Tuesday, October 20, 2026

When the Magic Comes by Shereen Vedam Excerpt


When the Magic Comes
A Grimm Medieval Mystery
Book One
Shereen Vedam

Genre: Cozy Epic Fantasy Mystery
Publisher: Shereen Vedam
Date of Publication: October 13, 2026
ISBN: eBook 9781989036464
ISBN: Paperback 9781989036471
ISBN: Audiobook  9781989036488
ASIN: B0FVYCWP33
Number of pages: 240
Word Count: 62,000
Cover Artist: Suzie O’Connell from Sunset Rose Books

Tagline: Magic. Prophecy. Murder.

Book Description:

It’s been said that Kennard of Grimm is destined to be the first in a long line of warriors who battle evil with magic.

Just one problem: he teaches magic at a prestigious university, but he has no magical abilities.

What he has is a dangerous curiosity, piercing instincts, and a responsibility for a baby dragon named Tala. Normal chaos rules Kennard’s life until a student is murdered, and another is blamed. Convinced the accused is innocent, he sets out to find the real killer.

To further complicate Kennard’s life, his mother and sister visit him, sparking Tala’s protective instincts. Then things turn more dangerous when a second body shows up.

The killer’s audacity is mounting.

Kennard must stop the murderer and soothe his indignant dragonet or risk death and destruction on a much larger scale.

If you enjoy your mystery with a hint of fairy tale, you’ll love meeting Kennard of Grimm and his dragonet, and sharing in their epic adventure as amateur detectives in a magical medieval fantasy world.


Excerpt

This is who I am. I’m the widow of a knight. My father was the Baron of Grimm. I’m the eldest of four. And my brother is the first Grimm to insist he can see magical creatures. My name is Violet.

On this November day, in the year of our Lord 1312, an unusual crime was committed at Edensa University, where my brother lives. There had been no warning that this event would be life-changing for both him and me.

As Master of Magical Theory and History, he soon became entangled in the event, for it had magical undertones. I intended to keep him out of harm’s way. But then I became worried, as I wondered if his convictions were not just the result of an overactive imagination.

What if there really are invisible monsters?

* * *

“Surely magical creatures are naught but myths, sir?” Gazi spoke from a bench two rows back. “They don’t exist.”

This late-night class, the first Kennard had held this autumn, would hopefully be the last. It had made for a long day.

The lit torches shadowed Gazi’s strong features, giving him a devilish cast. He suspected the clever lad of being deliberately provocative. At fourteen, he was only seven years Kennard’s junior, yet Gazi might as well have been a mischievous child of eight, the way he sometimes acted.

Kennard addressed his students. “What do you think of Gazi’s question? Is it worthy of our consideration?”

“No!” Fanil lounged on a bench to Kennard’s left and flashed Gazi, his arch-nemesis, an over-the-shoulder smirk. “But such creatures are present in Bernada,” he added, snapping on the bait despite his avowal to the contrary.

Two vociferous rivals for the class fool.

“As if you would know.” Gazi chuckled. “You’ve never been to the sorcerers’ kingdom. No mortal has.”

“Our queen has,” Elspera countered, one of only three lasses registered for his class, and the only one of them present tonight. She sat directly across from Kennard, her favorite spot.

Her maid sat by the door, head tilted, eyes closed, and mouth half open, while releasing soft snores.

Elspera pointed at a portrait of our fair monarch on the wall. Her long sleeve slid down as she raised her arm, revealing a pale hand and wrist covered in intricately painted, darkly dotted patterns.

Gazi straightened on his bench, running a hand through his hair. “I grant, unlike us, God bestowed Queen Amity with exceptional powers. Yet, even she’s never spoken of magical creatures, not in our lands or even in Bernada.” His tone grew soft as his gaze rested on the fair maiden. “Also, this topic is about magical creatures, like ogres, griffins, and water spirits. Not sorceresses.”

“As a sorceress,” Elspera argued, “the queen could be considered a magical creature. If you seek further evidence, what about religious texts, which mention behemoths, demons, and even dragons? They do not lie.”

“My pa says it is blasphemous to discuss witchery,” a lad said from the last row. “The church forbids it.”

Though Gregory had addressed his comments to the class, his gaze lingered by the doorway. Was he hoping he could be anywhere but here? Possibly. Kennard glanced toward the doorway, where Elspera’s maid, having awoken, sat straight and blinked tired eyes. It had been a long day.

His attention returned to Gregory, who hailed from a small village in Greece. Normally, a quiet lad. Why a religious boy wished to attend sacrilegious lessons had once troubled him when the lad’s family applied to enroll him in this class.

Had the Church sent this “little bird” to Edensa to report on Kennard’s teachings, so they could smear his father’s name? For the Baron of Grimm had spoken out against the Pope a time or two.

Kennard’s fist had clenched at the possibility of his behavior being used to attack his father. In the end, he met Gregory, and his instincts insisted the lad had good in him. So, deciding an enemy close at hand was worth three in the bush, he’d admitted him. Time would prove if he’d been wise or not.

 


About the Author:

Once upon a time, USA Today bestselling author Shereen Vedam read fantasy and romance novels to entertain herself. Now she writes heartwarming tales braided with threads of magic and love and mystery elements woven in for good measure.

Shereen's a fan of resourceful women, intriguing men, and happily-ever-after endings. If her stories whisk you away to a different realm for a few hours, then Shereen will have achieved one of her life goals.











Posted by at No comments:
Labels:

Monday, October 19, 2026

DARK UGLY PLACES by Ashley Mansour Excerpt, Review & Giveaway

Dark Ugly Places by Ashley Mansour Banner

DARK UGLY PLACES

by Ashley Mansour

September 15 - October 23, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dark Ugly Places by Ashley Mansour

Some wounds don't heal. They fester. They whisper. They take over.

In Dark Ugly Places, trauma isn't something you survive — it's something that survives you.

Thirty-four-year-old Nicola Holiday loses everything in a hit-and-run: her husband dead, her body broken, her fourteen-year-old daughter Emmy forever changed. With no one held accountable, she spirals into grief, panic attacks, and financial ruin — awakening a hereditary darkness she's spent her life trying to outrun.

That darkness has a voice now. Her name is Martha, and she aches for revenge.

As Nicola's grip on reality loosens, Martha slips into another life — one of wealth, glamour, and moral rot. When she crosses paths with the wife of a famous actor, Nicola's suspicions ignite.

Pulled between vengeance and annihilation, Nicola and Martha collide with a woman whose secrets may be the key to everything — or the thing that destroys them both.

Dark, provocative, and deeply unsettling — a haunting psychological portrait of female rage, obsession, and the terrifying lengths the mind will go to survive unbearable pain.

Because sometimes the most dangerous place isn't the past. It's inside your own head.

Praise for Dark Ugly Places:

"A suspenseful and relentless tale of troubled Californians."
~ KIRKUS REVIEWS, OUR VERDICT: GET IT

"With fast-paced thrills and gripping psychological drama, Ashley Mansour’s Dark Ugly Places serves up vengeance for morally complex characters."
~ INDIEREADER

"A tense, viciously readable psychological thriller about the violence that lurks beneath polished surfaces."
~ BOOKLIFE REVIEWS

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

No one likes to be kept in the dark.

In the dark, everything is murky, even the Los Angeles sky.

But the day of Nicola’s accident, I had a pretty clear view of things. It tends to be that way—clear—when Nicola isn’t.

Nicola, Ben, and their daughter, Emmy, were walking holding hands, something the three of them hadn’t done since Emmy was a little kid. I felt the itch in Nicola’s palm, like she didn’t want to hold hands. But Emmy insisted. She was between them, arms outstretched, making that little humming sound she sometimes made when she was nervous or lost in thought. Ben walked on slightly ahead, his head down, eyes focused on the phone in his hand. I could almost hear his teeth grinding.

Up ahead, the road was clear. The sun covered everything in butter-yellow light. Crows perched in the bare-barked trees and made long, scratchy cries like a group of smokers laughing. They rustled leaves and crossed the pavement before them. But the trees were still, like the air had been sucked out of the city. Up ahead, the road was clear.

The three of them approached the corner, Emmy and Nicola chatting aimlessly. Ben narrowed his eyes and squinted at the screen as if the sky was too bright. He stepped out into the road first. Emmy, next. She skipped slightly—braids flying—and pulled her mom’s arm.

Nicola looked up and saw one of the crows overhead, its beak open, making a dreadful sound. When she looked back at the road, her gut pinged with a horrible dread she couldn’t place.

Then she—we—saw it.

From the middle distance, something large and white hurtled into view, its body glinting in the sun. Emmy screamed. Nicola tried to pull her back, but one by one, her fingers slipped out of her grasp.

It was too late.

Nicola’s body collided with the big, white thing, and in the next moment, she was airborne, tumbling through the air as if she had been taken by a tornado. Her thoughts spiraled with her, spinning out of control.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to live.

Don’t let me die.

I’m going to die.

She kept spiraling, around and around, until I stopped her with a simple suggestion: Breathe, Nicola. Breathe. We have this power, those of us who live in the darkness.

The asphalt grated her spine. It must have hurt, but Nicola did not cry. Perhaps because the air was too full of Emmy’s screams.

She rolled to her left, her left arm pinned against her chest like a piece of limp fabric. Her left leg lay stretched out before her perfectly straight, but dead. Cold. Frozen in place. She rolled to her side and saw Emmy, blood coating half of her face as though she were wearing a mask. Five feet away, Ben lay in the road unmoving, his body contorted, his face turned away.

Overhead, the stretch of blue sky angled down Beverly Boulevard and went on forever. Cars passed, some honking, others slowing to stop and help or to get a better look. Nicola grunted and heaved herself along the ground, her jaw gritting with pain. She reached for Emmy, reached for Ben.

The white body of the car stirred. A door opened. A black polished shoe emerged onto the asphalt as the driver leaned out, then disappeared again as the door shut. I heard the engine as the car started and rolled backwards, slow at first, then picking up speed until it was gone.

Chapter One

Nicola

Snap. Prick. Burn.

The pinch of electricity in my dead leg wakes me from the dream of the accident, Emmy’s scream still ringing in my ears. Perhaps I’ll always hear it now, I think as I roll to my left side—the dead side, useless as a doornail—and slap feeling into my thigh, but there’s nothing. If you took a needle and jabbed it in, I would probably twist it a few inches deeper to see if I could feel it tickle.

A groan escapes me as I heave myself from the bed and stare at the nightstand cluttered with six months’ worth of post-accident prescription bottles. I stand with prickling tendons, the burn of an aching, underused muscle, my whole left side from my shoulder to my toes as limp as if I have novocain in my limbs.

I snatch a bottle from the dresser—the usual cocktail to start the day—painkillers, anti-anxiety medication that does next to nothing, and Topamax. Sweet, beautiful, woefully expensive Topamax—the anti-seizure medication that happens to work for migraines too, even if doctors don’t quite understand why. My mind races as I swallow the cocktail, thinking back to the first day I took it and couldn’t recall how to make oatmeal—a stunner of a brain fart. I stood there at the stove, paralyzed, unable to count to three, like an Alzheimer’s patient grappling for a memory. Everything was blank, my brain ticking silently away but coming upon blank numbers, blank time.

And then there is Imitrex, the migraine abortive—easy, cheap, always available. My reliable old friend. I take her, and like magic, my migraine slowly fades to the background.

And the foreground? That’s where Anger resides. Anger is my constant companion, a vampirish love connection I cannot seem to part with. It’s with me even as I make the bed and get dressed, my feet stumbling along the floor, left foot dragging from the nerve damage. My hands fumble in the dark for clothes in the pit of my closet shelf, and I pull out clothes for my shift at the Whitmore—yoga pants that are designed to look like trousers, a black tee shirt, and a cardigan with a curious dark stain on the sleeve, so I tuck it under and hope no one will notice, especially Emmy.

Emmy will be grossed out by it. She’ll wear an entire perfectly clean outfit like she does every day. We’ll fight about it. I’ll tell her, “Just wear stuff twice! It’s not so bad!” And she’ll say, “Mom, do you know how disgusting you sound?” And for a second, I’ll agree with her in my head that it is disgusting. The whole thing is disgusting, but what it comes down to is this: Our home isn’t ours anymore. Neither are our washer and dryer. Our apartment building has precisely one washer and dryer that cost $2.00 a load, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do laundry every week with my shift schedule. Truth be told, I’m in no shape to be hauling eight million loads of laundry around until kingdom come, even if I wanted to.

Down the hall, limping, limping, I bang on Emmy’s door, her laptop squawking away with the sound of a teenage girl with a British accent talking about some celebrity’s latest plastic surgery.

“Get dressed, Em!”

She’s into something on YouTube called CelebrityStalkShow, run by a Hollywood-obsessed kid who seems to beat all the paparazzi to the punch. She yells something at me through the door, my signal to disappear from her area, and I depart down the flight of stairs at the speed of a centenarian.

At the landing, I sense something wet on my bad foot and look down at it in the center of Scotch’s cold pee puddle. The foul smell hits me, and I curse.

Not “fuck.” Not “shit.” The bad one. The one my mother would hate to hear me say. Rhymes with hunt.

“Classy.”

I look up. Emmy is behind me on the landing. Isn’t it funny how teenagers have this tremendous gift of sneaking up on you precisely at your worst possible moment?

“Scotch peed,” I say lamely.

“I can see that.”

“Let him out, Em, will you?” I ask, my voice tired and insistent.

“I think he’s already relieved himself right here. In our kitchen. Where we eat.”

I release a long, exasperated sigh, and Emmy pushes down the stairs past me, her hair matted in place, showing the pink crest of her scar. I try not to stare and pinch the spot on my hand that Dr. Constance said would be calming in moments like these. But it’s 7:32 a.m., and I don’t feel calm. I feel angry. And tired. And like I want to be teleported out of my own life for even a brief minute.

I give Emmy the look, the one my mother gave me and that her mother probably gave her. The one that lets her see a little into the quiet, grieving parts of me. Lately, I’ve been peeling back the layers often and letting her see more than usual. Maybe too much.

Emmy opens the back door to the shared courtyard and takes Scotch outside. I mop up his mess, then peel the pee-soaked black sock off my bad foot and dump it in the trash. One stair at a time, I haul myself back up to wash off my foot and leg in our tub—the one crusted with brown rings and white soap stains still because I don’t have the strength to scrub it, despite what the physical therapist tells me.

I hobble back downstairs. Emmy is still with Scotch outside, wandering around with his plastic bag, trying to figure out what to do with it. His little white body shakes and shivers as he follows Emmy and sniffs at the ground. I never wanted a dog, or a Westie for that matter. Scotch—including the name—was Ben’s idea.

Ben. Our good Ben. Dead Ben …

For a moment, I think that if I can just close my eyes, more details will emerge.

The car—so brilliantly white it hurt to look at it.

Those shoes. Black and heavy.

The scent of freshly applied cologne.

A single tattoo around the man’s middle finger, like a wedding band.

He was that close, and yet, for some reason inexplicable to me, I cannot remember his face.

My ears ring for a moment before I snap out of it. I go to the window over the kitchen sink and silently mouth, “Garbage can. Don’t bring it inside,” and then put breakfast out on the counter. Cereal and the last of the milk, but not the organic kind like we used to get. I place Emmy’s pills beside her bowl on a paper towel. There are things we still haven’t found a way to talk about.

When I look up, Emmy has pulled open the sliding glass door, no bag of shit in her hands.

“Relax, I threw it away.”

“A+,” I say sarcastically and instantly regret it. Why can’t I just say thank you?

“You’re welcome.”

She washes her hands, then hops silently up onto the breakfast stool and turns to gaze outside at the shared courtyard of our apartment complex. Her hair is still growing back over her scar, but it’s patchy, uneven, and it looks awful. I reach for her arm, but she flinches. She turns. Her eyes are cold and blank.

“Can I stay home today? I don’t feel great.”

“Em. It’s your first day.”

“So?”

“So you know this isn’t a good start. You have to go. It will be fine …”

She glares at me. “I really don’t feel like I can face it.”

I take her in, a million micro-signals at once. Her hunched shoulders, the marks on the back of her hand—ballpoint pen, drawn by her, but who could guess? The friendship bracelets that were on her wrist from the summer before last, faded and fraying, now bombarded by dark leather bands and multiple hair ties. Her nails bitten down to short nubs. Her head, shaved at the side where her scar is, parted unintentionally along where her braid used to be. I feel a jolt of grief in my core before the usual wave of rage rises up inside me, a hot, ruthless tide. I force it down again.

“You know, Em, it’s okay to feel the way you do. You’ve been through a lot. We’ve been through a lot.”

I try for genuine emotion without anger. It’s so much easier to be angry. Anger is my default. Anger is a nice, easy substitute. Anger gets the job done.

Emmy turns, her face bright, like she’s realized something. “It’s okay. You’re right. I’ll go.”

A forced smile spreads across her face. She ducks her head low and finishes her cereal with three whopping bites. Her scar seems to wriggle while she chews.

“I’ll go,” she repeats quietly.

“Honey,” I start. I pause, searching for the words. “It’s okay to hate it. I hate it, too.”

She smiles that same weak smile, like there’s something I’m missing, something I just don’t get. Outside, a siren blares from the main road, and Emmy jumps. I try to make it seem like I don’t notice.

Emmy jumps in her sleep now. Her body jolts like she’s being electrocuted. It’s like when you’re falling asleep, and you dream you’re actually falling, and your body twitches. That’s what Emmy does, except she does it over and over again. I asked her if she was dreaming of that day. She said she wasn’t, but it didn’t start until six months ago.

I scoop some kibble into Scotch’s bowl. The tiny brown pebbles ting ting ting against the cold steel. He nudges toward me and sits, waiting until I finish. Emmy sets her half-eaten bowl of cereal in the kitchen sink and runs the water over it.

“Can we get soy milk next time?”

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

“Good,” she says, looking pleased. “Ready to go?”

Upstairs, I quickly brush my teeth and hear my stomach growl. I hear it but don’t feel it. That’s the thing about Topamax. You know you’re hungry, but you never feel like eating. I pull up my tee shirt and examine my frame. I can’t tell if I look different, except for the hollowness that’s formed around my cheeks and under my eyes. The scale says differently. Thirty pounds fell off me over these past six months. And I haven’t even been trying.

In the bathroom, I pry open the mirror door to the medicine cabinet facing me and reach for the day’s setup: a Topamax and a couple of Imitrex. Imitrex, my old faithful, goes into my pocket for the migraine that will return later, just as it does every single day. I also know that aspirin or over-the-counter fare won’t cut through the fog, the nausea. The sensitivity to light, sound, and smell—and the blinding, throbbing pain. It’s not if I’ll get a migraine, but when.

The tap runs cold for what feels like an eternity, and I swallow the extra painkiller, then wash my face in freezing cold water that lightly smells of chlorine.

Technically, I’m considered an “eggshell claimant,” which means there was something considerably wrong with me before the accident. A “migraineur,” or a person who suffers from chronic migraines. They got a lot worse after that day, after I rolled off the hood of the Rolls-Royce. The police didn’t believe me, but I knew it was a Rolls-Royce that had sped through the stop sign, taking the turn at a whipping pace, accelerating into the three of us without a hint of braking.

Rolling off a Rolls. It’s almost comical now. For a quick moment, I peer down near my navel and rub the small circular scar where the hood ornament—a lady with wings—punctured my left side and sliced into my pelvis, leaving the slight impression of a pointy feathered wing on my skin.

The thing is, only a Rolls-Royce makes a hood ornament like that. I know because Ben wanted one for a long time. He said the Mercedes didn’t have the same feel now that Mercedes-Benz started embedding their hood ornaments on the front of their cars, making them all nice and flat. I guess they knew their drivers drove fast and their Mercs were hitting a lot of people. Maybe Rolls-Royce doesn’t care that its status symbol is basically akin to a deadly weapon.

The strangest thing—I haven’t seen a white Rolls-Royce since that day.

From the medicine cabinet, I take out the bottle of bright blue mouthwash and gulp a mouthful.

One swish. Don’t think about it.

Two. Don’t picture it.

Three. It’s all in the past.

Four. You don’t have to be afraid.

Five. It won’t happen to you again.

Spit. But it might. It could.

My mind starts to buzz as the painkiller takes effect and dulls my thoughts, a shade pulled down over the window of a sunlit room. The thinking stops for a little while.

I watch the blue liquid swirl around in the sink, tinting the porcelain as it goes down, slowly, slowly.

It’s not the same sink, or the same house, as that wretched day from before, when Emmy was a baby … but my brain doesn’t know that. It thinks the thoughts it wants to, drugs or not. I’m a hostage.

And what do I think about?

Death, of course. How near it was and may still be. I think of how death seems like that nice, clean break, but it leaves so much behind. The seeping, oozing wound of loss, regret, and confusion. The questions unanswered. The things unsaid.

But I also think of that day and finding him, the man behind the wheel. He’s out there somewhere. Alive. Untouched. Carefree.

Or perhaps careless.

I’d like to be as careless as he.

The blue swirl of my saliva and mouthwash moves round and round, and I turn on the tap to make it run clear again. When I look up, my own face catches me off guard. The dark circles. The abrupt pointed end of my nose. The blotchy, colorless yawn of both cheeks that used to be full, that used to make me pretty. Below, small, accented lines strut toward my mouth. I rub my forefinger across my lips and try to make them disappear. I don’t enjoy looking into my own eyes, but I do it anyway, just for a second.

A thought appears, quick and sharp, a tack pressing into my temple. I resist, but it swells, unstoppable, an ocean inside me …

You are not who you thought you were.

***

Excerpt from Dark Ugly Places by Ashley Mansour. Copyright 2026 by Ashley Mansour. Reproduced with permission from Ashley Mansour. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Ashley Mansour

Ashley Mansour writes dark, addictive psychological suspense with domestic tension, emotional depth, and a cinematic edge. Her novels explore obsession, betrayal, power, and the unsettling truths that live beneath polished lives and intimate relationships.

She is the author of the international bestseller Blood, Ink & Fire and the psychological thriller Dark Ugly Places. Drawing on a background in publishing, film, and television development, Ashley brings a sharp visual sensibility and page-turning intensity to her fiction. She writes about rebellious women seeking vengeance, morally gray relationships, and unspeakable scandals.

When she is not writing, Ashley works with aspiring authors to help them shape and strengthen their manuscripts. She lives in Irvine, California, with her husband, daughter, and Bernedoodle, Bernie.

Catch Up With Ashley Mansour:

ashleymansour.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @ashleymansour
Instagram - @ashleymwrites
Threads - @ashleymwrites
X - @ashleymansour
Facebook - @ashley.mansour

 

Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

My Review:
This book deserves its title. The author takes you to the dark places of the characters souls. I found myself surprised at every revelation. From PTSD to memories. There is a reason why people had disorders. Nicola has her reasons for the way she acts. The author does an excellent job of having the reader feel the same emotions that Nicola was. There are some triggers. Rape, PTSD, abuse, blood and violence. This is definitely  a dark and haunting story.  The ending was pretty good. I did not see it coming. I really enjoyed the edge of my seat actions of Martha and the backlash from them. Nicola lost her husband to a hit and run. I was in a hit and run accident and became disabled. The pain anguish and panic attacks are no joke. I am giving this book a 5/5. I was given a copy, nevertheless all opinions are my own. 

 

 

Step Into the Darkness... Enter to Win!

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Ashley Mansour. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
DARK UGLY PLACES by Ashley Mansour | Paperback

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

Posted by at 1 comment:
Labels: , ,

Saturday, October 17, 2026

ALL THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID by Danielle Dragona Excerpt, Review & Giveaway

All That Was Left Unsaid by Danielle Dragona Banner

ALL THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID

by Danielle Dragona

September 28 - October 23, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

All That Was Left Unsaid by Danielle Dragona

 

Secrets. Betrayal. And the woman left to pick up the pieces.

At seventy, Katrina Johnson thought she understood the shape of her life. She was a devoted wife, a mother who did her best, and the keeper of a Victorian farmhouse that had held her family’s joys and sorrows for generations. Then her husband dies and everything she believed about her marriage begins to unravel.

As grief gives way to long-buried secrets, Katrina faces a devastating medical diagnosis, mounting financial pressure, and the very real possibility of losing the home that defines her past. Old fractures in her family deepen. Her relationship with her daughter remains painfully distant, while her son, caught between loyalty and resentment, attempts to hold what little remains together.

When Katrina is forced to rent out rooms in her farmhouse, the presence of a young tenant unsettles her in ways she can’t ignore, awakening memories and betrayals she thought she had survived that now refuse to stay buried. Katrina now must confront the cost of the choices she made to preserve her marriage.

With the past pressing relentlessly into the present, Katrina must face the life she built through silence and sacrifice and the parts of herself she left behind. She must decide whether reclaiming herself requires embracing the very wounds that shaped her.

Tender, reflective, and emotionally resonant, this novel explores love, betrayal, identity, and the quiet courage it takes to begin again. It asks a haunting question at the heart of many lives: when so much has been lost, is it still possible to choose yourself?

Praise for All That Was Left Unsaid:

"Through an emotionally engaging plot and nuanced characters, Danielle Dragona’s All That Was Left Unsaid elegantly explores the process of discovering the person you want to be and figuring out how to get there."
~ IndieReader Approved Review

"In All That Was Left Unsaid, Danielle Dragona has created complex characters involved in fragile relationships. The plot is intensely charged, and a couple of bombshells are dropped, which threaten to destroy these relationships. The author has a way with words as well, identifying old age as the evening of life and the bucket list as the Love List. This story is about nurturing and valuing all our relationships, no matter their source.""
~ Donna Stevenson, Readers' Favorite ★★★★★ Five-Star Review

"All That was Left Unsaid is a poignant, powerful novel, exploring heartfelt, realistic issues. Readers will connect with the characters and their intense emotional journeys, finding the story both heartbreaking and beautiful, yet ultimately uplifting. Danielle Dragona’s lyrical style will appeal to fans of Anita Shreve and Jodi Picoult. An outstanding debut!"
~ Valerie Biel, award-winning author of Haven and Beyond the Cemetery Gate

"All That Was Left Unsaid by Danielle Dragona is a heartfelt story. The book was beautifully written, and the author handled sensitive topics with great care. I enjoyed reading the book and found myself pondering over it."
~ Alma Boucher, Readers' Favorite ★★★★★ Five-Star Review

"... the author, takes you on a heart wrenching yet heartwarming ride through the main character's journey of self discovery and self healing. The book will make you cry, will warm your heart and make you root for all the characters in her book. If you only read one book this year, I recommend reading this one because you wont regret it!"
~ Vered Cecilio

"This book is great! I couldn't put it down! Danielle really takes you along an emotional rollercoaster of Katrina's journey and has you feeling what Katrina is feeling. The character development throughout the book is beautiful and the twist at the end, amazing! I love when a story has a good twist! I highly recommend this story!"
~ Nicole Stallone

All That Was Left Unsaid Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Women's Fiction, Psychological Fiction
Published by: Book Publishing Plus
Publication Date: July 15, 2026
Number of Pages: 274
ISBN: 9798950388514
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 3...

At once, I’m transported back to the night when the image of what I thought was our perfect family erupted like a raging volcano. We were seated at our dinner table for Sam’s fifty-fifth birthday. The smell of freshly baked lasagna floated through the air like a scrumptious cloud atop our laughter, and the aroma of my spiced apple tea greeted my nose with its irresistible fragrance.

Up until a few months prior, Sam and I were having our fair share of marital issues as well as intermittent difficulties from his untreated PTSD that lingered on, so we decided to restore our love for each other to get our relationship back on track and inject some happiness back into our bond. Except for a few hiccups, which were to be expected, I truly believed we were on the path to regaining what we’d lost.

Filled with a renewed commitment to strengthening our marriage, I anticipated his birthday with such eagerness that year. To that end, I commissioned a surprise gift specially made just for him. I purchased a watch he had been ogling, and had it engraved with the words, “When I met you, time stopped,” with the date of our marriage underneath.

We sang Happy Birthday, and when I went to the counter to cut his birthday cake, instead of placing a slice on his plate, I positioned the box with the sparkling bow on it instead. With zeal, I requested he open it. He unwrapped the dazzling box, his robust hands deftly undoing the multicolored ribbons. As he revealed the treasure, his eyes lit up brighter than a star in a glittering night sky. When he read the engraving, a smile emerged like gold on his face. I fastened the watch on his wrist and kissed his lips, which tasted of red wine.

Just as our celebration was winding down, there was a knock at the door. I opened it with the plate in my hand that housed Sam’s precious present a short time before. A younger woman with luxuriously long brown curly hair and emerald green eyes was on the other side, wearing a little purple dress with sunflowers and white stiletto heels. When I gazed at Sam to discern who this woman could be, his eyes glazed over, and the blood drained from his face, rendering him as white as a ghost.

“Sam, who’s this?” I asked as my eyes searched his, my heart beating out of my chest.

“I’m so sorry, Katrina,” was all he could say, guilt and remorse plastering his face, mixing in one ugly heap.

“Sorry for what?” I gasped, but deep down I knew, and everything I thought was true crashed down around me like meteors striking at my heart.

“Tell her who I am,” the woman bellowed as she shoved herself into our home, the aroma of her cheap perfume gagging me.

“Gloria, what are you doing?” Sam moaned plaintively, and life as we knew it shattered all around us into irreparable pieces.

“You’ve been telling me you were going to leave for years. It’s just excuses after excuses. Be honest with your family. Be honest with yourself,” she shrieked, the veins bulging out of her neck in a fit of rage, her words punching me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“How could you do this to me, Sam, to our family?” I howled as the glass plate that held bliss and love moments earlier slid out of my hand, crashing onto the floor into a million pieces like our life together. My body went numb. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do, Katrina,” he protested, but the words were hollow, and I felt nothing except ice and emptiness.

“You’re such a phony, Sam. He tells me how much he loves me all the time, and how he wants to leave you,” Gloria bellowed, spitting in my face.

Billy shot up out of his chair like a blazing rocket ship.

“Get the hell out my house you pathetic whore,” he screamed ominously, in a pitch I never heard before.

“I’m your father’s whore, and he loves every minute of it,” Gloria declared with a caustic snicker.

“Enough, Gloria,” Sam retorted viciously, his eyes ablaze with anger that his secret had been unleashed into the world.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some submissive and docile woman with no backbone like you tell me she is,” she spewed, her perfectly manicured index finger pointing in my direction. “This is it, Sam. You either make up your mind, or I’m done, and this time I mean it. Oh, and happy birthday. I hope I made it a special one,” she screamed, slamming the door behind her.

My legs buckled, and I fell to my knees in despair, plummeting into the glass shards from the broken plate that sparkled like gems, cutting my skin as I tried to push myself back up. Tears streaked down my face like a raging waterfall. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was drowning, sinking into hell. Disbelief suffocated my brain, disorienting me as I realized what I was living before was a lie. Billy helped me to my feet as Sam sat motionless in his chair, his face expressionless and vacant, a stranger to me now.

In the months that followed, I realized that I was weak. I was submissive and docile. I couldn’t let go. Instead of hating him, I started to loathe myself for not being able to leave, for loving him so much that I was willing to accept the lies, the deceit, and the infidelity. I despised my powerlessness, and in turn, I detested myself.

***

Excerpt from All That Was Left Unsaid by Danielle Dragona. Copyright 2026 by Danielle Porciello. Reproduced with permission from Danielle Dragona. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Danielle Dragona

Danielle Dragona has always possessed a passion for the written word. As a child, she kept fledgling journals, but as she matured into young adulthood, the chronicles acquired a more complex narrative, dissecting feelings, beliefs, and working through challenging emotions originating in childhood while trying to find the meaning in it all.

Danielle is captivated by the human condition—riveted by its beauty even amidst chaos, tearing apart the messiness of existence to ultimately unearth the glimmering pearl. As an explorer of emotion, she continually works to uncover what lies beneath the surface in an unapologetically raw, real, and authentic manner.

When she’s not writing, Danielle enjoys travelling, exploring new places, historical sites, music of all kinds, spending time with her family and friends, and being a perpetual student of life. She has a degree in English literature from William Paterson University in Wayne, NJ and lives in Northern New Jersey with her husband and young son.

Catch Up With Danielle Dragona:

www.DanielleDragona.com
Danielle Dragona on Substack
Amazon Author
Goodreads
BookBub - @danielledragona
Instagram - @danielledragona
Facebook - @DanielleDragonaAuthor
TikTok - @danielledragona

My Review:

I felt for Katrina and I wanted to slap her kids. They were so rude, disrespectful and unaware of real life situations. This is a story about her learning to get along after her husband died and building relationships, especially with her her grown children.  Katrina's is forced to become the "man of the house" after being a 50s wife. What she discovered is more than just her husband's misuse of money, but also secrets that he was keeping. Wasn't the fact that he cheated on her enough? There are so many things that she has to face and overcome. Her character arc was difficult to read at times, but kept me rooting for her. It really amazes me what strong women can do. Even her health comes into question. There are issues of infidelity, Vietnam War PTSD, money, cancer and so much more in this book. Katrina made me so proud of her. I am giving this book a 5/5. I was given a copy, nevertheless all opinions are my own. 

 

Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Head Over Heels? Enter to Win!

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for All That Was Left Unsaid. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
ALL THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID by Danielle Dragona | Gift Cards

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

Posted by at No comments:

Friday, October 16, 2026

Murder on Flesher Pass by K. L. Borges Interview & Giveaway

 

Murder on Flesher Pass (Montana Animal Rescue Mystery Series) by K. L. Borges

About Murder on Flesher Pass

 

Murder on Flesher Pass (Montana Animal Rescue Mystery Series)

Cozy Mystery

2nd in Series 

Setting - Montana

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Camel Press

Publication date ‏ : ‎ October 14, 2026

Language ‏ : ‎ English 

Print length ‏ : ‎ 316 pages

Paperback ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 168492362X 

ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1684923625

Digital ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1684923632

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0H1DLX1WV

goodreads badge

RogerDog Rescue of Helena, Montana, is operated solely for the benefit of Montana dogs, no transported outsiders allowed.

When a fellow rescuer dies while completing a transport for an infamous Butte operation, Betty Mills, Kelly Boyd and Cici Vargas don't believe it was an accident. They infilter the Butte group, just in time to partake in a rescue flight from Mexico. Plans go awry and they unwittingly wind up with something that multiple suspicious characters want to get their hands on. Is it the foreign dogs themselves or something else? The body count begins to grow and the danger spreads to other RogerDogworkers.

Can they solve the mystery before it is too late?

About K.L. Borges

K.L. Borges, an Agatha Award-nominated author, moved to Montana thirty-five years ago with her husband to raise their three children alongside a series of herding dogs. Prior to becoming an author, she taught math at a private Billings high school (Go, Rams!). Borges is a member of the Billings Gem and Mineral Club and Sisters in Crime. She and her husband are often found enjoying the Montana outdoors with their two blue heelers.


INTERVIEW 

1. When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

The first fall after I retired from teaching high school math. It was the fall of 2022. I was completely surprised by the impulse!

2. How long does it take you to write a book?

Writing a manuscript that’s ready to send to my editor at Coffee Press takes about 8 months. Working through the editing process takes another couple of months.

3. What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

I try to write most days when I’ve got a story going. Early morning hours work the best for me-less distractions of regular life happen then.

4. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I work surrounded by wolves. Well, blue heelers, actually. My two, who are models for Sadie and Leo in my books, competitively surround my writing chair and inhabit the space under my desk. They frequently have spats over who is in what spot and it’s exciting, shall we say, to suddenly have two dogs roaring and snapping at each other with my feet in the middle. 

5. How do books get published?

I submitted my first manuscript to a publisher who was willing to review un-agented work, Epicenter Press. They liked it and gave me a 3-book contract under their imprint, Camel Press.

6. Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

Any and all experiences from life, starting at my earliest memories and running up to the current day and hour are fair game for inclusion. If I had wanted to write at an earlier age, I wouldn’t have had nearly so much to pull from! I do want to write reality-based fiction so I stick to topics I know or can learn about.

7. When did you write your first book and how old were you?

I wrote my first book, Murder in the Crazy Mountains, in 2022-2023. I was fifty-eight when I started and sixty-one when it was published in October of 2025.

8. What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Outdoor activities with the aforementioned heelers and my husband top the list. Hiking, camping, birding, rafting, rock-hounding and fishing, you name it, we like it. Most outings are a combination of these, the more the merrier!

Travel to explore new parts of the country and world is high on the list as well. Throw visiting museums, historical sights and sampling restaurants onto the list of outdoor activities!

9. What does your family think of your writing?

Haha, when I first started, they were supportive and polite but rolled their eyes, I am sure. Now that the book series is published and receiving accolades, they are realizing, “Hey, she’s a real author!” They enjoy the books and like to give me their two cents about potential story lines.

10. What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

I was really surprised (and gratified) to discover how many people, including complete strangers, are enthusiastic to meet an author. It’s so much fun! In my previous incarnation as a math teacher, people were more likely to back away, fast, when hearing what I did for a living. 

11. How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

I have written three books in the Montana Animal Rescue Mysteries. Book One, Murder in the Crazy Mountains was published in October, 2025. Book Two, Murder on Flesher Pass, has a release date of October 14, 2026. Book Three, Murder at Bad Moon Canyon, is in the editing process and should be released in October, 2027.

12. Do you have any suggestions to help me become a better writer? If so, what are they?

Two things. First, if you are writing on a longer project, say a book, commit to spending time writing each day, even if it’s just for an hour.

Second, find a writing community to join and share with. I belong to the large organization Sisters in Crime and to a very small, ten-member group. Both have been invaluable in helping with me becoming a better writer and a more savvy author. Turns out that writing a book is but the first step in being an author, who knew?



13. Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

I do hear from readers, usually via email once or twice a month. I love this! People have written to let me know how much they enjoyed meeting the characters, and how hard it was to set the book down once they started. One person told me they missed their bus stop three times in a single trip because they kept getting carried away in the story.

14. Do you like to create books for adults?

The Montana Animal Rescue Mysteries are written with adult readers in mind, but realistic as they are, they are cozy mysteries and perfectly suitable for any reader, middle-school age and up, who likes dogs, animal rescue, mysteries and Montana.

15. What do you think makes a good story?

Engaging characters. A plot that moves forward and has some surprises along the way. Humor. Realism.

16. As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

A veterinarian. I was hooked on the All Creatures Great and Small books and could conceive of no other career. My parents supported this idea with the caveat that I should get an engineering degree rather than a biology degree so as to be more employable, just in case. I had so much fun as a civil/environmental engineer I wandered off on that career path. I still think I would have loved being a vet, but channel my post-retirement animal work into volunteering at animal rescues.

17. What Would you like my readers to know?

How much I would love to meet you! My books are meant to be a gift from me to you that we can share a connection through. The character Kelly Boyd has definite similarities to author K.L. Borges beyond our shared initials. If you have enjoyed this interview, or go on to read any of the Montana Animal Rescue Mysteries, please do contact me, I would love to hear from you.


Author Links
Author website:K.L. Borges - Home


TOUR PARTICIPANTS
October 14 – Ascroft, eh? – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
October 14 – Books1987 – SPOTLIGHT
October 15 – Boys' Mom Reads! – AUTHOR GUEST POST
October 15 – From the TBR Pile - REVIEW
October 16 – View from the Birdhouse – REVIEW
October 16 – deal sharing aunt – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
October 17 – Books1987 – SPOTLIGHT
October 17 – Escape With Dollycas IntoA Good Book – SPOTLIGHT
October 18 – Jody's Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT
October 19 – Sarandipity's – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
October 20 – Cozy Up With Kathy – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
October 20 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
October 21 - Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
October 22 – Salty Inspirations – CHARACTER GUEST POST
October 23 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT
October 24 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
October 25 – Romance Novel Giveaways – AUTHOR GUEST POST
October 25 – Book HookUp – REVIEW
October 26 – Sneaky the Library Cat's Blog – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
October 26 – Baroness Book Trove – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
October 27 – Sarcastically Yours, Jen – SPOTLIGHT

great escapes virtual book tours logo

Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Want to Book a Tour? Click Here

Posted by at No comments:
Labels: ,

Thursday, October 15, 2026

Foster Freddy Wants a Family by Christina J. Donato



Juvenile Chapter Book

Date Published: September 7, 202



Foster Freddy Wants a Family is a heartfelt true story about resilience, second chances, and the journey to finding a forever home.

Freddy is a spirited rescue dog with a big personality and an even bigger heart. Though he can be stubborn, bossy, and sometimes a bit of a troublemaker, his playful nature and determination shine through—even as he faces serious medical challenges, including multiple surgeries.

Through three foster homes and nearly three years of waiting, Freddy’s journey is filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, and the unwavering hope of belonging. His story offers a meaningful look at the realities of fostering, the patience it requires, and the profound impact of love and care.

This inspiring and emotional story reminds readers that every animal deserves a chance—and that sometimes the most challenging journeys lead to the most rewarding endings.


About the Author


Christina J. Donato is an author with a background in creative writing, political science, and sociology. Raised on Long Island, New York, she later relocated to New England, where she built a career as a mainframe programmer.

Now based in Rhode Island, she shares her home with her husband and their dog, Nera.

Ms. Donato enjoys word puzzles, black-and-white movies, anything Beatles-related, being active in her church, practicing the frame drum, and hosting doggy playdates with Nera.

Her love of animals and deep appreciation for poetry and storytelling come together in her writing, where she highlights meaningful, real-life experiences with warmth and authenticity.

 

Contact Links

Publisher

Facebook

Instagram

YouTube

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N


RABT Book Tours & PR
Posted by at No comments:
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)