OUTAGE by Mike Trigg Trailer, Excerpt, Review & Giveaway

OUTAGE

by Mike Trigg

September 28 - November 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

For fans of Laura Dave's The Last Thing He Told Me and William R. Forstchen's One Second After comes a riveting thriller about an internet blackout that leads one woman into a web of lies and conspiracies and in her pursuit for answers.

Rachel Farrell is working from home in suburban Virginia when the internet goes out. Juggling clients, two restless teenagers, and dinner logistics with her husband, Caleb, a DC lobbyist, she assumes it’s just a routine inconvenience.

Then she finds his note, warning they are in danger and not to trust anyone.

When FBI agents show up looking for Caleb, Rachel realizes something far more sinister is underway: a nationwide internet and phone outage, and Caleb’s biggest client―a powerful Chinese semiconductor company―is at the center of suspicion.

As the night wears on with no word from Caleb, Rachel’s unease shifts into something darker. The man she has been married to for two decades may not be who she thought he was. Fearing for their safety, Rachel and her children embark on a harrowing cross-country journey to find Caleb and hear his explanation. But the more she learns, the more she suspects he may be in on the plot.

Following the clues to a remote compound in South Dakota, Rachel begins to piece together the truth about her husband, his business dealings, and a conspiracy that reaches far beyond anything she ever imagined.

In the end, Rachel has no choice but to uncover the real culprit behind the outage before it costs her everything.

Praise for Outage:

"A punchy, high-octane thriller that's anchored firmly in the believable family dynamics of the likeable protagonists, Mike Trigg's OUTAGE will engage readers and have them rooting for the good guys."
~ James Kinsley for IndieReader

"Outage taps into one of our deepest modern fears and never lets go. Mike Trigg delivers a fast-paced, timely thriller packed with escalating suspense and a family you’ll be rooting for until the final page. A winner."
~ Alex Finlay, bestselling author of The Anniversary

"Outage is a ripping good ride. With a crisp plot and insightful critique of our dependence on fragile technology, Trigg forces us to ask who can we really trust and delivers a thriller that seems ripped from the headlines. The stakes couldn’t be higher."
~ James L’Etoile, Award-wining author of Illusion of Truth and the Detective Nathan Parker series

"OUTAGE is a compelling, ripped-from-the-headlines thriller about our worst national security nightmare – a devastating cyberattack that wipes out the internet, mobile phone service and all the crucial technology we rely on so much today. Mike Trigg masterfully tells the story of a woman who must go to extraordinary lengths to save her family while the rest of the world around her is falling apart. This is a book that will keep you racing through the pages until the shocking ending. And hoping afterward that none of it could ever really come true!"
~ R.G. Belsky, author of The Vanishers and the award-winning Clare Carlson series

"What if the technology we depend on every day is intentionally corrupted - Outage is a chilling thriller with nonstop suspense and action that pulls you in from the first page."
~ Deven Greene, author of the Erica Rosen MD Trilogy

"A paranoid delight! From the first page, an atmosphere of dread hangs over the book, pulling the reader into its tense, fast-moving plot. Wonderful characterizations will keep thriller enthusiasts invested in the story. Perfect for fans of Patricia Highsmith."
~ R.J. Koreto, author of the award-winning "Historic Homes" mystery series

"Frighteningly plausible. Riveting."
~ Eleanor Kuhns, Award Winning author of the Will Rees Mystery Series

"Outage is a terrifying look at society and our dependence on technology."
~ Westley Smith, Bestselling Author

"Nothing is scarier than a domestic suspense thriller, and Outage delivers without letting up. With no phones, no internet, a sudden, gouging, cash economy and a family on the run, what could possibly go wrong? Mike Trigg will keep you on the edge of your seat as you, Rachel, and her children race to figure who to trust and who has reduced the country to its knees."
~ Jenny Dandy, author of the Houses of Crime Mystery series

Outage Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense; Psychological Thriller
Published by: Montague Books
Publication Date: October 20, 2026
Number of Pages: 344, Pbk
ISBN: 9781646049684 (ISBN10: 1646049683)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

EVERY MARRIAGE EVENTUALLY reaches a decision point. A moment of truth when you either need to trust your partner completely or believe you will be better off on your own.

For Rachel Farrell, that moment is now.

As she lowers her eye to the scope of her rifle, this untimely realization hits her with sudden clarity. Those familiar vows, recited almost two decades ago, constrict her lungs now with the full weight of their significance. To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—they all amount to being there, always, no matter what. Doing whatever it takes. Even if that means putting a bullet in someone’s head.

The last week has put those vows to the test. Revealed the cracks that have been growing for years in her marriage to Caleb. After the euphoric whirlwind of falling in love, their relationship survived the trials of parenthood, the stresses of two high-powered jobs, the financial burdens of raising a family. But instead of pulling closer together, they’ve been drifting apart without even knowing it. Differences that once seemed so small have come to feel irreconcilable. Rhetoric that was once so supportive has become laden with microaggressions, harbored grievances, mutual suspicion, strained silence. And yet, their marriage has endured, adapted. They have kept their family together.

Rachel wishes these thoughts weren’t running through her head, not now when she needs to concentrate. But isn’t that what this moment is really about? Does she trust her husband? She knows she must decide. Knows she has put it off. Dreaded the implications, especially for her children. But marriages can’t survive in stasis. They need affirmation, renewed commitment, reinvigoration. Maybe that’s what’s happening. Maybe what seemed like a final straw is actually a newfound spark. Maybe she won’t know what she has until it’s gone.

With tears blurring her vision, she squints through the eyepiece and locates her target. At this close range, his head takes up most of the viewfinder. He’s sitting still, exposed, facing away from her. Then she sees the gun pointed at Caleb’s head. She can’t wait any longer or the decision will be made for her. She has to take the shot. But what if she misses? What will happen next? Whatever it is, she knows her life will never be the same after this moment.

Rachel suppresses her inner dialogue of self-doubt and steadies her breath. Chest pressed into the dirt along the ridge. Elbows propped against a rock. Hands clenched on the stock and grip. Shoulder nuzzled against the butt, braced for the recoil. Beads of sweat streak down her face, but she lets them drip onto the dry ground. Her hand stops trembling as she aligns the back of his head in the crosshairs. Then, she counts her exhale, holds her breath, and squeezes the trigger.

CHAPTER 1

Seven Days Earlier

“I KNOW IT’S HARD, but you have to tell him how you feel,” Rachel says into the screen of her laptop.

Easier said than done, she thinks to herself as she adjusts her camera angle. She has been sitting here all afternoon, parked in the same chair at her dining table, holding back-to-back Zoom sessions. Carrie, her last client of the day, is running up against the end of the hour, but Rachel’s best efforts to politely steer their session to a logical conclusion are proving too subtle.

Part of her feels sorry for Carrie. Her husband stopped attending long ago. It’s not a good sign when the husband—or either spouse, but usually the husband in Rachel’s experience—refuses to participate. That’s the whole idea of couples therapy, that it requires with both partners. That it’s a safe, supportive environment for discussing and resolving issues in a constructive manner. When one spouse taps out of the therapy, it usually means they are tapping out of the marriage. The next step is the domain of Rachel’s previous ten-year profession as a divorce attorney, before she found her calling as a couples therapist.

Rachel can tell that, on some level, Carrie knows her marriage may be over, despite complaining about her husband’s lack of affection, short temper, long absences as if those are root problems rather than symptoms. The fact of the matter is, once again this week, her husband isn’t here. Clear evidence that he’s done trying to save the marriage, if that was ever his intention.

Rachel glances at the clock in the upper corner of her screen, hoping Carrie won’t notice—or maybe that she will and finally realize their time is up. Rachel’s butt is getting numb. She’s running out of time to make anything for dinner. Another night of carryout is the likely solution. Without breaking sympathetic eye contact, Rachel slides her phone just underneath the camera’s view and composes a text message to Caleb.

“Last session running long. Can you pick up dinner at Lost Dog? The usual.”

The Old Town Alexandria restaurant isn’t exactly on Caleb’s way home to the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, but close enough. Plus, Rachel has a low-grade obsession with their bacon-feta pizza that always overrides her latest attempt at a diet. She’ll kick herself later for gorging on carbs, but screw it—it’s been a long day. Hopefully, Caleb won’t be taking clients out to dinner tonight. She knows he spent the day doing the lobbying rounds on Capitol Hill with one of them, some polyethylene manufacturers’ association or something. She needs that pizza. Rachel notes the time on her phone, 6:04 p.m., then covertly places it face down so she won’t be distracted by it again.

“I just really don’t know what else he expects me to do,” Carrie says, abruptly ending her monologue with an expectant look. Rachel snaps out of her pizza lust and forces a compassionate smile.

“Look, Carrie . . .” Rachel begins, choosing her words carefully. “We’ve been working together a long time, so I feel like I can be honest with you. I’m never going to tell you what to do, but the behaviors you’ve talked about just . . . don’t seem to be getting better. In fact, they seem ingrained. It’s very hard to change another person. And the fact Todd is no longer attending these sessions isn’t a good sign of his commitment to making this marriage work.”

Carrie doesn’t respond, but her expression is the definition of despair. Rachel immediately worries that she’s gone too far. “I’m sorry, I’m probably overstepping my bounds as your therapist, but I . . . Carrie?” Mid-apology, Rachel realizes it isn’t Carrie’s expression that is frozen; it is the entire screen. “Carrie? Hello? Can you hear me?”

That’s perfectn, Rachel thinks, pushing a strand of hair aside as she clicks around in aggravation. Just when she finally delivers her tough-love message, their connection drops. The internet service at their suburban house has been so spotty lately, and calling customer service is a joke. Did Carrie hear any of that? Rachel types into the chat feature: “You froze on me. I think we lost our connection.” But nothing happens. Everything is frozen.

“Crap,” Rachel says, drumming her fingers on the table. Hopefully, a bad connection is all it is. Not Carrie getting so offended by Rachel’s candor that she left the meeting. Maybe Carrie’s phone number is in her contacts, Rachel thinks. Just as she picks up her phone to check, it buzzes—most likely with Caleb’s reply, telling her why he can’t pick up dinner, that he’ll be home late again, that they shouldn’t wait up for him. Anticipating her aggravation, she flips the phone over to see the screen, but it isn’t the message from Caleb she expects. Instead, it’s just one simple notification. “Message failed to send.”

***

Excerpt from Outage by Mike Trigg. Copyright 2026 by Mike Trigg. Reproduced with permission from Mike Trigg. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

A veteran of Silicon Valley, Mike Trigg writes contemporary thrillers that explore technology’s impact on modern life. Outage is his third novel. His first, Bit Flip, was lauded as a “twisty, acerbic corporate thriller” by the San Francisco Chronicle. His second, Burner, was praised as “a cautionary tale for the digital age” by IndieReader. His work has been featured in Publisher’s Weekly, Kirkus, and Literary Hub. Born in Kentucky and raised in Wisconsin, Trigg earned a BA from Northwestern University and an MBA from the University of California, Berkeley and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Catch Up With Mike Trigg:

MikeTrigg.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @mike_trigg
BookBub - @mtrigg254
Instagram - @mike_trigg254
Threads - @mike_trigg254
X - @mike_trigg
Facebook - @MikeTriggAuthor

My Review:

What is worse, loosing power or loosing the internet? In todays society everything is connected to the internet. With the addition of AI the internet is all around us. This is all back story that I thought of, before I started reading. I can not imagine my husband missing, after a warning note. Then the FBI shows up? What is going on? Who can Rachel trust? Not her parents, because she fights with her dad. She also has her kids with her when she decides to find her husband, no matter where it leads. It seems that she is being followed and is surrounded by technology. Rachel is a marriage counselor and has issues in her own marriage, but she still decides to find her husband.  Even if she has no idea what to expect when she finds him, or whether or not she will be mad at him.  I was happy that she was giving her husband a marriage a chance. There is a lot of action and as I read and followed Rachel on her journey, I felt the tension. People get shot, there are more government agents and through it all, she has to keep her kids safe. It is not just her that I was worried about. There was so much build up that I would have liked a bigger finale, there was a definite ending and conclusion. All in all this was a great read that made me wonder about cyber security. I am giving this book a 4/5. I was given a copy to review, nevertheless all opinions are my own. 

 

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Bound Beauty by Jennifer Silverwood Trailer, Excerpt & Interview

Bound Beauty

Wylder Tales 

Book Three

Jennifer Silverwood

Genre: Dark Fantasy / Fairy Tales

Publisher: SilverWoodSketches

Date of Publication: July 14, 2026

ISBN: 979-8186406099

ASIN: B0GY9XF3LC

Number of pages: 390

Word Count: 96,456

Cover Artist: Qamber Designs and Media

Tagline: Forgotten gods haunt her steps, and the cursed prince she left behind isn't done fighting for her soul.

Book Description:

Vynasha is bound to the prince of Bitterhelm. Even if she were to die, her spirit will remain trapped with him in the castle forever. But she won't give in to Grendel without a fight. With the aid of an oracle, a witchling, and the wolf that claims her heart, Vynasha plans to claim her power as the curse breaker.

Ceddrych guards their nephew secretly while fighting to keep the feral beasts roaming their borders at bay. But the monsters are closing in, and the madness he has struggled with drives him to one desperate, unforgivable act.

A war is about to begin between the forgotten people of Wylderland and the cruel might of Bitterhelm. Beings of prophecy and legend unite in the epic third chapter of the Wylder Tales Series, a romantic gothic re-telling of Beauty and the Beast.

Amazon     3 Book Series

 

Book Trailer

Excerpt

IN A FORGOTTEN CASTLE IN WYLDERLAND…

Alone with Grendel, the man she had been tempted to love, the prince she loathed, Vynasha didn’t want to wake up. Let her sleep for a thousand years like the cursed princess, Morana. Let these walls crumble, the rose garden spread throughout the keep with thorns and vines to keep the world out forever.

“I know you are awake, Ashes.”

Vynasha opened her eyes. The prince stood before the hearth, his back to her. He hadn’t changed clothes since she had last seen him. Yet his faintly luminous skin had dimmed from bronze to the dull gray she remembered. “What happened?” she asked.

“A fever in your sleep. Odym says it was the runes.” Grendel’s shoulders hunched as he hung his head. “I should not have come, I know this. But I…” he twisted to face her. “Forgive me, Vynasha, but I cannot stay away from you any longer. I could feel your pain through the bond, yet there was nothing I could do to stop her,” he growled. “Do not ask me to leave you again, I beg of you.”

Vynasha should have been disgusted, but she was coming to accept the fact that Odym had been right. No matter how she truly felt, they needed each other. And she could not deny the way his words danced about her mind and breathed life back into her limbs.

“I wish I could tell you I was different,” he continued, “before my mother cursed me. But the truth is, I was always a monster.” Grendel drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin, pushing away from the fireplace mantel. He shook his head and held his hands before him, palms upturned. “I never wanted to be my father. I shall not make his mistakes, and so I will be honest with you, Ash. No more secrets.”

She shuddered and desperately wished she could bathe, could banish dreams of Nymwe and be rid of the prince. The dread she felt before only grew as Grendel paused, clenching his fists as though steeling himself for words he could not take back.

“I owe you everything, so much more than you know. When you willingly accepted the curse, you took some of the monster into you. I have not been forced to change into a beast ever since. It has given me time to remember myself in your absence, who I was and who I hope to be.”

Vynasha ground her sharp teeth. So they not only shared a bond with his spirit, but she had taken part of his beast? That they were forced to share something she had learned to take pride in made her ill.

Whatever he saw in her face must have pained him, enough for him to turn away. “Forgive me. I shall go. I should have never hoped…” He shook his head, dispelling whatever he might have said as he took two more steps to the door.

She traced the tip of her tongue on her lip, tasting the blood she spilled to forget. His hand was on the doorknob when she said, “Wait.” The strength behind her command surprised her and caused the prince to freeze in place.

Vynasha lifted her hand with surprising ease. “Stay?”

We need each other.

His graying skin flickered to golden life as he turned with hope burning in his violet eyes. “Always.”

At his word, his promise, Vynasha released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Even then, a small corner of her mind railed against her actions, at the feelings she couldn’t seem to control. It must Grendel’s influence, his feelings trickling through their bond.

This is wrong.

Still, she couldn’t deny how the persistent itch beneath her skin abated with him beside her, holding her hand. It shouldn’t have mattered. Truly, she hated how easily she gave in to these feelings. She could never tell him. Grendel had bound her life to his. Even if she were to leave, to beg the wylderfolk to take her back into their home, she would never be rid of him. And the longer she remained in the prince’s castle, the less she wanted to be free.

About the Author:

Jennifer Silverwood lives in the middle of an enchanted forest surrounded by cursed books, nosy spirits, and mischievous goblins she calls her children. After beginning several nonsensical degrees, she found her calling helping other authors bring their books to life. Jennifer is the author of two fairy tale fantasy series: the Borderlands Saga and Wylder Tales. Because she wasn't satisfied writing in one genre, she also invites you to explore uncharted space with the Heaven’s Edge Novellas—and dare to fall in love again with the standalone romance titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight.

Interview:

1. What literary pilgrimages have you gone on?

Thank you so much for having me on your blog! I am a little embarrassed to admit I have yet to go on a personal literary pilgrimage as an adult. My dream pilgrimage would be visiting Prince Edward Island and L.M. Montgomery’s old stomping grounds. She remains one of my favorite authors of all time, and her Anne, Emily, and Pat book series continue to be places I revisit again and again.

2. What is the first book that made you cry?

That is difficult to pinpoint, but I remember the first book to make me feel deeply was Anne of Green Gables and the scene where Anne loses Matthew. 

3. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

If I’m honest, it depends on the day. There are days when a story flows like a song, and I can write thousands of words with more in store. Then there are the bleak days, when writing even a hundred words is a struggle. No matter the day, I still love the process and know eventually the pieces will come together.

4. What is your writing Kryptonite?

Research. There always comes a point in the process of writing, when I have a question I need to research. This could be something as random as, “what did medieval people eat during winter?” Or I could have a question about something that happened earlier in the series. Every time I indulge in the research, I lose precious quality time writing. Thankfully, I’ve made myself begin adding comments within the doc to leave myself little notes. I only go back and fix these if I’m stuck in the mire of writer’s block, or after I finish a draft.

5. Did you ever consider writing under a pseudonym?

Silverwood is actually a pseudonym, but Jennifer is my real name. I always knew I wanted to go by a pen name, in the spirit of my favorite authors. As an introvert, I also appreciate the anonymity and keeping my work and real life separate.

6. What other authors are you friends with, and how do they help you become a better writer?

Some of my writing besties include my fellow indie authors, Melissa Wright, Safari Spell, and Belle Malory. Over the years, these ladies have traded critiques with me, helped boost me up, and given me endless gems of advice besides.Having other writers to hash out ideas with, who understand the struggle and the business, help to keep me sane.

7. Do you want each book to stand on its own, or are you trying to build a body of work with connections between each book?

All of my books are loosely connected, especially the Wylder Tales and Borderlands Saga series. I love writing in a “shared universe” setting, with the idea of all my characters being part of the same history and similar rules of magic. Wylder Tales actually takes place hundreds of years before Silver Hollow, but there is a character who appears in both series. And the enchanted Wylderland Vynasha stumbles into is also part of the mythical Borderlands.

8. What authors did you dislike at first but grew into?

I honestly can’t think of any authors I truly disliked before reading their works. The closes I could come to that maybe is Stephen King. I didn’t dislike him, but I felt pretty indifferent, and fairly certain he was over-hyped. Then, on the urge of my best friends, I read The Stand, It, and his partial autobiography: On Writing, and realized what a brilliant storyteller he is. 

9. What’s your favorite under-appreciated novel?

Stay (A Love Story), is my least known novel, likely because it’s currently a standalone paranormal romance. I wrote Stay at a time in my life when I had given up on romantic love. But as a romantic at heart, I decided to interview everyone in my life, including multiple authors, on their experience with love. Stay was born from those interviews, and I would love to return to those characters one day.

10. As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?

A fox. I love foxes for their opportunist, curious natures. 

11. How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?

Off the top of my head, at least five different manuscripts are either incomplete or unpublished. That’s not counting ideas and short stories I wrote on a whim. Two of these manuscripts I fully intend on expanding into published books and series, but we’ll see about the rest. My next and final book (for now) in the Wylder Tales will be Heartless Beauty, but I plan on publishing eight total books in my Borderlands Saga if all goes well. 

12. What did you edit out of this book?

My first draft of Bound Beauty had more and more graphic sex scenes than what we ended up with. Part of this was because I felt like it didn’t fit the tone of the previous slow burn books, and part was my personal choice. I want to always consider reader expectations, and I’ve never been a graphic “open door” writer. But it hit me when my seventeen year old niece said she was so excited to read this series, and I had to seriously think about where I should draw the line. 

That said, I did choose to leave several intimate scenes, but with a greater emphasis on the intimacy and how it made Vynasha feel. Sex and touch is a huge deal for her character, and I wanted those moments to ultimately empower her on her path to healing from her external and internal scars.

13. If you didn’t write, what would you do for work?

If I had a do-over, I’d love to become a librarian or an art museum curator. It may sound stuffy or boring to some people, but I’d jump at the chance to be surrounded by books and art every day.

14. Do you hide any secrets in your books that only a few people will find?

Like I mentioned above, the Wylder Tales and Borderlands Saga are connected. And I’ve also laid some easter eggs that will connect to a secret future project I plan to publish in the next couple of years. If you read both series, I hope you’ll enjoy the hidden connections.

15. What is your favorite childhood book?

It’s a tie between Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery, and also Into the Land of the Unicorns by Bruce Coville. Anne’s story made me fall in love with books and reading, but Coville’s series sparked my imagination and a lifelo

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MURPHY AND THE MYSTERY OF THE OUTLAW GOLD MINE by Bradford D. Smith Trailer, Excerpt, Review & Giveaway

MURPHY AND THE MYSTERY OF THE OUTLAW GOLD MINE

by Bradford D. Smith

September 21 - October 30, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

AN ALASKA WILLIWAW MYSTERY

 

When a beautiful day suddenly turns deadly Murphy finds himself in the middle of a perilous mystery and up against the dangerous criminal, the Black-Eyed Man and his gang.

Compelled to discover the truth and expose the criminals, Murphy leads his cousin Katrina on a risky adventure through the rain slicked streets of Juneau and Douglas and into the labyrinth of tunnels and shafts inside the abandoned and sealed Alaska Juneau gold mine.

What starts as curiosity soon becomes a dangerous struggle for survival and freedom as Murphy and Katrina face a new menace at every turn. Will Katrina’s special skills and a squad of unlikely allies be enough to tip the scale in their favor, or can nothing save them this time.

Find the answers in the pages of Murphy and the Mystery of the Outlaw Gold Mine the second book in the Alaska Williwaw Mystery series.

Murphy and the Mystery of the Outlaw Gold Mine Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: YA/Middle-Grade Mystery
Published by: Fathom Publishing
Publication Date: September 20, 2026
Number of Pages: 270
ISBN: 978-1-954896949
Series: Alaska Williwaw Mystery Series, Book 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1: Dangerous Den

Murphy recoiled in horror as the creature landed on his neck. He screamed when it flopped onto his face and omitted a high-pitched squeal next to his ear.

Frantically swatting the darkness in his panic, he twisted and lurched to get away, but his body was wedged in place. He dropped his phone and covered his face with one hand, flailing in the darkness with the other. To his relief, he was able to knock the beast off his head. He breathed heavily. He could hear his assailant flopping and scuffling nearby and he feared another attack. His body shivered involuntarily.

It’s just a bat . . . calm down, breathe.

Inhaling deeply, he counted to three as he drew air into his lungs, then he slowly exhaled to the count of three and repeated it. It was a technique Coach Troutman taught him in Junior wrestling class. It helped calm his panic when he was caught in a tight hold.

He wasn’t afraid of bats per se, but alone in the dark in a tight space was a whole other thing.

What if it’s a vampire bat? They don’t live in Alaska. But what if?

Tentatively running his hands over the ground in search of his phone, he still was not completely convinced the bat didn’t want to suck his blood.

Where’s my phone? Did the light go off? I hope I didn’t drop it down the . . .

At that moment the bat flapped its wings. Murphy shrunk away as a leathery appendage brushed his cheek. He listened as it gained flight. The sound grew fainter and he realized the bat had flown straight down into the chasm.

He gazed after it and noticed a faint glow of light. Pushing closer to the edge he peered over the rim. What he saw gave him hope. His cell phone was sitting upside down on a small ledge about an arm’s length away.

He dug the toes of his boots into the hard-packed earth and inched closer. Juniper branches dug into his back as protruding rocks pushed into his ribs. He stretched toward his phone. His fingers clutched at the air a few inches from it. With his free hand, he blindly searched for something to hold onto. His finger found a thick branch of the Juniper bush and he grasped it tightly.

He shoved with his feet and pulled with one hand, holding tightly to the juniper with his other. His body gained a few inches of progress so he tried for his phone again. His fingers touched it, but he couldn’t grasp it. He pushed and strained with all his might, only needing another inch.

Suddenly his brain registered a loud cracking sound, like you hear when a limb is torn from a tree. Murphy’s body suddenly jolted forward.

“No!”

The juniper branch tore loose in his hand. His body lurched again, his shoulders hung over the chasm. He was slowly slipping over the edge and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

His hands desperately sought purchase on the smooth rock at the top of the opening. His fingers worked feverishly at every small bump and crack, but they couldn’t find a safe purchase.

Gravity steadily pulled his body into the black void while he tried desperately to dig his toes into the hard earth.

Abruptly, he fell headfirst into the abyss. For a brief moment his boots hooked the rim but immediately slipped off. He plummeted into the unknown.

“Nooooooooooooo . . . ”

* * *

An hour earlier, Murphy and Katrina had stepped from the Mount Roberts tram at its terminus nearly two thousand feet above the historic streets of Juneau, Alaska’s capital city. With the sun high in a cloudless sky it was a rare and perfect day to launch the season.

It was fast becoming a tradition for the locals to take advantage of the first week of tram operation before the multitude of cruise ship visitors overwhelmed the tiny city and the tram itself. Many came to hike the trails, some came to photograph the spectacular scenery and wildlife, others came only to admire the astounding panorama and to enjoy a picnic lunch.

Hogan pulled hard at his leash. Murphy leaned back to slow him down but was forced into a slow jog to keep up.

“Slow down, Hoge, we just got here. We have all day.”

Hogan wanted to sniff everywhere at once. His pushed-up black nose worked feverishly as his bulging eyes darted in every direction and his white feet pranced impatiently.

Murphy pulled on the leash and raised his voice. “Hogan, calm down.”

At the mention of his name, Hogan wagged his stubby tail and circled back to lick Murphy’s hand.

“Do you smell the flowers?” Katrina called as she began skipping to keep up.

“Yeah, it’s awesome up here in the spring and the tram is always cool anytime. A bit scary, but worth it.”

“It is a pretty good adrenalin rush for six minutes. I always imagine the floor dropping away.” She adjusted her round-lensed, red-tinted sunglasses and smiled.

Murphy gulped. “Great, thanks for that thought, we still have to go down.” He had managed to slow Hogan down to a walk. They walked side by side for a moment, neither talking until he said, “I like it.”

“Like what?”

“Your hair.”

“Oh, okay, um, thanks.”

“What do you call it?”

“What?”

“The color.”

“Indigo.” Katrina’s hair was tied high in a single ponytail that seemed to erupt from the top of her head. The sun glinted off the luxurious deep blue color.

Modern Pebbles chic.

Murphy smirked.

“Can I ask you something?”

She was silent for an uncomfortable pause. “I guess.”

He smiled before asking, “Where did you find neon green hiking boots to match your neon green leggings, or was it the other way around?” He snickered and stepped away quickly.

“At least I don’t order my clothes from Outdoor Nerds are Us.”

“Mean.” He couldn’t help looking down at his tan cargo shorts, plain brown hiking boots, and navy T-shirt.

She smiled and batted her eye lashes.

He grimaced.

I should have known better.

Changing the subject, Katrina said, “Sorry your mom has the flu and couldn’t come. It was nice of her to send us anyway, but I am feeling a bit guilty. Maybe we should have stayed home and helped her out.”

Murphy was surprised it made him happy that she had referred to his home as her home. She stayed with them so often people thought they were siblings. The two of them found it easier to say they were cousins. It was basically true as their fathers were lifelong friends and the families were extremely close.

“My dad’s coming in this afternoon,” he told her. “He said he will nurse her back to health.”

“Your dad sure travels a lot.”

“What about your dad? He’s out crabbing all season.”

“Not the same, but I guess.” She stopped skipping.

Murphy glanced at her and noticed a distant look in her eyes.

They made their way to an observation deck close to the tram’s terminal. From there Murphy could see his home across Gastineau Channel in Douglas, Alaska. He could see most of Douglas Island and the snowy tops of the Chilkat Mountains in the distance to the west. They enjoyed the vast and beautiful scenery in silent reverie. Even Hogan seemed taken with the amazing vista. He sat quietly beside Murphy. The pink tip of his tongue protruded from his mouth and wiggled slightly as he breathed.

They eventually tore themselves away from the spectacular view and began walking. They passed a gaggle of first graders coming down the path. They were all holding onto a rope and were led by a harried Mrs. Harper. Murphy knew she was new to the Grade School, and this may have been her first field trip. Mr. Able, Murphy’s friend Mikey’s dad, was at the tail end of the rope. Daisey, Mikey’s little sister, was second from the end. As they passed Murphy waved at Daisey and smiled at Mr. Able who rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders. Mr. Able was a building inspector during the day and he coached a men’s boxing club after work. From his gestures, it was apparent he’d met his match with a half dozen six-year-olds.

They passed the gift shop, the theater, and the bar and grill. The tram had delivered them approximately halfway up the nearly four-thousand-foot-high mountain.

They stopped to read the large sign mapping the hiking trail routes. Mount Roberts has a number of trails from easy to difficult. They chose a moderate three-mile trek that would take them through spruce forests, boulder-strewn alpine pastures, moss-covered rock glaciers and ending at a small glacier-fed lake in a picturesque mountain valley. They would wind their way back by a different route, one that followed the bubbly brook that drained from the lake.

After choosing their route, they set out. Strolling leisurely they following the wide gravel pathway through an alpine meadow. Small streams and waterfalls dotted the landscape. Murphy had a permanent smile plastered on his face.

Hogan stopped suddenly, woofed and stood erect. “What is it, boy?” Murphy reached down and scratched his ears.

A blur of red fur exploded across the trail a few feet in front of them. Hogan bolted, jerking Murphy from his feet and ripping the leash from his grasp. Murphy landed on his shoulder and his face at the side of the path but immediately sprang to his feet and brushed himself off. His cheeks exploded with a red bloom in his anger and embarrassment. He glanced about frantically and was just in time to see Hogan’s bouncing rear end and stubby tail disappear around a tall rock outcropping in the middle of a nearby meadow.

“Hogan, come.” Murphy called but Hogan didn’t come. Murphy repeated his command again and again but there was no Hogan.

“Wow.” Katrina appeared to be in awe and somewhat amused by the madcap spectacle she had just witnessed. She repeated herself. “Wow!”

As Murphy inspected a small cut on his knee, she plucked a chunk of fuzzy green moss from his hair.

He glanced at her and said, “Don’t start.”

“I know not of what you speak, oh graceful one.” She smiled demurely and took a step back.

“Very funny,” he sneered. “Just help me find the jerk.”

“I thought he always did what he was told,” she questioned. “Like, come when he’s called.”

“He usually does, but maybe he can’t hear me. Wait here. I’ll go get him.”

He didn’t look back and began jogging toward the stone obelisk where he had last seen Hogan’s white rear end disappear from sight.

He ran across a grassy meadow strewn with boulders and crumbling spires of decaying rock. At first, he tried not to step on the wildflowers, but there were too many and he cringed as he trampled through a patch of mountain crocus. The meadows were covered in a vibrant blanket that represented a kaleidoscope of color.

Murphy rounded the outcropping where Hogan had disappeared and was immediately confused. Stretched before him was a small sloping valley covered in nothing but moss-covered rocks and a vibrant carpet of flowers. There was absolutely nothing for a dog of Hogan’s size to hide behind.

“Hogan! Come, boy! Come now.” He called repeatedly but still there was no response. Murphy wandered the tiny valley calling Hogan’s name. Eventually he retraced his steps and arrived back at the last place he had seen his dog.

Murphy examined the craggy monolith. It was three times the size of his dad’s big SUV and twice as high as the monkey bars at school. The surface was cracked and porous, but he didn’t see any caves or fissures big enough for a full-grown Boxer to enter. As he circled it, he ran his hands along its surface as though searching for a hidden door. Low Mountain Juniper bushes grew along the base of the north side. He lay down on his stomach and peered under the lowest branches. There he saw an overhang and a space big enough for a fox or a dog. Far back under the shelf, he saw a black hole in the ground.

Could this be the fox’s den? Did Hogan follow it down there?

He peeled off his backpack, set it against the rock and squeezed his head and shoulders under the pungent branches. He inched toward the dark opening. It was a tight fit and he inched forward, struggling as the low branches dug into his back and tugged at his T-shirt. Grabbing the base of the bush he pulled while pushing with the toes of his boots. Slowly he neared the hole in the ground.

Repeatedly calling for Hogan he eventually got close to the darkened void. It was a struggle to retrieve his phone from his back pocket and turn on the light, but when he did, he was faced with a steep-sided deep opening about the size of a bicycle tire.

No way a fox went down there. How would it get out?

There was another recess on the other side of the hole. It was a wide crack in the rock that immediately turned a corner that he couldn’t see around, but he spotted a small tuft of reddish fur caught in a tiny crevasse where the opening disappeared around the corner. Both openings were small, but he realized Hogan could have fit in either.

Did he follow the fox? Did he fall?

“Hogan!”

He yelled into the breach. Then he yelled into the cavity across from him. He held his breath and listened. Nothing.

***

Excerpt from Murphy and the Mystery of the Outlaw Gold Mine by Bradford D. Smith. Copyright 2026 by Bradford D. Smith. Reproduced with permission from Bradford D. Smith. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Bradford D. Smith grew up as an only child amongst a household of Huskies and Malamutes. At times, he thought they were his siblings. From the age of two, he lived in Atlin, British Columbia, a historic gold mining town nestled deep in the wilderness just south of the Yukon Border and connected to Alaska by the Juneau ice field. Brad grew up without radio or television in a time before video machines and home computers were common. Books and reading were important entertainment and in the dark, subzero winter months, they became paramount to the sound mental survival of many. Brad's mom read to him before he was born and throughout his childhood. This instilled an intense curiosity deep within him and an insatiable appetite to satisfy it. Brad read everything he could find and at a young age, he was reading books his mother enjoyed about arctic explorers, prospectors, trappers and first nations people. His latest book, a young adult mystery, Murphy and the Mystery of the Black Skull, was shaped by his own fascination with the mystery genre as a young adult. Updated to fit today's times, he leans heavily on the style of writing he himself enjoyed as a young teen. This book is sprinkled with real world places and the author's love of history is quickly exposed in this fast-paced adventure. Brad has lived and worked in many places across Alaska over the years including Juneau. He still works in Arctic Alaska seasonally and lives with his wife in central BC, Canada with their pack of dogs.

Catch Up With Bradford D. Smith:

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My Review:

I really liked the cover of this book. Who doesn't like the story of a boy and his dog? Add in the search for gold and I was excited to read this. I liked Murphy and his cousin Katrina's interactions. It reminded me of my cousin and I when we talk about our dads, I did like the pacing of the story. It was a little slow for me, which I think is perfect for it's intended audience. Alaska was a great setting to read about and I actually learned some interesting facts about Alaska. Katrina was a great female character with great "skills" that helped them along the way. Even though it was not nice how she practiced her lock picking skills. The bad guys were bad! They tried to run Murphy over and their deadly tactics did not stop there. There is definitely a sense of danger and a search for the truth. Will they find the truth, or die trying? I also really liked the end and will read future books by this author. I am giving this book a 4/5. I was given a copy to review, nevertheless all opinions are my own. 

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MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera Review & Giveaway

MAYBE YOU LIED

by Jennifer Sadera

September 7 - October 16, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Everything he knows about his life is. . . a lie.

Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother's belongings, he discovers his long-dead father's deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He's unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he's determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he's connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.

Praise for Maybe You Lied:

"Sadera has done it again! Maybe You Lied is an evocative and compelling tale of family trauma, betrayal, and the chilling truth that the most dangerous secrets are those buried by the people closest to us."
~ Lisa Malice, bestselling author of Lest She Forget, winner of the 2023 IBPA Best New Voice in Fiction Award

"MAYBE YOU LIED is a spectacular thriller that instantly grips you and refuses to let go. With great emotional depth, this novel plunges you inside Will Lockhart's mind, soul, and angst. He's a down on his luck, grief and guilt-ridden young man stuck in a hopeless rut. When he discovers a deed to a house he believes he's inherited, it seems like his luck just might change. Page by page, he uncovers hidden layers of a past he could never have imagined. But when nothing is as it seems and everything you knew about your family and your past is a lie, be careful of digging up the truth. It might set you free...unless it kills you first. This darkly suspenseful, romantic journey knits a cast of intriguing, deeply unreliable characters into a clever, twisty narrative. You won't want to put down this edgy story of loss, love, identity, and family truths as you hurtle towards its surprising end."
~ Zelly Ruskin, award-winning author of Not Yours to Keep and the forthcoming One of Us Must Die

"Maybe You Lied is a twisty, emotionally charged domestic suspense that ramps up to a jaw-dropping, visceral finale. Don't miss it!"
~ Bonnie Traymore, Author of The Rich Guy's Wife

"Family ties? Or family lies? Will Lockhart is coming home to a woodland cottage he never knew existed, his life in shreds and fragments. In a novel as intricately woven as a web, Jennifer Sadera explores sociopathy, nature versus nurture, and the one thing that can never die--a chance at love and redemption."
~ Jenny Milchman, Mary Higgins Clark award winning author of the Arles Shepherd thrillers

"A young man's attempt to piece together his family's dark history propels this gripping mystery, which moves with an electric speed through secrets twistier than the branches of a mangled family tree. Combining thrills, romance, and a moving exploration of grief, MAYBE YOU LIED is perfect for fans of sinister family dynamics who want to devour a thriller in one breathless go."
~ Ashley Winstead, national bestselling author of This Book Will Bury Me

MAYBE YOU LIED Trailer:

 

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: Creative James Media
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Landlords don’t rent apartments to zombies.

I scratched the four-day stubble on my jawline and parked my mom’s Camry behind the brown brick walk-up. Home-Not-So-Sweet Home.

As I stepped into the cramped apartment lobby Sergei was waiting.

“The rent,” he said, his guttural Russian accent turning his words into a nonsensical de-REN. I paused, reluctantly meeting the bushy brows lowered ominously over his steely slitted eyes. Easy to translate.

I nodded and darted my own eyes to the stairway. One of these days my landlord would surely raise a heavily muscled arm and crash his ham hock fist into my face. Emitting my zombie grunt, I pivoted to the stairwell and rushed up, expecting Sergei to follow. Relieved when he didn’t.

It would be a brief reprieve. When my mom lived here Sergei only showed up once a month, but in the three years since she died, he’d pounded his frustration with my spotty payments onto my apartment door with increasing frequency, not budging until I opened the creaky steel barrier. Saying nothing, he’d hold out a meaty palm that looked like it could strangle me all by itself.

Back when I still had cash, I’d offer a wad of fifties and hundreds that he’d snatch up like grabbing cash from an ATM. Only the Will Lockhart machine was now empty, and Sergei looked as though he wanted to kick it into compliance. Kick me. Face flushed with fury, he’d study me with those hard gray pebbles, taking in my disheveled hair and sagging clothes. A gaze that told me exactly what he thought about me—a twenty-one-year-old slacker who clearly cared about nothing. A deadbeat. A zombie. And this was mostly true except for the one thing I cared deeply about: those last seconds with Mom. I relived them daily, the guilt as fresh and dangerously addictive as a drunk’s bleary-eyed yearning for a Bloody Mary the morning after a bender.

I deserved the memories. If not for me, Mom would still be alive.

I closed my eyes against the inevitable scene rolling through my mind. The flash of headlights slicing through my Honda’s dusky interior like a white-hot comet, too fast to stop, too bright to blink away; a violent force whirling me into its vortex. My neck twisting painfully, head hitting something hard. The car’s interior exploding into a slow-motion kaleidoscope. How I’d instinctively thrust my arm out to protect my mom, instant pain bolting from fingers to shoulder; glass shattering and raining down upon us like the stinging embers of trailing fireworks.

And then, the stillness. The church-like quiet.

I’d blinked into the silence as the noises trickled in—the hissing of the steaming engine, and a tinny song coming through the radio from somewhere under the car’s hood. A far-off voice belted out a twangy country tune. “Put on the bacon and the eggs, darlin’ . . .”

Mom and her country music. Mom and her . . . Mom. Head throbbing, I’d scanned the smoke-choked twilight. She was right where she was supposed to be, still hooked in place by her seatbelt, staring straight ahead, like she was listening for something.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

Beyond the jagged glass edges of her blown-out window I saw the lines of the truck through the smoky haze, the words “Barclay’s Bread” written in fancy red letters on its wide, boxy side. Mom said nothing.

Painfully bolted into our twisted metal cage, waiting for the Jaws of Life to extract us, I’d reached out, trying to touch her with my other hand, the one that still worked. If I could just shake her out of her trance.

But in those final precious seconds our bodies existed in the same world, I knew. She was already gone.

I shook my head, forcing me back to the present, wishing my mind could be like the Etch-a-Sketch Mom bought me when I was six. One harsh shake in each direction and the contents of the screen disappeared. But my mind retained in painful detail the truck driver’s distinctive profile, the beak of a nose angled down, a squinted eye and bulbous cheekbone lit up by his cell-phone screen.

As a kid, the thought of Mom dying had set waves of terror rolling through me. Not just because I loved her, but because a part of me always dreaded the day she’d be taken from me. Convinced it would happen but unsure of when, I’d spent a good four years waking up each night and tiptoeing to her bedroom door, peeking through the crack between the edge of the flimsy wood and the wall to ensure she was still in bed, alive. Ridiculous as it seemed, even then, it was understandable, given our track record. I mean, not long before my dad left us, just after my fifth birthday, we’d been a family of four.

***

Excerpt from MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2026 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women's publications, Woman's World and Redbook.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:

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My Review:

What would you do if you were faced with the memories of those you love dying. Will is a great character to feel bad and sad for. He lost his sister and father when he was young. Now his mother dies right in front of him. They were really close and he could not bear to stay in the home they shared. While cleaning out his mom's stuff he finds a house deed. Wondering why his mom never told him about the home he heads that way and stays at this new place. What he didn't know was that he was opening up a can of worms. What happens next is unexpected and unbelievable.  Will's friends start to get hurt and hidden memories start to resurface.  It is a race to find out who is who and who is guilty.  There is a subplot of a serial killer and a visit to jail. This really was a great story. I could picture some of the scenes playing out in my head and would love to see this as a movie. I think that there is even enough to be a TV series. I was surprised by the ending, and then surprised again after the big reveal. I am giving this book a 5/5. I was given a copy to review. All opinions are my own.

 

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Maybe You Lied... But This Giveaway Doesn’t

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BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN by Gail Waterhouse Trailer, Excerpt, Review & Giveaway

BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN

by Gail Waterhouse

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

DCI Eleanor Moore is drawn into a series of brutal killings that defy explanation. As she follows the trail of evidence, she uncovers links between the crimes, the vaccine, and a shadowy conspiracy determined to control the future. The investigation becomes painfully personal when Eleanor realises a member of her own family may be entangled in the very secrets she is chasing.

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn is a paranormal crime thriller set in 2046, where the aftermath of a contaminated vaccine has altered humanity in ways no one yet fully understands. Hybrid beings walk among us, their true nature hidden until violence drags them into the light.

Praise for Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn:

"Highly compelling with many unexpected twists."
~ Natalie Key, Female First

"It had everything you’d want in a really good paranormal crime thriller — suspense, mystery, great characters."
~ Aysha Awan, ARC Reader

"Thoroughly enjoyable… a storyline that rattles along with characters you want to know."
~ Richard Wolstenholme, Waterstones reviewer

"I loved Eleanor. The two sides of her. The detective but also the mom and the wife who has lost her husband."
~ Goodreads reviewer

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller, Police Procedural
Published by: Troubador Publishing
Publication Date: April 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 363
ISBN: 9781806345991 (ISBN10: 1806345994)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Troubador Publishing

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Friday 23 February 2046

THE SKY OVER the Spanish port was smeared with the colour of blood smoke, a heavy red-orange haze that clung to the air like the last breath of a dying sun. The scent of burning oil and salt hung thick, carried by the heavy coastal winds. It was sharp and acrid, biting against the damp of the sea. Fires crackled along the ridgelines of the coastal city, their glow flickering in the black water below. Distorted reflections trembled with every wave.

In the distance, the sound of falling glass mixed with the wail of sirens. Their shrill cries sliced through the thickening smoke like wounded animals in pain. Puerto de Málaga, once vibrant with the clatter of trade and the bustle of travellers, was now sprawling in disarray. The heat rose from the charred remnants of buildings, still glowing faintly as they collapsed in on themselves. The air was dense, almost suffocating, with the taste of ash and burning wood. The kind of fire that was all consuming.

At the edge of the docks, where the flames hadn’t yet reached, a body stirred amongst the shadows.

He rose from the ground slowly, uncertainly, like something dredged from the depths. His shirt was torn and wet with dark stains, his skin pale and cool against the rising heat. Beneath the surface of his eyes, something had shifted... something new and ravenous.

He didn’t know his name. He couldn’t remember. Not right now. Names were small things; the world was suddenly too loud for small things.

The salt air reeked of dashed hopes and desperation, but beneath that, beneath everything, was scent. Raw. Delicate. Sweet. It curled into his senses like perfume on fire.

People.

He could smell them.

Not just the sweat on their clothes, but the life blood moving beneath their skin. He could feel their warmth like a beacon. Hear their hearts. See the trails their bodies left in the air – vibrant, electric threads.

And he was starving.

The hunger lived in him like a second spine, twisting through his ribs, pulling at his throat. It was not like needing food, not like any hunger he had ever known. This was something more, something pure. It throbbed like instinct. It demanded.

Ahead, the docks were alive with panicked life. Families clutched their documents, arguing with port guards. Children wailed, sensing the anxiety around them. Ship horns blared over the shouting. The flames had cut off the southern road, and now hundreds of people pushed towards the vessels anchored at the quay, hoping to escape the violence swallowing the city. Amongst the chaos of the port, a young couple moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with a grace that seemed to carve a path of calm through the throngs of fearful, stressed faces. They clung to each other, their hopeful laughter soft but real, a gentle sound that contrasted with the heavy tension in the air.

Their smell hit him like lightning.

They were dark-skinned, their features a striking blend of beauty that caught the light in a way others didn’t. The rich, smooth tone of their skin seemed to absorb the firelight and the fading daylight, glimmering like polished wood. They weren’t the only ones with darker skin in the crowd, but there was something different about them. The way they moved, the way they stood, set them apart. Their essence was clean... pure. Not a trace of the fear or desperation that rippled through the others.

The woman, older than the man by a few years, wore a bright red scarf that fluttered behind her like a banner, bold and proud. The younger man, possibly her brother, had a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, his posture firm, the weight of it a comfort rather than a burden. They moved with a serene assurance, as if they had walked through fire to reach this moment, and now they were here, in this place, they knew they were safe. They were running towards something: towards home.

He couldn’t explain why, but he followed.

They didn’t see him. Not truly. Just a man in a crowd. A shape in their periphery.

Nearby, another couple had stopped at the checkpoint. An argument was unfolding. The air was thick with frustration. Shouts rose above the low murmur of the crowd. A tall Englishman, face red with rage, towered over a Spanish official. His words were clipped, sharp, each one slicing through the tense silence. His fists clenched. Veins stood out in his neck. Every inch of him was pressing forwards, demanding an answer.

Beside him, his wife stood still. She cradled a baby wrapped in a pristine white blanket. She remained silent, her eyes distant, her face pale, betraying none of the anxiety in the air.

The Spanish official, weary and weathered, gestured curtly, his voice firm but tired. ‘The passports for the woman and child,’ he stated, ‘are not valid for the British ship. They cannot board.

They will have to wait for the Spanish vessel, which departs later tonight.’

‘No!’ the man barked. ‘We stay together. We go as a family!’ His words were harsh, but they felt like they hung in the air, falling into the thickening tension like stones in water, creating ripples but no true movement. The woman beside him didn’t speak, only tightening her hold on the baby, whose cries were soft, unknowing. Her gaze, fixed on the horizon, seemed to be somewhere far away, as though the entire scene were not something she could reach.

The crowd around them seemed to retreat, uneasy. The man’s frustration was contagious, yet it failed to spark any real response from the official, who remained unmoved, his eyes cold, his posture rigid. The couple was surrounded by murmurs and mutters from the crowd, but it felt like nobody was truly listening. Concerned only with their own woes.

The woman shifted slightly, sensing something, or maybe it was just the sensation of being watched. Her grip tightened on the baby, her eyes flickering towards the shadows, though she saw nothing. The air around her thickened, and she couldn’t quite place why her heart began to race.

Because he was watching the argument. But he wasn’t watching them – the brother and sister. Their scent, now feeling distant. His mouth ached. His body trembled.

They had slipped from his grasp. The moment was gone. They had vanished into the flow of the crowd, their warmth and purity fading, like smoke lost to the night air. The watcher’s pulse quickened, but the hunt had shifted. He could still feel their faint trace, a lingering pull, but they were no longer within reach.

He quickly moved through the crowd, his steps light, measured, and the scent of sweat and smoke filled his senses, dulling his focus. But then, something changed. His head tilted slightly, drawn by a new, unexpected fragrance that cut through the heavy air. It was delicate, fresh, like the first spring buds on a tree, sharp yet soft. The scent was subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. It was the scent of a young woman.

Alone.

Nervous.

His gaze flicked in her direction, a predator spotting its next target. He couldn’t see her yet, but he could feel her presence in the air; a vulnerability that stood out against the hardened masses around her. There was a stillness in her, but the air around her vibrated with anxious energy. She didn’t belong to the crowd, not like the others. She wasn’t lost, exactly, but there was an uncertainty in the way she moved, as though the port itself was a vast, unknowable place to her.

He moved slowly through the throng; his every sense tuned to her. Her scent drew him closer, a fragile thread that wound through the chaos. She wasn’t trying to escape, not in the way the others did. She was just... there. Walking, weaving through the people, her eyes darting, scanning for something. Looking for someone. Her nerves were a song to him, soft and fragile.

He could see her now, just ahead, her dark hair framing a face that seemed too young for the worry she carried. Her posture was hunched, as if she were trying to make herself smaller, to disappear into the crowd. She wasn’t trying to be seen, but the watcher saw her all the same.

And she was still.

Thinking.

He felt a stir of anticipation, his gaze narrowing as he took another step towards her. There was something about the way she looked, not at the crowd, not at anything. Her eyes kept drifting towards the shadows, as though she felt something watching her, though she couldn’t know it was him.

He moved closer, quietly... patient. He would have her. She was his now.

He moved silently, a smudge amongst shadows, slipping from container to crate, blending into the murky dark of the port. His steps were slow, calculated, his presence a breathless whisper in the night. Each movement was precise, natural.

Her footsteps echoed on the wooden boards as she moved through the labyrinth of abandoned structures. Her pace quickened, her heart already pounding, as if some deep instinct had begun to warn her. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of rust and salt, the smell of old fish and the faint, lingering tang of blood. This area of the dock felt empty, desolate, but there was something beneath it, a presence she couldn’t quite place. She turned a corner, her pace frantic now, as if her body knew something her mind refused to admit.

She glanced over her shoulder, and there it was, that chilling feeling of being followed. Her eyes searched the darkened spaces, the shadows between the crates, the broken walls of forgotten buildings, but there was nothing. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She quickened her step, but then she made a mistake.

A wrong turn.

The path narrowed as she hurried down the dock, the sound of her boots slapping against the timber carrying through the silence. She didn’t see it at first, not until it was too late – a small, isolated room at the end of the corridor. The heavy open door loomed ahead like an invitation. Panic surged through her chest, but there was no turning back now. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to find another way out, but her legs carried her forwards, into the dim light of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She froze.

The room, that looked like a forgotten storage area, was empty except for some shelves, discarded crates and netting that smelt of old mildew. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, the air thick and close, the silence broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. There was no way out. The windows were too small, the walls too strong, the door too solid.

And then, a sound. A faint click.

He had locked them in.

***

Excerpt from Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse. Copyright 2026 by Gail Waterhouse. Reproduced with permission from Gail Waterhouse. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Gail Waterhouse is a UK-based author of crime thrillers with a speculative edge. With a background in design, and an MA in Creative & Media Education, she writes grounded, character-driven stories that blend police procedural realism with darker, thought-provoking themes.

Her work explores near-future worlds shaped by scientific change and human consequence, where the line between the natural and unnatural begins to blur. Inspired by conversations about climate change and humanity’s future, her stories examine what we might become when survival demands evolution.

She lives in the North East of England.

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My Review:

Wow. I love a good paranormal story. Add in being a crime thriller and I was hooked. Not to mention it is set in the future in 2046 (which is only 20 years away....) and is about a contaminated vaccine. Covid was horrible, there is no doubt about that. Many people had reactions to the vaccine. I can only think of the tragedy of a vaccine being contaminated. That scares me. Did I mention hybrid beings? This is a great book. I was not sure what I was more interested in. Was I looking forward to catching the killer or was I lost in a world of the paranormal? This is a great read for this time of year and a post covid vaccine world. I am giving this book a 5/5. I would watch this as a movie or a television series. I was given a copy to review, all opinions are my own,

 

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