Book Blitz & Excerpt: Mermaid of St. Moritz + Giveaway

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Mermaid of St. Moritz
by Jincey Lumpkin
(Mermaid of Venice, #5)
Publication date: July 11th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Billionaire mermaid Gia Acquaviva is back for the riveting fifth installment of the Mermaid of Venice series. Gia struggles with intense feelings for a man from her past, while her passionate love affair with a Hollywood actress threatens to ruin it all.

The Mermaid Civil War unleashes Ancient Magic, putting both mermaids and mankind in danger. Caught in the middle of warring factions is Gia’s daughter, Serena. Will the child master her magical powers, or will she become a casualty of war?

Everything’s on the line for Gia. Will her risky behavior cause her to lose everything she’s worked so hard to regain?


• Love triangle
• Enemies to lovers
• Secret affair
• Billionaire romance
• Paranormal romantic suspense

Goodreads / Amazon


They call it the “Top of the World.” The glitterati come to St. Moritz for its famous ski slopes, but they stayed for the champagne climate. Home to mineral springs and abundant forests, the chic village also draws a summer crowd. Late spring brings heavy rain and wildflowers as far as the eye can see. Today, though, the sun awoke and claimed the day.

Gia rose from her slumber to find Florent making her an espresso. They had their coffee on the deck, soaking in all that Alpine glory.

She finally felt relaxed again, knowing that she had taken care of Yiannis for good.

“The scenery reminds me of the Sound of Music,” Florent mused.

“Oh?” Gia asked. “Will you run to the top of the mountain and serenade me like Julie Andrews?”

Florent chuckled. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Seeing me turn round and round in circles?”

“I am sure we can find you an apron somewhere. I would like the full experience, please.”

He slid out of his chair and approached her, nuzzling her face with his prickly, unshaven skin.

She put both hands on his cheeks and kissed him.

“Mmm!” Florent smiled with a devilish grin. “I almost forgot, Gia! I have a surprise for you.”

She grunted. “You know I hate surprises.”

“Oh, but you will love this. I have organized a private yoga session… with baby goats!”

“Florent, stop. Do not tease me.”

“I am quite serious, Gia! I thought you could bring the au pair… and Serena could pet those smelly little goats. My daughter loves all animals. Serena is probably the same.”

Gia realized for the first time that Serena had never been around any animal. The baby didn’t exactly have a normal start to her life.

“All right,” Gia accepted, feeling amused by this new development on the itinerary. “I will shower and then… baby goats.”

Author Bio:

Jincey Lumpkin is a writer who splits her time between NYC and Lisbon. She has been profiled by Dateline NBC, Vice, and GQ, among others. Out Magazine listed her in its “OUT 100,” naming her as one of the world’s most influential LGBTQ+ people, alongside celebrities like Laverne Cox and Ricky Martin. Sign up for free stories at

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: Anubis + Giveaway

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by Adrienne Wilder
(Wolves Incarnate, #2)
Publication date: June 13th 2022
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Paranormal, Romance, Science Fiction

It was supposed to be over: The Utah Facility discovered, New World Genetics dismantled, and the people hunting Luca, dead.

Finally, Nox and Luca could start their life together.

Then strangers, who call themselves Varu, come to Luca for help.

They call him Cana and claim he’s the only one who can bring back their wolves.

The Varu tell Luca and Nox how a people called Mah are responsible for the atrocities of the Utah facility, unearthing the ichor and infecting Nox with the Anubis.

How the creature will consume Nox’s mind.

How he will become the monster.

Then it will destroy Luca.

But they can stop that from happening if Nox is willing to risk death by letting them purge him of the ichor.

As far as Nox is concerned, it’s a small price to pay to keep Luca safe.

Luca can’t convince Nox that the Anubis isn’t the mindless entity the Varu claim it to be, that it’s not a danger to him or anyone else.

When Nox won’t listen to reason, Luca decides to use the Anubis to help him save the man he loves.

After all, Luca is Nox’s Alpha.

And the Anubis is really Luca’s wolf to call.

*MM Dark Paranormal romance, high heat, heart-pounding action, twists and turns, colorful world-building, devoted couple, size difference, protective alpha male, epic monster battles, love at all costs, self-sacrifice, never give up, genetic manipulation, and unstoppable determination.*

This is the sequel to NoX. Books must be read in order. HFN ending.

Goodreads / Amazon


The screen on the laptop dimmed, the screen saver kicked in, and a double helix spun into infinity.

A couple of hours ago, he would have called everything that came to him from those New World servers crap. He had called it crap.

But now?

Fuck, he really needed to call Phillips.

Reese took his phone out of his pocket.

The heat clicked off.

The grandfather clock next to his aquarium ticked.

The pump under the aquarium stand hummed.

Reese’s pulse whooshed through his ears before falling into the background.

Compulsion led him to the picture window.

Porch lights edged the neighbor’s front yard. Leaves skittered from one shadow to the next.

There were no lights in the wide stretch of lawn and Reese’s rows of flower beds. He still hadn’t replanted the petunias destroyed by the helicopter landing in his yard when the US Army showed up at his door, requesting his help.

He’d meant to replace them weeks ago. Even saved coupons for discounts on fertilizer and mulch. Then the weather got colder, the rain more frequent, and deciphering the mess New World left behind gobbled up whatever spare bits of free time he had.

The shadows between the trees shifted with the wind. Just empty spaces filled with night, nothing more.


Reese leaned closer and his exhale fogged the glass.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Something’s out there.

And why would Reese think that?

“Sleep deprivation, that’s all it is.” Reese pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “I mean, look how many hours of sleep you get a night.” He checked the time. “Two a.m., no wonder you’re seeing things and talking to yourself and talking to yourself about seeing things. Fuck.” But Reese couldn’t step away from the window. “Pretty sure there’s some Benadryl with your name on it.” A weight settled in his stomach. “Two of those, you’ll sleep like a rock, plus your allergies won’t be an issue.” The ache in his shoulder beat louder. “Still talking to yourself, still running your mouth, Dr. Dante. What the hell are you—”

The streetlamp at the entrance of the cul-de-sac dimmed. Hairs on Reese’s arms stood following the electric rush crawling over his skin.

A shadow ripped free of the darkness and lunged.

Reese raised his arms and jumped back just as the picture window exploded in a hail of transparent daggers. Crimson trails chased the burning lines crisscrossing his flesh.

The clink of raining glass silenced, leaving Reese with his heartbeat in his ears.

He turned.

A massive black dog stood where his coffee table had been.

Only dogs didn’t have prehensile toes or green-yellow eyes void of empathy. And they were never so black they cut swatches in the darkness.

The Anubis roared and leapt.


Author Bio:

I am a writer of contemporary and speculative fiction and artist of all things monsters. I live to create new worlds and the people in them. Several of my books have been best sellers both nationally and internationally. I have also been a finalist in the LAMDA awards, the “Oscars” of gay literary works.

I do my best to write original stories with powerful characters and emotion as well as a fast paced plot. My goal isn’t just to deliver a good story but to take the reader into the story and let them experience the characters as if they are right there with them.

While almost all my books have a romantic element, I will be the first to admit, they are not traditional romance. In fact, I’d like to think there is nothing traditional about them. And the stories I paint are done so way outside the lines of traditional genres.

One of my favorite things to do as a writer is push the boundaries of what makes a story and to deliver the unexpected and maybe even change the perspective of the reader.

My characters are more often than not, beautifully flawed, not alway the good guy, and make mistakes. Their stories will take dark turns which, in the end, make the light at the end of the tunnel all the more brighter.

If you’re looking for something different, exciting, and unique, my books are for you.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: Bee and Harp + Giveaway

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Bee and Harp

by Siondalin O’Craig

Paranormal Romance, LGBTQ

Date Published: July 15, 2022

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dublin Museum Curator Bee McBride’s research tour is interrupted by a shady stranger with a broken harp — and a broken heart.

When Bee, the stranger, and the harp are kidnapped by art thieves, Bee discovers the dusty instrument is the legendary magic harp of the ancient Celtic god Dagda.

Can her buzzing fervor find a way to unlock the harp’s music and the stranger’s ardor before Midsummer Night?

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All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2022 Siondalin O’Craig


July 1

Kevin O’Donnell called the place where he’d been resting his head these last couple of years the Marble Arches, after the caves in Fermanagh. These caves under FDR Drive weren’t etched into limestone, however; their side walls were crumbling concrete from an early era of Manhattan development. Bits of shell and round stone sloughed off onto the floor each time he brushed by it. The supporting pillars were concrete of a more modern vintage, but in the same rotted condition, stained by runoff from the road above, broken flakes exposing lines of rusted rebar.

The back wall was raw Manhattan bedrock, and in this heat it had the advantage of staying cool, and while the drought was doing murderous damage elsewhere, it meant the floor of the Marble Arches stayed blessedly dry for the moment. Sitting with his back against the bedrock, Kevin could look out across the docks and over the East River to Brooklyn, watching the yachts, the tour boats, and the giant freighters that taunted him with their ability to leave this place and bring their sailors back to homes and families far away.

* * *

For ten days, Kevin had been trying to coax sound from the harp. He sat with its base tucked between his legs, cushioned by the neatly folded wrap of linen, its soundboard held tight to his chest in a lover’s embrace. Sometimes his fingers floated silently over the strings. Other times he just held it close, feeling energy flowing from it into his body.

Kevin cleaned the wood slowly, carefully, using a bandanna he found in the gutter, and the water from a dozen half-full plastic water bottles he pulled from garbage cans. Rich carving emerged from the grime. Clasped in the dragon’s claws were two large roses, so lifelike that it appeared fresh drops of dew spangled their petals. The roses were bundled with oak leaves, and acorns tumbled down the pillar.

“Daur da Bláo,” Kevin whispered. The Oak of Two Blossoms.

He had stopped in at the sailor’s mission on the Bowery and begged a pair of nail clippers. He clipped his ragged nails straight across, slightly longer than the tips of his fingers. Plucking the strings of an ancient wire frame harp was done with the fingernails.

He found enough change on the street to buy a cup of tea at the coffee shop across from the Strand bookshop and used the foaming pink soap in their restroom to scrub the layers of grime from his hands. He pumped more soap into his empty paper teacup and took it back to the Marble Arches. He bathed the wire strings in the soap and let them soak, then poured clean water over them and rubbed them down with the bandana.

He’d been right. The corr, or pinboard, was brass, embossed with four stranded knotwork. The tuning pins were also brass, burnished to a sheen, their leaf-shaped heads inset with silver triskeles. But the strings themselves were pure gold. The harp of legends, he thought. This can’t be real.

His perch under the roadway suddenly felt confining, stifling. He wrapped the harp and walked out onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was burning hot and blindingly white, but the air over the East River was stirring. The tourist crowd was subdued in the heat, and the joggers who usually occupied a steady lane of the walkway were completely absent.

He found an unoccupied bench in the shadow of the bridge’s dark limestone towers. He wrapped his arms around the harp. A breeze wove between the strings, and he thought he heard a faint, high-pitched hum. He pressed his ear to the frame and listened. Yes, there. So fragile. So distant. But the harp did have a voice, inside the soundbox. The harp was alive.

He put his fingers to the strings, his left hand reaching out to the high strings nestled in the point of the frame, his right hand over his thighs, spread over the bass strings. The hand position was the opposite of that on modern harps, but this was the way frame harp playing was depicted in the ancient carvings  and medieval manuscripts, and so it was how frame harps continue to be played by the small handful of people in the world who had any familiarity with them.

He bent his head as if in prayer, pressed close against the soundboard. He plucked a string with the middle finger of his right hand, then with the ring finger, silently playing the pick-up notes to Pretty Maid Milking a Cow. The lyrics had emerged in the nineteenth century, but the origins of the hauntingly poignant harp tune underneath the ballad was lost in antiquity.

His hands bloomed into motion, the ghost of the soundless tune echoing in his mind. A living vine of energy began to grow between his body and the ancient harp, its gold strings glittering.

The notes in his mind tangled with the breeze rising from the water, and swirled into visual images. A woman’s hands, her wrists, her forearms bare, in dim light, glistening with water. Her shoulders, rising from a dark lake. A curve of hip, strong legs, bare feet on a stony shore. Drying her auburn hair. Looking at him with soft brown eyes. Eyes that were full of warmth. Eyes that were full of love. Full of desire.

He stopped and straightened his spine, hands reaching to damp the strings by habit, though they had yet to make a noise. He felt a current coursing through his body, from his fingertips up through the long disused muscles of his forearms, muscles that used to pop with sinewy definition when he played ten hours a day. The power ran down his spine and through the long lean muscles of his legs, taut from walking countless miles of lonely sidewalks.

Kevin realized, as if he were watching himself from a distance, that his cock was pressed rigidly against the harp. He froze, motionless, as if his erection were a wild bird that he did not want to frighten. He took his hands away from the harp, resting them on his thighs. His body came back to the bench on the Brooklyn Bridge, but something inside of him had changed.

I am Kevin O’Donnell, he thought. Kevin O’Donnell, the harper.

About the Author

Siondalin O’Craig writes romance with the slow burn of a peat fire on an autumn night deep in the woodland hills. Sip a glass of Irish whiskey, turn the page, and let the magic overtake you. Siondalin lives in the mountains of New England where she walks under the trees celebrating the wheel of the year, grows a luscious garden full of magical herbs, and plays a wicked Irish fiddle. Follow her on Facebook and email her at to sign up for her newsletter.

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