The Mark of the Salamander Virtual Book Tour

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The Island of Angels Series, Book 1

Historical Fiction

Date Published: 09-28-2024

Publisher: The Book Guild

 

 

 

1575.

Nelan Michaels is a young Flemish man fleeing religious persecution in the
Spanish Netherlands. Settling in Mortlake outside London, he studies under
Queen Elizabeth’s court astrologer, conjuring a bright future –
until he’s wrongly accused of murder.

Forced into the life of a fugitive, Nelan hides in London, before he is
dramatically pressed into the crew of the Golden Hind.

Thrust into a strange new world on board Francis Drake’s vessel,
Nelan sails the seas on a voyage to discover discovery itself. Encountering
mutiny, ancient tribes and hordes of treasure, Nelan must explore and master
his own mystical powers – including the Mark of the Salamander, the
mysterious spirit of fire.

THE MARK OF THE SALAMANDER is the first in The Island of Angels series: a
two-book saga that tells the epic story and secret history of
England’s coming of age during the Elizabethan era.

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EXCERPT

19

Home at Last

26th September 1580

 

It was midway through the afternoon watch. On a Monday. It wasn’t any old Monday. It was a special Monday. Not because of an extra beer ration; nor because of the smell of fish emanating from the galley. No – it was because, on that autumn day, nearly all fifty-eight surviving crew members hung over the gunwale, their eyes dripping with expectation and glued to the horizon. On occasion, they glanced up at the topmast and the barrel man as if waiting for a message from the heavens. None came, even after they’d passed the Isles of Scilly. Nor did it come after they passed Wolf Rock. It surely wouldn’t be long in coming.

As the creaking of the sails ceased, the Golden Hind glided serenely through the waters as if drawn forward by a divine wind. Even the gulls stopped squawking. A light rain shower washed the decks. The men gazed at the white flecks on the waves.

Amidst the quiet, a cry went out, and travelled down the mizzenmast, across the poop deck and into the soul of each crew member. “Land ho!”

Nelan stood next to Fletcher, who raised his hands like an Old Testament prophet and cried out, “Oh, my God!” Then he knelt on the deck, hands clasped in a prayer of thanksgiving.

The other hands – all long-haired, heavily bearded, and stinking of piss, ale and perspiration – planted their knees on the deck. To Nelan, that moment felt portentous. It was one of collective bliss in which men of all ranks, natures and ages shared a sublime experience and encountered, perhaps for a few seconds only, the most concentrated religious feeling in the world: that of belonging to each other and to a land. Perhaps they didn’t know it fully, then. Maybe they had an inkling of it, as Nelan did. But at that moment, each of them knew that, through their voyage, their endeavours and their courage, they had unchained the shackles of the past, cut most of the remaining threads of the Gordian Knot of papal suppression, summoned the fresh, clean winds of the future, and set the people of England on a course towards the discovery of themselves and towards an exploration of the world and its peoples.

As the familiar jagged promontory of the Lizard hove into view, the hardy souls who’d survived unimaginable hardships together were stunned to silence. For once, their tongues stopped wagging. Where before they had been vocal in their japes and musical in their jaunts, now they were mute, stilled by the awe and wonder of seeing the distant contours of their land, their England, appear on the horizon. Their journey neared its end. They knew that another would begin as surely as God gave them the grace of another breath. They had not seen this land’s green pastures and gentle slopes for over a thousand days; 1,018, the pilot told them. England. Home at last. They would greet friends they had not seen for two years and ten months. See children who’d grown from suckling babe to infant. Meet mothers who’d given birth in the interim. Comfort wives grown old from the worry, and embrace daughters who’d married during their long absence. They’d clasp hands with their brothers, fathers and sons, and hold them close. Such were the anticipated joys of homecoming. Since they’d set out twice from old Plymouth – once when storms had forced them to return to safe harbour, and later when they’d finally embarked on that fateful day in December 1577 – this was a second coming.

Nelan swallowed hard. He licked his parched lips. While he didn’t expect anyone to meet him on the quay, he remained as excited as the native-born mariners to see old England. She was his home now. She had been a haven for Protestants from all over Europe fleeing the cruel persecution of the Inquisition. He couldn’t go back to Sangatte or Leiden. The angels of the island coursed through his blood and enriched his soul. He belonged to them, and they belonged in him.

From within him there arose a poem of persuasion, a song of softness, a dance of deliberation.

One question hovered on the lips of the crew. But none dared speak it aloud. Not Nelan, and, for once, not even Tom. But it demanded to be asked. The answer would decide their fate; particularly that of the officers and gentlemen and, most of all, of the admiral. He had to be the one to ask it.

 

About the Author

JUSTIN NEWLAND

JUSTIN NEWLAND’s novels represent an innovative blend of genres from
historical adventure to supernatural thriller and magical realism.

Undeterred by the award of a Doctorate in Mathematics from Imperial
College, London, he conceived his debut novel, The Genes of Isis (ISBN
9781789014860, Matador, 2018), an epic fantasy set under Ancient Egyptian
skies.

His second book is a historical thriller, The Old Dragon’s Head (ISBN
9781789015829, Matador, 2018), and is set in Ming Dynasty China in the
shadows of the Great Wall.

His third, The Coronation (ISBN 9781838591885, Matador, 2019), is another
historical adventure and speculates on the genesis of the most important
event in the modern world – the Industrial Revolution.

The Abdication (ISBN 9781800463950, Matador, 2021) is a mystery thriller in
which a young woman confronts her faith in a higher purpose and what it
means to abdicate that faith.

His latest is The Mark of the Salamander (ISBN 9781915853271, Book Guild,
2023) and is the first in a two-book series, The Island of Angels. Set in
the Elizabethan era, it tells the epic tale of England’s coming of
age.

The second in the series, The Midnight of Eights, charts of the uncanny
coincidences that culminated in the repulse of the Spanish Armada and is due
to be published later this year.

Author, speaker and broadcaster, Justin appears on LitFest panels, gives
talks to historical associations and libraries and enjoys giving radio
interviews.

He lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset,
England.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter: @JustinNewland53

Goodreads

Pinterest: @jnewland0711

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Peculiar People and the Pets Who Love Them Virtual Book Tour

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Humor

Date Published: May 23, 2024

Publisher: BookBaby

 

 

“Peculiar People and the Pets Who Love Them”…lovingly
written and illustrated by Justin Moroyan, is a darkly-whimsical and
addictively-humorous picture book that tells the stories of fantastically
weird people and their equally strange and adoring pets

These stories revolve around characters who are gloriously abnormal. They
embrace that attribute, and don’t shy away from being their unique,
spectacular selves. Like Madam Rosette and her poodle, Josette, who only
enjoy “bad” smells…or Samurai Megasaki, who is addicted to
water but also allergic to it. Each spread welcomes you into wondrous,
stunningly detailed, vibrant illustrations, and stories that are guaranteed
to capture your imagination and tickle your grey matter. Each time you
explore it, you’ll discover new secrets and symbolism that delve you deeper
into captivating worlds you will inexorably fall in love with.

 Peculiar People and the Pets Who Love Them picture book

 

About the Author

Justin Moroyan

I’m an illustrator and writer, and I’ve always loved expressing myself on
paper…the ability to work within a space where I can make anything happen
has always been a form of therapy for me. It’s one of the reasons I love the
Fantasy and Sci-Fi genres so much.

“That’s the wonderful thing about crayons. They can take you to more
places than a starship.” (Guinan, Star Trek: The Next Generation)

I share an affinity for dark humor with some of my atypical real-life
superheroes, like Tim Burton, Charles Addams, Edward Gorey, and Wes
Anderson. Of course, I can’t leave out the wondrously enchanting worlds
created by Dr. Seuss and Disney, which fertilized my drive to invent worlds
of my very own growing up, and still, to this day.

I tend to gravitate towards humorous stories about social ineptitude, mad
science, the supernatural, and wonderfully addictive, perfectly imperfect,
B-movie-like humor and exaggerated characters. I love diving down the rabbit
hole of my mind and exploring strange new worlds.

“All we can do, Scully, is pull the thread and see what it
unravels.” (Fox Mulder, The X-Files) –This text refers to the
paperback edition.

 

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Amazon

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Symmetry Blitz

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Science Fiction

 

 

Survival knows no bounds in the depths of space. Are you ready to uncover
the chilling truth?

Spaceship Seven Ocean is sent to investigate a mysterious object near
Pluto. As they approach it, they receive a distress call from Auria, the
radar operator. She claims that everyone aboard is killed in fire after
oxygen leak. The engineers soon find out that the oxygen tanks indeed have
been damaged. They fix the tanks and avoid a deadly accident. But it
doesn’t change the fate of the ship. The crew is erased one by one,
while charred corpses appear on the floor as a haunting reminder of their
inevitable fate. Only Salin, the co-pilot, is left alive. She is trapped in
a tomb-like vessel with an unknown force. As she fights for survival and
uncovers the truth, she realizes she is not alone in the darkness.

A gripping tale of survival and mystery, Symmetry will keep readers on the
edge of their seats until the very end. Fans of The Martian and Gravity will
also love this heart-pounding adventure.

Author

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The Year of Return Virtual Book Tour

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Horror / Fantasy

Date Published: May 21, 2024

Publisher: Android Press

 

 

In December 2019, as Ghana’s vibrant streets buzz with the climax of the
“Year of Return,” an initiative marking 400 years since the first
enslaved Africans were forcibly taken to Virginia, Adwapa, a Ghanaian
journalist living in the U.S., decides to journey back to her homeland.
Accompanied by friends, she seeks to reconnect with his roots during this
historic commemoration, unaware that the trip will lead them into the heart
of a mystery that transcends time and reality.

As the celebrations reach their zenith, the Atlantic Ocean, witness to
untold horrors of the past, begins to stir with an ancient and restless
energy. From its depths emerge the spirits of the enslaved, those who
perished in the harrowing Middle Passage, returning not in peace but in
turmoil. Their emergence sends shockwaves around the globe, transforming the
“Year of Return” into a haunting spectacle of reawakened histories
and unresolved grievances.

As the line between the living and the dead blurs, Adwapa finds herself
caught in a whirlwind of supernatural events and historical reckonings. With
each passing day, the ghosts grow more powerful, their centuries-old sorrows
manifesting in a series of chilling, vengeful acts that threaten to unravel
the very fabric of the present.

 

Praise for The Year of Return

“Ivana Akotowaa Ofori’s THE YEAR OF RETURN is a haunting, darkly
evocative tale of the ghosts of the past, delivering a harrowing vision of
history’s undeniable grasp on the present and the future
alike.”

          —Kevin
Wabaunsee, assistant editor at Escape Pod, former managing editor of the
SFWA

 

“A moving and timely perspective on one of the greatest horrors in
human history. Ofori presents ancient and recent events in a startlingly
original take about our responsibilities to our past, our present, and our
future.”

          —R.S.A.
Garcia, Locus, Sturgeon, Nebula and IGNYTE Award finalist

 

The Year of Return tablet

EXCERPT

“Six more Coasters joined the first rising out of the sea, their ghostly bodies appearing to form out of darkening ocean mist… But as frightening as their physical presence was, the real terror came from the way they troubled the atmosphere itself, permeating everything with a darkness that clawed its way into one’s soul.”​

 

About the Author

Ivana Akotowaa Ofori

Ivana Akotowaa Ofori is a Ghanaian storyteller. Known also by the alias of
“The Spider Kid,” she is a weaver of words in many forms,
including fiction, non-fiction and spoken-word poetry. Akotowaa has been
nominated for various awards for her prose writing. Her work is included in
the Flash Fiction Ghana anthology, Kenkey for Ewes and Other Very Short
Stories, and the Writivism anthology, And Morning Will Come. Writing aside,
Akotowaa spends much of her time looking for excuses to make everything
purple. She has been included in the Africa Risen Anthology 2022 (Tor.com)
with her short story, “Exiles of Witchery.”

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Blog

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Morgue Teaser Tuesday

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A Bones MC Romance

Iron Tzars MC, Book 11

 

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 14, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Dorothy: Spring Break turned into my worst nightmare. Drugged and held
against my will, the brutality I witness seems too horrible to be real.
Unable to escape, unable to do anything other than await my fate, I nearly
gave up hope. Then he burst through the door like an avenging angel. My very
own angel of death.

Morgue: I’m a straight-up killer. It’s what I’ve trained
for my entire adult life. I got my road name because I’ve put more men
in the morgue than all my brothers combined. So when we rescue a group of
women being held by human traffickers, I did what I do best. I killed. But
not for all the women we rescued. For her. Dorothy. My very own angel of
mercy. Now that I have her, I’ll do anything to keep her. I just hope
she can accept what I am and not condemn my soul to hell.

 

WARNING: Morgue includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations
including those that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a
protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No
cheating, as always.

 

 

 Morgue tablet

Excerpt

 

Dorothy

Moans of the other women in the shitty little shack filled the air. I knew
the feeling. My head throbbed and every muscle in my body ached. The rooms
were paper thin so we all could hear the screams of the others around us.
The cruel laughter of men. The frightened whimpers of the women. And girls.
I had absolutely no idea where I was or how long I’d been there, but I
knew it wasn’t Kansas.

“Levántate, perra. Afuera.”

“I don’t understand.” It wasn’t a new thing. And
I’d paid for not knowing Spanish more than once since I’d been
taken.

“¡Ahora!” The guy knew I didn’t understand. It felt
like he took pleasure in the fact I didn’t understand so he could
single me out. I shrank back, trying to make myself smaller in the face of
the brutality I knew was about to happen. He lunged forward and backhanded
me before grabbing my arm and shoving me out of the tiny room I shared with
five other girls.

I hit the floor, my knees slamming onto the hard dirt. Pain shot from my
knees up my thighs, and I cried out. When I tried to get up, the guy kicked
me in the side. My head spun with all the sudden movements. I thought it was
also some kind of lingering effect of the drugs they kept shooting me full
of. They did it to everyone who fought. Unless they wanted us to fight. I
got dosed often.

“Perra estúpida,” he muttered. I got the
“stupid” part, and I could only assume the other was
“bitch,” but it could have been anything. The kick knocked the
breath out of me and sent pain exploding through my ribs. I groaned but knew
better than to make too much of a fuss. Noise drew attention I didn’t
want. Attention meant someone was about to hurt me worse than I already
was.

“¡Escuchen!” The big brute swept his hand through the
air, obviously wanting everyone’s attention. He spoke in a string of
rapid-fire Spanish I didn’t understand. I was pretty sure something
horrible was about to happen and I sincerely hoped it didn’t have
anything to do with me. I’d been here maybe a week. Seemed like
longer. I was surprised this guy or the men and women with him hadn’t
done more than terrorize me or the other women. Though I was sure the
qualifier “yet” needed to be added. There was no way
they’d brought us here for tantalizing conversation. Though I’d
been smacked around a lot and was covered in bruises, they hadn’t
seriously harmed me. Again, there was that fucking qualifier hanging over my
head.

I crawled very slowly to the wall where the other women were, trying not to
make sudden moves so he didn’t bring his focus back to me. The one
thing I knew for sure — in spite of the language barrier — was that I
absolutely did not want any of these men to focus on me for too long.

All the women around me were whimpering and trembling, looking as terrified
as I felt. A few looked like they might have checked out and I didn’t
blame them. If I knew how, I probably would too. Fighting back didn’t
seem like the smart thing to do if I wanted to live. While I knew there were
fates worse than death, I wasn’t ready to contemplate them just yet. I
was sure, at some point, I’d have to face that decision, and I
wasn’t looking forward to it.

More rapid-fire Spanish followed as one of the other men dragged a young
woman down the hall and tossed her to the ground so she skidded several feet
before rolling to her knees with a whimper. She’d been beaten, one
side of her face swollen. I hadn’t seen her before, but, given the
track marks on her arms and how badly she’d been beaten, I was certain
she’d attempted to escape. They’d likely dosed her as much as
they’d dosed the rest of us when we got out of line. Only, this time,
I got the impression this guy was done taking shit.

“Esto es lo que les pasa a las perras que no me obedecen. Si no me
obedeces, esto te pasará.”

I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to. The next thing I
knew, he’d drawn out a machete. The girl screamed and tried to
scramble back only to be held in place by two more men. A third helped them
wrestle her to the ground onto her back. Once they had her down, the third
guy held her legs at the ankles. There was a whoosh as the blade cut through
the air and came down on her right thigh.

Blood arced when he raised the machete and brought it down again on the
same leg. It took three more tries before he hacked her leg off and started
on the other one. Everyone screamed, myself included. When anyone turned
away, there were men to force them to turn back. And watch.

Before he got her second leg hacked off, the woman was unconscious. There
was blood splatter everywhere, but once a limb was completely severed, the
bleeding slowed dramatically. Still, the men tied tourniquets above the
stumps.

I’m sure I was one of the women screaming. If I was, though, I had no
memory of it. All I could process was a young woman getting her legs chopped
off.

“Esto es lo que sucede cuando intentas escapar.” He spat on
her. “Una puta sin piernas es más fácil de follar.
¿Sí?”

I stared at the unconscious woman. Though he hadn’t killed her
outright, I was sure she wouldn’t last long. One of the men grabbed
her wrist and dragged her out of the room, leaving a trail of blood as he
went.

As I watched, one of the men approached me with an evil smirk on his face.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said in thickly accented
Spanish, “He said this is what happens when you try to escape,
Americana.” He grinned. “And a whore without legs is easier to
fuck.” He snorted a laugh. “I happen to agree. So, I’m
really hoping you try to escape too.”

I barely held back a sob of despair. I knew he was trying to elicit a
response from me, likely to give him a reason to hit me. There were some of
us who tried to fight back when they came for us, but we were always
overpowered. So far, all they’d done was beat me, but most of the
others had been brutally raped and I knew that’s what they were
building up to. This was a whorehouse of sorts. Only, the women didn’t
get paid. The men who “owned” us did. A place where we were all
used and trafficked.

The guy backhanded me when I didn’t respond to him. I fell back with
a cry, covering my head with my arms and whimpering.

“Don’t worry, bitch. You won’t suffer long. I doubt you
make it a month once we start breaking you in.” He gave a bark of
laughter before kicking me.

My head swam from both the blow to my face and the remaining drugs in my
system. More men crowded us in the tiny corridor only to shove us into
various rooms. There were five more women in the room I landed in. Three
filthy mattresses lay on the floor and a bucket sat in one corner for us to
relieve ourselves. That’s the way it had been since I’d been
here.

The next thing was the men coming to shoot us full of whatever drug they
were using. I suspected it was heroin. A couple of the girls screamed while
the other three complied easily. Probably because they were addicted or
figured it was better to endure whatever happened next while blissfully numb
than stone-cold sober. I understood. While I couldn’t put up much of a
fight this time, I wanted to. Desperately. I hadn’t given up hope of
getting out of here alive. Not really. Not yet. But I wasn’t too
ashamed to admit I was fucking close.

A man held my arm while another jabbed a needle into my arm at the bend of
my elbow and pressed the plunger. The pain of the dull needle sinking into
my arm was soon replaced by a sickening euphoria. My eyes glazed over and my
body went limp. I was still conscious, but… detached.

That was when one of the men shoved me onto a mattress and pulled at my
clothes. He was breathing heavily and talking in Spanish, but I got the gist
of what he was saying. He was going to fuck me. I caught the word
“Americana” and figured he was taking bragging rights by fucking
the American woman. They all looked at my blonde hair and blue eyes, going
so far as to pry my eyes open and touch my eyeball, like a child testing if
something was real. Maybe they thought I had contacts or something. Many of
them felt my hair, fisting it and mimicked wrapping it around their cocks. I
imagined far worse was going to happen shortly.

I whimpered but couldn’t even form words to tell the guy to stop. Not
that it would have done any good. I batted at him weakly, but he
didn’t seem to notice much less even acknowledge I was trying to fight
him off.

Once he had me naked from the waist down, the guy crawled on top of me,
pressing me into the filthy mattress. He reached between us and freed his
cock. I could feel the head of it touching me. I shuddered, gagging as I
pushed at him weakly.

“No!” I tried to shout the word at him, but it was a whisper at
best. Just as he was about to penetrate me, there was a huge bang and the
door splintered, throwing pieces of wood all around the room. I was sure
some were embedded in my skin, but I still couldn’t do more than try
to roll away from the man on top of me.

He shouted, pushing himself to his feet. Once his weight was off me, I
crawled as best I could to the corner of the room and tucked myself into a
ball. It was all I was capable of. I couldn’t even cry. Oh, tears
poured freely from my eyes, but I didn’t have the strength to sob out
my fear and frustration.

I thought there were screams all around me, not only in this room but in
others nearby, but it was hard to tell. The more I tried to move, the more
the room spun. Somewhere in the background of all that, and the ringing in
my ears, I knew a fight raged. Was it more men coming to chop off the legs
of someone else? Oh, God!

Then someone grabbed at my arms. I was helpless to stop them. I thought I
was even more groggy than I had been when I was about to be raped. Whatever
drug they’d given me had started to take hold. It was only the
adrenaline coursing through my veins that kept me conscious.

“Hold on, honey. We’re gettin’ you outta
here.”

 

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated
housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes
pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited,
vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a
blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her
writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning
delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying
conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

 Author on Facebook

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

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