The Silence of Deceit by Jillian Eagan blitz with giveaway
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The Silence of Deceit
Jillian Eagan
(The Deceit Trilogy, #1)
Publication date: October 4th 2025
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
The nation of Seity.
Four ruling families.
One merciless tyrant.
When Eldon Durane executes a noble family and extinguishes all magic, he ignites a war that spans generations.
Two decades later, Lady Rosalie Yorke and her best friend, Silence, are uprooted from their comfortable lives to escape the spreading war. But Rosalie’s world shatters when ruthless raiders kidnap her—only for her fate to collide with Crowe, the notorious pirate captain of the Deceit.
Crowe wants nothing to do with Seity’s political turmoil, but the thirst for revenge leads him to Rosalie. Hoping to change his luck, he decides to extort Rosalie’s father for a ransom.
Rosalie refuses to be anyone’s pawn, and Crowe has no patience for nobility. As the two bicker and dodge danger, Seity’s long-buried secrets begin to emerge from the shadows.
With Eldon’s deadly plan looming, Rosalie and Crowe must set aside their differences. Should they fail, Rosalie may lose everything.
Perfect for fans of Adrienne Young’s Fable and Amie Kaufman’s The Isles of the Gods, The Silence of Deceit is a seafaring tale of betrayal, friendship, and survival. A must-read for fans of pirate fantasy, enemies-to-lovers tension, and sweeping adventures filled with magic and rebellion.
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EXCERPT:
“You left your book lying around.” She picked it up and held it out to him. “Don’t want to lose one of your precious first editions.”
“I didn’t—I left that for you to read.” He didn’t move from the doorway to take it from her.
“You said—”
“I know what I said. But that’s not a first edition, and I was being generous. Don’t get used to it,” he said, and backed out of the cabin.
Rosalie lowered the book but didn’t release her grip.
“Every time I think I have him figured out,” she muttered.
Silence didn’t seem to hear her as she stifled a yawn. “I was up all night, so I’m going to take a nap.”
“Thank you for keeping me safe.” All the doubt in the world couldn’t put a wedge between her and Silence. “I wish I could do something for you in return.”
“I don’t need anything in return because I know you’d do the same for me.” She squeezed Rosalie’s shoulder before heading over to the pile of furs.
Rosalie’s legs were shaky as she stood and left the cabin. After a night of suffering a fever, the ocean air felt incredible on her skin. She found Crowe watching Danny spar with another crew member. She stood next to the captain and pressed the book to her chest.
They watched the duel side by side without saying a word. It was fun to watch two experienced fighters without the threat of harm. It almost looked like a dance—an art of quick steps and clever maneuvers. Out of nowhere, she felt a burning passion to wield a blade. The thought had never crossed her mind before. Before, she had only wanted to take
on the role of a lady who didn’t need any weapons aside from wit and charm.
But seeing the sabers glint in the sunlight sparked a deep desire. Maybe she’d spent too much time among pirates.
“Can I help you?” Crowe broke her fixation.
“What’s the book about?”
“I suppose the point of reading books is to find out what
they’re about,” he replied without looking at her.
“What changed your mind?”
“Nothing changed my mind. It’s an act of grace; savor it, because that’s the only book you’re getting.”
Although he was back to acting prickly, the gesture of giving her a book said more than his words did. “Why did you pick this one? Is it your least favorite?”
“On the contrary,” he said, still avoiding eye contact. “It’s my favorite, so I’d prefer nothing happen to it.”
She made a noise of interest but didn’t say anything else. The captain had lent her a book—not just any book, but his favorite one. It was hard to unravel, but in a way, she felt like she had won at least one round of bickering.
In her victory, she threw Crowe a smirk. But it faded when she saw the late morning sun beaming down on him. His eye color warmed, and the wave of his dark hair caught every ray and rustled a bit in the wind.
At the worst possible moment, he looked her way. When their eyes met, he looked… nervous? “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Huh?” she blurted with too much gusto. “Why are you looking at me?” When his eyebrow quirked up, she shuffled backward. “Thanks for the book.” She ducked her head and made a quick escape to hide her blush.
Author Bio:
Jillian Eagan is an indie author from Massachusetts. She received her BA in Creative Writing from Emmanuel College. Currently, she lives in Cape Cod, where she reads and writes on the beach.
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Howling Storm by Nicola Italia blitz with giveaway
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Howling Storm
Nicola Italia
Publication date: October 15th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery
A vanished sister. A spooky village. A killer hiding in plain sight.
When Imogene York stumbles upon a long-lost letter hinting at the fate of her sister Felicity who has been missing for over a decade, it leads her to the village of Linwood. Posing as a secretary in the powerful Linwood household, Imogene begins a covert investigation into Felicity’s disappearance.
Her only confidant is Spencer St. George, the village architect with secrets of his own. As fellow outsiders, they forge a connection that transcends mere friendship. But as their bond deepens, so do the dangers surrounding them. Imogene’s search for the truth causes her to cross paths with a killer whose dark impulses are tightly interwoven with Linwood’s past.
As Imogene edges closer to uncovering what happened to her sister, she must confront a chilling truth: the monster she seeks is not be lurking in the shadows… but hiding in plain sight.
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EXCERPT:
Prologue
In the former ancient royal hunting forest, the silence was almost deafening. If a bird had chirped or an owl had screeched, it might have even been comforting to hear. She would know she wasn’t alone. But the still of the night was all the more terrorizing for its emptiness. She put a hand to her breast as it rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breathing.
The snap of a twig nearby sounded like a shot in the night, and she wished she could melt into the trunk of the tree. Sweat trickled down her lower back, and her dress felt sticky against her skin in the cool night air. She looked out into the woodland park, and inky blackness greeted her.
She brushed the back of her hand against her forehead, which was wet with perspiration, then wiped her hand on her skirt. She touched the gold locket that hung about her neck and felt the weight of it in her hand. She released it and put her palms behind her to steady herself, feeling the rough bark of the tree trunk against her smooth palms.
The dark forest was filled with trees upon trees, with no landmark that gave her a sense of where she was. She was lost. The road was somewhere to her left, but as night had fallen, she could not see how far it might be. Even if a carriage came by, the small lantern the driver carried would not penetrate into the woods for her to see.
“Why are you running? I won’t hurt you.”
The words taunting her. She pushed a small fist against her mouth to stem the desire to cry out in a hysterical laugh. She knew everything—why lie to her? And hurt her? She shuddered at the thought of it.
She heard the rustle of steps upon the ground and tried to still her breathing. She wanted to cry out in frustration. Why had she done this? Why had she come out into the night? If she were caught-no.
She couldn’t think that way. She refused to think that way. She moved swiftly in the opposite direction of the footsteps, holding the hem of her skirt as she went.
If only she had waited. If only she had not discovered the secret. She could still see it and the terrifying secret that had been hidden. God, she wanted it erased from her mind.
She felt confident that if she kept going in this direction, she would reach the road. It had to be the right way. Her skirts wrapped around her legs as she moved quickly, and she stumbled lightly on a small mound. But kept moving. She had to keep moving until she found the road.
She moved around a tree, and a low branch swung out and hit her in the face. It stung her eyes and she cried out. She heard the steps behind her quicken and knew she’d been discovered. She swore under her breath. She had to keep her wits about her. Don’t panic, keep moving, she told herself.
She stumbled again, and this time her knee took the brunt of the fall. She skinned it and winced but kept moving. Her heart was beating fast as she felt the brush underneath her, and the grass and rocks made moving in the dark difficult.
Her name was called out, but she moved resolutely on. She looked left, then right, feeling like a hunted hare. Which way to go? Her eyes scanned the land before her, and then, she saw it. Ahead of her to the right. The small cottage with a light in the downstairs window. She sagged with relief. Her heart soared and she almost cried out in happiness. She hoped there was a brawny man inside who would be willing to bar the door and protect her from the evil of the night.
She ran down the small hill in the dark, through the trees and past the clearing of tall grass, and she didn’t even cry out when she hit her toe against a small rock. The cottage door was painted such a dark blue it looked black in the night. She knocked twice on the door, but without waiting to receive word to enter, she flung it open.
The paraffin lamp flickered inside the small room as her eyes adjusted to the light. She saw the large fireplace and hearth and someone seated before it, their back to her in a yellow rocking chair.
“Excuse me,” she said breathlessly. “I’m sorry for entering without being bade to enter but—”
The figure adjusted its body and turned to stare at her.
“No,” she whispered, her voice catching. “No.”
She took a step back on shaky legs, her toe still smarting from the rock. She took a second step.
You’ve nowhere else to go,” the voice in the yellow rocking chair mocked.
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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The Black Rose by Frances Paul 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.**
The Black Rose
Frances Paul
Publication date: October 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller
“Intense, a little bruising, and it doesn’t let you walk away untouched.”
— ★★★★★ Reader Review
Some weapons are born. Others are made.
She is the perfect operative.
A discarded orphan, remade by the very hands that broke her.
Trained to seduce. Conditioned to kill. Reborn as Elara Everhart.
They gave her new names. New faces. New identities, whichever the mission required.
Now, they call her Raina.
And they’ve sent her into the lion’s den.
Her target: Axel Voss. Billionaire. Powerbroker. Threat.
He’s everything she was trained to dismantle.
But he sees too much. Speaks too little.
And when he touches her, he wakes something she was never meant to feel.
She is the weapon they created.
But he’s the variable they never planned for.
What begins as a mission spirals into obsession.
And survival will cost more than her cover.
Because the most dangerous thing isn’t failing the mission,
It’s forgetting who the real enemy is.
If you love psychological thrillers with espionage, romantic suspense, and heart‑stopping twists, The Black Rose will keep you breathless until the very last page.
“To master the art of the strike, first let the target marinate in your charm and wit, until they are ripe for the taking.” – Elara Everhart
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EXCERPT:
I stepped out of the cab and into the gallery, the air instantly changing around me. Heads turned. Eyes followed. The black Dolce & Gabbana dress I wore fit like it had been sewn onto my skin, elegant without trying, powerful without needing to speak. My hair, sleek and black, fell
in glossy waves down my back, every strand precisely where it belonged. I walked with purpose, each step measured, as I took in the room.
It didn’t take long to find him.
Axel Voss stood in a more secluded wing of the gallery where the crowd had thinned. I spotted him across the space. His back was to me, dressed in a tailored dark gray suit that fit too perfectly to be anything but custom. His frame was lean and strong, his posture relaxed, hands tucked in his pockets as he studied a painting. He wasn’t just looking. He was dissecting it.
My attention moved to the guards. Two of them. Strategically placed in opposite corners of the room, trying not to look like security. They blended in well enough with the other patrons, but their eyes told the truth. Constantly scanning.
I inhaled and adjusted the strap of my dress. I ran my hands over my curves, making sure everything looked in place. My cue had come.
Each step felt burdened, as if what I was about to do had sunk deep into my limbs.
The rhythm of my heels against the marble echoed faintly. I moved closer, slipping into his orbit. I was near enough now for him to catch the light scent of my perfume, floral, soft, meant to linger without announcing itself.
I stopped beside him, eyes landing on the painting he was analyzing. It was abstract, wild with motion. Crimson slashed across the canvas, tangled with violent blues and fractured gold. The brushwork oscillated between jagged bursts and smooth sweeps, an unsettling mix of control and chaos.
I spoke, keeping my voice soft and level. Close enough to feel intimate, just loud enough to be heard.
“The intensity of the strokes is remarkable,” I said. “The way the colors collide feels almost violent, yet there’s a strange harmony in the chaos.”
He didn’t respond. Not verbally. But I felt it. His attention was on me now as much as the art. I let the silence stretch a second longer, then continued, my tone calm, analytical. “It’s as if the artist was fighting an inner battle. Conflict and catharsis, all bleeding onto the canvas. The jagged strokes speak of anger or defiance, but the way the hues blend reveals a deep vulnerability… like they couldn’t commit to full destruction.”
I leaned in just slightly, examining the layers of the painting, voice dropping.
“It’s the tension that makes it work. The pull between restraint and abandon. It feels… raw.”
The silence settled again, delicate but dense.
Then I allowed a smirk to touch my lips.
“Or maybe they just threw paint at the canvas after a bad day and decided to call it art.”
That broke it. He turned toward me, finally.
His eyes met mine.
Heat flashed between us. The force of his gaze hit harder than I expected.
My breath caught, not out of fear but from the pressure of it. He was already trying to read me.
I knew that look. He was hunting for the truth inside my performance.
I didn’t flinch.
Even when my pulse started to climb beneath my skin, I held my ground.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The gallery around us faded. It was just him. Just me.
Then I stepped back, breaking the moment on my terms.
I turned without hesitation and walked away, slipping into the flow of bodies beyond the archway. My retreat was smooth.
Behind me, I felt his gaze linger, and so did the eyes of his guards.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching the space I had just walked away from.
Back in the main gallery, I finally exhaled. The encounter had gone as planned. I had said what
I needed to. Played the part.
But the crackle between us wasn’t part of the plan.
And I felt it. Still pulsing through me.
This was only the beginning. One step into a game layered with risk, manipulation, and consequences I wasn’t sure I fully understood.
But I had just stepped onto the board.
And Axel Voss had noticed.
Author Bio:
Frances Paul is an author of emotionally charged, high-stakes fiction that captivates readers with its mix of psychological suspense, romance, and intricate plotting. Her work explores the fine line between love and survival, delving into themes of resilience, sacrifice, and the secrets we keep.
She is the author of Sea of Scars, a moving story of loss and redemption, and The Black Rose, a gripping psychological thriller that draws readers into a world where trust is dangerous and every choice carries lasting consequences.
With a distinctive voice and a cinematic style, Frances creates unforgettable characters and layered narratives that linger long after the final page. Her passion for storytelling comes from a lifelong fascination with the human heart and its capacity to endure even in the darkest of circumstances.
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Handle with Care by Hayden Stone blitz
**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.**
Handle with Care
Hayden Stone
Publication date: October 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance
Two rival interns. One art museum. And a missing art museum exhibit.
Dylan Alexander doesn’t need a boyfriend. Having one will only slow him down.
Freshly graduated from university, Dylan’s arrived in London, England from Vancouver, Canada for a summer internship at the London Art & Design Museum. He’s also looking for strings-free fun and a fresh dating scene. This is Dylan’s dream chance to start his career and land a permanent job in London—or else he must return to Vancouver where museum jobs are rare, and the dating pool is old news. Everything’s going great in his new life—except for one thing. Dylan must put up with rival museum intern William Martin-Greene.
Will is everything Dylan can’t stand: flashy, arrogant, and entitled. Forget that he’s too handsome for his own good and knows it. It’s bad luck that they both started on the same internship program. At least they work safely apart in different departments—until one day, they’re forced to work together when Will unexpectedly joins Dylan’s Curatorial team. So much for the avoidance strategy that had worked so far. Will’s arrival on his team is also not helping his unmistakable attraction. When Dylan and Will end up stranded together while collecting exhibits, with only one bed to share, they can’t deny their chemistry.
With only one permanent job on offer at the end of the summer, the competition is on to be the best intern. They both share the blame when an important design exhibit goes missing and risks the unexpected summer romance between them. Then, everything is on the line—including hearts, careers, and a chance at love.
A rivals-to-lovers, opposites attract, only one bed, and boy-next-door romance!
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EXCERPT:
Day 1
Keep going, Dylan. I splash along a London street that must be hundreds of years old. It’s lined with brick buildings, a mirrored office tower reflecting the moody sky, and followed by even more brick buildings. Then, at street level, there’re all the glass-fronted shops. The museum’s got to be close. You’ve gotten halfway around the world, after all.
With the help of printed out maps and free Wi-Fi, of course.
It’s not far now.
And I can’t stop smiling. I can’t believe I’m actually here. Forget the rain.
It’s a soggy, blustery London day, which admittedly does no favors for my leather shoes or my styled hair. Or for making a good impression on the first day of a new job in a country I landed in three days ago. And it’s the first day where jet lag isn’t totally kicking my ass.
I get a little lost on my way from London Bridge station somewhere along the modern gray tiled path leading past the Old London City Hall. The problem being something called Old London City Hall looks very modern and new, with its endless windows and curved oval structure, which is part of what got me confused. Because everything old in London’s supposed to be, well, old. Like really old. And this building is anything but. I squint at the building through the rain at the edge of an equally sleek plaza, dotted with leafy trees boxed in with low hedges, concrete benches, and contemporary art installations, all overlooking the Thames.
Old London City Hall looks like it was built yesterday.
This must be some prank to play on the tourists.
I pull out a slightly crumpled page from my pocket with one hand and hold on to the umbrella with my other hand. I haven’t sorted out my phone yet, and I don’t want to pay roaming charges. My printed-out map reliably shows Potters Field Park beside the Thames and the Old London City Hall plaza. Plus, there’s the iconic Tower Bridge nearby as a key landmark, and an X in blue pen marks the museum to the east. Raindrops splatter the page with dark spots before I hurriedly tuck it away.
I’m back on track.
The museum must be straight ahead, past the park—my destination—down at the end of the road or the block or whatever people call it here. I start walking again with purpose. Like I belong here amid the Londoners who happen to know where they’re going.
At least, I think it’s the museum at the end of the street. I haven’t actually seen it before, except on Google Street View.
Distracted, I end up making an unscheduled detour down a side street to see more of the surrounding area, which has one-way traffic. But there’re more modern buildings again down this way, and I work on figuring out how to loop back on course before I’m late.
Look right, then left. I keep repeating my new mantra when I cross the street, then hurry up another street toward the museum as the weather worsens. Everyone drives on the opposite side of the street from what I’m used to.
I grip my umbrella tight against another gust of wind.
A red sports car screams past as a wind gust turns my umbrella inside out.
Then an icy tidal wave hits me like a slap, and I reel.
“What the fuck—” I yelp, the umbrella useless in my hand.
An airborne puddle soaks me. Right from my head down to my now very ruined—rather than partly ruined—new shoes. Leather never deserves a flood of water, never mind my face.
Water pours off me in sheets. I’m left sopping wet, gasping and spluttering.
Me and my wet rage, dressed in soggy smart casual. My light cotton blazer, perfect for actual summer, turns out to be incredible at soaking up water like a sponge.
I stare after the red car rocketing up the road toward the museum, its taillights a sharp dazzle against the soft gray world even through the rain. My fists tighten while I drip.
Too bad I didn’t pack a towel in my bag, but I didn’t expect impromptu bathing today.
Asshole.
Author Bio:
More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com
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Xonarye: Japan by S.H.S. 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.**
Xonarye: Japan
S.H.S.
Publication date: September 1st 2025
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Young Adult
In the snowy heartlands of Izumo, Japan, Leaf Brodie seeks answers. What begins as a path of discipline and inner reflection under the watchful eye of Master Kenji becomes a deeper journey-one where ancient secrets lie hidden in the folds of tradition and trust can shatter with a single lie.
As Leaf explores sacred shrines and timeless landscapes, a betrayal from within rocks his world. Yuji, once a friend and fellow student, is exposed as a spy for the powerful Reblick syndicate. The destruction he leaves behind is devastating-but the artifact he steals, a sacred belt buckle, is missing one thing: the next clue.
That clue isn’t written on paper or etched in stone-it’s been burned into human skin. On Master Kenji’s back is a mysterious script, unknown even to him, and unlike anything Leaf or Selina have seen before. What they uncover is not just a lost language-it’s a gateway to the forgotten land of Xonarye.
Blending action, cultural discovery, betrayal, and ancient myth, Xonarye: Japan is a powerful continuation of the global adventure.
The complete series:
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EXCERPT:
When the dojo finally came into view, Leaf’s sense of calm and safety was suddenly shattered.
The main gate hung open, crooked on its hinges. Shards of splintered wood lay scattered across the stone pathway. A few windows had been shattered, with broken glass spread all around him . The paper screens of the main hall were torn and flapping loosely in the breeze. It looked like a storm had blown through but there had been no storm. Leaf’s heart pounded in his chest. He quickened his pace, stepping
over the debris, eyes scanning every corner. The courtyard was a mess, the practice weapons strewn about, some cracked in half. The tatami mats were shredded, spilling straw across the floor like scattered autumn leaves.
“Selina?” he called out, his voice sharp against the silence. “Yuji? Kenji?”
Nothing but the breeze whistling through some rocks around the dojo.
The rooms were upturned. Mats tossed aside, scrolls unravelled, some torn. Kenji’s study , usually immaculate , was in chaos. Books were thrown from their shelves, papers were scattered, and ink was spilled like blood across the floor. Kenji’s prized calligraphy scrolls hung lopsided, some sliced through as if by a blade. The room smelled of old ink and cold air, carrying a whisper of ash as if something had been burned. Leaf’s mind raced. Who would do this? Why?
He moved quickly through each room, heart hammering. No one. No sign of life. He reached the small back garden where the snow had settled undisturbed.
Suddenly, footsteps crunched behind him. Leaf spun, fists clenched. Selina stepped out from the shadows, her eyes sharp, surveying the damage.
“What happened?” she asked, voice low and controlled.
Leaf shook his head, the words tangled in his throat.
Author Bio:
Scott Shepherd is an emerging Australian author with a passion for adventure, storytelling, and the lure of lost lands. Hailing from Naracoorte, South Australia, Scott self-published his first novel in 2020, introducing readers to the daring world of Xonarye. Since then, he has written three books in the Xonarye series, bringing his vivid imagination to life through tales set in exotic locations steeped in mystery and culture.
In 2025, Scott re-released a refined edition of his debut novel, Xonarye: Australia, followed by the second instalment, Xonarye: Cuba, with the third book, Xonarye: Japan, set for release later the same year.
A part-time novelist, full-time family man, and self-described “regular guy,” Scott continues to write from his hometown, where he balances storytelling with hiking, fatherhood, and shared adventures with his partner. Whether at his desk or exploring the outdoors, Scott is always chasing the next great journey—on the page or beyond.
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