Title: The Dark King Author: Gina L. Maxwell Genre: Fantasy
NY Times bestselling author Gina L. Maxwell is back with the first in the Deviant Kings series set in a modern world but with a dark, erotic fantasy twist perfect for fans of Neon Gods.
Gina L. Maxwell is a full-time writer, wife, and mother living in the upper Midwest, despite her scathing hatred of snow and cold weather. An avid romance novel addict, she began writing as an alternate way of enjoying the romance stories she loves to read. Her debut novel, Seducing Cinderella, hit both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists in less than four weeks, and she’s been living her newfound dream ever since.
When she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her best to hang out with their adult teenagers as they learn to fly on their own, and dreaming about her move to someplace warm once they finally do.
A truce has brought the Grove peace—but things are not as they appear.
Deep within a secret rainforest, live the keepers of unknown spells—a lost Landaffen colony with the power to keep Laura from fulfilling her fate by setting a trap and using Prince Brell as bait.
But Laura has become more Landaffen than human, her abilities sharpening as she infiltrates the forgotten and unforgiving Grove. She must learn to control the colony’s magic before their powers are at their peak.
If she fails, Prince Brell will die, and the joining of both worlds will be incomplete. It is Laura’s duty. Her calling. Faith must be restored, and the enemy defeated.
With a broken treaty and imminent conflict bringing death and war, Laura must build trust and bring order . . . before the PERILUNE!
I twisted, turning my head, and shifting my shoulders. Snow and more snow. I stretched my arm downward, clawing it with my fingers.
Where was he? My whole body numb, I lost my sense of direction. Was I facing up or down?Was my body vertical or parallel to the ground?
Weightless, I reached down again for my protector, my hand digging and finding nothing other than compacted snow.
I inhaled, each breath a fight for air as the snow rested compactly and heavily against my chest. I sucked a breath between tight lips and couldn’t feel anything.
“Dassh,” I tried to shout, my lips too numb to move. With a last effort, I punched through the snow layer below me, trying to feel for him. Snow and more snow. I dug with gloved hands, clawing against snow-compacted ice.
I gasped for air. My mouth filled with snow, and I coughed and choked, my body wrenching. Dizzy and without my sense of direction, I closed my eyes, punching the snow beneath me, trying to break the layer of ice separating me from Dassh.
I’m coming, Dassh!
My body spasmed, and I shook uncontrollably against the tight casket of snow and ice.
No! No! Stay calm! Stay calm! Don’t give up!
I counted to ten, the words in my head muffled and strained. Giving into each twinge, I forcefully relaxed my muscles in a futile attempt to regain my strength and fill my lungs with air.
The shaking stopped. I pushed through the ice below me, reaching to feel for him again. Sinking deeper and deeper, suffocating, my lungs empty, gulping and taking in nothing but snow, I continued, swinging my elbows inch by inch, hoping to create a pocket of snow at my nose.
As if pushed by a plow, snow tumbled against the sides of my face, rolling in balls, pushing, and compacting under my nose and mouth.
I gasped, swallowing more snow, and gagged, my numb tongue unable to move. My lungs tight and heavy, I inhaled a tiny breath that immediately shot from my lungs with the weight of snow on my back.
I opened my mouth, trying to take another breath. Snow caked at my nostrils and filled my mouth. My head and body became weightless. Balloon like, my arms and legs lifted, floating as though I was still trapped and smashed and hadn’t moved.
Making one last attempt to recover Dassh, I used my last strength to wriggle my fingers, loosening the snow just enough to jab them downward. Nothing! Nothing but more snow. My jaw tightened. I could no longer move.
Karri Thompson, a native of San Diego, attended San Diego State University where she earned her bachelor’s degree in English and master’s degree in education. When she’s not writing novels and teaching high school English, she can be found nerding out at San Diego Comic-Con and cooking delicious meals for her family. Karri is the recipient of the San Diego Book Awards Best Published Young Adult Novel for 2014.
Pitted against one another, with the people and country they love in jeopardy, the daughter of a deserter and the son of the king have a chance to fulfill their forebears’ legacy—or destroy it entirely.
Twisted monsters called saja lurk in the shadows of the mountains. Rumors say the Fidelis, human wielders of an ancient elemental magic, again walk the plains. Not all in Avaron believe, and not all welcome the return of legend.
Kura’s a skeptic. But, she’ll cross and befriend centaurs, talking animals, and worse to save her family after the rebellion mistakes her for the land’s prophesied savior. And, while he’d rather negotiate with rebels than fight them, Triston can’t ignore prophecy. That was the sham his father used to steal the crown in the first place.
Over a century ago, their ancestors sailed the oceans in search of peace and died as heroes fighting for it. But heroes—and villains—aren’t always what they seem to be.
Inspired by Brandon Sanderson’s grounded characters and JRR Tolkien’s sense of wonder, Fire of the Forebears is a fantasy for fans who think a dual perspective adventure about the fate of one nation might still be pretty epic.
The sunrise cast a sickly yellow glow over the city, bringing light to a scene of carnage better left in darkness. Triston stood in the center, droplets of rain cascading down his cloak, and grimaced as he surveyed the billowing tendrils of smoke and steam that emanated from the charred clearing. It was a bitter dawn—one he’d been dreading.
Twelve. There were twelve men unaccounted for after the last night’s battle.
So far they’d found seven, all of whom had died within the city after it’d been breached. Now, with the first of the morning light, Triston picked his way east of Tarr Fianin’s walls—or, more accurately, what remained of the walls. Several townsfolk were already attempting to replace the damaged logs, and they sent embittered glances in Triston’s direction. At the moment, he didn’t care.
Carcasses, stiff from death’s embrace, littered the clearing. A few were men—far fewer than Triston had first believed. During the battle he’d been unable to tell, but now he saw plainly the faces of his enemies: they were monsters, beasts that walked like men but wore the faces of animals. Perhaps this was clearest in death, their features twisted into unnerving snarls, their fur splattered in blood and matted by the rain.
He hadn’t believed it before, but he knew it now: the Wynshire was a dangerous place, and they never should have come.
Among the drab garb of the dead there shone a patch of bright red—a soldier’s cloak, the color undampened by the rain. Triston crossed the field to kneel at the dead man’s side. It was Mory, face pale, lifeless eyes staring up at the sunrise. Triston carefully pulled the man’s wet cloak over his body.
“Triston.” Seren’s voice broke the stillness. He maneuvered around the debris like a mother crossing a cluttered playroom to tell her child to pick up his toys. “I thought I would find you here.”
The anger that had been brewing in Triston’s chest threatened to boil over, and he clenched his teeth as he rose to his feet. He didn’t want a conversation, not now and not from him.
“Come on,” Seren said gently. “You can let the captains do this.”
Triston closed his fist around the sword hilt at his side. Of course Seren would say that; a strategist delegated the burden while a military man shouldered it. “How do you explain these?” He motioned toward one of the dead creatures as he looked Seren in the eye. “Is it saja? Not seen in Avaron for generations?”
“They’re not saja.” Seren’s apparent confidence set Triston’s teeth on edge. “They’re dangerous, though. And worse yet multiply in Lovaria even as we—”
“Stop. Just… stop.” Triston shook his head, and he couldn’t help but stare at the red cloak covering Mory’s body by his feet.
“It’s not your fault.”
Triston laughed bitterly. “Not my fault? What did I tell you yesterday? I said these towns were unpredictable. I said we needed more men.”
“And you were right.” Seren’s tone was somewhere between consoling and placating. “I should have listened. But I still outrank you: the siege was my decision.”
“But it was the wrong decision, and I knew it. I shouldn’t have let my men follow you.”
Seren’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean to suggest?”
Triston sighed. Did I really just say that? He ran his fingers through his wet hair. Yes, he’d said it. And he didn’t want to take it back. “I don’t know what I mean.”
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
