Blog Tour: Heart of the Shadow King by by Sylvia Mercedes

The viral TikTok fantasy romance, now in a special print edition with exclusive bonus material!

Oncoming darkness threatens to engulf a noble king and his powerful queen in this breathtaking, epic conclusion to the Bride of the Shadow King series.

About the Book

After nearly losing each other in a savage attack on the city, Vor and Faraine return to Mythanar fully committed to their marriage. But the situation in the Under Realm remains dire. With the world poised on the brink of collapse, Vor struggles to protect his kingdom. And though Faraine longs to support him as queen, she fights her body at every turn.

When war drags them apart, Vor and Faraine face the consequences of their choices. Torn between honor and desire, Vor must decide where his heart truly lies: with his kingdom or his queen.

Meanwhile, as Faraine explores the strange changes warping her gods-gift, she starts to believe the coming cataclysm may be prevented. But in doing so, she might unleash a darkness in herself far more disastrous…and lose Vor forever.

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Excerpt

 

1

Faraine

Pain ripples through my body at odd intervals, like the aftershocks of a massive quake.I'm used to pain, of course. I've lived a great deal of my life striving to stave it off. And the agony of both my recent death and resurrection was certainly more terrible than these small tremors. But this is different. This is the extreme discomfort of a spirit which had escaped the confines of a mortal body only to find itself confined once more. Protesting against imprisonment, straining at every boundary, seeking escape.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply through yet another wave as it washes over me, body and soul. There's nothing to be done, no way to escape. I must simply endure. But at least I can lean my head back against the broad chest and shoulder behind me, steady myself against another's heartbeat. A heartbeat which now pulses in rhythm with my own.

Vor's arm holds me fast around my middle as he guides his morleth down through a gaping chasm of stone. He's not spoken since we left behind the secluded pool at the base of the mountain. His silence is sweet, however, and everything he'd said while holding me in his arms on the edge of that pool still echoes in my heart.

You are mine, Faraine. My queen. Sovereign Lady of Mythanar and the Under Realm, from this day forth and forevermore.

I breathe through another wave of pain. My head is light and dizzy as we descend through the winding caverns, back down into the vast dark spaces of the subterranean world. Regret pricks my heart as we leave behind the shining, distant stars. The sky holds real terror for this man who is my husband, but for me it was a relief not to feel the weight of stone overhead, at least for a little while.

The truth is, I don't belong in Vor's world. And yet, to claim the heart of the Shadow King is to claim his world as my own. Am I ready? Am I strong enough?

I gave my death in a wild attempt to save these people from destruction.

Do I have the courage to give my life as well?

My stomach tightens as Vor urges his morleth faster, and we plunge back into the Under Realm. Lorst crystals flash, piercing my closed eyelids with their ever-brightening glow. Lusterling, the trolde equivalent of day, is awakening. What will the light of a million shining crystals reveal of the city below? A city stricken by terror and savagery. A city poised on the brink of disaster.

Vor's arm tightens around me. I frown suddenly. Though I'm riding pressed so close against him, I cannot sense him. I feel the tension in his muscles, the quickness of his breath close to my ear, the rapid beat of his heart. But not his emotions. Where once his every feeling was so readily available to my perception, now there is simply absence. Surely this can't be right. I'm tired from my ordeal, distracted by the pain. That's all. Reaching out, I seek for that connection I've been able to find with most living souls since the day my gods-gift overwhelmed me, ripping me open to receive the feelings of others.

There's nothing there. No sense of him. No thrumming spirit, no silent pulse of sound, of essence. Nothing.

Almost unconsciously I release the handful of morleth mane I've been gripping and reach instead for my pendant. When my fingers find it, still hung from its delicate chain around my neck, it does not hum in response to my touch. I lift it up, twisting it to catch the flashing lorst lights. There's darkness in its center. I blink, look again, certain I must be imagining things. Perhaps the flickering lights are playing tricks on my eyes. But my spirit senses that darkness, that emptiness as well. That lack where there should be life.

Something has changed inside of me. Something essential. Something . . . I don't quite know what.

The morleth lets out a snort of sulfur as we emerge from the winding darkness into the huge cavern of Mythanar. I let out a gasp, dropping my crystal, and stare down at the sight below. I've not seen the city from this angle before. I had thought it great when traversing its streets or when flying on the back of a morleth over its peaked and glittering rooftops. But it was impossible then to fathom the sheer scale, the precipitous heights of its twisted towers, the plunging depths of its winding streets, the glittering crystals, the misting waterfalls, the soaring bridges and highways. All perched on the chasm's edge above a glowing river of lava. My heart quickens at the sight, at the wonder and the beauty spread before me. It's hard to imagine such an ancient, powerful city could ever be in danger of annihilation. What could possibly bring such majesty to ruin?

Dragon.

The word breathes in the back of my head, a whisper, a warning. I'm not altogether certain where I heard it, who spoke it. The idea is simply there, along with a sensation of heat and a deep, roiling wellspring of pure, celestial rage.

"Are you well, Faraine?"

Vor's voice warms my ear, sending a little shiver down my spine. I close my eyes, lean back into him, once more seeking the warmth of his emotions to enfold me. Once more finding nothing. But there must be an explanation. My gods-gift was so inundated by the recent and tremendous outpouring of my power. I just need a chance to recover. In the meanwhile, I should be glad for the reprieve. "I'm all right," I murmur, turning to tuck my head under Vor's chin. "I'm tired. That is all."

Does he hear the lie in my voice? Possibly. But he does not challenge it, merely kisses the top of my head and says, "Of course. You've had a terrible ordeal. I will take you directly to your room and send someone to attend you."

I don't want someone to attend me. I want him. Only him. I want to feel again the peace of his presence that once struck my gods-gifted senses so profoundly. If I cannot have that, then I would settle for the strength of his arms, the warmth of his voice, the beat of his heart.

But Vor is Mythanar's king. While he may have abandoned his city in a mad bid to save me, his people need him still.

So, I keep my mouth shut and my eyes closed, blocking out both the sight of that city and the absence of my gods-gift. The powerful beast beneath me flows through the air, down into the cavern, circling as it draws near to the palace towers. At last it alights on the balcony rail just outside my chamber. "We've arrived," Vor says gently.

Memory flashes through my mind's eye-recent memory of the last time we were here. When Vor carried me on a morleth back up from the city, intending to deliver me to my chambers. Intending never to see me again. But I'd convinced him to stay. Convinced him to give in to the burning desire which had built up such dangerous pressure between us, finally bursting free in an inferno of unrestrained passion.

Heat pools between my thighs even now at the thought. This man, who now holds me against his powerful chest, awakened such strange new sensations in me. His hands, his mouth, his teeth and tongue seemed to mold me, to make me new. I would very much like the chance to experience more such delights under his guidance and care.

Vor dismounts before reaching up to help me from the saddle. I cannot trust my legs to support me, so I cling to his neck, allowing him to cradle me close. The window to my chamber is wide open, and he carries me inside. All the furnishings are askew, the decorations and ornaments tumbled from their places. A few chunks of stalactite have fallen from the ceiling, one jagged piece crushing the small table that once held a silver ewer and cups. Evidence of the last stirring, which shook the city just before the cave devils attacked.

Still holding me close, Vor peers around the space, his eyes narrowed. Searching for signs of danger no doubt. "It's all right," I tell him. "The woggha never got in here."

"How can you be certain?"

I can't. If my gods-gift were awakened, I would be able to sense the presence of another living beast. As it is, there might be any number of cave devils hiding in my wardrobe, under my bed, up the chimney, and I would never know.

Vor sets me down on the bed, which is covered in debris. I brush dust and pebbles to the floor while he makes a quick but thorough search of the chamber. Satisfied at last, he returns to me. "How do you feel now?" he asks, kneeling before me so that his eyes are once more level with mine. He takes both my hands in his.

"Weak," I admit. I don't tell him about the jolts of pain rippling through me at odd intervals. He has worries enough on his mind.

He lifts one hand to stroke my cheek, brow puckering. "I suppose that's understandable, considering . . ."

"Considering I was dead not two hours ago."

A shadow falls across his face. He leans forward, presses his forehead against mine. The shuddering intake of his breath wrings my heart. "Don't ever leave me like that, Faraine," he whispers. "Never again. Don't go where I cannot follow."

I smile, a gentle tilt of my lips. "I'll never leave you willingly. Never by choice."

He takes another ragged breath. Then he angles his face, his lips hovering over mine, a mere fraction of infinitesimal space separating us. I hang there, suspended in that space, waiting, longing.

He closes the distance, his mouth warm and eager. At the instant of contact, something inside me thrums to life, a faint echo of my former gift. In that echo I feel, however distantly, both his hunger and his desperation. It flows through me, driving out all pain as my own hunger, my own desperation, rises to answer his. Though my arms are still weak, I wrap them around his neck, thread my fingers through his hair, and pull him closer, closer. He responds, bowing me over the bed. There's grit at my back, fallen debris sharp against my skin and the thin black robe wrapping my body. I scarcely notice. All I know is my need for him, my need to deepen this connection between us. My hands run over his shoulders, his neck, his torso, finding all the cuts and wounds from his recent battle. He came to find me straight from the horror of the cave devil attack, straight from fighting to preserve the lives of his people in the face of unimaginable savagery.

But he's here. With me now. His hands press into the bed on either side of my face, his huge body poised so as not to crush me even as his mouth covers mine. His kisses grow more adamant, demanding, as though he cannot believe I am real and requires proof. I'm still not certain myself and need his touch to anchor me to this world. I open my mouth, deepening both our kiss and our connection.

A bolt shoots straight to my heart. A burst of raw red light explodes in my head.

Fear.

Dread.

Guilt.

These are Vor's feelings. Wrapped in his love but no less real, no less dreadful. They fill my head until it seems like many small pins are trapped inside my skull, struggling to escape through my scalp. With a gasp, I pull away from him.

Vor peers down at me, propped up on his fists, his long silver hair falling in a gentle veil around us. "What is it?" he asks, panting. "What's wrong?"

I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know that he is hurting me. I don't want to let him go. Instead, I grimace, gripping his shoulder with one hand while the other seeks my crystal pendant. I wrap my fingers around the faceted stone. It does not respond no matter how hard I squeeze.

"Faraine?" Vor's voice is confused, tinged with fear. "Faraine, my love. Have I hurt you?" He pulls back, breaking free of my weakened arms. He sits on the edge of the bed, head bowed, and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm such a fool! Forgive me. I'm behaving like a lustful cad when you've just-"

"No, Vor." My voice is unsteady. But the moment contact is broken, numbness spreads through my body. The pain of his emotions is so thoroughly gone, I have to wonder if I somehow invented it. I open my eyes, still gripping my crystal, and meet his stricken gaze. "It's not you. I swear. The . . . the shock of everything . . ."

He leans forward, cups my face in his palm. I wince, expecting that touch to open a conduit between us. But there's nothing; numbness holds sway. I shiver and drop my gaze, uncertain how to feel. I'd almost prefer the pain of his guilt to this absence.

"You must rest," he says, his voice firm. "You must sleep, recover." He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "I'm sorry, my love. I cannot help how badly I want to make up for all the time we've lost."

I touch the hand still cradling my cheek. "I want to experience everything with you, Vor. I want to fill whatever moments we have left." Then, taking his hand, I draw it down to my heart, pressing it there. "But your people need you now."

He leans forward, his eyes holding mine. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"In that case, send Hael. When you find her." I smile and tip my head a little to one side. "I'll be fine, Vor. I swear it. After everything that's happened, what could possibly frighten me now?"

His eyes search my face, seeking perhaps to pierce my façade of calm. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I fear the moment I leave your sight you'll slip away from me. A dream lost to the brutal realities of the waking world."

I lift his hand to my lips, kiss his knuckles. "I am no dream. And I will be here, awaiting your return." Pushing him from me, I finish in a firm voice: "Go. Be the king Mythanar needs."

He draws a long, steadying breath. Then, grasping me by the back of my head, he pulls me to him, capturing my lips once more. Immediately the connection between us opens wide, shattering the numbness as the intensity of his feelings radiates through me. There's still pain here: fear and anxiety and always that terrible pulse of guilt. But just now, just in this moment, all other feelings are drowned in a flood of pure love.

Excerpted from Heart of the Shadow King by Sylvia Mercedes. Copyright © 2025 by Sylvia Mercedes. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

Photo: © Chelsea Ann Photography

Sylvia Mercedes makes her home in the idyllic North Carolina countryside with her handsome husband, numerous small children, and a menagerie of rescue cats and dogs. When she’s not writing she’s . . . okay, let’s be honest. When she’s not writing, she’s running around after her littles, cleaning up glitter, trying to plan healthy-ish meals, and wondering where she left her phone. In between, she reads a steady diet of fantasy novels.

But mostly she’s writing.

You can visit her online at www.sylviamercedesbooks.com and learn about her 20-plus bestselling romantasy novels.

Read-Along Review: Bayou Moon by Ilona Andrews

I am so excited to be taking part in Books of My Heart's annual Read-Along! 

This year, the blog picked The Edge and Innkeeper Chronicles series by Ilona Andrews!

Bayou Moon is the second book in The Edge series and is action-packed!

I really enjoyed these books and I hope you do too!

About the Book

The Edge lies between worlds, on the border between the Broken, where people shop at Walmart and magic is a fairytale–and the Weird, where blueblood aristocrats rule, changelings roam, and the strength of your magic can change your destiny…

Cerise Mar and her unruly clan are cash poor but land rich, claiming a large swathe of the Mire, the Edge swamplands between the state of Louisiana and the Weird. When her parents vanish, her clan’s long-time rivals are suspect number one.

But all is not as it seems. Two nations of the Weird are waging a cold war fought by feint and espionage, and their conflict is about to spill over into the Edge—and Cerise’s life . William, a changeling soldier who left behind the politics of the Weird, has been forced back into service to track down a rival nation’s spymaster.

When William’s and Cerise’s missions lead them to cross paths, sparks fly—but they’ll have to work together if they want to succeed…and survive.

Excerpt

 

Chapter 1

William sipped some beer from the bottle of Modelo Especial and gave the Green Arrow his hard stare. The Green Arrow, being a chunk of painted plastic, didn't rise to the challenge. The action figure remained impassive, exactly where he'd put it, leaning against the porch post of William's house. Technically it was a shack rather than a house, William reflected, but it was a roof over his head and he wasn't one to complain.

From that vantage point, the Green Arrow had an excellent view of William's action figure army laid out on the porch, and if he were inclined to offer any opinions, he would've been in a great position to do so. William shrugged. Part of him realized that talking to an action figure was bordering on insane, but he had nobody else to converse with at the moment and he needed to talk this out. The whole situation was crazy.

"The boys sent a letter," William said.

The Green Arrow said nothing.

William looked past him to where the Wood rustled just beyond his lawn. Two miles down the road, the Wood would become simply woods, regular Georgia pine and oak. But here, in the Edge, the trees grew vast, fed by magic, and the forest was old. The day had rolled into a lazy, long summer evening, and small nameless critters, found only in the Edge, chased each other through the limbs of the ancient trees before the darkness coaxed predators from their lairs.

The Edge was an odd place, stuck between two worlds. On one side lay the Broken, with no magic but plenty of technology to compensate. And rules. And laws. And paperwork. The damn place ran on paperwork. The Broken was where he made his money nowadays, working construction.

On the other side lay the Weird, a mirror to the Broken, where magic ruled and old blueblood families held power. He was born in that world. In the Weird, he'd been an outcast, a soldier, a convict, and even a noble for a few brief weeks. But the Weird kept kicking him in the teeth the entire time, until he finally turned his back on it and left.

The Edge belonged to neither world. A perfect place for the man who fit in nowhere. That was how he first met the boys, George and Jack. They lived in the Edge, with their sister Rose. Rose was sweet and pretty and he'd liked her. He'd liked what they had, she and the kids, a warm little family. When William watched them together, a part of him hurt deep inside. He now realized why: he'd known even then that a family like that was forever out of his reach.

Still, he tried with Rose. Might have had a chance, too, but then Declan showed up. Declan, a blueblood and a soldier, with his flawless manners and handsome face. "We used to be friends," William told the Green Arrow. "I did beat the shit out of him before he left."

The joke was on him, because Declan left with Rose and took the boys with him. William let them go. Jack required a lot of careful care and Declan would raise him well. And Rose needed someone like Declan. Someone who had his shit together. She had enough trouble with the boys as it was. She sure as hell didn't need another charity project and he didn't want to be one.

It had been almost two years since they'd left. For two years William had lived in the Edge, where the trickle of magic kept the wild within him alive. He worked his job in the Broken, watched TV on weekends, drank lots of beer, collected action figures, and generally pretended that the previous twenty-six years of his life had not occurred. The Edgers, the few families who lived between the worlds like he did, kept to themselves and left him alone.

Most people from either the Broken or the Weird had no idea the other world existed, but occasionally traders passed through the Edge, traveling between worlds. Three months ago, Nick, one of the traveling traders, mentioned he was heading into the Weird, to the Southern Provinces. William put together a small box of toys on a whim and paid the man to deliver it. He didn't expect an answer. He didn't expect anything at all. The boys had Declan. They would have no interest in him.

Nick came by last night. The boys had written back.

William picked up the letter and looked at it. It was short. George's writing was perfect, with letters neatly placed. Jack's looked like a chicken had written it in the dirt. They said thank you for the action figures. George liked the Weird. He was given plenty of corpses to practice necromancy on and he was taking rapier lessons. Jack complained that there were too many rules and that they weren't letting him hunt enough.

"That's a mistake," William told the Green Arrow. "They need to let him vent. Half of their problems would be solved if they let him have a violent outlet. The kid is a changeling and a predator. He turns into a lynx, not a fluffy bunny." He raised the letter. "Apparently he decided to prove to them that he was good enough. Jack killed himself a deer and left the bloody thing on the dining room table, because he's a cat and he thinks they're lousy hunters. According to him, it didn't go over well. He's trying to feed them and they don't get it."

What Jack needed was some direction to channel all that energy. But William wasn't about to travel to the Weird and show up on Declan's doorstep. Hi, remember me? We were best friends once, and then I was condemned to death and your uncle adopted me, so I would kill you? You stole Rose from me? Yeah, right. All he could do was write back and send more action figures.

William pulled the box to him. He'd put in Deathstroke for George—the figure looked a bit like a pirate and George liked pirates, because his grandfather had been one. Next, William had stuck King Grayskull in for Declan. Not that Declan played with action figures—he'd had his childhood, while William spent his in Hawk's Academy, which was little more than a prison. Still, William liked to thumb his nose at him, and King Grayskull with his long blond hair looked a lot like Declan.

"So the real question here is, do we send the purple Wildcat to Jack or the black one?"

The Green Arrow expressed no opinion.

A musky scent drifted down to William. He turned around. Two small glowing eyes stared at him from under the bush on the edge of his lawn.

"You again."

The raccoon bared his small sharp teeth.

"I've warned you, stay out of my trash or I will eat you."

The little beast opened his mouth and hissed like a pissed-off cat.

"That does it."

William shrugged off his T-shirt. His jeans and underwear followed. "We're going to settle this."

The raccoon hissed again, puffing out his fur, trying to look bigger. His eyes glowed like two small coals.

William reached deep inside himself and let the wild off the chain. Pain rocked him, jerking him to and fro, the way a dog shook a rat. His bones softened and bent, his ligaments snapped, his flesh flowed like molten wax. Dense black fur sheathed him. The agony ended and William rolled to his feet.

The raccoon froze.

For a second, William saw his reflection in the little beast's eyes—a hulking dark shape on all fours. The interloper took a step back, whirled about, and fled.

William howled, singing a long sad song about the hunt and the thrill of the chase, and a promise of hot blood pulsing between his teeth. The small critters hid high up in the branches, recognizing a predator in their midst.

The last echoes of the song scurried into the Wood. William bit the air with sharp white fangs and gave chase.

William trotted through the Wood. The raccoon had turned out to be female and in possession of six kits. How the hell he'd missed the female scent, he would never know. Getting rusty in the Edge. His senses weren't quite as sharp here.

He had to let them be. You didn't hunt a female with a litter—that was how species went extinct. He caught a nice juicy rabbit instead. William licked his lips. Mmm, good. He would just have to figure out a way to weigh down the lid on the trashcan. Maybe one of his dumbbells would do the job, or some heavy rocks…;

He caught a glimpse of his house through the trees. A scent floated to him: spicy, reminiscent of cinnamon mixed with a dash of cumin and ginger.

His hackles rose. William went to ground.

This scent didn't belong in this world outside of a bakery. It was the scent of a human from beyond the Edge's boundary, with shreds of the Weird's magic still clinging to them.

Trouble.

He lay in the gloom between the roots and listened. Insects chirping. Squirrels in the tree to the left settling down for the night. A woodpecker hammering in the distance to get the last grub of the day.

Nothing but ordinary Wood noises.

From his hiding spot, he could see the entire porch. Nothing stirred.

The rays of the setting sun slid across the boards. A tiny star winked at him.

Careful. Careful.

William edged forward, a dark soft-pawed ghost in the evening twilight. One yard. Two. Three.

The star winked again. A rectangular wooden box sat on the porch steps, secured with a simple metal latch. The latch shone with reflected sunlight. Someone had left him a present.

William circled the house twice, straining to sample the scents, listening to small noises. He found the trail leading from the house. Whoever delivered the box had come and gone.

He approached the building and looked at the box. Eighteen inches long, a foot wide, three inches tall. Simple unmarked wood. Looked like pine. Smelled like it, too. No sounds came from inside.

His figures were untouched. His letter, pinned down by the heavy Hulk, lay where he'd left it. The scent of the intruder didn't reach it.

William pulled the door open with his paw and slipped inside. He would need fingers for this.

The pain screamed through him, shooting through the marrow in his bones. He growled low, shook, convulsing, and shed his fur. Twenty seconds of agony and William crouched on human legs in the living room. Ten more seconds and he stepped out on the porch, fully dressed and armed with a long knife. Just because the box seemed benign didn't mean it wouldn't blow up when he opened it. He'd seen bombs that were the size of a coaster. They made no noise, gave off no scent, and took your leg off if you stepped on them.

He used the knife to pry the latch open and flip the lid off the box. A stack of paper. Hmm.

William plucked the first sheet off the top of the stack, flipped it over, and froze.

A small mangled body lay in the green grass. The boy was barely ten years old, his skin stark white against the smudges of crimson that spread from a gaping wound in his stomach. Someone had disemboweled him with a single vicious thrust and the kid had bled out. So much blood. It was everywhere, on his skinny stomach, on his hands, on the dandelions around him…; Bright, shockingly red, so vivid, it didn't seem real. The boy's narrow face stared at the sky with milky dead eyes, his mouth opened in a horrified O, short reddish hair sticking up…;

It's Jack. The thought punched William in the stomach. His heart hammered. He peered closely at the face. No, not Jack. A cat like Jack—slit pupils—but Jack had brown hair. The boy was the right age, the right build, but he was not Jack.

William exhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on his rage. He knew this. He'd seen this boy before, but not on the picture. He'd seen the body in the flesh, smelled the blood and the raw, unforgettable stench of the gut wound. His memory conjured it for him now, and he almost choked on the phantom bitterness coating his tongue.

The next picture showed a little girl. Her hair was a mess of blood and brains—her skull had been crushed.

He pulled more pictures from the box, each corresponding to a body in his memory. Eight murdered children lay on his porch. Eight murdered changeling children.

The Weird had little use for changelings like him. The Dukedom of Louisiana killed his kind outright, the moment they were born. In Adrianglia, any mother who'd given birth to a changeling child could surrender her baby to the government, no questions asked. A simple signature on a piece of paper and the woman went on her way, while the child was taken to Hawk's Academy. Hawk's was a prison. A prison with sterile rooms and merciless guards, where toys and play were forbidden; a place designed to hammer every drop of free will out of its students. Only outdoors, the changeling children truly lived. These eight must've been giddy to be let out into the sunshine and grass.

It was supposed to be a simple tracking exercise. The instructors had led the children to the border between Adrianglia and the Dukedom of Louisiana, its chief rival. The border was always hot, with Louisianans and Adrianglians crossing back and forth. The instructors allowed the kids to track a group of border jumpers from Louisiana. When William was a child, he had gone on the same mission a dozen times.

William stared at the pictures. The Louisianans had turned out to be no ordinary border jumpers. They were agents of Louisiana's Hand. Spies, twisted by magic and powerful enough to take out a squad of trained Legionnaires.

They let the children catch them.

When the kids and the instructors failed to report in, a squad of Legionnaires was dispatched to find them. He was the tracker for that squad. He was the one who found them dead in the meadow.

It was a massacre, brutal and cold. The kids didn't go quick. They'd hurt before they died.

The last piece of paper waited in the box. William picked it up. He knew from the first sentence what it would say. The words were burned into his memory.

He read it all the same.

Dumb animals offer little sport. Louisiana kills changelings at birth—it's far more efficient than wasting time and resources to try to turn them into people. I recommend you look into this practice, because next time I'll expect proper compensation for getting rid of your little freaks.

Sincerely yours,Spider

Mindless hot fury flooded William, sweeping away all reason and restraint. He raised his head to the sky and snarled, giving voice to his rage before it tore him apart.

For years he'd tracked Spider as much as the Legion would permit him. He'd found him twice. The first time he'd ripped apart Spider's stomach and Spider broke his legs. The second time, William had shattered the Louisianan's ribs, while Spider nearly drowned him. Both times the Hand's spy slipped through his fingers.

Nobody cared for the changelings. They grew up exiled from society, raised to obey and kill on command for the good of Adrianglia. They were fodder, but to him they were children, just like he had once been a child. Just like Jack.

He had to find Spider. He had to kill him. Child murder had to be punished.

A man stepped out of the Wood. William leapt off the porch. In a breath he pinned the intruder to the trunk of the nearest tree and snarled, his teeth clicking a hair from the man's carotid.

The man made no move to resist. "Do you want to kill me or Spider?"

"Who are you?"

"The name is Erwin." The man nodded at his raised hands. A large ring clamped his middle finger—a plain silver band with a small polished mirror in it. The Mirror—Adrianglian Secret Service—flashed in William's head. The Hand's biggest enemy.

"The Mirror would like a word, Lord Sandine," the man said softly. "Would you be kind enough to favor us with an audience?"

Excerpted from Bayou Moon by Ilona Andrews. Copyright © 2010 by Ilona Andrews. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

My Review

William gets his story told his way in Bayou Moon.

William was Declan’s friend and former soldier-in-arms in the Weird many years ago. They reunited in On The Edge where William helped Declan and Rose fight the evil that plagued the Edge. 

William is a mysterious character and I’m so glad we get to learn more about him. If anyone deserves happiness and a happily ever after, it’s him.

In Bayou Moon, William is enjoying life by himself watching TV and playing with his action figures. You see, William has a personal history that borders on–and surpasses–inhumane. His solace is comics and action figures. 

If you ask me, you’re NEVER too old for toys or comic books. In William’s case, they helped soothe his inner beast and make him happy. Well, as happy as one can be with William’s rigorous upbringing, education, and training. To say he’s had it rough is a gross understatement.

One day, William is visited by representatives from The Mirror–a 007-type agency in the Weird–and strongly encouraged to go undercover to hunt down a villain so heinous, his war crimes are unspeakable. William, having seen the results of this evil’s depravity, staunchly agrees to The Mirror’s terms and starts packing.

In his travels, he meets Cerise. Thinking she’s nothing but a meek, homeless girl, he pays her no mind… until she reveals herself–and her powers–when things go sideways. The two team up to get back to civilization. William is intrigued by this small woman but knows to watch his back. Cerise has an agenda and nothing to lose, making her a very dangerous person. 

We’ve got a Hatfields & McCoys-style feud between Cerise’s family and another magical Edger family in the Mire. The feud comes to a head when Cerise’s parents go missing and a piece of family property has been signed over to the enemy family by Cerise’s own father! 

Cerise and her family can fight this in court, but the case is time sensitive. The family needs information from a reclusive family member in a dangerous area close to the border quick, fast, and in a hurry. Ceries travels alone, gets the info and finds trouble on the way back when her transportation is jeopardized. 

Cerise teams up with the other passenger–William–and travels the rest of the way with him. What she doesn’t count on are the butterflies in her tummy.  With her parents gone, Cerise is the head of the family. She doesn’t have time to fall for the mysterious William, especially since he won’t tell her the truth about who he is and why he’s in the Mire. 

With one crisis averted, several more take its place. Can Cerise find her parents before it’s too late? Can William separate duty from destiny? You guys, quit fooling around and read Bayou Moon today! 

 Wow! This book is amazing! I love Cerise and her boisterous Edger family! Each and every character brought a certain charm to the story that added so much depth, emotion, and comic relief. 

I love William and Cerise together! They have more in common than they think and the loyalty and faith they instill in others is just remarkable. The characters are what make the story that much more amazing.

There is so much going on here! Subterfuge, betrayal, enemies everywhere, family feuds, family secrets, and so much more! If you thought the first book was incredible, you ain’t seen nothing yet!

I highly recommend the entire series!

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House*

About the Author

Ilona Andrews is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team, Gordon and Ilona. They currently reside in Texas with their two children and numerous dogs and cats. The couple are the #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors of the Kate Daniels and Kate Daniels World novels as well as The Edge and Hidden Legacy series. They also write the Innkeeper Chronicles series, which they post as a free weekly serial. For a complete list of their books, fun extras, and Innkeeper installments, please visit their website at www.ilona-andrews.com.

*Third party links to the publisher's website. May contain affiliate links.

Read-Along Review: On The Edge by Ilona Andrews

I am so excited to be taking part in Books of My Heart's annual Read-Along! 

This year, the blog picked The Edge and Innkeeper Chronicles series by Ilona Andrews!

I have a confession to make, I just started reading Ilona Andrews last year. 

I know, I KNOW! Why did I sleep on these books for so long?!?

They've been on my TBR for YEARS and when I finally decided to pick up Magic Bites (Kate Daniels #1), I was HOOKED! 

The husband and wife writing duo that is Ilona (& Gordon) Andrews speaks my language. Every book I pick up of theirs is magic. It feels like coming home with every turn of the page and every single masterfully crafted world I visit.

I love them so much! But, I have not yet read The Edge series and I am so excited to begin. 

I read On The Edge and loved it so much, I blew through the rest of the books in the series in two weeks!  

I really enjoyed these books and I hope you do too!

About the Book

Step into a whole new world in the first Novel of the Edge from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Kate Daniels series.

The Edge lies between worlds, on the border between the Broken, where people shop at Wal-Mart and magic is a fairy tale—and the Weird, where blueblood aristocrats rule, changelings roam, and the strength of your magic can change your destiny…

Rose Drayton thought if she practiced her magic, she could build a better life for herself. But things didn’t turn out the way she’d planned, and now she works an off-the-books job in the Broken just to survive. Then Declan Camarine, a blueblood noble straight out of the deepest part of the Weird, comes into her life, determined to have Rose (and her power). 

But when a flood of creatures hungry for magic invade the Edge, Declan and Rose must overcome their differences and work together to destroy them—or the beasts will devour the Edge and everyone in it…

Excerpt

 

"Rosie!" Grandpa's bellow shook the foundation of the house.

"Why me?" Rose wiped the dish soap suds from her hands with a kitchen towel, swiped the crossbow from the hook, and stomped onto the porch.

"Roooosie!"

She kicked the screen door open. He towered in the yard, a huge shaggy bear of a man, deranged eyes opened wide, tangled beard caked with blood and quivering grayish shreds. She leveled the crossbow at him. Drunk as hell again.

"What is it?"

"I want to go to the pub. I want a pint." His voice slipped into a whine. "Gimme some money!"

"No."

He hissed at her, swaying unsteadily on his feet. "Rosie! This is your last chance to give me a dollar!"

She sighed and shot him. The bolt bit between the eyes and Grandpa toppled onto his back like a log. His legs drummed the ground.

Rose rested the butt of her crossbow on her hip. "All right, come out."

The two boys slipped from behind the huge oak spreading its branches over the yard. Both were filthy with reddish mud, sap, and the other unidentifiable substances an eight- and a ten-year-old could find in the Wood. A jagged scratch decorated Georgie's neck and brown pine straw stuck out of his blond hair. Red welts marked the skin between Jack's knuckles. He saw her looking at his hands. His eyes got big, amber irises flaring yellow, and he hid his fists behind his back.

"How many times do I have to say it: don't touch the ward stones. Look at Grandpa Cletus! He's been eating dog brains again, and now he's drunk. It will take me half an hour to hose him off."

"We miss him," Georgie said.

She sighed. "I miss him, too. But he's no good to anybody drunk. Come on, you two, let's take him back to his shed. Help me get the legs."

Together they dragged Grandpa's inert form back to the shed at the edge of the clearing and dumped him on his sawdust. Rose uncoiled the metal chain from the corner, pulled it across the shed, locked the collar on Grandpa's neck, and peeled back his left eyelid to check the pupil. No red yet. Good shot—he would be out for hours.

Rose put her foot on his chest, grasped the bolt, and pulled it out with a sharp tug. She still remembered Grandpa Cletus as he was, a tall, dapper man, uncanny with his rapier, his voice flavored with a light Scottish brogue. Even as old as he was, he would still win against Dad one out of three times in a swordfight. Now he was this . . . this thing. She sighed. It hurt to look at him, but there was nothing to be done about it. As long as Georgie lived, so did Grandpa Cletus.

The boys brought the hose. She turned it on, set the sprayer on jet, and leveled the stream at Grandpa until all the blood and dog meat were gone. She had never quite figured out how "going down to the pub" equaled chasing stray dogs and eating their brains, but when Grandpa got out of his ward circle, no mutt was safe. By the time she was done washing him, the hole in his forehead had closed. When Georgie raised things from the dead, he didn't just give them life. He made them almost indestructible.

Rose stepped out of the shed, locked the door behind her, and dragged the hose back to the porch. Her skin prickled as she crossed the invisible boundary: the kids must've put the ward stones back. She squinted at the grass. There they were, a line of small, seemingly ordinary rocks, spaced three, four feet from each other. Each rock held a small magic charge. Together they created an enchanted barrier, strong enough to keep Grandpa in the shed if he broke the chain again.

Rose waved the boys to the side and raised the hose. "Your turn."

They flinched at the cold water. She washed them off methodically, from top to bottom. As the mud melted from Jack's feet, she saw a two-inch rip in his Skechers. Rose dropped the hose.

"Jack!"

He cringed.

"Those are forty-five-dollar shoes!"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Tomorrow is the first school day! What were you doing?"

"He was climbing up the pines to get at the leech birds," Georgie said.

She glared. "Georgie! Thirty-minute timeout tonight for snitching."

Georgie bit his lip.

Rose stared at Jack. "Is that true? You were chasing the leech birds?"

"I can't help it. Their tails are so flittery . . ."

She wanted to smack him. It was true, he couldn't help it—it wasn't his fault he was born as a cat—but those were brand-new shoes she had bought him for school. Shoes for which she had painstakingly tweaked their budget, scrimping every penny, so he wouldn't have to wear Georgie's old beat-up sneakers, so he could look just as nice as all the other second graders. It just hurt.

Jack's face pinched into a rigid white mask—he was about to cry.

A small spark of power tugged on her. "Georgie, stop trying to resurrect the shoes. They were never alive in the first place."

The spark died.

An odd desperation claimed her, her pain shifting into a sort of numbness. Pressure built in her chest. She was so sick of it, sick of counting every dollar, sick of rationing everything, sick to death of it all. She had to go and get Jack a new pair of shoes. Not for Jack's sake, but for the sake of her own sanity. Rose had no clue how she would make up the money, but she knew she had to buy him a new pair of shoes right now, or she would explode.

"Jack, do you remember what will happen if a leech bird bites you?"

"I'll turn into one?"

"Yes. You have to stop chasing the birds."

He hung his head. "Am I punished?"

"Yes. I'm too mad to punish you right now. We'll talk about it when we get home. Go brush your teeth, comb your hair, put on dry clothes, and get the guns. We're going to Wal-Mart."


The old Ford truck bounced on the bumps in the dirt road. The rifles clanged on the floor. Georgie put his feet down to steady them without being asked.

Rose sighed. Here, in the Edge, she could protect them well enough. But they were about to pass from the Edge into another world, and their magic would die in the crossing. The two hunting rifles on the floor would be their only defense. Rose felt a pang of guilt. If it wasn't for her, they wouldn't need the rifles. God, she didn't want to be jumped again. Not with her brothers in the car.

They lived between worlds: on one side lay the Weird and the other the Broken. Two dimensions, existing side by side, like mirror images of each other. In the place where the dimensions "touched," they intersected slightly, forming a narrow ribbon of land that belonged to both of them—the Edge. In the Weird, magic pooled deeply; in the Edge it was a shallow trickle. But in the Broken, no magic shielded them at all.

Rose eyed the Wood hugging the road, its massive trees crowding the narrow ribbon of packed dirt. She drove this way every day to her job in the Broken, but today the shadows between the gnarled trunks filled her with anxiety.

"Let's play the 'You Can't' Game," she said to stave off the rising dread. "Georgie, you go first."

"He went first the last time!" Jack's eyes shone with amber.

"Nyaha!"

"Yaha!"

"Georgie goes first," she repeated.

"Past the boundary, you can't raise dead things," Georgie said.

"Past the boundary, you can't grow fur and claws," Jack said.

They always played the Game when driving through to the Broken. It was a good reminder to the boys of what they could and could not do, and it worked much better than any lecture. Very few people in the Broken knew of the Edge or the Weird, and it was safer for everyone involved to keep it that way. Experience had taught her that trying to explain the existence of magic to a person in the Broken would do no good. It wouldn't get you committed into a mental institution, but it did land you into the kooky idiot category and made people give you a wide berth during lunch hour.

For most people of the Broken, there was no Broken, no Edge, and no Weird. They lived in the United States of America, on the continent of North America, on the planet Earth—and that was that. For their part, most people in the Weird couldn't see the boundary either. It took a special kind of person to find it and the kids needed to remember that.

Georgie touched her hand. It was her turn. "Past the boundary, you can't hide behind a ward stone." She glanced at them, but they kept going, oblivious to her fears.

The road lay deserted. Few Edgers drove up this way this time of the evening. Rose accelerated, eager to get the trip over with and be back to the safety of the house.

"Past the boundary, you can't find lost things," Georgie said.

"Past the boundary, you can't see in the dark." Jack grinned.

"Past the boundary, you can't flash," Rose said.

The flash was her greatest weapon. Most Edgers had their own specific talents: some prophesied, some cured toothaches, some raised the dead like Georgie. Some cursed like Rose and her grandmother. But flashing could be learned by anyone with a drop of magic. It wasn't a matter of talent, but of practice. You took a hold of the magic inside you and channeled it from your body in a controlled burst that looked like a whip or a ribbon of lightning. If you had magic and patience, you could learn to flash, and the lighter the color of your flash, the hotter and more potent it was. A powerful bright flash was a terrible weapon. It could slice through a body like a hot knife through butter. Most Edgers never could get their flash bright enough to kill or injure anything with it. They were mongrels, living in a place of diluted magic, and most flashed red and dark orange. Some lucky few managed green or blue.

It was her flash that had started all of their trouble.

No, Rose reflected, they'd had plenty of trouble before her. Draytons were always unlucky. Too smart and too twisted for their own good. Grandpa was a pirate and a rover. Dad was a gold-digger. Grandma was stubborn like a goat and always thought she knew better than anyone else. Mom was a tramp. But all those problems didn't affect anyone but the individual Draytons. When Rose flashed white at the Graduation Fair, she focused the attention of countless Edge families squarely on their little clan. Even now, even with the rifles on the floor, she didn't regret it. She felt guilty about it, she wished things hadn't gone the way they did, but given a chance, she would do it again.

Ahead the road curved. Rose took the turn a bit too fast. The truck's springs creaked.

A man stood in the road, like a gray smudge against the encroaching twilight.

She slammed on the brakes. The Ford skidded in a screech on the hard, dry dirt of the road. She caught a glimpse of long pale hair and piercing green eyes staring straight at her.

The truck hurtled at him. She couldn't stop it.

The man leapt straight up. Feet in dark gray boots landed on the hood of the truck with a thud and vanished. The man vaulted over the roof to the side and disappeared into the trees.

The truck slid to a stop. Rose gulped the air. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Her fingertips tingled and she tasted bitterness on her tongue.

She stabbed the seat belt release button, threw the door open, and jumped out onto the road. "Are you hurt?"

The Wood lay quiet.

"Hello?"

No answer. The man was gone.

"Rose, who was that?" Georgie's eyes were the size of small saucers.

"I don't know." Relief flooded her. She hadn't hit him. She got scared out of her wits, but she hadn't hit him. Everybody was fine. Nobody was hurt. Everybody was fine . . .

"Did you see the swords?" Jack asked.

"What swords?" All she'd seen were the blond hair, green eyes, and some kind of cloak. She couldn't even recall his face—just a pale smudge.

"He had a sword," Georgie said. "On his back."

"Two swords," Jack corrected. "One on the back and one on his belt."

Some of the older locals liked to play with swords, but none of them had long blond hair. And none of them had eyes like that. Most people facing a truck head on would be scared. He stared her down as if she had insulted him by nearly running him over. Like he was some sort of king of the road.

Strangers were never good in the Edge. It wasn't wise to linger.

Jack sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose the way he did when he looked for a scent trail. "Let's find him."

"Let's not."

"Rose . . ."

"You're on thin ice already." She climbed into the truck and shut the door. "We're not chasing after some knucklehead who thinks he's too important to walk on the shoulder." She snorted, trying to get her heart rate under control.

Georgie opened his mouth.

"Not another word."

A couple of minutes later, they reached the boundary, the point where the Edge ended and the Broken began. Rose always recognized the precise moment when she passed into the Broken. First, anxiety stabbed right through her chest, followed by an instant of intense vertigo, and then pain. It was as if the shiver of magic, the warm spark that existed somewhere inside her, died during the crossing. The pain lasted only a blink, but she always dreaded it. It left her feeling incomplete. Broken. That's how the name for the magic-less dimension had come about.

There was an identical boundary on the opposite end of the Edge, the one that guarded the passage to the Weird. She never tried to cross it. She wasn't sure her magic would be strong enough for her to survive.

They entered the Broken without any trouble. The Wood ended with the Edge. Mundane Georgia oaks and pines replaced the ancient dark trees. The dirt became pavement.

The narrow two-lane road brought them past the twin gas stations to the parkway. Rose checked the parkway for the oncoming traffic, took a right, and headed toward the town of Pine Barren.

Above them an airplane thundered, fixing to land at the Savannah airport only a couple of miles away. The woods gave way to half-finished shopping plazas and construction equipment, scattered among heaps of red Georgia mud. Ponds and streams interrupted the landscape—with the coast only forty minutes away, every hole in the ground sooner or later filled up with water. They passed hotels, Comfort Inn, Knights Inn, Marriott, Embassy Suites, stopped at a light, crossed the overpass, and finally turned into a busy Wal-Mart parking lot.

Rose parked on the side and held the door open, letting the boys out. Jack's eyes had lost their amber sheen. Now they were plain dark hazel. She locked the truck, checked the door just in case—locked up tight—and headed to the brightly lit doors.

"Now remember," she said as they joined the herd of evening shoppers. "Shoes and that's it. I mean it."

Excerpted from On the Edge by Ilona Andrews. Copyright © 2009 by Ilona Andrews. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

My Review

On The Edge is a dangerous universe that’s divided into three parts: The Broken, The Edge, and The Weird. 

The Broken is a world where there is no magic. You can drive cars, ride trains, planes, and shop till you drop or hit the drive-thru when you’re hungry. It’s like our world. Magic users cannot use their magic in the Broken.

The Weird is a magic-fueled world where people are made of magic, can wield magic, and where magic is the ultimate equalizer. In the Weird, you need horses, carriages, or feet to travel… or a wyvern (dragon). It’s also set up in a royal hierarchy-type way with dukes and all those other fancy titles–for the rich and well-to-do anyway. Think Bridgerton-style with lots of magic and a bit more cutthroat. 

The Edge, that’s the world in between the Broken and the Weird. It’s where magic can live, but it’s not as strong as it is in the Weird. The Edge is a place where there is no rule of law, no police force, and no mercy. Everyone has to protect themselves. It’s also a place where many poor families live. Edgers–as they’re called–are looked down upon by both sides of the boundaries. Edgers are trash. Edgers are bad. Edgers are ignorant. But don’t ever underestimate an Edger… if you want to live to tell about it.

The Edge is where we meet Rose. She’s a strong young woman raising her two younger brothers on her own. Well, they’ve got a spitfire grandma, but Rose is a proud woman and doesn’t like to ask for help. It’s her responsibility to take care of her family and she’s doing the best she can, whatever she has to do to provide for herself and her brothers. No sacrifice is too great.

One day a fancy-pantsed royal shows up on Rose’s doorstep. She doesn’t trust him one bit. The royal–Declan–wants her and her powers for his own purpose, Rose tells him to take a hike. When Declan won't leave her alone, she strikes a bargain no sane Edger would ever take. If he can complete 3 tasks of her choosing, she’ll give herself to him. Declan agrees–stupidly–but not before Rose hammers out the specifics. She’s an Edger, she ain’t no fool. 

When danger strikes, Rose and Declan join forces to protect the Edge–and its people–from an unholy evil never before seen. It’ll take more than a sweet-talkin’ royal and fierce Edger with lightning in her veins to win this battle. 

Wow! On The Edge is exciting, action-packed, and SO good! I was blown away by the dynamic worldbuilding. The plot is fascinating. The characters are multifaceted and I could not put the book down!

If you are a fan of the fantasy/sci-fi/paranormal genre with a bit of romance thrown in for good measure, On The Edge has got what you need.

I absolutely loved it and can’t wait to read the next one!

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House*

About the Author

Ilona Andrews is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team, Gordon and Ilona. They currently reside in Texas with their two children and numerous dogs and cats. The couple are the #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors of the Kate Daniels and Kate Daniels World novels as well as The Edge and Hidden Legacy series. They also write the Innkeeper Chronicles series, which they post as a free weekly serial. For a complete list of their books, fun extras, and Innkeeper installments, please visit their website at www.ilona-andrews.com.

*Third party links to the publisher's website. May contain affiliate links.

Review: A Pride of Lions by Yvonne Nartey

Discover a world where dreams and reality collide, creating a mesmerizing tale.

About the Book

"She is an abomination, and she cannot continue to roam this great earth. "

Every night, Eshe has the same dream – a dream where she stands facing a male lion, only to charge towards it, transforming into a lioness herself. Every night the lion overpowers her, its jaws ripping into her neck, just before she wakes.

Adeben has the same dream. But he knows it’s more than just a nightmare. He is a Lion Soul, a man who has been blessed with the soul of a lion, able to transform at will. Tasked by his tribe to find the strange girl who has been haunting his dreams, sent to destroy her before she destroys his people.

But what happens when his overwhelming feelings of desire co-mingle and conflict with an anger in its most pure form?

Discover a world where dreams and reality collide, creating a mesmerizing tale.

🦁 Experience a unique blend of romance and fantasy that will captivate readers from start to finish.

🦁 Perfect for fans of strong female protagonists and diverse characters.

🦁 Rich with themes of love, identity, and destiny that resonate with a diverse audience.

🦁 A must-read for those who love fantasy and romance intertwined with cultural depth.

Get your copy and join the pride.

My Review

A Pride of Lions tells the tale of a woman struggling to be herself in a world where she doesn’t fit. Eshe’s struggles are real, her fears are often crippling, but her strength is a quiet flame that burns as fiercely as her desire to feel comfortable in her own skin. I think every woman can relate to this.

Lion Souls are males who have been given a gift of the soul of a lion. This gift gives the chosen ones the ability to shift into a lion form and enhance their speed, strength, and senses in human form. When a woman is discovered with a Lion Soul, the first thing the Leader of the Lion Souls wants is to kill her. She is an abomination and should be eliminated.

Adeben has been dreaming of a lioness for a while now. As the Lion Souls’ enforcer, he is tasked by the Leader to kill Eshe. Adeben is struggling with this decision because what he sees in his dreams every night is a strong, fierce woman with the soul of a lioness and he knows she is special but unsure why.

When an Elder takes Adeben aside and asks him to gather more information instead of eliminating the lioness, he is glad, but apprehensive. The Leader said she was a danger to all Lion Souls, but this Elder who has a clairvoyant gift, sees another path. When Adeben meets Eshe in person, he’s overwhelmed with emotions. Adeben faces a destiny that could herald death to the Lion Souls, or become his saving grace.

This male-dominated world of Lion Souls and their antiquated, misogynistic ways are about to be shaken to the very core by the emergence of a lioness, and I’m here for it!

I had a little bit of a difficult time getting into the story because it’s written through first person point-of-view (which I enjoyed) but the storyline is mostly inner-dialogue driven. I’m usually not a fan of stories like this but the writing is what kept me engaged and the plot gradually engulfed me into this extraordinary story.

Ms. Nartey’s Illustration of the written word is remarkable. I was absolutely enchanted by the way the author describes the characters' innermost thoughts. How beautifully written and with so much poise and purpose.

“The room, the people, my brothers and the things their mouths would not say, but their eyes were all too happy to announce. It’s what most people forget when they hold their tongues and skirt past me, afraid to prickle my skin and set me off into hysteria: their eyes. How much they say, how loudly they scream the very things they worry will send me back to the places where I am the one who knows well…”

“If there is any malice in her words, I do not hear it. Not anymore. Not when a lifetime of her tone has already made me immune to the thorns sometimes hidden in what she says.”

“I think you know when you’ve found someone who lights up your world, someone who will always be worth fighting for because your life would be infinitely darker without them in it.”

If you enjoy fantasy romance with a unique twist on the shifter/changeling trope, A Pride of Lions is right up your alley.

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a copy of the book generously provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This in no way influences my thoughts or feelings about the book or the content of my review.

Purchase Links*

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble

About the Author

Welcome to the enchanting world of Yvonne Nartey, a vibrant British Ghanaian author whose stories weave the vivid tapestry of her dual heritage. Growing up in the bustling heart of London and the rich, colorful streets of Accra, Yvonne has crafted a unique voice that sings with the warmth and complexity of diverse cultures. Her upbringing infuses her tales with flavors as bold as the spices that fill her pantry, creating narratives that are both familiar and exotic.

Yvonne's passion for reading is as boundless as the ocean, nourishing her soul with countless tales and endless inspiration. She writes fantasy and romance fiction that invites you to wander into realms where imagination reigns supreme. Her characters are crafted with such care and detail that they linger in your mind, haunting and intriguing you long after you've turned the final page. It’s this mastery of character development that truly sets her apart, drawing readers into stories that are at once thrilling and profoundly human.

Prepare to embark on a journey with Yvonne Nartey, as she unveils her debut book series—a spellbinding adventure that promises to captivate hearts and minds alike. Whether you're a fan of strong female protagonists or a lover of diverse voices, Yvonne's tales are sure to beckon you into worlds where empowerment and joy await. Her storytelling is not just an experience; it's an invitation to explore and celebrate the beauty of diverse cultures and the universality of the human spirit.

So, dear reader, whether you're seeking to lose yourself in the pages of a compelling narrative or to find a new heroine to champion, Yvonne's stories promise to deliver. With each new story, she invites you to join her on this exhilarating literary voyage—where curiosity sparks anticipation, and every turn of the page reveals a new mystery to uncover. 

Welcome to a world where creativity flows like a river and imagination knows no bounds. 

Welcome to the stories of Yvonne Nartey. 

Learn more at lion-souls.com

*Purchase links may contain affiliate links from the publisher.

Review: The Lodge by Kayla Olson

From the author of The Reunion, a cozy rom-com about a writer who decamps to a Vermont lodge for work but finds herself distracted by the charming ski instructor next door.

About the Book

Alix Morgan just got her big break as the ghostwriter of a memoir by Sebastian Green, a former member of the boy band True North. And when he offers her a penthouse at a luxurious resort in Vermont, she jumps at the chance to work far away from her noisy, cramped apartment.

Her career as an entertainment journalist has been building toward this dream job—after all, she used to cover True North and was one of the last people to interview former front man Jett Beckett before he disappeared. As she combs through her client’s voice memos, the specter of the missing lead singer remains, and fans are desperate to know the full story.

But Alix also has time for some fun at this glamorous resort, where she begins ski lessons with a handsome instructor named Tyler. As Alix and Tyler fall in love on the slopes, Alix’s work takes a complicated turn—and the mystery of True North’s downfall may be hers to solve.

Goodreads | Buy Links*

My Review

This is my first read by the author and I am quite impressed!

Growing up, I was (still am) a HUGE boy band fan so I was quickly drawn to this book about the mystery surrounding a missing boy bander who disappeared all Eddie and The Cruisers-style. Where did he go? Is he still alive? Could he be hiding in plain sight? Fans have been speculating for YEARS! I had to find out what happened!

The Lodge quickly swept me away into a scenic Vermont landscape where Alix finds inspiration for her breakthrough gig as a ghostwriter. And where she befriends a kind, funny, and handsome local ski instructor who also just so happens to be her neighbor, which makes for a delightful distraction.

The storyline is engaging and absolutely lovely. The romance is beautifully done. Alix and Tyler have great chemistry. Theirs is a sweet (and clean) romance.

This is also a story with real, raw emotions. The struggles each character faces carry consequential burdens that are painstakingly difficult to navigate. There’s not always a correct answer, life decisions are never just black and white. The story also touches on the darker side of fame, the good, the bad, and the life shattering.

The Lodge is a wonderful read with a little bit of mystery and lots of heart. I whole-heartedly recommend it to every reader!

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a copy of the book generously provided by the publisher via Net Galley in exchange for an honest review. This in no way influences my thoughts or feelings about the book or the content of my review.

About the Author

Kayla Olson is the author of two books for young adults with her adult debut (a rom-com, The Reunion) to hit shelves in 2023. Her work has been published in fifteen languages; find her on Instagram (@authorkaylaolson), Twitter (@olsonkayla), or her website (www.kaylaolson.com).

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Review: Kingdom of Claw by Demi Winters

Happy Release Day

Kingdom of Claw is the second book in the amazing epic romantic fantasy series by Demi Winters.

Get your copy today!

About the Book

Return to the Kingdom of Íseldur, where enemies become lovers and dark secrets hide around each corner, in the sequel to the Viking-inspired romantic fantasy The Road of Bones.

In the aftermath of a harrowing journey, Silla Nordvig’s dreams of a simple life have been shattered. Beaten, betrayed, and reeling from the revelation of her true name, she flees Kopa with Reynir Galtung, the ruthless leader of the Bloodaxe Crew. But when they're forced into hiding together, Silla soon discovers that Rey has been keeping secrets of his own.

Stuck in a shield-home with the murderous man she thought she knew, Silla forms a new plan: master the magic flowing through her veins to save her sister. But before she can do that, Silla must face her most formidable opponent yet—her own inner demons.

Saga Volsik has nothing to lose. They’ve murdered her family. Stolen her throne. And now they expect her to marry their son, but not if she can dismantle Queen Signe’s plans first. The only problem? The handsome Zagadkian dignitary who knows far too many of her secrets.

Silla and Saga will need to find the strength to step into their destiny and stop chaos from sweeping across the land. Meanwhile, dark threads continue to weave themselves through Íseldur as magic long thought dead begins to wake.

Excerpt

 

CHAPTER 1

Two days west of Kopa

Silla Nordvig had once vowed no force in this world could draw her to the true north of Íseldur, but clearly she’d underestimated the gods’ twisted sense of humor. Because here she was, on a horse with Axe Eyes, heading for that very place.The canyon’s black walls climbed up on either side of them as Horse walked beside a flat-­bedded river. Nature had made a valid attempt to reclaim the space, moss and greenery carpeting the riverbanks and exposed ledges. But black volcanic stone dominated, the sheer canyon walls stark and raw in their beauty.

They’d ridden through the canyon for two full days now. The sun rose and set, the world moving on as though it hadn’t been smashed to pieces. But with each passing day, Silla’s spirits sank lower. It was starting to settle in—­there would be no Kopa.

Instead, there was Kalasgarde.

Silla exhaled. Rey claimed to know people in Kalasgarde who could help her hide from the queen and Klaernar. He thought it would be safe for her. But Silla knew better than to hope; her foolish heart had been bruised too many times. The truth was, there was no place safe for her. Not now that she knew her true name.

Eisa Volsik.

Heir of King Ivar’s sworn enemy. Hunted by Queen Signe for her mysterious, wicked plans. Political pawn to those in power. Easy reward for those who were not. The name brought nothing but misery. Chest tightening, Silla clamped her hands around the saddle horn until her knuckles grew white.

Not her. Not her. Not her.

Silla drew in a long breath. Exhaled it slowly.

Kopa had been Matthias’s decision, and Kalasgarde was Rey’s. As the days wore on, the idea of choosing for herself grew in Silla’s mind. Perhaps there were better options for her than the northern wilds of this kingdom. A southbound ship leaving Íseldur had a pleasing feel to it. She could go to the Southern Continent or Karthia, perhaps. Anywhere she could fade into obscurity.

For the time being, Silla had resigned herself to Rey’s plan. Istré for now. It was easier not to decide for herself. A relief, if she was being honest. But between the black walls of the canyon, Silla had nothing but time to think. To remember their names.

Ilías Svik. Matthias Nordvig. Skeggagrim.

Good men, all dead because of her. Perhaps living was her punishment. To wake each morning with the anguish of their blood on her hands, with the ache of Jonas’s betrayal etched into her soul, knowing that Metta was in the Klaernar’s prison, suffering at the hands of her captors.

Certainly, Silla bore the bruises of Kopa—­a beating so thorough that her eye had swelled up and her ribs ached with each slight movement. Even so, she couldn’t help but think she deserved far worse.

They rounded a bend, the canyon widening. The lower levels of the wall had eroded away in one spot, leaving a thin black spire topped with a wider rock.

“They call it Hábrók’s Hammer,” said Rey from behind her. “We will camp here tonight. There is an overhang there to shelter under. Plenty of grass for Horse . . .” Her mind drifted to the rumble of his voice along her back. It was impossible to keep their distance while on horseback, and in her exhaustion, she’d given up trying. Though she’d never admit it to anyone but herself, his presence behind her—­a solid wall of warrior—­was reassuring.

“Silla?”

She shook her head, trying to disperse the haze clouding her mind. Rey had dismounted and was staring at the small crescent-­shaped scar at the corner of her eye.

Stop staring at it! she wanted to scream. This scar was her damnation. It had allowed those men near Skarstad to identify her; it had gotten her father killed. Silla turned her head, dismounting from Horse.

Over the past days spent traveling together, she and Rey had settled into a routine of sorts. Mindlessly, Silla removed Horse’s saddle and brushed her down, while Rey pulled supplies from the saddlesack and set up camp. By the time Horse’s coat gleamed and she’d wandered to a lush patch of grass, Rey had a fire roaring. As it happened, he was remarkably adept at kindling a fire, even from the wettest wood.

She sank onto the grass. Pulled at an errant thread dangling from her cuff. It was Rey’s tunic, as were the breeches belted around her waist. His clothing swam on her, but it didn’t matter. She’d burned the red dress Valf had put her in. If only she could burn the memories of his hand, clutching her neck while the other went to his belt.

Scream, dear. I do so enjoy it.

Rey’s voice diverted her thoughts. “Tomorrow we’ll travel past a village. I’ll stop and have a falcon sent north to the warriors who will fetch you.” He paused, eyeing her. “And we shall reach Istré after dark.”

Silla’s temples throbbed at the mere thought of Istré. Days now, it had been the two of them plodding through this canyon. Here, she’d settled into a numb existence. Not quite safe, yet not quite in danger: It was an in-­between. But the words village and people had her survival instincts on edge, making her pulse beat erratically.

A weighted silence hung in the air, and Silla knew Rey was choosing his words. “You must eat more tonight, Silla.” He pulled a few strips of dried elk from his bag and offered them to her.

Silla stared at his outstretched hand. The thought of food made her stomach roil, and the thought of Kalasgarde was like an anchor tied to her, pulling her down, down, down. She felt lost and so very tired. Not just her body, but her bones.

Her soul.

But she took the dried elk all the same. Forced herself to bite into it. What she wouldn’t give for her skjöld leaves, to fly away from everything for a moment or two. Would there be an apothecary in Istré? Silla had lost all her belongings, sólas included. Rey, though . . . he kept coins in a pouch on his battle belt, others in the false bottom of Horse’s saddlesack. She could pilfer a few. Sneak off to the apothecary in Istré.

She was filled with self-­loathing at the vile thought. Rey had saved her life in Kopa. She could not steal from him. But the longings were fiercer than she’d felt in days . . . weeks.

Without the leaves how could she distract herself from the gloom of her thoughts? Before, she’d had Jonas to help her escape. But like the leaves, he’d brought nothing but misery. All of the bandages for Silla’s grief were now gone, and gods, but it hurt.

Rey had busied himself sharpening one of his many daggers, but she felt the touch of his gaze on her skin. Silla glanced his way. With the fire’s flames reflected in his eyes, with that sharp jaw and the sprawl of his legs, the man looked like a malevolent god honing his blade. Utterly unbothered by anything. Impenetrable to human emotion. Brutally handsome.

Her eyes trailed across his broad frame and landed on his hip.

“May I?” she asked, nodding at the flask.

Rey hesitated before pushing to his full height and stepping around the fire. Crouching down to her level, he pressed the flask firmly into her palm. “Go easy,” he said, a groove deepening between his brows.

She wanted to reach out. Smooth the line away. Instead, she lifted the flask to her lips and took a large swallow. It burned a path down her throat, making her wince. Still, Rey stared at her scar so intently that she squirmed.

“Why do you stare at it?” she asked, blinking against the burn of the fire whiskey. “My scar?”

Rey seemed to shake free from his reverie. Running a hand down his face, for a moment he looked a little unsettled. “It reminds me,” he said, “of a life long ago.”

Silla puzzled over his words for a moment before helping herself to another gulp of brennsa. “Tell me,” she said.

Rey settled back across the fire, passing his dagger across a whetstone. “I prefer not to think of it.”

“Bad memories?” she asked, though of course he did not answer.

Tendrils of warmth unfurled in her belly, sending tiny vibrations all through her. Silla took yet another large mouthful of the fire whiskey, closing her eyes as it took effect. It was like a full-body exhalation, her tangled worries loosening, the burn of guilt soothed.

She lifted the flask for another drink.

“Silla.” Rey’s voice floated across the fire, carrying irritation and warning all at once. Silla, of course, ignored him. He wanted her to be responsible and sensible when all she wanted was to forget.

Pushing onto her feet, she arched her back in a stretch. She felt better already. Almost happy. “In a life long ago, I had chickens,” she said. The brennsa flowed through her with a silent rhythm that made her want to move. “And a swing. And I played a game. Do you want to play it, Axe Eyes?”

He scowled at her. The light from the fire caught his black curls, the warm brown of his curving cheekbone. Rey’s normally fastidiously trimmed beard hadn’t been touched in some time, and Silla considered that the past few days must have held their challenges for him as well. A better woman would offer to trim it for him—­would try to lighten his burden.

A better woman was not her.

Excerpted from Kingdom of Claw by Demi Winters. Copyright © 2025 by Demi Winters. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

My Review

Demi Winters slays in this thrilling next chapter of The Ashen series where the enemies are aplenty, the betrayals are scandalous, and action is fire! 

We finally get to meet Saga and see through her eyes all the horrors and tribulations she suffers at the hands of the kingdom's usurpers. Her story is full of pain and sorrow, but her will is steadfast and driven by the need to protect her sister. Trying to throw a monkey wrench into her plans is a group of foreign dignitaries visiting to hammer out a trade agreement with the kingdom, led by a smoldering and mysterious warrior that sees too much and has his own secrets and agenda. Is he a friend or foe? Saga has to be careful around him so she doesn’t spill secrets of her own. 

Silla and Reynir face several problems of their own. Reynir’s secrets are discovered and he’s hunted by the king’s men–and every headhunter out to collect the handsome reward. Silla’s in more danger than ever so Reynir takes Silla to the safest place he knows, a home where he swore he’d never return to. There’s safety here but lots of demons for Reynir. It’s also a place for Silla to learn her magic and train to defend herself while coming to terms with her true identity. When people start disappearing, Reynir wonders if he and Silla have brought trouble to his homeland. The king’s forces are the least of their worries when an evil unlike any other is discovered and everyone’s lives are at stake!

Oh my GOODNESS this book is amazing! There is so much action, so much adventure, subterfuge, betrayals, secrets, and so much more! I was completely blown away by the extraordinary worldbuilding, the complex storyline, and the amazing characters! The fabric of this series is brilliantly crafted, with meticulous precision and expert handiwork. It’s absolutely amazing and I recommend the entire series. I can’t wait for the next book!

FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a copy of the book generously provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review. This in no way influences my thoughts or feelings about the book or the content of my review.

Purchase Links

Penguin Random House

About the Author

Lover of all things fairy tales, fantasy, and romance, Demi lives in British Columbia, Canada with her husband and two kids. When she’s not busy brainstorming fantastical worlds and morally gray love interests, Demi loves reading and cooking. Learn more at demiwinters.com