve his sanity—as he grapples with the dark magic that is possessing Ballantyne and pursuing his destruction.

Then again, Richard may not be the most reliable narrator of his own story . . .

**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.**

Title: Women of the Post

Author: Joshunda Sanders

Publisher: Park Row

Publication Date: July 18, 2023

Page Count: 368

About the book:

For fans of A League of Their Own, a debut historical novel that gives voice to the pioneering Black women of the of the Six Triple Eight Battalion who made history by sorting over one million pieces of mail overseas for the US Army.

  “What a beautifully imagined and important narrative. Sanders’ clear-eyed and powerful writing made this a hard one to stop reading!”

—Jacqueline Woodson, National Book Award-Winning Author

“This is a novel to cherish and share. And this is a history to sing about and affirm — to proclaim.”

— Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, New York Times Bestselling author of The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois, an Oprah Book Club Novel

Inspired by true events, Women of the Post brings to life the heroines who proudly served in the all-Black battalion of the Women’s Army Corps in WWII, finding purpose in their mission and lifelong friendship.

1944, New York City. Judy Washington is tired of having to work at the Bronx Slave Market, cleaning white women’s houses for next to nothing. She dreams of a bigger life, but with her husband fighting overseas, it’s up to her and her mother to earn enough for food and rent. When she’s recruited to join the Women’s Army Corps—offering a steady paycheck and the chance to see the world—Judy jumps at the opportunity.

During training, Judy becomes fast friends with the other women in her unit—Stacy, Bernadette and Mary Alyce—who all come from different cities and circumstances. Under Second Officer Charity Adams’s leadership, they receive orders to sort over one million pieces of mail in England, becoming the only unit of Black women to serve overseas during WWII.

The women work diligently, knowing that they’re reuniting soldiers with their loved ones through their letters. However, their work becomes personal when Mary Alyce discovers a backlogged letter addressed to Judy. Told through the alternating perspectives of Judy, Charity and Mary Alyce, Women of the Post is an unforgettable story of perseverance, female friendship and self-discovery.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon / BookShop.org  / Barnes & Noble

Excerpt:

One

Judy

From Judy to The Crisis

Thursday, 14 April 1944

Dear Ms. Ella Baker and Marvel Cooke,

My name is Judy Washington, and I am one of the women you write about in your work on the Bronx Slave Market over on Simpson Street. My husband, Herbert, is serving in the war, so busy it has been months since I heard word from him. It is the fight of his life—of our lives—to defend our country and maybe it will show white people that we can also belong to and defend this place. We built it too, after all. It is as much our country to defend as anyone else’s.

All I thought was really missing from your articles was a fix for us, us meaning Negro women. We are still in the shadow of the Great Depression now, but the war has made it so that some girls have been picked up by unions, in factories and such. Maybe you could ask the mayor or somebody to set us up with different work. Something that pays and helps our boys/men overseas, but doesn’t keep us sweating over pails of steaming laundry for thirty cents an hour or less. Seems like everyone but the Negro woman has found a way to contribute to the war and also put food on the table. It’s hard not to feel left behind or overlooked.

Thank you for telling the truth about the lives we have to live now, even if it is hard to see. Eventually, I pray, we will have a different story to tell. My mother always says she brought us up here to lay our burdens down, not to pick up new ones. But somehow, even if we don’t go to war, we still have battles to fight just to live with a little dignity.

I’ve gone on too long now. Thank you for your service.

Respectfully,

Judy Washington

Since the men went to war, there was never enough of anything for Judy and her mother, Margaret, which is how they came to be free Negro women relegated to one of the dozens of so-called slave markets for domestic workers in New York City. For about two years now, her husband, Herbert, had been overseas. He was one half of a twin, her best friend from high school, and her first and only love, if you could call it that.

Judy had moved with her parents from the overcrowded Harlem tenements to the South Bronx midway through her sophomore year of high school. She was an only child. Her father, James, doted on her in part because he and Margaret had tried and tried when they were back home in the South for a baby, but Judy was the only one who made it, stayed alive. He treasured her, called her a miracle. Margaret would cut her eyes at him, complain that he was making her soft.

The warmth Judy felt at home was in stark contrast to the way she felt at school, where she often sat alone during lunch. When they were called upon in classes to work in groups of two or three, she excused herself and asked for the wooden bathroom pass, so that she often worked alone instead of facing the humiliation of not being chosen.

She had not grown up with friends nor had Margaret, so it almost felt normal to live mostly inside herself this way. There were girls from the block who looked at her with what she read as pity. “Nice skirt,” one would say, almost reluctantly.

“Thanks,” she’d say, a little shy to be noticed. “Mother made it.”

Small talk was more painful than silence. How had the other Negro girls managed to move with such ease here, after living almost exclusively with other Negroes down in Harlem? Someone up here was as likely to have a brogue accent as a Spanish one. She didn’t mind the mingling of the races, it was just new: a shock to the system, both in the streets she walked to go to school and to the market but also in the halls of Morris High School.

Judy had been eating an apple, her back pressed against the cafeteria wall when she saw Herbert. He was long faced with a square jaw and round, black W.E.B. Du Bois glasses.

“That’s all you’re having for lunch, it’s no wonder you’re so slim,” he said, like he was continuing a conversation they had been having for a while. Rich coming from him, with his lanky gait, his knobby knees pressing against his slacks.

A pile of assorted foods rose from his blue tray, tantalizing her. A sandwich thick with meat and cheese and lettuce, potato chips off to the side, a sweating bottle of Coke beside that. For years, they had all lived so lean that it had become a shock to suddenly see some people making up for lost time with their food. Judy finished chewing her apple and gathered her skirt closer to her. “You offering to share your lunch with me?”

Herbert gave her a slight smile. “Surely you didn’t think all this was for me?”

They were fast friends after that. It was easy for her to make room for a man who looked at her without pity. There had always been room in her life for someone like him: one who saw, who comforted, who provided. Her father, James, grumbled disapproval when Herbert asked to court, but Herbert came with sunflowers and his father’s moonshine.

“What kind of man do you take me for?” James asked, eyeing Herbert’s neat, slim tie and sniffing sharply to inhale the obnoxious musk of too much aftershave.

“A man who wants his daughter to be loved completely,” Herbert said. “The way that I love her.”

Their courting began. Judy had no other offers and didn’t want any. That they had James’s blessing before he died from a heart attack and just as they were getting ready to graduate from high school only softened the blow of his loss a little. As demure and to herself as she usually was, burying her father turned Judy more inward than Herbert expected. In his death, she seemed to retreat into herself the way that she had been when he approached her that lunch hour. To draw her out, to bring her back, he proposed marriage.

She balked. “Can I belong to someone else?” Judy asked Margaret, telling her that Herbert asked for her hand. “I hardly feel like I belong to myself.”

“This is what women do,” Margaret said immediately.

The ceremony was small, with a reception that hummed with nosy neighbors stopping over to bring slim envelopes of money to gift to the bride and her mother. The older Negro women in the neighborhood, who wore the same faded floral housedresses as Margaret except for today, when she put one of her two special dresses—a radiant sky blue that made her amber eyes look surrounded in gold light—visited her without much to say, just dollar bills folded in their pockets, slipped into her grateful hands. They were not exactly her friends; she worked too much to allow herself leisure. But some of them were widows, too. Like her, they had survived much to stand proudly on special days like this.

They settled into the plans they made for their life together. He joined the reserves and, in the meantime, became a Pullman porter. Judy began work as a seamstress at the local dry cleaner. Whatever money they didn’t have, they could make up with rent parties until the babies came.

Now all of that was on hold, her life suspended by the announcement at the movies that the US was now at war. The news was hard enough to process, but Herbert’s status in the reserves meant that this was his time to exit. She braced herself when he stood up to leave the theater and report for duty, kissing her goodbye with a rushed press of his mouth to her forehead.

Judy and Margaret had been left to fend for themselves. There had been some money from Herbert in the first year, but then his letters—and the money—slowed to a halt. Judy and Margaret received some relief from the city, but Judy thought it an ironic word to use, since a few dollars to stretch and apply to food and rent was not anything like a relief. It meant she was always on edge, doing what needed doing to keep them from freezing to death or joining the tent cities down along the river.

Her hours at the dry cleaner were cut, so she and Margaret reluctantly joined what an article in The Crisis described as the “paper bag brigade” at the Bronx Slave Market. The market was made up of Negro women, faces heavy for want of sleep. They made their way to the corners and storefronts before dawn, rain or shine, carrying thick brown paper bags filled with gloves, assorted used work clothes to change into, rolled over themselves and softened with age in their hands. A few of them were lucky enough to have a roll with butter, in the unlikely event of a lunch break.

Judy and Margaret stood for hours if the boxes or milk crates were occupied, while they waited for cars to approach. White women drivers looked them over and called out to their demands: wash my windows and linens and curtains. Clean my kitchen. A dollar for the day, maybe two, plus carfare.

The lists were always longer than the day. The rate was always offensively low. Margaret had been on the market for longer than Judy; she knew how to negotiate. Judy did not want to barter her time. She resented being an object for sale.

“You can’t start too low, even when you’re new,” Margaret warned Judy when her daughter joined her at Simpson Avenue and 170th Street. “Aim higher first. They’ll get you to some low amount anyhow. But it’s always going to be more than what you’re offered.”

Everything about the Bronx Slave Market, this congregation of Negro women looking for low-paying cleaning work, was a futile negotiation. An open-air free-for-all, where white women in gleaming Buicks and Fords felt just fine offering pennies on the hour for several hours of hard labor. Sometimes the work was so much, the women ended up spending the night, only to wake up in the morning and be asked to do more work—this time for free.

Judy and Margaret could not afford to work for free. Six days a week, in biting winter cold that made their knees numb or sweltering heat rising from the pavement baking the arches of their feet, they wandered to the same spot. After these painful experiences, day after day all week, Judy and Margaret gathered at the kitchen table on Sundays after church to count up the change that could cover some of the gas and a little of the rent. It was due in two days, and they were two dollars short. Unless they could make a dollar each, they would not make rent.

Rent was sometimes hard to come up with, even when James was alive, but when he died, their income became even more unreliable. They didn’t even have money enough for a decent funeral. He was buried in a pine box in the Hart Island potter’s field. James was the only love of Margaret’s life, and still, when he was gone, all she said to Judy was, “There’s still so much to do.”

Judy’s deepest wish for Margaret was for her to rest and enjoy a few small pleasures. What she overheard between her parents as a child were snippets and pieces of painful memories. Negroes lynched over rumors. Girls taken by men to do whatever they wanted. “We don’t need a lot,” she heard Margaret say once, “just enough to leave this place and start over.”

Margaret’s family, like James’s, had only known the South. Some had survived the end of slavery by some miracle, but the Reconstruction era was a different kind of terror. Margaret was the eldest of five children, James was the middle child of eight. A younger sibling left for Harlem first, and sent letters glowing about how free she felt in the north. So, even once Margaret convinced James they needed to take Judy someplace like that, it felt to Judy that she always had her family in the South and the way they had to work to survive on her mind.

Judy fantasized about rest for herself and for her mother. How nice it would be to plan a day centered around tea, folding their own napkins, ironing a treasured store-bought dress for a night out. A day when she could stand up straight, like a flower basking in the sun, instead of hunched over work.

Other people noticed that they worked harder and more than they should as women, as human beings. Judy thought Margaret maybe didn’t realize another way to be was possible. So she tried to talk about the Bronx Slave Market article in The Crisis with her mother. Margaret refused to read a word or even hear about it. “No need reading about my life in no papers,” she said.

Refusing to know how they were being exploited didn’t keep it from being a problem. But once Judy knew, she couldn’t keep herself from wanting more. Maybe that was why Margaret didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to want more than what was in front of her.

Herbert’s companionship had fed her this kind of ambition and hope. His warm laughter, the way she could depend on him to talk her into hooky once in a while, to crash a rowdy rent party and dance until the sun came up, even if it got her grounded and lectured, was—especially when James died—the only escape hatch she could find from the box her mother was determined to fit her future inside. So, when Herbert surprised her at a little traveling show in Saint Mary’s Park, down on one knee with his grandmother’s plain wedding band, she only hesitated inside when she said yes. It wasn’t the time to try and explain that there was something in her yawning open, looking for something else, but maybe she could find that something with Herbert. Her mother told her to stop wasting her time dreaming and to settle down.

At least marrying her high school buddy meant she could move on from under Margaret’s constant, disapproving gaze. They had been saving up for new digs when Herbert was drafted—but now that was all put on hold.

The dream had been delicious while it felt like it was coming true. Judy and Herbert were both outsiders, insiders within their universe of two. Herbert was the only rule follower in a bustling house full of lawbreaking men and boys; Judy, the only child of a shocked widow who found her purpose in bone-tiring work. Poverty pressed in on them from every corner of the Bronx, and neither Judy nor Herbert felt they belonged there. But they did belong to each other, and that wasn’t nothing.

Excerpted from Women of the Post by Joshunda Sanders, Copyright © 2023 by Joshunda Sanders. Published by Park Row Books.

About the author:

Joshunda Sanders is an award-winning author, journalist and speechwriter. A former Obama Administration political appointee, her fiction, essays and poetry have appeared in dozens of anthologies. She has been awarded residencies and fellowships at Hedgebrook, Lambda Literary, The Key West Literary Seminars and the Martha’s Vineyard Institute for Creative Writing. Women of the Post is her first novel.

Author Website / Twitter

**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.**

Golden Cord of Light
Heidi Skarie
(Star Rider, #6)
Publication date: June 17th 2023
Genres: Adult, Science Fiction

When darkness descends can a few courageous heroes save their planet?

Princess Morisa’s world is turned upside down. She planned to be a priestess living at a monastery for the rest of her life. But now she’s being sent to a foreign country and is expected to use her special powers to entice the prince to marry her. How can she seduce him when it goes against everything she’s been taught?

Prince Everette is embroiled in the world of politics and rebellion. With his father leaving for war and his mother ill, he’s the regent ruler and head of the military. As if that isn’t enough, he’s expected to be polite to the feisty Princess Morisa, who is staying at the palace for the summer.

Everette and Morisa’s stormy relationship intensifies as the warring world around them erupts. Can they put aside their differences long enough to keep the most dangerous sorcerer in the galaxy from destroying their planet? Or will the galaxy plunge into darkness?

Golden Cord of Light is the thrilling sixth book in the Star Rider Universe. If you like bigger-than-life heroes and heroines, evil sorcerers, space battles, romance, and mysticism, you’ll love Heidi Skarie’s exciting novel.

Buy Golden Cord of Light for an amazing adventure full of passion and excitement set among the stars.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

A dark shadow moved somewhere above them. Morisa looked up, thinking it was an animal or perhaps a guard who’d followed them. The shape left the cliff top and came flying down toward Baymond. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to react. The being landed on Baymond and they both fell to the ground. Baymond’s head slammed against a rock and he lay still. The other figure, a man, rose and turned to her. In the moonlight, Morisa’s knees weakened as she stared at the huge man before her. His cold eyes held dark power and she instantly knew he was a sorcerer.

She moved past her fears and readied herself for battle.

His fist flew toward her face. She twisted aside and slammed her heel into his gut. He gasped, doubling up, and she kneed him in the chin. Her robe hampered her movements as she dodged away from him.

He came after her and dealt her a forceful kick, sending her sliding across the rocky shoreline. She rolled with the fall, then sprang up and defensively put her fists in front of her face.

The sorcerer sent out a blast of psychic energy that knocked her to her knees. The spell held such power that she couldn’t escape. In agony, she focused on breaking his incantation. Her whole body began to feel hot as she chanted a counter spell. When her power hit his spell, they both flew backward.

Trembling, Morisa rose and pulled her crystal out of her pocket. She held it in front of her, calling upon its energy. Before she could activate it, the sorcerer hit her wrist. The crystal flew out of her hand and onto the sand. He slammed his fist into her temple and she collapsed onto the ground. She rolled onto her stomach, trying to ignore her throbbing headache as she searched for her crystal. He kicked her in the ribs and her side exploded in pain. A cold chill went through her — this was a real fight, not a match. Her life and Baymond’s depended on her skills and training.

Morisa expected to be struck again as she hunted in the dark for her crystal. Instead, she heard movement behind her. Glancing up, she saw Baymond had regained consciousness and fought the sorcerer. She turned her attention back to her search and spotted a gleam of violet light where the moonlight touched her crystal. She crawled forward and grabbed it, then drew on its healing energy to give her strength. Still weak, she looked back toward Baymond and watched the fight in fascination. Baymond moved with a grace, skill, and fluid control she’d rarely seen. He fought on a level beyond mind and body. His strength radiated out from the center of his being as he delivered forceful blows.

The sorcerer’s foot slammed into Baymond’s chest and the youth staggered backward, barely retaining his stance and breathing raggedly. He looked like his body couldn’t withstand much more abuse. Blood flowed from a wound on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He wiped it aside and blocked another kick, then slammed his fist into the sorcerer’s throat. A killing blow if delivered with enough force, but with Baymond’s declining strength it only knocked the sorcerer to the ground.

As he fell the sorcerer stuck out his leg and hooked it against Baymond’s. The youth fell to the sand, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

The sorcerer was instantly on him and closed his hands around his throat. Baymond struggled frantically to pry open the man’s hands. Morisa concentrated on the power of the crystal. The psychic powers surrounding them had caused it to turn black in her hand. She visualized the crystal clearing as she called on the Lady Mother for help. Soon, she felt vibrating energy and the crystal glowed violet again. She pointed it toward the sorcerer and sent out a beam of light.

The sorcerer cried out in agony as if he’d been stabbed in the back, then he collapsed across Baymond. The crystal’s power sliced back into Morisa’s hand and went through her being like a bolt of electricity. She collapsed.

When she regained consciousness, she saw Baymond’s anxious face above her. “Get up quickly,” he said in a rasping voice. When she pushed her blistered hand against the sand to rise, she winced in pain.

The sorcerer stirred next to them. Baymond grabbed Morisa’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here!”

The sorcerer also rose, standing between them and the pathway up the cliff. He raised his hands in the air, drawing on dark powers.

“Get to the ocean. Swim back,” Baymond yelled. When she hesitated, he said, “Run! Now.”

 

Author Bio:

Heidi Skarie’s life as a writer began when she had a dramatic dream about a futuristic world at war. The vivid dream was like watching an action/adventure movie. Excited about the dream, she recorded it upon awakening. That night the dream continued where it left off. After six nights, Heidi had a hundred-page journal recording the series of dreams. This awakened her interest in writing, which continues to be one of her greatest passions today.

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