Tuesday, April 15, 2025

RELEASE DAY: THE THIRD RING Book One of the Sanctum Series by A.N. Horton

 



The Third Ring
The Sanctum Series
Book One
A. N. Horton

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Veil and Valor Books
Date of Publication: April 15, 2025
ISBN: 979-8-9911249-6-6 
ASIN: B0DY949XBH
Number of pages: 404 Pages
Word Count: 112,000
Cover Artist: Adrian Păsărin

Tagline: Ten Trials. Two Oaths. One Chance.

Book Description: 

To Adrian, the gods were never anything to be worshipped, just tolerated. But in the walled city of Sanctuary, whether through the religious fervor of the elite or the quaking fear of the poor, the Geist have always been served. And now it's Adrian's turn.

Born into power and raised for greatness, Dante stands for everything Adrian has come to despise, but he may be her only hope of survival. When the two of them are bonded against their will and forced to compete together in the Trials, the god's ancient gauntlet of physical brutality and psychological torture, they have no choice but to set aside old prejudices and work together. Navigating religious zealots, a patriarch intent on breeding the pair for power, and the increasingly obvious cruelty of the gods, Adrian must come to terms with the fact that, whether Culled or Championed, we all serve the gods in the end. And, for her, betrayal has always been waiting just around the corner.

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcZCgrRLlGQ

 

 

Excerpt:

 

I was in a vast, open chamber. The walls were made of solid, smooth gray stone, almost the color of charcoal, with thin veins of white running through them at odd angles. That singular, faint light shone down on a massive hunk of porous stone which took up most of the room. I approached it slowly, in awe of the size. I’d always thought the Oath Stone was small, something you held in both hands while reciting some vow the attendants guided you through or had written on the walls.

I glanced around. There were no words. Not on the walls, not on the floors, not even on the stone itself. There were no words written anywhere, no instructions, no Oath. I spun around again and again, searching in vain as my panic rose to the surface.

How do I know what to say?

How pathetic. Utterly, depressingly pathetic. How was I ever to make it past a single Trial if I couldn’t even figure out how to take my Oath?

My palms itched. I scratched them with my fingernails as I walked toward one of the walls. I narrowed my gaze, trying to discern a pattern in the white lines running through them. There was nothing.

I huffed, my nails continuously running back and forth on the sensitive skin of my palms. But the more I scratched them, the more they burned. I switched to rubbing them as I approached the stone. I leaned down, staring at the hunk of porous stone, tilting my head side to side as I inspected the bumps and crevices until I hissed—the burning in my palms had become an inferno.

Frantic, I held up my hands, expecting to see inflamed skin, a rash even, but they weren’t even red.

Still, they burned.

Flooded with an overwhelming compulsion to find relief from the cool surface of the Oathstone, I reached out and pressed my palms flat against the massive rock. The burning stopped, the itching soothed. I closed my eyes and took a breath.

Then I heard it. A faint voice in the back of my mind getting louder and louder…

I jerked back in surprise, but the moment my hands left the stone, they began to burn even worse than before. I hissed and stared at them again. I still saw nothing but my own skin. Shaking, I reached for the stone again.

The moment flesh met rock, the voice returned. I twitched, uneasy, but concentrated, frowning and pressing my eyes shut tight as if that would help me hear it. It spoke in a whisper and cycled through its message before I could finally make out the words.

“Repeat after me.”

I again startled. The words echoing around in my head were coming from my own voice. I tried to pull my hands from the stone, but I couldn’t. My palms were fused to the rock.

“I vow to obey the tenets of the Trials.”

I hesitated. Did I truly want to go through with this? As confident as I’d been this morning, as resigned to follow through with Darius’s last wish of me, this was…something else entirely. Something I hadn’t expected.

“Make your Oath,” my own voice hissed at me.

“I-I vow…to obey the tenets of the Trials,” I repeated. It seemed to be my only way out of here.

“I shall not speak of my experiences in the Trials, neither now nor upon their completion,” my voice whispered, then waited for me to repeat before continuing. “I shall use my blessings in service to the Geist. I shall seek to keep all knowledge and capability given as a result of my success between myself and my partner. I shall train my body, mind, and soul to be a proper reflection of the holiness of the Geist. For the duration of my candidacy in the Trials, I forfeit all worldly obsessions and submit myself to the will of my gods.”

Again, I hesitated. It seemed a lofty price to pay in honor of a friend I’d never see again. A friend the Geist had stolen from me. The thought of Darius, in this moment of all things, was like a punch to the gut. But it was a reminder as well: I wouldn’t be swearing it for them. So I took a deep breath and made my Oath. The words turned bitter on my tongue.

 

About the Author:

A. N. Horton is a two-time award-winning author living in Nashville, TN with her husband, children, and moderately chunky Corgi. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, baking more cookies than her family can eat, and plotting crimes against her characters. Best known for crafting characters that steal her readers’ hearts as much as they shatter them, A. N. Horton is a cross-genre writer focused mainly on fantasy and romance.


 
 

 
 






Monday, April 14, 2025

INTERVIEW WITH A. L. HAWKE (Haunting Joy)

 



Haunting Joy
A.L. Hawke

Genre: supernatural romance
Publisher: Phantom Heart, LLC
Date of Publication: March 19, 2025
ISBN ebook: 978-1-953919-77-9
ISBN paperback: 978-1-953919-80-9
ISBN hardcover: 978-1-953919-78-6
ISBN audiobook: 978-1-953919-81-6
ASIN: B0DZMNPQHL
Number of pages: 204
Word Count: 53,000
Cover Artist: Mirella Santana

Tagline: Peace ends in the spirit of joy.

Book Description:

Alec was seeking a respite from city life. He thinks he has discovered it on Plymouth Crest, a manor overlooking the forest and a beautiful lake, golden in the sun. But Alec was warned the house is haunted by a murdered pop singer and Hollywood star.

Footsteps and howling winds soon disturb his sleep. One night, he finds an intruder, Joy, standing barefoot among broken glass in the kitchen. He chases her out. But she returns, enchanting him with laughter and boundless energy. It’s not long before Alec falls in love.

Joy ends when a belligerent character shows up and claims ownership of the house. Alec and Joy have a plan to evict him and bring some resolution to past horrors. If they fail, Alec’s dreams will crumble, and Joy might be subjected to a fate worse than death. But if they succeed, Alec and Joy might be separated forever—and so may end joy. To save Joy—and also have hope of being together—they need a bold plan, bringing them face to face with evils buried in the past, and finding a path to a shared future.

Amazon     BookFunnel


Excerpt:

With the sun’s rays shining between the green leaves of the trees surrounding the windows of his glass house, Plymouth Crest was enchanting. Gilded light shone through the leaves and branches creating yellow prism-like effects. And with all the green moss and thrush, it was enchanting—as if Alec lived in an English fae forest or Camelot, which he loved as a writer.

That was what happened during the day. But upon nightfall, all those large windows turned black. And then those same leaves and branches that covered the sunrays blocked moonlight. Then his house became very dark.

But not so quiet…

By the second week, he started hearing noises. At first, it was just stray creaks and cracks from the wood, and Alec figured it was simply the sound of an old foundation. But as time passed, he heard unexplainable things. Stray shouts and screams that sounded as if they were coming from the terrace outside. Doors opening and slamming shut downstairs. Kitchen cabinets left open. Plates and glasses being rearranged on the kitchen table. Doors left open all night. One morning, he even found the couch in the living room had been moved a couple feet. That was the creepiest. On yet another night, he awoke shivering. The glass balcony door of his bedroom was wide open. He was certain he had locked it.

As days passed, the noises only grew louder. One night a wooden chair tipped over downstairs in the dining room. Then another night, a plant was thrown from one of his tall cabinets in the foyer into the living room.

He began to not sleep. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he couldn’t deny the noises.

Tonight, for hours, he had just stared at the white ceiling over his bed in silence. He had stared long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And after a while, the darkness made the faint moonlight that shone through openings in his dark mahogany velvet curtains seem bright.

His body jumped. His muscles reacted mechanically before he recognized the noise. It was glass shattering. Something had broken into pieces downstairs. It was so loud that he leapt out of bed and his hands scrambled along the walls to switch on the light. But the light wouldn’t switch on. That was weird because his old clock on the nightstand still read one-thirty-two in red digital letters, and the clock didn’t have back-up power. Electricity was another quirky thing about his house.

He opened the drawer in his nightstand by the bed. In his old house, he had always left a small flashlight by the bed. But the flashlight wasn’t there. It was probably still in one of the boxes in the garage. And he had left his cellphone downstairs.

There was more opening and closing of cabinets and drawers. This time, it wasn’t just stray noises, it seemed to be every few seconds. This didn’t sound like the usual cracks and creaks of some phantom haunting his place. He was worried there was an actual intruder.

He rushed along the inner balcony. Most of his downstairs could be seen from here, but his furniture—his couch, end table, and chairs—were cast in shadows by moonlight.

“Who’s down there?” Alec cried. “Show yourself.”

He was answered by another crash. That made him move faster, darting across his dark, empty living room and running straight to the source of the noise—in the kitchen.

He was wearing only underwear and felt a breeze before seeing the open kitchen door. After doors being left open frequently over the past week, he was sure he had checked the lock on this door before going to bed. He rushed over to shut it.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was home.”

Alec whirled around. That made the intruder on the other side of the kitchen island cover her mouth and snicker.

They stared at one another. Then she drew the apple up to her nose.

“What are you doing here?” Alec snapped.

“Eating an apple.”

“No, what are you doing in my house?”

 

About the Author:

A.L. Hawke is the author of the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch Series. The author lives in Southern California torching the midnight candle over lovers against a backdrop of machines, nymphs, magic, spice and mayhem.

 

Newsletter Sign Up: http://eepurl.com/gce6Rz

 

Youtube https://youtube.com/@ALHawke

 

Twitter: https://x.com/alhawkeauthor  

 

Tiktok https://www.tiktok.com/@alhawkeauthor

 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alhawke/


Threads: https://www.threads.net/@alhawke


Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/a-l-hawke  


Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18821515.A_L_Hawke  

 




Thursday, April 3, 2025

INTERVIEW WITH MARTY ROPPELT (Last Words-A Supernatural Murder Mystery)

 



Great to have Marty Roppelt here on the page today to answer our five fave questions:

THE BOOK JUNKIE READS INTERVIEW


Do you feel that writing is an ingrained process or just something that flows 

naturally for you? 


 It depends on the day.  Some days I really have to focus and be very deliberate. On those days, I get less done. I tend to pause more often to think. It’s not just a question of preparation. I make it a habit to end my writing day with a day’s work left ahead of me rather than start each day “cold,” not knowing what I’m going to write. Often, however, that preparation goes only so far, and I find myself considering my characters’ next moves or words, or my setting descriptions, more carefully in spite of having a leg up.

And sometimes, the words do just flow, and suddenly I’ve got a thousand words of a chapter written. I wish I knew how that happens. I do find myself thinking more. I’ve often wondered how Stephen King could write those great, thick books. For a long time, he came out with one just about every year!


Have you found yourself bonding with any particular character(s)? If so, 

which one(s)? 


I put a lot of myself into the main characters of my current novella series. Chicago police detective Myles Hansen is more analytical than intuitive, though as a detective he occasionally does rely on his gut. His partner Hank “The Tank” Brewer is more intuitive, but also very intelligent and not beyond analyzing evidence. I guess of the two, though I do bond with each, Tank is the one I wish I was. A former athlete (I tried, but was never a good one!), he’s freewheeling but sensitive, whereas Myles is—quite literally—haunted.


Do you have a character that you have been working on that you can't wait 

to put to paper? 


Not yet. I’ve been working on my current project, and have just a glimmer of an idea for the project after that one. When I’m working on a project I tend to take things one at a time, and the characters will appear when they are supposed to.

That said, I was anxious to get Myles Hansen and Tank Brewer on the page. I’m also watching them grow in sometimes unexpected ways. I do my initial prep work—character work-ups and story outlines—from which I sometimes deviate. Myles and Tank have grown from my original expectations of them, and I suspect they’ll grow more.


Can you share your next creative project(s)? If yes, can you give a few 

details? 


The next novella in the series is called Last Rites. Myles and Tank investigate a brutal murder at a Bible institute in Chicago. One of the suspects is Mateo Diaz, one of the instructors at the college and one that Myles and his girlfriend, Rebecca Dale, are familiar with. Spirits from beyond continue to interact with Myles. Tank remains skeptical until one night… Ah, can’t give you the rest.


What are some of your writing/publishing goals for this year? 


I would like to get Last Rites written and published—not quite Stephen King paced, but he’s the anomaly, I think. I would also like to get the third of the series “blocked,” have the outline done and the character arcs set. Actually, if I could get some of it written as well, that would be a nice bonus.

I would also like to record my first novel, Mortal Foe, and publish it on Audible, though that’s been an unfulfilled wish with for a few years already. 

I’ve also got a few Warm and Fuzzy supernatural Christmas stories, written to raise money for a homeless shelter, that I’d like to add to. I’d like to get enough of them written to have them published in an anthology.




Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery
Hanson and Brewer Murder Mysteries 
Book One
Marty Roppelt

Genre: Mystery / Supernatural / Horror
Publisher: Dragon Breath Press
Date of Publication: February 7, 2025
ISBN: 979-8985349580 
ASIN: B0D184PVWZ 
Number of pages: 151 
Word Count: 36,241
Cover Artist: Christopher Chambers

Tagline: Some cases cut deeper when the dead refuse to stay buried

Book Description: 

Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery follows Chicago police Detective Myles Hanson as he navigates a world of crime and unsettling revelations. After a nighttime raid on a drug lab ends in a deadly shootout, Myles is convinced to transfer to another unit. His first case in Violent Crimes is unlike any he’s faced before. Maria Peski, a midwife with a quiet life, is savagely murdered.

But that’s not the only mystery haunting him. Myles begins experiencing chilling visions and inexplicable phenomena. He begins to hear the final words of the dead, fragments of unfinished thoughts from those who have passed. As the voices reveal clues no one else can uncover, Myles teams up with his streetwise and relentless partner, Tank Brewer, to piece together the secrets that the dead have left behind.

When a second murder rocks the city with startling similarities, Myles is increasingly pressured to accept that some clues lie beyond the realm of the living. As the line between the supernatural and the real begins to blur, Myles and Tank must untangle a web of deceit, violence, and spectral warnings before the killer strikes again.

Amazon     BN     Apple     Kobo

 

Smashwords     Everand     Fable

 

BOOK TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/lU-_D-vPnRU



Excerpt:

Myles paused at the glass doors to the Area North police station. He checked his watch. Then he turned away from the entrance, paced roughly fifteen feet, added several more steps and lit a Marlboro Light. He pulled his jacket collar up to block an unusually crisp September breeze.

A long strip of grass punctuated by an occasional shrub next to the building attempted to soften the structure's strictly functional design. In the courtyard, a few trees stood guard along with a twisting metal sculpture. But the shades in all the windows were drawn, keeping the occupants' minds focused on their tasks. The parking lot spread far in every direction. Several squad cars waited there for their officers to climb in and begin their patrols.

Taking in his surroundings, Myles shook his head. The Nineteenth District Patrol station held more appeal to tourists to Chicago than did this location. A block west of the Nineteenth on West Addison Street sat a busy elevated, or "L," train station, over a century old and still flaunting its original grid of iron spans and frames in the open. Another block further west, Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, buzzed with activity during home stands. Across from the Nineteenth on Addison, a row of shotgun style houses butted up against each other like a knot of sentinels standing shoulder to shoulder. Some bore brownstone façades, some red brick. A thin sheen of grime, car exhaust mostly, the grit of a busy city, covered them. All the dwellings needed power washing or sand blasting.

He knew that locale well, and it charmed even him.

But no tourists visited this spot, the Area North station's locale. A massive tan and brown brick building, Area North dwarfed the Nineteenth. Built in a commercial and industrial zone, the station resembled a Big Box store in spite of the unnaturally planted greenery. If not for the fleet of squad cars in the sprawling lot, visitors might enter the north side's police nexus expecting to buy a hot air fryer or bed linens.

Myles nodded to himself. Area North was all business.

From the corner of his eye, in the window nearest him, Myles spotted the reflection of two women, one short and slight, the other tall and slender. They approached from the parking lot arm-in-arm. The window distorted their shapes, giving them a hot August day shimmer. Their pale complexions suggested a summer spent together indoors. They both dressed for summer, each wearing tie-dyed blouses but no jackets, immune to the cool day. The shorter one put Marla Hines in mind. He recalled how she used to chide him whenever he sneaked out of the Organized Crimes building for a quick smoke. As the pair neared him, they opened their mouths, Myles assumed, to berate him.

"Sorry, ladies," the smoker said. "I'll just put this out." He turned in the women's direction.

They were gone.

Frowning, he swung his head around, scanning the area. Nothing. The parking lot lay empty of everything but vehicles. Two uniformed cops exited the building. But no one passed them heading in.

"Come on, Hanson," he muttered.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the heel of his shoe, deposited it into a nearby trash can and entered the station.


About the Author:

Marty Roppelt lives in Wauconda, Illinois, with his wife Becky. Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, his family roots stem from Transylvania. Yes, THAT Transylvania, from where his parents emigrated in the mid 1950's. So of course, Marty enjoys writing in the supernatural / horror genre. In addition to his first novel, Mortal Foe, he has written a series of short paranormal Christmas stories to raise money for St. Herman’s House, a homeless shelter in Cleveland. He also has featured stories in anthologies, Tales from the Dragon's Lair and Holiday Hearth. Marty and Becky enjoy quiet time together with their cats Nala and Malik.