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Firebrand, Book 1

Urban Fantasy

Release Date: September 3, 2020


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A werewolf killer. A paranormal murder. How many times can Emma Bellamy
cheat death?

I’m one placement away from becoming a fully fledged London
detective. It’s bad enough that my last assignment before I qualify is
with Supernatural Squad. But that’s nothing compared to what happens

Brutally murdered by an unknown assailant, I wake up twelve hours later in
the morgue – and I’m very much alive. I don’t know how or
why it happened. I don’t know who killed me. All I know is that they
might try again.

Werewolves are disappearing right, left and centre.

A mysterious vampire seems intent on following me everywhere I go.

And I have to solve my own vicious killing. Preferably before death comes
for me again.


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The first thing I heard was the buzzing. It tickled my eardrums at first
then, as I gained consciousness, it became more insistent – and more

I moved slightly and there was a strange rustle. What the hell was I lying
on? It felt like plastic, or rubber sheeting perhaps. There was an acrid
tinge to the air that definitely smelled of rotten eggs, and there was an
unpleasant taste of ash in my mouth. This didn’t make any sense.

It took more effort than it should have done to open my eyes. It was like
they’d been glued together and I virtually had to peel open my
eyelids. I blinked, trying to adjust my vision. I was so hot – and
what was this crap around me? I plucked at it. I’d been right: it was
definitely some sort of white plastic sheeting, but it was singed and burnt
like someone had taken a flamethrower to it.

I sat up, shoving it to one side. That was when I realised I was

I jerked with such force that I fell off the table and landed with a heavy
thump on the cold, linoleum-covered floor. I groaned and looked around. It
wasn’t a table, it was a metal gurney. That was when the memory of the
attack came flooding back to me.

I must be in hospital. It was the only thing that made sense. The incessant
buzzing was coming from an overhead strip light that cast a stark light
around the room. I licked my lips and tried to call out to alert a passing
doctor or nurse but I could only croak. If I wanted help, I’d have to
go and look for it.

Staggering to my feet, I grabbed the remnants of the plastic and wrapped it
around myself. This was a strange hospital room: for one thing, the bed
wasn’t a proper bed, it was just a slab. And there was no IV line or
comforting ECG beeping next to me, although I could see a metal tray with
various implements lying neatly across it. Several scalpels and … I
stared. Was that a rib spreader?

I backed up, colliding with another metal trolley and sending various bits
and pieces clattering to the floor. Without thinking, I bent down to pick
them up. When I saw the flames flickering around my toes, I let out a brief
shriek and frantically slapped at them to put them out.

My heart was hammering against my ribcage. What in bejesus was going on? I
straightened up. With shaking fingers, I touched the side of my neck where
I’d felt the knife pierce my skin and slice through my artery. There
was nothing there. No mark, no bump. It wasn’t even sore. I reached up
to the back of my head where I’d been thumped. There was nothing there

Breathing hard, and growing more and more convinced that this was some sort
of crazy-arsed nightmare, I looked around for some kind of clue as to where
I was and what had happened.

My gaze fell on the clipboard hanging on the side of the gurney. I grabbed
it and stared at the words: Jane Doe. DOA. Approximate age: 30. Identifying
features: mole on left thigh. Apparent cause of death: exsanguination from
knife wound on throat

The clipboard slid out of my hand and fell to the floor.


 About the Author

After teaching English literature in the UK, Japan and Malaysia, Helen
Harper left behind the world of education following the worldwide success of
her Blood Destiny series of books. She is a professional member of the
Alliance of Independent Authors and writes full time, thanking her lucky
stars every day that’s she lucky enough to do so!

Helen has always been a book lover, devouring science fiction and fantasy
tales when she was a child growing up in Scotland.

She currently lives in Devon in the UK with far too many cats – not
to mention the dragons, fairies, demons, wizards and vampires that seem to
keep appearing from nowhere.

You can find out more by visiting Helen’s website: helenharper.co.uk


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Death’s Legacy Reveal

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Urban Fantasy

Date Published: November 17

Publisher: Acorn Publishing


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Twenty years ago, Reaper of Souls Kassidy Simmons battled Azra-El, the
Angel of Death and won—or so she thought.

Now, a number of strange and unexplained deaths are afflicting
Kassidy’s quiet New York town. She wishes she didn’t care. But
she does.

Her empathic abilities are expanding beyond her control, and the intense
emotions are tearing apart her relationships. They’re also degrading
the magical wards put in place to protect her from other Reapers and the
even deadlier Wraiths—onyx-eyed henchmen of Azra-El.

 Allied with her longtime mentor and a college professor with ties to
her past, Kassidy learns that the untimely deaths are regenerating Azra-El,
and that the only way to stop him is with the Scythe of Cronus, the
legendary weapon of the God of Death.

To save her loved ones and reset the natural order, Kassidy must journey
home and confront a past she’s been running from for two decades.
She’ll face-off with enemies, old and new, and through a haze of fear
and addiction, Kassidy will learn the secrets of her heritage, and challenge
head on the one being she fears most—herself.

About the Author


Dennis Crosby grew up in Oak Park, IL and completed his undergraduate work
at the University of Illinois in Chicago. With a degree in Criminal Justice,
he spent six years working as a Private Investigator and during that time
developed an affinity for writing poetry. While working on a master’s
degree in Forensic Psychology, Dennis transitioned into social service.
Dennis has spent the last twelve years working with men and women
experiencing challenges with mental health and addiction. He currently
serves as Clinic Director for an Opioid Treatment Program.

With a lifelong passion for writing, Dennis wrote dozens of short stories,
tapping into his creative side, but did not pursue the finer points of the
craft until later in life. After leaving Chicago and moving to San Diego,
Dennis had the opportunity to get more involved in the writing community
where he strengthened his skills. To further augment his writing skills,
Dennis completed an MFA program at National University.

A self-proclaimed geek and lover of pop culture, Dennis still lives and
writes in San Diego, CA.

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About Spells for the Dead:
Nell Ingram faces a dark craft known as death magic in the newest pulse-pounding paranormal procedural in the New York Times bestselling Soulwood series.

Nell Ingram is a rookie PsyLed agent, using the powers she can channel from deep within the earth to solve paranormal crimes. Together with her team, she’s taken on the darkest magic and the direst foes. But she’ll need to tap into every ounce of power she has for her newest case.

Nell is called to the Tennessee mansion of a country music star and finds a disturbing scene—dead bodies rapidly decaying before everyone’s eyes. The witch on her team, T. Laine, knows this can only be one thing: death magic, a rare type of craft used to steal life forces. PsyLed needs to find this lethal killer fast. But when a paranormal-hating FBI agent tries to derail the investigation, they find themselves under attack from all sides.





I took one last look at the body and turned away, sucked on the mint. Tried not to breathe. Tried not to see the body on the back of my eyelids every time I blinked.


  1. Laine would have made a great general, giving orders and dividing up supplies. Once all the victims were covered, and the conscious band members dressed in biohazard unis, she assigned four to a tent in a sort of triage, giving her limited, nearly drained null pens to the ones who appeared to be the sickest. Once she had the site as safe as she could make it, she let the first responders dress out in her dwindling supply of unis and render aid. They started oxygen and IVs and took blood pressures.


She assigned Alvin and me to start a database record of the victims and their symptoms and where they had been, and when, from the time they arrived at Stella’s house. We used paper pads because I was afraid the death whatever energies could potentially ruin electronics. They would rot paper too, but we could take pics of our notes later, giving us backup.


As more and more emergency vehicles rolled in, many from surrounding counties, the local citizens kicked in, dropping off food and supplies at the gate: hot coffee and donuts came from a coffee shop and bakery, a local convenience store donated drinks and ice, a church delivered fried chicken and fixin’s from a local Krispy Krunchy Chicken. A portable toilet was offered by a contractor but wasn’t needed because there was a human-bathroom in the barn. A pharmacy provided sunscreen, bug spray, tubes of lip protection, Tylenol, Tums, and assorted such things. Bags of chips and protein bars were delivered from a local grocery. Another church delivered bottled water, bleach, paper towels, and toilet paper. Bringing in food and supplies was good advertising for the local stores and churches, as the media sent out footage to the entire nation. Stella Mae Ragel was a national treasure.


Her death also meant unwanted publicity for anyone who got into camera range. Except for the time I erected tents, I kept my jacket on, a unit baseball hat on, and my face turned away from drones and telescopic camera lenses.


Once the quarantine tents were set up and full of people, Alvin and I took a break. Sitting on the steps to the side porch, we drank water and shared a bag of pretzels. Nearby, T. Laine begged for help from Tennessee’s witches, calling from her super-secret witch databank. Ending one especially frustrating call, she muttered, cussing under her breath.

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About Faith Hunter:
Faith Hunter is the award-winning New York Times and USAToday bestselling author of the Jane Yellowrock, Soulwood, Rogue Mage, and Junkyard Cats series. In addition, she has edited several anthologies and co-authored the Rogue Mage RPG. She is the coauthor and author of 16 thrillers under pen names Gary Hunter and Gwen Hunter. Altogether she has 40+ books and dozens of short stories in print and is juggling multiple projects.

She sold her first book in 1989 and hasn’t stopped writing since.

Faith collects orchids and animal skulls, loves thunderstorms, and writes. She likes to cook soup, bake bread, garden, and kayak Class II & III whitewater rivers. She edits the occasional anthology and drinks a lot of tea. Some days she’s a lady. Some days she ain’t.

Find Faith online at –
Website: www.faithhunter.net
Facebook (official): https://www.facebook.com/official.faith.hunter
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/faith.hunter?fref=ts
Twitter: @hunterfaith
Yellowrock Securities website: http://www.yellowrocksecurities.com
Gwen Hunter website: www.gwenhunter.com
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Animal Instincts Blitz

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Urban Fantasy, Urban Fiction
Published: March 2020
Publisher: Hostile Slurz Publishing
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Animal Instincts: The Urban Jungle is a collection of creative stories based on the lives of animals in an urban underworld jungle. The stories are focused around a family of outlaw rabbits who are fixtures in the criminal activities taking place in the jungle while trying to maintain a balanced life and family structure. Deceit and mistrust lead the rabbits down a dark rabbit hole of revenge and murder.
There are no happily-ever-after’s in these stories. Join the Jackson rabbits as they navigate their way through the urban jungle using their Animal Instincts.
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About the Author
S.L. Jackson, an Urban Fantasy Author, from Inkster, MI, who now resides in metro-Detroit first entered the publishing scene in 2019 with the novella ‘Animal Instincts: The Urban Jungle’. He is an auto worker, a community activist skilled in the art of urban jungle survival, a podcaster, and a former entertainer and entertainment education provider. You can always find him reading, watching, and listening to interviews, helping others achieve their goals, and busying with anything that challenges his creativity. “Writing is my way to escape,” Jackson says.
Even though his first novella ‘Animal Instincts: The Urban Jungle’ is considered an Urban Fantasy he prefers not to place himself in a box and stunt the growth of his creativity by limiting himself to one genre. He is the creator of the hashtag #respecturbanauthors. He has been nominated for several awards that include Feathered Quill Awards, Ippy/Elit Awards, Top Shelf Magazine Awards, and Top Shelf Book Cover Awards. His podcast “The Connected Experience” is a cultural and lifestyle show.
Jackson is currently working on a comic book and cartoon series for ‘Animal Instincts: The Urban Jungle’. His plans also include more books, awards, and his books placed in libraries across the world. “Animal Instincts: The Urban Jungle” has won the GOLD MEDAL award for “Short Story Fiction” at the 2020 eLit Book awards.
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Blood Phoenix: Inferno Tour

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Broken World Book 4
Urban Fantasy/Paranormal
Date Published: January 3, 2020
Publisher: Transmundane Press
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Drawing the Scarlet Queen to central New York’s training grounds, Ria’s remarkable blood triggers negotiations between two kingdoms.
Ria questions her own humanity when she finds herself aligned with Phea, the vampire queen—a woman who’s tortured her and her friends for months.
As all of her secrets unravel around her, Ria is forced to conform or sacrifice the people she loves.
If she doesn’t find a way to break their alliance, the balance of the universe will plunge deeper into chaos, and no one will be safe.
With a sprinkling of Twilight, a bite of Anita Blake, and a smattering of satirical Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you won’t want to miss this dark and witty vampire series.


Chapter One

Gene burst into my room and jarred me upright in my bed. Nausea burrowed into my gut, finding its old nesting hole to roll around in. Oh god. I was going to be sick again.

“Get dressed. We’re expected in the clearing.” He drew the sheets back to hurry me along.

“What’s going on?”

The shift to get out of bed set off warning bells, and my head dropped between my knees.

“Another renegade.”

My esophagus shrank.

I bolted to the bathroom, kicking the door closed as I bent over the toilet and puked. This had been my routine for the last few weeks. Gene was unhappy to admit that my lack of faerie blood contributed to it, but he gladly filled in the gaps as he could.

“We do not have time—”

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “Pull out something for me to wear. I won’t be long.”

Another wave trampled me.

My stomach churned out more bile.

I rinsed and waited. 

Twice was my pattern, but some days…so I lingered.

Five deep breaths, and I opened the door to a dress.

“Come on. Are you kidding me?”

“We do not have time.”

Ugh. I snatched it and threw it over my head, snagging the heels that would only sink into the grass. Gene both ushered and supported me as I slipped into the shoes on our way out of the apartment.

“I didn’t know James was looking for anyone.” Fidgeting with the dress top, the line didn’t match the sports bra I wore beneath it.

“He’s not the only one with the job.”

We stood around the semi-circle as Phea strode across the lawn, waiting in her usual spot in front of the entrance to the grounds, dressed like the true queen she was. Powerful. Elegant. Elevated.

She took up the entire clearing with her presence.

Not that long ago, I tramped through that foliage to face the queen of the vampires and ended the evening with a stake beside my heart, dying, and claimed by a man I didn’t know—the one I’d grown reliant on, connected to, comfortable with. I suppressed the urge to reach for his hand now.

The brush rustled, and Vincent stepped through—all doom and danger—then Julia appeared.

That couldn’t be.

Julia was dead. 


Set-herself-on-fire dead.

The blonde hair shimmered, and Julia vanished. In her place stood the small blonde woman I’d seen in Vincent’s memories. A patch of hair buzzed around her ear, a gold piece holding her hair in place to expose it, and her rainbow eyes glowed with the kind of power that seemed regal

Not what I expected out of a renegade.

Nor was the corset cinching her abundant dress.

Phea’s surprise shifted her unnaturally, like when a cat tilted its head on its side but not nearly as dramatic. Scarlet stood from her dais on the porch behind our queen—a queen of her own. Bloody, they said. The Scarlet Queen.

“May I present Nani, Maka Nani, noble faerie of the underwater mound.” Vincent presented her in the same way James, my maker, presented me to Phea. An offering.

And that’s exactly what she was.

“Oh, Commander, how naughty you’ve been.”

His bow held an intimacy that came from a reformed renegade. One that made her third in command so loyal to her. Nani, the new vampire, fell into a graceful and practiced curtsy without buckling under fear.

Certainly not a normal renegade.

Scarlet’s obvious interest countered her usual demeanor, wicked and cold—colder than Phea, and it seemed to spark a challenge between the two, given the recent trend of sacrifices they paraded through the grounds.

“She is my claim, Your Majesty.”

“General.” Phea’s demand hung in the air, and James dragged a bent over T that once chained him in place to punish him for my vampirism. Now, he thrust the sharpened end into the ground as Vincent stepped forward to take it. “We have a punishment to dole out, and if your fae wants to be tested as yours, she will have to watch and wait through it before she undergoes her own trials.”

“She’s strong enough.”

Nani shifted behind him, but Vincent kept his attention on our queen as he efficiently disrobed and braced himself within the metal cuffs at the ends of the T-top.

It was more than I wanted to see of him, looking over James instead in his suit and newly shortened hair. He stood as her soldier with a large, wooden box in hand.

Phea flicked her wrist, and the shackles snapped around Vincent’s.

James presented her whip. 

She touched the scar on his chin before taking the weapon and slashing it across the grass, a snake promising to strike.

Feet jarred from under him, Vincent took the weight in his shoulders, but instead of the devoted bliss he often aimed at our queen, he seemed to find solace in his new claim.

Nani’s hands clenched the puffy fabric of her skirt, but she maintained her decorum. Like a princess.

Man, I really didn’t want to witness this again. I barely endured it when she’d done this to James. Well, if you could call it that. Felix taunted me right in the middle of this group while she split James’s skin open. Vincent held me as Felix and Gene fought. I hadn’t seen so much of the act.

Felix, our queen’s pet, was gone now, too.

Did Phea think he was out on a renegade hunt? That the new vampires I’d killed and sent off with the Assetato merely ran off or got themselves killed? She had to suspect me.

I’d stabbed him in the heart after all. Like they’d forced me to do to Harris.

Too many deaths under my belt in too few weeks.


The whip struck flesh, breaking the sound barrier and bringing me back from the neurotic melancholy I’d grown too used to sulking in.

The musky scent of his blood tapped the heartbeat in my fangs and curdled my insides.

Each strike uncovered Phea’s madness—one I didn’t see when she’d done this to James—then, I hadn’t exactly been watching her.

Her whip slid around her, leaving traces of blood across her dark clothes.

And they referred to Scarlet as the bloody queen?

I traced the lines of Gene’s jacket with my gaze, the way his hands folded together in front of him, the clean press along the creases, the swoop of his dark hair styled in almond oil. The scent calmed me from here. My attention must have burned his skin because his shoulders rolled, and he tipped his face my way to spare a glance.

I forced a smile to say I was okay. Just trying to not really pay attention over here.


I flinched, working on my breath. It didn’t help, funneling more of Vincent’s musky blood into my sinuses. I could practically taste him.

James shifted on the other side of the circle, far enough to keep clear of the gore. With his expensive taste, I understood why.

The new persona he’d taken on after he changed me and brought me here didn’t fit him like his suit did. Standing at ease, clasped arms behind him exaggerated his shoulders’ width.

He met my gaze between the full-fledged vampires I stood behind. The planes of his face were blank, but amusement twinkled in the blackness of his eyes; beyond the gruesome display he found humor in my rushed attire. At least, that’s what the trajectory of his examination suggested.

I tugged at the clingy fabric, the static twisting it between my thighs. 

Did a corner of his mouth quirk? 


I jerked and shifted again, aware of someone else watching me.

Torture consumed Phea, Nani, and most of those gathered, but not Scarlet. No, I seemed to fascinate her. As much as the thought wormed its way down my spine and made me squirm, it had been this way since Tahe and I returned from the attack at the mall. For a while, I assumed she sensed Boden on me in some way, but I didn’t know if fae possessed that kind of discernment.

Wishful thinking kept me from examining this too closely.

Maybe she got wind of my more-than-inflated reputation.

It’s not like I held a candle to either queen.

But those too-round eyes, that demeanor, those gloved hands…all unsettled me.

Might be the stories and gossip Tahe whispered in my ear when we went into town to feed.

Scarlet smiled at me, manipulative and sweet.

Had this been a few weeks ago, I might have reached for Gene’s hand to stabilize my emotions and my abilities, but my mentor has put in the work with me, gotten me to put in the work, too, and I had control. At least in times like this.

Put me against her directly, however, and I’d likely be singing a different story.

Scarlet paced on the dais behind the performance, giving her an excellent view of the gory bits—something she enjoyed—but her head tilted, remaining privy to my every move.


Shaking my head, I tuned her out and rubbed the scar on my chest. It didn’t dull the burning reminder of how the wood felt as it slammed between my ribs.


Damned glad this wasn’t my problem.

About the Author

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Wife of a disabled veteran, Alisha Costanzo writes about PTSD, environmentalism, violence, and conformity. With a mutually-fueled passion to change the world one person at a time, she often writes about her husband’s rants, conspiracy theories, and trains of logic that seem absurd until the connections line up, and mixes them into her obsession with cooking, coffee, and pop-culture monsters.
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