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Chronicles of a Planet’s End

 

Science Fiction Romance

Date Published: 10-19-2022

Publisher: Witness the World Publications

 

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Emily Banister’s first lover died. The love of her life is dead. She wants
nothing to do with people.

Isolation is not an option. Her late boyfriend’s brother wants her
dead.

Trying to survive, she crosses into a different world where a stranger
awaits her. He can’t die. Could he love her?

The choice takes Emily on a journey across galaxies, only to find she
exists for one purpose.

If she accepts her fate…

Then the planet Earth becomes her responsibility.

Follow her journey in this science fiction romance across galaxies.

 

It is the first book in The Chronicles of a Planet’s End. The
Chronicles of a Planet’s End is a series of journals telling the end
of the planet Earth.

You can begin the journey to the end.

 

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EXCERPT

Chapter 1 

 

Date: January 25, 2024 

 

The dark and endless street stretched out ahead of me. Huddled and starving people lined the streets of downtown. It was unjust and cruel. Everything I despised. How did I end up here? Living in a hole. Trying to forget. Self-loathing filled every inch of my soul. Basically homeless, hiding in plain sight, I worked hard to erase who I had become. A criminal and a murderer. 

 

Los Angeles. The city of dreams. And nightmares. Tom’s old military jacket kept out the chill but could not erase the darkness filling me. I pushed my hand against the brick wall, feeling the skin peeling from my knuckles. I absorbed the pain, and it felt good. The trail of blood left on the wall was like a sacrifice to my guilt. It intermingled the city and my DNA into one. One more stain amid starvation and excess, the two unlikely bedfellows that inhabited the marshlands between the Angeles National Forest and the ocean.

 

I separated my hand from the wall to avoid another sleeping homeless. Once upon a time, I had loved this city. It was the place where I believed I could become everything I desired. My art had a place amid the movement and excitement. I dreamt of the galleries on Melrose and even worked at a couple. Each day, as I worked, I imagined my art on those walls. Dressed in my perfect dress, with my perfect heels, I stood welcoming the elite, knowing… I laughed, thinking of my innocence. Knowing that one day they would buy my creations. A fantasy. 

 

It was then I met him. Tom. He was handsome, gentle, and kind. Dating was out of the question. I kept my distance from men because tragedy was a part of my story. I had fallen in love once, and death followed. Now, I avoided relationships. It was safer this way. Then he walked into my life. There was no lighting, no love at first sight, no instant passion. If there had been, I would have fled. 

 

This man became my friend. He wanted more, but I kept my boundaries. At least, I tried. I really did. At first. Eventually, he became more. The relationship was so slow, so gradual, it emotionally entangled me before I could run. I wanted him and desperately needed to be normal. Then came the fateful night. 

 

I wore the cutest red dress and looked amazing. We promised to meet at a bar. I didn’t like bars, but they were the place to be. It mattered to me. Silly. The dress cost me half a month’s wages. That mattered too. My shoes were uncomfortable, but my grandmother always said beauty was pain. It was part of being a woman. Fuckable shoes. I was gorgeous, and I knew it. 

 

When I walked in, every face turned in my direction. It made me feel important because I was somebody. Tom sat at the bar, waiting for me. I felt invincible. When he turned, the look he gave me made me want to run. He was in love, and I was too. For years, I replayed that moment in my head. Over and over. I should have run. It was my choice. And I chose wrong. 

 

“Emily,” he said as he stood up. 

 

“Hey,” I replied, feeling suddenly shy. 

 

He led me toward the bar. We talked about everything and nothing: work, art, movies, music. A conversation between two people when the topic no longer mattered. 

 

At some point, he had said, “Please dance with me.” 

 

I thought about stopping him. My brain betrayed me. My body betrayed me. I convinced myself my past was not a curse. I talked myself into believing my normalcy and hated myself for it. Therefore, I danced. I felt him near me, and it was pure joy. My life was perfect. I had great job, boyfriend, apartment, and clothes. As if that even mattered. Maybe the superficiality helped me forget who I was. I was Los Angeles. Beautiful, perfect, shiny, shallow, and hiding a darkness that I denied. 

 

Tom was his name. I felt I should say it aloud several times a day, so I would never forget. Tom Jasper and Emily Banister. Simple names. If I had been twelve, I would have written it a hundred times on a piece of paper, maybe even circled it with a heart. I even let myself dream. Emily Banister could become Emily Jasper. Mrs. Jasper. A house, a family. Babies, anniversaries. Graduations, weddings. Figments of my hyperactive imagination.

 

When he walked into my apartment several hours later, I did not slam the door in his face. I thought about it, but I believed the fantasy. A conversation, a dance. His gentle touch was all I needed to believe the lie. I only thought of his perfect lips when he kissed me. When he undressed me, I did not think beyond the sensation of his hands against my bare skin. When his hand wandered, I stopped him. I promise I did. The last sensible moment of the night. 

 

He was a gentleman. He stopped. 

 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said. 

 

“What if it happens again?” I asked. 

 

“It was a freak accident,” he answered. 

 

“What if it wasn’t? What if I am cursed?” I asked again. 

 

Tom gently kissed me and held me in his arms. He was the best friend I needed. And at that moment, I stopped trusting myself and handed him my judgment. The action was unforgivable. I wanted the daydream that came with his beautiful blue eyes. I needed to believe his vision. Everything else didn’t matter. 

 

“The past scares you. I promise you it will be fine. Curses don’t exist, and magic doesn’t exist. Science proves this. I promise you will be fine,” he said, with such determination, with such self-assurance, that I believed him. 

 

“I can’t live without you,” I whispered, as I let go of his hand. “I am scared.” 

 

“Trust me,” he said. 

 

The next hour burned into me with the same force as a branded tattoo. I trusted. It was the worst mistake I could have possibly made. 

 

Tom’s screams pushed me into the now. His screams kept me awake at night these three years. I burned, and he burned with me. The skin melted away, the bone burned into ashes, and then he was gone. 

 

The smell of burnt skin filled the air. Only ash remained where he once lay. Tom was gone. I was untouched, undamaged, and perfect. Like a porcelain doll, I stood frozen in time. The violence moved through me. He was gone. I sat a long time on that couch covered in soot. My red dress burned beyond recognition. Eventually, I stood up, stumbling out of the room. I found some of Tom’s clothes. An old pair of sweatpants. A shirt. And the jacket. A military jacket. Why he owned it, I didn’t know. I felt numb. Betrayed by my body, I felt only hatred, loathing, and repulsion at myself. I could smell him on the clothes, and I hated myself even more. I kept the clothing so that his smell would never let me forget what I was. A murderer. 

 

I returned to my apartment that night, grabbed what I could, and disappeared. Everything I was, died that night with Tom.

 

About the Author

Tatiana Beller

Tatiana Beller is a writer and filmmaker raised in Mexico City. She was
born in Texas and adopted into a wonderfully eccentric and artistic Mexican
family. Her father is German, and her mother is Mexican. As a storyteller,
she uses different media to tell those stories. She has an MFA in film and
an MFA in VFX/3D animation. Tatiana is passionate about cross-cultural
experiences. As part of two cultures, she navigates the complicated dynamics
and brings those experiences into her writing. She loves science fiction and
fantasy. Her passion for writing began as a child in her grandmother’s
study, watching her work. She has been writing for thirty years. Tatiana
lives in Asheville, NC with her partner and two cats. Her son is studying in
Seattle.

 

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The Moreva of Astoreth Tour

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The Moreva of Astoreth cover

 

Science Fiction/Romance

 

 

Date Published: January 5, 2021

 

Publisher: Blackrose Press

Astoreth, the Devi Goddess of Love, demands complete devotion from her morevs because hearts divided cannot serve.

Moreva Tehi’s hearts aren’t divided. They belong to Laerd Teger.

And the price of her love could be her life.

The Moreva of Astoreth tablet

Book Reviews

 

“Bland may very well be the Alice Walker of science fiction.” The reviewer is Vincent Dublado, Readers’ Favorite.

 

“This is perhaps the most entertaining science fiction novel I have ever read.” Rabia Tanveer, Readers’ Favorite.

EXCERPT

Chapter One

 

“I could have you executed for this, Moreva Tehi,” Astoreth said. My Devi grandmother, the Goddess of Love, scowled at me from Her golden throne in the massive Great Hall of Her equally massive É. Today, Her long, white hair had been woven into slender braids entwined with multicolored strands of tiny jewels. They sparkled in the candescent light radiating from the ceiling and the undulant, wall-height fixtures. Her golden eyes burned with fury.

Sitting on my heels, I bowed my head, not wanting to see Her anger. I stared at the black and gold polished floor, trying to ignore the trickle of sweat snaking down my spine. My unbound hair, white like Hers, hung over my face. “Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You blaspheme by not celebrating Ohra-Namtar, the holiest rite of the Gods. You were well aware that this was not Ohra-Sin, praising My role in creating Peris, but extolling all the deeds of the Great Pantheon in bringing this planet to life. Ohra-Namtar celebrates Our creation of the hakoi, and the worthiest, handpicked by Me and My Brothers and Sisters, celebrated with Us. And Marduc asked Me of your whereabouts. Your absence sorely disappointed Him.”

I shuddered in fear and loathing. Marduc, Lord of the Skies, was Astoreth’s twin Brother, and my grand-uncle. I’d been scared of Him since childhood, and even then made sure I was never alone with Him. I hated the way He’d stare at me when no one was looking, licking His lips as if I was a juicy piece of meat just waiting to be devoured. I had been too young to participate in the last Ohra-Namtar, and knew He would have been only too eager to get His hands on me during this one.

“Moreva Tehi,” Astoreth’s hard tone brought me back to the moment. “You are My acolyte. Your participation was not an option. By your absence, you did not share your body with Us, your brother and sister morevs, and Our worthy hakoi. You sullied the sacredness of Ohra-Namtar. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I can only offer my most abject apologies, Most Holy One.”

“Your apologies are not accepted.”

“Yes, Most Holy One.” 

“Where were you?”

“I was in the laboratory, working on a cure for red fever. Our four-year cycle will end this summer, and thousands of hakoi in the Gods’ cities and towns could die—” 

“I know that,” my grandmother snapped. “But why did you miss Ohra-Namtar? Did you not hear the bells?”

“Yes, Most Holy One. I heard them. I was about to lay aside my work when I noticed an anomaly in one of my pareon solutions, so I decided to take a minute to investigate. What I found…I-I just lost track of time.”

“You lost track of time?” She repeated, sounding incredulous. “Do you expect Me to believe that?”

“Yes, Most Holy One. It is the truth.” 

My head and hearts began throbbing, my grandmother probing me for signs I had lied. But She wouldn’t find any. Lying to Her was pointless, and Her punishment for lying was harsh. Swaying under the onslaught, I endured the pain without making a sound. After what seemed like forever the throbbing eased, leaving me feeling sick and dizzy. 

“Very well. I accept what you say is true. I still do not accept your apology.”

“Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, panting a little.

A minute passed in uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for me, anyway. Another minute passed. And another. Is…is She finished with me? I prayed to be dimissed. But I wasn’t. 

“What do you have against My hakoi, Moreva?” 

I frowned. “I don’t understand, Most Holy One.”

“I have watched you. You give them no respect. You heal them because you must, but you treat them like animals. Why is that?”

The trickle of sweat reached the small of my back and pooled there. “But my work—” 

“Your work is a game between you and the red fever. It has nothing to do with My hakoi.” 

I didn’t reply. It was true. Discovering the cure was a challenge I’d taken on because no one since the dawn of Peris had been able to find one. It was a war, me assaulting the virus’s defenses, and the virus fending off my attacks. Our war was my obsession, and one I meant to win. And I didn’t care about the hakoi. I despised them. They were docile enough—the Devi’s spawning and breeding program saw to that—but they were slow-witted, not unlike the pirsu the É raised for meat and hide. They stank of makira, the pungent cabbage that was their dietary staple. From what I’d seen traveling through Kherah to Astoreth’s and to the És of other Gods, all the hakoi were stupid and smelly, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

But I wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit She was right. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something that wasn’t an outright lie. Then it came to me. “Most Holy One, I treat Your hakoi the way I do because it is the Hierarchy of Being as the Devi created it. You taught us the Great Pantheon of Twelve is Supreme. The minor Devi are beneath You, the morev are beneath the minor gods, and Your hakoi are beneath the morev. Beneath the hakoi are the plants and animals of Peris. But sometimes Your hakoi forget their place, and must be reminded.”

The Great Hall was silent. I held my breath, praying She wouldn’t probe me again.

“A pretty explanation, Moreva Tehi. But My hakoi know their place. It is you who do not know yours. You are the only morev in Kherah to have more Devi blood in your veins than hakoi, but that does not change your station, nor can you can rise above it. Your privileges—to freely move about Uruk without É authorization, to participate in the Gods’ festivals and games, to travel most anywhere in Kherah—are the same as any other of your brothers and sisters. And it is the morev who attend My hakoi. As a healer, you are not too good to minister to their needs, and you are surely not too good to celebrate Ohra-Namtar with them.” 

 I swallowed. “Yes, Most Holy One.” 

“Look at Me.”

I raised my head. My grandmother’s expression was fierce.

“And that is why you let the time get away from you, as you say. You, Moreva Tehi, My acolyte of Love, are a bigot. I might understand if you were still a child, but you are not. You have done nothing to better yourself since then. Your bigotry is the reason you did not celebrate Ohra-Namtar. You did not want to share your body with Our hakoi.” She glared, as if daring me to contradict her.

I stared into Her golden eyes, wanting to deny Her accusation, but that would be a lie. I kept quiet.

She leaned forward. “I have overlooked many of your transgressions while in My service. I know you use your psi power to harass other morevs for what you perceive as slights. But I cannot overlook your bigotry, or your missing Ohra-Namtar. I will not execute you because you are too dear to My heart. The stewardship for Astoreth-69 in the Syren Perritory ends in two days. You will take the next rotation.”

My hearts froze. This was my punishment? Getting exiled to Syren? Everyone knew the Syren Perritory in Peris’s far northern hemisphere was the worst place in the world to steward a landing beacon. Cold and dark, with dense woods full of wild animals, the Syren was no place for me. My place was in Kherah, a sunny desert south of the planet’s equator, where the fauna was kept in special habitats for learning and entertainment. As for the Syrenese, they were the descendants of one of the Devi’s earliest and failed hakoi spawning and breeding experiments, and were as untamed as the perritory where they lived.

My throat tightened, and a tear formed in the corner of my eye. Eresh…he’s in the Syren Perritory now. I’ll be taking his place. It’s already been a year since I’ve seen him, and I won’t see him again for another year. Two years without my best friend…my only friend. What am I to do?

I managed to get up the gumption to protest, but didn’t. Challenging my grandmother would be disrespectful, and my punishment would be even worse than exile. It would also be futile. Astoreth’s word was law, and it had just come down on my head. “Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, my voice meek.

 She leaned back on Her throne. “Mehmed will come to your room after breakfast tomorrow so you can be fitted for your uniform.” 

“My uniform, Most Holy One? I will not be taking my clothes?”

“No. As overseer of the landing beacon, you are the liaison between the Mjor village as well as the commander of the garrison. Your subordinate, Kepten Yose, will report to you once a marun and you are to relay the garrison’s needs to Laerd Teger, the Mjoran village chief.”

“Yes, Most Holy One.”

“I will make allowance for your healer’s kit and a portable laboratory, but you are not to take your red fever research. I am sure you have other projects you can work on while you are there.”

“But—”

“No, Moreva Tehi. It is too dangerous.”

“I can take precautions—”

“No. I will not allow you to endanger the Mjorans. That is My final word. ” She gazed at me for a long moment. “You should also know that they, like all Syrenese, are not a forgiving people. They do not take transgressions—of any kind—lightly.”

I swallowed. “I understand, Most Holy One.”

“Good.” Her eyes narrowed. “One more thing. As the garrison’s moreva, you will lead the services in worship of Me, and that includes Ohra-Sin. Go now.”

“Thank you, Most Holy One.” I stood on shaky legs, bowed, and backed out of the Great Hall. Fleeing to my room, I fell on the bed and sobbed. It was bad enough to be exiled to the Syren Perritory and to spend another year without Eresh, but Ohra-Sin with the garrison? Only the hakoi served in Astoreth’s military. I felt dirty already. And not allowing me to work on my red fever project was punishment by itself.

A hand touched my shoulder. “Tehi, what’s wrong?” a worried voice said. It was Moreva Jaleta, one of my friendlier morev sisters. 

“I-I’m being sent to the Syren Perritory to steward Astoreth-69,” I wailed.

“But why?”

I sat up. “I missed Ohra-Namtar yesterday and n-now Astoreth is punishing me.”

She gave me an unsympathetic look. “You’re lucky She didn’t have your head. Be thankful you’re Her favorite.”

I sniffed, but said nothing.

Jaleta patted my shoulder. “It won’t be so bad, Tehi. The year will be over before you know it. Come on, it’s time to eat.”

 

About the Author

author photo


Award-winning author Roxanne Bland was born in the shadows of the rubber factory smokestacks in Akron, Ohio but grew up in Washington, D.C. As a child, she spent an inordinate amount of time prowling the museums of the Smithsonian Institution and also spent an inordinate amount of time reading whatever books she could get her hands on, including the dictionary. A self-described “fugitive from reality,” she has always colored outside the lines and in her early years of writing, saw no reason why a story couldn’t be written combining the genres she loved and did so despite being told it wasn’t possible. Today, she writes stories that are mashups of paranormal urban fantasy, romance, and science fiction, as well as other speculative fiction genres.

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The Moreva of Astoreth Blitz

 

The Moreva of Astoreth cover

 

Science Fiction/Romance

 

 

Date Published: January 5, 2021

 

Publisher: Blackrose Press

Astoreth, the Devi Goddess of Love, demands complete devotion from her morevs because hearts divided cannot serve.

Moreva Tehi’s hearts aren’t divided. They belong to Laerd Teger.

And the price of her love could be her life.

Excerpt

 

Chapter One

I could have you executed for this, Moreva Tehi,” Astoreth said. My Devi grandmother, the Goddess of Love, scowled at me from Her golden throne in the massive Great Hall of Her equally massive É. Today, Her long, white hair had been woven into slender braids entwined with multicolored strands of tiny jewels. They sparkled in the candescent light radiating from the ceiling and the undulant, wall-height fixtures. Her golden eyes burned with fury.

Sitting on my heels, I bowed my head, not wanting to see Her anger. I stared at the black and gold polished floor, trying to ignore the trickle of sweat snaking down my spine. My unbound hair, white like Hers, hung over my face. “Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

You blaspheme by not celebrating Ohra-Namtar, the holiest rite of the Gods. You were well aware that this was not Ohra-Sin, praising My role in creating Peris, but extolling all the deeds of the Great Pantheon in bringing this planet to life. Ohra-Namtar celebrates Our creation of the hakoi, and the worthiest, handpicked by Me and My Brothers and Sisters, celebrated with Us. And Marduc asked Me of your whereabouts. Your absence sorely disappointed Him.”

I shuddered in fear and loathing. Marduc, Lord of the Skies, was Astoreth’s twin Brother, and my grand-uncle. I’d been scared of Him since childhood, and even then made sure I was never alone with Him. I hated the way He’d stare at me when no one was looking, licking His lips as if I was a juicy piece of meat just waiting to be devoured. I had been too young to participate in the last Ohra-Namtar, and knew He would have been only too eager to get His hands on me during this one.

Moreva Tehi,” Astoreth’s hard tone brought me back to the moment. “You are My acolyte. Your participation was not an option. By your absence, you did not share your body with Us, your brother and sister morevs, and Our worthy hakoi. You sullied the sacredness of Ohra-Namtar. What do you have to say for yourself?”

I can only offer my most abject apologies, Most Holy One.”

Your apologies are not accepted.”

Yes, Most Holy One.”

Where were you?”

I was in the laboratory, working on a cure for red fever. Our four-year cycle will end this summer, and thousands of hakoi in the Gods’ cities and towns could die—”

I know that,” my grandmother snapped. “But why did you miss Ohra-Namtar? Did you not hear the bells?”

Yes, Most Holy One. I heard them. I was about to lay aside my work when I noticed an anomaly in one of my pareon solutions, so I decided to take a minute to investigate. What I found…I-I just lost track of time.”

You lost track of time?” She repeated, sounding incredulous. “Do you expect Me to believe that?”

Yes, Most Holy One. It is the truth.”

My head and hearts began throbbing, my grandmother probing me for signs I had lied. But She wouldn’t find any. Lying to Her was pointless, and Her punishment for lying was harsh. Swaying under the onslaught, I endured the pain without making a sound. After what seemed like forever the throbbing eased, leaving me feeling sick and dizzy.

Very well. I accept what you say is true. I still do not accept your apology.”

Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, panting a little.

A minute passed in uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for me, anyway. Another minute passed. And another. Is…is She finished with me? I prayed to be dimissed. But I wasn’t.

What do you have against My hakoi, Moreva?”

I frowned. “I don’t understand, Most Holy One.”

I have watched you. You give them no respect. You heal them because you must, but you treat them like animals. Why is that?”

The trickle of sweat reached the small of my back and pooled there. “But my work—”

Your work is a game between you and the red fever. It has nothing to do with My hakoi.”

I didn’t reply. It was true. Discovering the cure was a challenge I’d taken on because no one since the dawn of Peris had been able to find one. It was a war, me assaulting the virus’s defenses, and the virus fending off my attacks. Our war was my obsession, and one I meant to win. And I didn’t care about the hakoi. I despised them. They were docile enough—the Devi’s spawning and breeding program saw to that—but they were slow-witted, not unlike the pirsu the É raised for meat and hide. They stank of makira, the pungent cabbage that was their dietary staple. From what I’d seen traveling through Kherah to Astoreth’s and to the És of other Gods, all the hakoi were stupid and smelly, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

But I wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit She was right. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something that wasn’t an outright lie. Then it came to me. “Most Holy One, I treat Your hakoi the way I do because it is the Hierarchy of Being as the Devi created it. You taught us the Great Pantheon of Twelve is Supreme. The minor Devi are beneath You, the morev are beneath the minor gods, and Your hakoi are beneath the morev. Beneath the hakoi are the plants and animals of Peris. But sometimes Your hakoi forget their place, and must be reminded.”

The Great Hall was silent. I held my breath, praying She wouldn’t probe me again.

A pretty explanation, Moreva Tehi. But My hakoi know their place. It is you who do not know yours. You are the only morev in Kherah to have more Devi blood in your veins than hakoi, but that does not change your station, nor can you can rise above it. Your privileges—to freely move about Uruk without É authorization, to participate in the Gods’ festivals and games, to travel most anywhere in Kherah—are the same as any other of your brothers and sisters. And it is the morev who attend My hakoi. As a healer, you are not too good to minister to their needs, and you are surely not too good to celebrate Ohra-Namtar with them.”

I swallowed. “Yes, Most Holy One.”

Look at Me.”

I raised my head. My grandmother’s expression was fierce.

And that is why you let the time get away from you, as you say. You, Moreva Tehi, My acolyte of Love, are a bigot. I might understand if you were still a child, but you are not. You have done nothing to better yourself since then. Your bigotry is the reason you did not celebrate Ohra-Namtar. You did not want to share your body with Our hakoi.” She glared, as if daring me to contradict her.

I stared into Her golden eyes, wanting to deny Her accusation, but that would be a lie. I kept quiet.

She leaned forward. “I have overlooked many of your transgressions while in My service. I know you use your psi power to harass other morevs for what you perceive as slights. But I cannot overlook your bigotry, or your missing Ohra-Namtar. I will not execute you because you are too dear to My heart. The stewardship for Astoreth-69 in the Syren Perritory ends in two days. You will take the next rotation.”

My hearts froze. This was my punishment? Getting exiled to Syren? Everyone knew the Syren Perritory in Peris’s far northern hemisphere was the worst place in the world to steward a landing beacon. Cold and dark, with dense woods full of wild animals, the Syren was no place for me. My place was in Kherah, a sunny desert south of the planet’s equator, where the fauna was kept in special habitats for learning and entertainment. As for the Syrenese, they were the descendants of one of the Devi’s earliest and failed hakoi spawning and breeding experiments, and were as untamed as the perritory where they lived.

My throat tightened, and a tear formed in the corner of my eye. Eresh…he’s in the Syren Perritory now. I’ll be taking his place. It’s already been a year since I’ve seen him, and I won’t see him again for another year. Two years without my best friend…my only friend. What am I to do?

I managed to get up the gumption to protest, but didn’t. Challenging my grandmother would be disrespectful, and my punishment would be even worse than exile. It would also be futile. Astoreth’s word was law, and it had just come down on my head. “Yes, Most Holy One,” I said, my voice meek.

She leaned back on Her throne. “Mehmed will come to your room after breakfast tomorrow so you can be fitted for your uniform.”

My uniform, Most Holy One? I will not be taking my clothes?”

No. As overseer of the landing beacon, you are the liaison between the Mjor village as well as the commander of the garrison. Your subordinate, Kepten Yose, will report to you once a marun and you are to relay the garrison’s needs to Laerd Teger, the Mjoran village chief.”

Yes, Most Holy One.”

I will make allowance for your healer’s kit and a portable laboratory, but you are not to take your red fever research. I am sure you have other projects you can work on while you are there.”

But—”

No, Moreva Tehi. It is too dangerous.”

I can take precautions—”

No. I will not allow you to endanger the Mjorans. That is My final word. ” She gazed at me for a long moment. “You should also know that they, like all Syrenese, are not a forgiving people. They do not take transgressions—of any kind—lightly.”

I swallowed. “I understand, Most Holy One.”

Good.” Her eyes narrowed. “One more thing. As the garrison’s moreva, you will lead the services in worship of Me, and that includes Ohra-Sin. Go now.”

Thank you, Most Holy One.” I stood on shaky legs, bowed, and backed out of the Great Hall. Fleeing to my room, I fell on the bed and sobbed. It was bad enough to be exiled to the Syren Perritory and to spend another year without Eresh, but Ohra-Sin with the garrison? Only the hakoi served in Astoreth’s military. I felt dirty already. And not allowing me to work on my red fever project was punishment by itself.

A hand touched my shoulder. “Tehi, what’s wrong?” a worried voice said. It was Moreva Jaleta, one of my friendlier morev sisters.

I-I’m being sent to the Syren Perritory to steward Astoreth-69,” I wailed.

But why?”

I sat up. “I missed Ohra-Namtar yesterday and n-now Astoreth is punishing me.”

She gave me an unsympathetic look. “You’re lucky She didn’t have your head. Be thankful you’re Her favorite.”

I sniffed, but said nothing.

Jaleta patted my shoulder. “It won’t be so bad, Tehi. The year will be over before you know it. Come on, it’s time to eat.”

About the Author

Roxanne Bland


Award-winning author Roxanne Bland was born in the shadows of the rubber factory smokestacks in Akron, Ohio but grew up in Washington, D.C. As a child, she spent an inordinate amount of time prowling the museums of the Smithsonian Institution and also spent an inordinate amount of time reading whatever books she could get her hands on, including the dictionary. A self-described “fugitive from reality,” she has always colored outside the lines and in her early years of writing, saw no reason why a story couldn’t be written combining the genres she loved and did so despite being told it wasn’t possible. Today, she writes stories that are mashups of paranormal urban fantasy, romance, and science fiction, as well as other speculative fiction genres.

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The Moreva of Astoreth Reveal

The Moreva of Astoreth cover

 

Science fiction/Romance

Date Published: January 5, 2021

Publisher: Blackrose Press

 

Astoreth, the Devi Goddess of Love, demands complete devotion from her morevs because hearts divided cannot serve.

Moreva Tehi’s hearts aren’t divided. They belong to Laerd Teger.

And the price of her love could be her life.

About the Author

Award-winning author Roxanne Bland was born in the shadows of the rubber factory smokestacks in Akron, Ohio but grew up in Washington, D.C. As a child, she spent an inordinate amount of time prowling the museums of the Smithsonian Institution and also spent an inordinate amount of time reading whatever books she could get her hands on, including the dictionary. A self-described “fugitive from reality,” she has always colored outside the lines and in her early years of writing, saw no reason why a story couldn’t be written combining the genres she loved and did so despite being told it wasn’t possible. Today, she writes stories that are mashups of paranormal urban fantasy, romance, and science fiction, as well as other speculative fiction genres.

Contact Links

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Sleeping Beauty – Blitz

Sleeping Beauty banner

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Science
Fiction Romance, Ménage Romance, Romantic Suspense
Publisher:
Evernight Publishing
Date
Published:
May 19, 2019
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Ronan
Hark and Noah Kabot are deep space salvagers, partners in business as well as
in life. While investigating an old ship, they discover a cryo chamber holding
the frozen body of a beautiful woman who’s been asleep for thirty-one years.
Against Ronan’s better judgment, they take the chamber and wake her up.
Alivia
has spent her life living as a sheltered yet unloved princess, until the day
she is forced into cryo stasis. It was only supposed to be for a short time,
but somehow her ship crashed and she became nothing more than a memory.
But
now everything has changed. A hunter is after her and killing anyone who knows
she’s alive. As they race across the expanse of space, can Ronan and Noah keep
her safe? And what happens when she finally returns home to confront a life
that forgot about her?

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Excerpt
Ronan
moved cautiously through the ship. The thick view windows had cracked upon
impact, allowing dirt and rocks to tumble inside. Everything was washed out,
colorless. Lifeless. He made his way through the broken, silent ship, dreading
to see the cockpit and the remains of the captain. But much to his surprise,
the control room stood empty.
He
moved to the engine console and wiped off the inches-thick dirt, baring the
powerless control panels. He sat his computer board on it and activated it.
Seconds later the cockpit came to life as the wireless remote downloaded all
the information available. It didn’t last long, and as soon as all the data was
collected, he disconnected the console, shutting down the power surge. The
small area fell silent and lifeless once again.
He
activated the neural com link with Noah. “Where are you?”
“I’m
next to a large clump of twisted metal.”
Ronan
rolled his eyes. “Well, that narrows it down.”
“Wait,”
Noah’s distracted voice told him. “I think I found what was causing the power
signature.”
Ronan
hesitated, but when Noah didn’t contact him after a minute he went after him,
making his way carefully through the rubble into the back of the ship.
“Noah?”
“Ronan,
you won’t believe this.”
“Believe
what?”
He
pushed into the back of the ship, which was actually in much better shape than
the front, and saw him standing next to a large steel box. Through his visor
Ronan could see the surprise covering the younger man’s face.
“What
is it?”
Noah
shook his head. “It’s a cryo chamber. And it’s occupied.”
“What?”
Ronan
hurried over. The metal box, also known as a cold coffin, held a sleeping woman
inside. He couldn’t see much of her because of all the tubes obscuring much of
her face, but he could tell she was young, with flaming red hair—a glaring
contrast to the paleness of her features.
About
the Author

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I
like writing about the very ordinary girl thrust into extraordinary
circumstances, so my heroines will probably never be lawyers, doctors or
corporate highrollers.  I try to write
characters who aren’t cookie cutters and push myself to write complicated
situations that I have no idea how to resolve, forcing me to think outside the
box.  I love writing characters who are
real, complex and full of flaws, heroes and heroines who find redemption
through love.
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Links
 
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