The Belgravia Phantom

 

 

Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before 

– from well below stairs.

The Belgravia Phantom

The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries Book 1

by Ellis Blackwood

Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery

How do you prove you didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?

Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.

Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up for in allies.
There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around this – they’re petty thieves.

There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).

And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado, lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the smelling salts.

Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty lords and ladies who attended the séance?

And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?

The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps approach...

 

**New Release on July 31!**

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Ned and Vi belong to the evening, when the naphtha lamps of the costermongers’ stalls hiss and flare, and all between is subsumed in shadow. When the streets still throng with shoppers, and the trams and cabs and omnibuses are lit by oil - white light, oncoming; red light, receding - and Whitechapel Road feels interesting to know. When the cries of the chestnut roasters, the fried-fish sellers and the pie-men create a cacophony of distraction. 

This is when they thrive.

They have their stomachs set on the hawker of baked potatoes, with his lovingly polished can on four legs, its brass plaque proclaiming: “Old Original Baked Potatoes”. The old man who ran the stand for many a year lately died; his errant son has the business now, and shows rather less aptitude for vigilance.

While Ned lurks in the background, Vi sidles up. Her head tilts this way and that, apparently undecided. She plays with an unseen coin in her hand. The bait.

Glowing charcoal lights the lad’s face orange. He narrows eyes at her. Steam rises from his burner, and the earthy aroma of the treasure within.

“What can I have for a ha’penny?” she asks. It is all she could spare, but it should suffice if she plays it right.

He snorts. “On your way, missy. My prices start at a penny and no less.”

She glances up and down the road, where the sellers either side, of ham sandwiches, hot green peas and eels, have patrons queueing.

He kicks a heel. It has not been easy, taking over his father’s trade. The baker who roasts his hundredweights recently upped his fee, and the locals whose custom the old man relied upon have found new flavours elsewhere. Many deserted him for that other potato hawker in Spitalfields.

As his gaze follows Vi’s, he licks his lips. “S’pose I might be able to find a small one.”

He opens the wide half-lid, peers inside debating, and picks out the smallest spud he can find.

“Butter and salt?” she asks innocently.

“For a ha’penny? Don’t push yer luck.”

As he hands over the plain fare, she fumbles the coin. The tiniest flick of her thumb sends it skittering into a gutter, his attention trapped on its progress. By the time he has retrieved it, mumbling sourly, Ned has pounced and vanished, melting into the crowd. He moves slickly for a big lad, even one cradling stolen potatoes in an untucked shirt.

“Sorry. Butterfingers.” Vi smiles, savouring the spud’s warmth as she heads home.

Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries: fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in 17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.

A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK's most popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which explains a lot.

He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators, graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.

"Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of intrigue and fun" – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries

 

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No Straight Lines to the Stars Blitz

 

An Unlikely Journey from Lifeguard Tower to Launchpad

 

Narrative Nonfiction/Inspirational

Date Published: August 4th, 2026

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

No Straight Lines to the Stars is the inspiring true story of a young lifeguard who dared to believe his life could reach far beyond the horizon.

On the beaches of Southern California, Ken Kisco learned that preparation saves lives. From rip-current rescues to split-second emergencies, he discovered that courage is not the absence of fear, but the decision to act in spite of it. Those early lessons in resilience and composure pushed Ken to believe he could accomplish anything . . . including his lifelong dream of reaching the stars.

Through relentless perseverance and unwavering faith, Ken rose into the heart of America’s most advanced space and defense programs, contributing to human spaceflight initiatives and supporting groundbreaking technologies. His unusual start as a lifeguard helped advance his career, distinguishing him from his Air Force and Navy peers. Yet, his toughest challenges were personal—he faced deep disappointment when a space mission was canceled and learned lessons about trust and integrity from a romance-turned-ruse.

Ken’s journey reveals that success is rarely linear. Setbacks became launchpads, adversity became refinement, and purpose became a compass. Part memoir, part inspiration, and part behind-the-scenes look at America’s quest for the stars, this is the unforgettable story of a man who proves that bold dreams, combined with grit and heart, can launch an ordinary life into an extraordinary one.

 

About the Author

At ten years old, Ken Kisco dreamed of becoming a rocket scientist, a goal that shaped his life. He earned multiple degrees, including master's degrees from the University of Southern California in systems management and from San Jose State University in industrial psychology.

As an aerospace systems engineer for NASA, Rockwell International, and Boeing, he developed new technologies and earned recognition as an American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA) Fellow.

Ken now shares his passion by mentoring USC engineering students, inspiring them to dream boldly. When not traveling, he and his wife enjoy San Diego's beaches, where they live.

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Nightflower of Comanche Mound Blitz

 

Teen and YA, Westerns

Date Published: 03-03-2025

Publisher: Adventure & Quest, LLC

A troubled teen struggling with fractured family relationships forms an unexpected bond with a lost, blind horse that transforms her life, teaching her the true meaning of courage, resilience, and healing.

Excerpt

A week on the ranch had really transformed me. I looked the part, like I’d lived here all my life. Before jetting from Seattle, I had an expectation of riding a fast horse over a wide prairie, the wind whipping my hair. Never had I imagined myself in baggy-butt jeans with pockets that sunk to my knees. They were heavier than any I’d ever owned, and fastened high on my waist, as if pulled up with suspenders. The shirt tail draped my back, and I had to roll the sleeves five times.
But the boots! Oh, I loved how they made me taller. They fit like clamps, as if my feet were growing in bark.
I clomped to the large picture window, plunked the sombrero Sabion gave me on my head. “Eesh.”
I look like a mushroom.
If Mom had told me from the beginning that Pap didn’t have horses, maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about coming. I had the idea of wearing the giddy-up home—I would walk right past her at the airport and she wouldn’t even know me. But then, what would’ve happened to Radar?
No. Destiny had brought me here.
Pap’s boots stammered on the porch. I couldn't resist a cocky stroll past him—long, lanky strides that thunked my foot heel to toe. He sipped smugly from his coffee mug. Well, of course—nothing unusual to him. Just a set of sensible clothes.
Oh, well…as long as he’s happy—
* * *
Sabion’s smirk held a snicker. “Ah, si. You look…now you look right.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glug—”
Radar was pungent with horse sweat. Was it his timid nature that made me brave for him? A fearless front to give us both courage, like a parent protecting their child? Well, some parents. He sniffed my pant leg, and blew a snort that spewed junk on my knee. Now they’re broken in…
“How much time do I have today?” I asked. Sabion had honored his agreement to let me use Jennie half a day for training, but I’d already wasted a slip of his morning trying to make the blasted blue jeans work.
He looked at his watch. “None today. I am here too long already.”
“An hour?” I pleaded.
Sabion shook a finger. “Yesterday you say to me, ‘This day I will make repairs to the corral.’ You forget this? Now you say, ‘Este día voy a hacer reparaciones.’ Mas importante.”
I tried not to laugh. Sabion could never scold. Though he tried to sound tough, it only made him look leathery. It was kinda weird that I was beginning to understand him when I didn’t even speak the lingo.
“But you’re here already. I can make the repairs when you leave.” My plan today wasn’t to repair the corral; my plan was to string those blasted bells together while I had the workbench to myself. Then I’d reveal my fun training plan to Sabion when he returned.
His shoulders caved, the argument lost. “One hour okay is all.” His words netted altogether.

 

About the Author

Katlyn Bates writes contemporary fiction for young adults. Her debut novel, Nightflower of Comanche Mound was named a 2025 Spur Finalist by Western Writers of America (WWA) in the Juvenile-Young Adult Fiction category. The recognition, along with multiple 5-Star book reviews from Readers’ Favorite, encouraged her to dust off old stuff she wrote just for fun, and look at them with fresh eyes.

Drawn to action and adventure that is grounded in real life, Katlyn finds inspiration in the wildness of the world around us. “Nature doesn’t care what we think. It’s wild and ferocious and unpredictable—a good reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. The downright ridiculous seems to call for a twist of humor. What I can’t see, I can imagine.” Juggling family, work, and life, over the years Katlyn grasped whatever time she had available for a writing class when she could—poetry, creative, a bit of journalism. What she discovered was that stories come from deep within us…a moment. A memory. An experience or impression or dream. Only when they surface, can you add texture and color.

A late-bloomer by her own description, Katlyn’s writing kicked off when she joined Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI), a community of like-minded people who selflessly share, uplift, and guide, one meeting at a time. “There’s so much to learn, just for the listening. Other writers energize me, challenge me to ‘say it better’. Everyone has a natural style, and it always amazes me how many ways there are to tell a story. From SCBWI to the Writers’ League of Texas (WLT)—where Nightflower of Comanche Mound was a 2022 Thriller/Action-Adventure Finalist in the Manuscript Contest—on to Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West (WWW), Katlyn has found that it’s networks of writers that encourage her “No matter what stage of writing skill, anyone, at any age, with a yearning to write should seek out others who love what you love. Don’t wait.”

A native Texan, Katlyn Bates lives near Dallas, TX, outside a small town that—like so many inter-connected communities, is quickly becoming absorbed by the sprawl. “As for me, it’s open skies and nature and landscape that frame a plot, and lend power to a story.”

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No Excuses, No Regrets (Sanctum Black 3): A Razor's Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short by Wanda Violet O.

 

BDSM Erotica

Date Published: August 7, 2026

Tonight, Marley will beg for every forbidden thing she’s too proud to ask for.

Marley -- I built the model. Denton stole the credit, sabotaged my numbers, and tried to bury me in front of the client. Then Lucan walks in. Three nights ago, he was the Dom who bound my wrists, stripped away my control, and made me scream inside Sanctum Black. Today, he’s the client who can save my career -- or destroy it. He demands I lead the account. Demands a direct line to me. And when he orders me back to his private room, kneeling and waiting, I know exactly what he wants. Worse, I know exactly how badly I want to give it to him.

Lucan -- Marley thinks she can hide behind sharp suits, sharper words, and professional boundaries. She’s wrong. I saw what she needed the first night I had her under my hands. I saw the hunger, the surrender, the beautiful way she fought herself before giving in. Her boss tried to take what belonged to her. I handled that. Now I’ll handle Marley. I won’t break her. I’ll bind her, test her, praise her, punish her, and make her beg. She’s mine. By the time I’m done, she’ll say it. More? She’ll believe it.

 

EXCERPT

 

Marley

I sat at my desk, staring at my finished project. Three weeks of work stacked into a clean PowerPoint. The numbers aligned. The previous projections had been spot on, and I had worked to complete this project and move to the next phase for over two years. Now waves had started in upper management. The completed work would not be presented by me.

My boss, Denton, had made that clear in his email yesterday. He would lead. I would attend as backup for any questions he couldn’t answer. The email didn’t mention why he’d pulled the rug out from under me, but I had a good idea.

My phone buzzed. A text from the front: Denton wanting me in the conference room now. I’d already sent him my presentation for review so I couldn’t imagine why he’d want me early. Even with him doing the bulk of the meeting, I still had prep work to finish.

With a sigh, I shut my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase before leaving my tiny cubicle. The open-plan office stretched around me. No one looked up… which was the first warning. The conference room sat at the far end of the floor, all glass walls and polished table. I could see two junior associates already seated inside, their postures attentive, laptops open. Denton stood at the head of the table with the room’s projection screen pulled down. The navy suit he wore looked expensive and tailored, his tie perfectly straight.

I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click. Denton did not look up from his phone. “Marley. Thank you for joining us.” He set his phone down and reached for the laptop in front of him. “I’ve made a few adjustments to the presentation.”

He opened the file to the first slide. My name in the bottom corner was now gone, replaced by his name in a large, bold font.

He glanced up at me. “Optics. I’m sure you understand.” His curt explanation cut me off before I fully processed he’d actually taken credit for my work. His voice stayed level. I opened my mouth to object but heard how petty I’d sound in front of my colleagues. “The client expects senior leadership on engagements of this size. It’s about inserting confidence into the relationship between our companies.”

Neither of the other two men in the room spoke up. Instead, they both kept their eyes on their own screens.

“This is an editorial decision, not a reflection on your work.” Denton smiled, though there was nothing remotely friendly or pleasant about the expression on his face. “You’ll be in the room. You’ll have the opportunity to contribute during Q&A.”

My heart pounded in alarm. He was edging me out. Denton had every intention of taking credit for the work we’d done on the first phase. He knew enough about the next steps to make everything work, but I doubted he could explain the finer points, or keep the project on track to meet the projections for phase two which would mean a significant delay in phase three. Assuming the assigned team made it to phase three.

“I understand the optics,” I said. My voice came out clipped, precise. Anything louder would give him what he wanted. “But the analysis is mine. The client should know who built it in case there are adjustments leading into phase two.”

“Of course.” Denton nodded as if I had said something helpful. Then he pulled up a slide with a page I had never seen. A figure chart with numbers that did not match any data set I’d worked with.

“I did want to raise one concern.” He turned the slide toward the juniors. “This figure. The correlation coefficient here is significantly off from the rest of the model. I caught it during my review.”

The room went very quiet. I stared at the slide. The numbers were wrong. They weren’t numbers I had generated and they definitely didn’t belong in my analysis. Nor had I put them there. Suddenly, everything made sense. The way he’d undercut me in the first meeting when he’d replaced my topic without notice. The way he’d taken credit for my work. He wanted point on this project and the prestige that went with it.

“This is exactly the kind of oversight that concerns me,” Denton continued. His tone had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal. “Attention to detail matters at this level. The client will have questions. We need to be prepared with answers.”

My whole body broke out into a sweat, the visceral reaction to the way I’d just been undercut. My jaw tightened. The furrow between my brows deepened, a physical response I could not control.

“That slide isn’t mine,” I said. The words came out steady. Barely.

Denton’s expression did not change. “The file was submitted to me under your name.”

“I didn’t build that chart. The numbers are wrong.”

“Then we’ll correct it.” He set the slide down. “The important thing is that we caught it before the client saw it. That’s what a senior review process is for.” Could he sound more patronizing?

Through the glass walls, I could see heads turning toward the conference room. Not staring directly. The careful, sidelong attention of people who understood exactly what was happening without needing to hear the words. The shape of a public correction. The unmistakable geometry of a superior establishing dominance.

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

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Only Angels Have Blue Eyes Blitz

 

Horror / Suspense

Date Published: 08-03-2026

Things are looking up for Maylin Cole and her 4-year-old daughter, Margo. Fleeing an abusive relationship, the private clinic Heaven’s Hope offers shelter and the promise of a new life. Led by the charismatic and beguiling Seraph Nakir, they learn a surprising truth: they’re actually angels who have lost their way.

Everyone has an angel name and is being prepared to ‘ascend’ when the time is right. Their angelic identities will play a significant role in aiding humanity when the world ends.

As the weeks pass, Maylin becomes accustomed to the peculiar confrontational therapy. The black curtains and bars on the windows no longer trouble her. The lack of privacy, mystifying theology, and strange rules become commonplace. She sees Margo less frequently since the children are kept in the basement.

The death of another patient awakens Maylin to dark secrets within the walls, and soon the horrifying truth about Nakir and Heaven’s Hope is revealed. Maylin must confront her insecurities, rediscover her individuality, and use her wits and resources if she hopes to save Margo and the other children.

Inspired by a true crime case, this slow-burn thriller roars to a pulse-pounding climax, reminding the reader to think independently, ask questions, and be careful who you trust.

 

About the Author

J. Todd Kingrea is the author of "With A Blighted Touch" and The Deiparian Saga ("The Witchfinder," "The Crimson Fathers," and "Bane of the Witch"). He has also authored two non-fiction books, two short stories, and role-playing game scenarios. When not writing, he enjoys collecting and watching movies, reading, and prowling through dusty old bookstores. He and his wife live in Galax, Virginia.

You can find him online at www.jtoddkingrea.com, on Facebook, X, and Instagram. Stay in touch at jtoddkingrea@yahoo.com.

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Ivy Leigh Ever After by Gael Lynch

 

Young Adult

Date Published: January 30, 2026

Publisher: Small Circles Press

When Ivy Leigh's mom dies, her life turns upside down. Another year has passed, and she wants to remain the girl she once was, mucking in the mud, hiking in the woods, chasing after frogs and butterflies, all the little girl things she did when Mom sometimes came along with her. Now, Ivy is eleven turning twelve. The past year was marked with an awful set of nightmares and a huge hole she can't quite find a way to fill.

Even greater trouble arrives when Ivy finds out her arch nemesis, Winona, starts bullying her. Soon, Ivy will learn that like her mom had told her, even bullies have backstories too.

With a family and friends-Ivy is surrounded by a small circle of people who love her. She remembers what her mom always taught her-to spread that love, to be kind and compassionate above all else, no matter what challenges in life arise.

Excerpt

Chapter One: The Package

“She’s coming for you, Peachy.”

He leaped off the bed and scrambled toward me. Together, we stood at the window, watching. I’d heard the roar of that muffler. The sound of the crash. It all spelled trouble. Up until now, Peachy was unknown to her. But I knew it would never stay that way. Dad was at work. She always knew the perfect time to strike.

“That was Mom’s gnome!” Nat’s shriek pierced the air, and I knew this was going to be bad. I took the stairs two at a time, in boxers and a tank top, with Peachy trailing behind. It was early on a Saturday, Viv was still in bed, and I hadn’t even brushed my teeth. But that never mattered to Grandma. This was a surprise attack; we were in her sights, and she had a total takeover in mind. I tucked Peachy away in his crate and latched him in tight before heading out to the front porch to see what was going on.

And there she was. Bulb shaped and full of bluster, Grandma stood with Nat at her side, staring down at the smashed garden gnome. He was pink-faced with a green hat and a little red jacket. Mom named him ‘Happy.’ He made her laugh just to look at him in the midst of her treatments and trips to and from the hospital. But now Happy was here all smashed up in the garden, and Mom had been gone for almost a whole awful year.

“That is the tackiest thing! People will question the sort of people who live in a house with a thing like that out front!”

Things went quiet for a moment, I don’t think Nat even knew what to say to that.

But I knew this wasn’t going to be about the garden gnome. She’d come about Peachy who we’d hidden from her for a whole two weeks. But I’d had a funny feeling about that lately, Grandma had eyes and ears everywhere.

A minute later, I heard the squeak of metal behind me. And then, to my shock and surprise, the screen door flew open. Within seconds, Peachy bolted out, lunged at Grandma and nearly knocked her off her feet. How on earth did he get out of there, I thought.

“This! she bellowed. “This is exactly why I’m here!” Her face was wrinkled, powdered and puffed, with a coat of bright red lipstick smeared across her lips. Cruella had nothing on her. A true animal hater, she shrieked again at the sight of him.

I came running down the sidewalk then and scooped Peachy up in my arms. “It’s okay, boy,” I said, rubbing his peach-colored fur and holding him close.

“It is not okay! That dog has accosted the neighbors and now he’s attacked me! Always on the loose, with no training and no hope of it at all. Why was I not told about him?”

About the Author

 

 Gael Lynch is a writer and storyteller who traces her roots back to her dad’s carefully crafted bedtime stories of fairy queens and villains, beggars of old, the rags to riches sagas of the ancients, always set in the rich green tones of the Irish countryside. Her own greatest ideas, though, are not those of far away and long ago, but ones that exist right under her nose. In what seems to be the ordinary, Gael loves nothing more than a chance encounter while waiting on a line at the grocery store. Perfect strangers offer a world of little gems, experiences she might never have had herself.

The Newbury Award winning author, Patricia Reilly Giff, mentored Gael for many of her writing years. Always a person of pure encouragement, it was Pat’s gentle wisdom that kept her writing and believing in herself for many years.

Her debut novel, IVY LEIGH EVER AFTER, is the story of an eleven, almost twelve-year-old girl whose mom has died and whose life is in a swirl of change. With a mix of humor and heart-rending moments, Ivy will learn that by extending a hand to others, she can also help herself.

If Gael is not at her desk writing, she’s off riding waves, tossing balls in the air for her large golden retriever, Wrigley, or listening to live music under a starlit sky alongside her longtime husband, Tom. She lives in coastal North Carolina with its warm nights and soft ocean breezes. But Newtown, with its pastoral beauty and its warm-hearted people, will always be the place she calls home.

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Night Times Trilogy

 

 

The darkest hour is only the beginning in the world of shadows.

Night Times Book One

Night Times Trilogy 1

by Eileen Sheehan

Genre: Paranormal Vampire Romance Thriller

For two hundred years, Ethan has haunted the shadows, carrying the heartbreak of losing Judith, the wife he loved before he was unwillingly turned into a vampire.

When he meets Arabella at a costume party, he's stunned by the similarities she shares with Judith. As their connection deepens, Ethan becomes convinced that Arabella is Judith reborn. But with her returning memories come dangerous secrets—knowledge from a centuries-old vampire-hunting society that could threaten the existence of every vampire alive.

Now, hunted by both a ruthless Vampire League and relentless vampire hunters, Ethan and Arabella find themselves caught in a deadly struggle between love, loyalty, and survival. As enemies close in and the past refuses to stay buried, Ethan must choose between losing Arabella forever or offering her the immortality that was forced upon him.

Night Times (Book One) begins a captivating vampire romance thriller trilogy that is filled with, forbidden love, deadly secrets, and a passion that defies time itself.

 

What readers are saying:

 

“For fans of supernatural thrillers involving vampires, Night Times has got everything they crave... Sheehan has created yet another immersive fantastical world full of vampires, witches, and monster hunters. The book is fast-paced, and since I was enjoying it so much, the pages just flew by….You're going to love this!”

 “… Sheehan doesn’t just focus on romance. She digs into what love and trust really mean when everything’s on the line. There’s also a raw look at what it means for a vampire to lose their humanity—how turning immortal tears you away from who you used to be, and from people you once knew. Immortality in this story isn’t just sparkling and forever-young; it comes with a price: isolation, loss, and sometimes the fading of your own sense of self. Still, there’s a flip side—it can mean never-ending love and the fierce desire to protect…… If you’re in the mood for a supernatural drama that goes beyond the usual tropes—one that really leans into the pain, the memories, and the kind of love that won’t quit—this book is definitely worth your time.”

  

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Prologue

The rain came down in silver threads and turned the road to black glass on the night that Ethan’s reality was changed forever.

He remembered that more clearly than he remembered his own face from that time. Faces changed in memory. They were smoothed by years and grief until they became something like paintings. But weather remained exact. The smell of wet earth. The sting of cold through wool. The way the world looked when it was nearly dark and every lamp in the distance seemed to float like a warning.

He had been running then from the thing that had already happened to him.

He had not yet learned that becoming a vampire did not feel like entering a new life. It felt like being torn from the old one with enough violence to leave a permanent shape in the soul. At first there had been only pain, then thirst, then a terrifying clarity that came with the hunger. He had not completely grasped what he was but that realization was soon to come.

And because he had understood that, he had run.

He stood now beneath the branches of the elm at the edge of the lane with the rain slipping through the leaves onto his face while he watched the light in his own house glow through the windows.

Home. The word struck him with unbearable force.

Inside, his wife and love of his life, Judith, would be setting down her sewing and folding the blanket over the arm of the chair. She would be waiting for him, although she might pretend not to be. She always pretended not to wait, as if waiting was too revealing a sort of love. But Ethan had always known. He had known by the way that she paused when she heard his footstep and by the way that she turned before he spoke while already smiling.

He’d spent three hours pacing the woods beyond the property line while fighting his own body as if it was a wild animal. His mouth still burned. His throat ached with a need so vast that it felt like a second heart beating where his was supposed to be. He had torn at his own cuff, bitten the inside of his mouth until it bled, and shoved his hands into the mud to keep from running back to the house.

The problem was that he could still smell her….

 

…“Stay where you are,” he gruffly ordered.

Her mouth slightly parted with fear. “You’re frightening me.”

He could not bear that. Not from her.

The room wavered at the edge of his vision. Hunger rose up in him with a vicious, animal certainty. And for one impossible instant he saw her as prey - not Judith, not wife, not the woman who had braided ribbons into her hair and fallen asleep reading beside the fire, but a pulse of life that he could take with one movement.

He stumbled backward.

Judith’s expression changed to alarm as she exclaimed, “Ethan!”

“No!” he bellowed. The word came out raw.

The flame shivered as she set the candle down too quickly and took a step toward him. “Tell me what happened.”

He violently shook his head. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth again, although he knew there was no wound there now. “You must not come near me.”…

 

…When Judith finally spoke, her voice was broken but steady. “Ethan.”

Heclosed his eyes. “Yes?”

Her voice trembled as she said, “Do not disappear from my life forever.”

That was the moment when he nearly broke. He put one hand on the doorframe to steady himself. When he spoke, his voice was almost gone. “I will try not to.”

Then he stepped out into the rain and left the house before the dawn could find him.

He never forgot the sound of the door closing behind him. He never forgot the way that Judith had stood in the light, frightened and loving and still reaching for him. And for the centuries that followed, through blood, hunger, survival, and loneliness so deep that it became a second skin, he carried one unbearable truth with him - the night he abandoned Judith, he had not yet understood that immortality was not the curse.

The curse was living long enough to remember the exact shape of the love that you were forced to leave behind.

Night Times Book Two

Night Times Trilogy 2

Arabella was supposed to be dead.

After faking her death to escape the vampires who want her gone, Arabella and Ethan disappear into Las Vegas, hoping to build a life free from fear, secrets, and bloodshed.

For six months, they succeed.

Then Olive discovers the truth.

Obsessed with Ethan and unwilling to accept his love for another woman, Olive sets out to destroy everything they've built. As jealousy turns to vengeance, Ethan and Arabella are thrust into a nightmare that will change them forever.

Filled with danger, betrayal, suspense, and immortal love, Night Times: Book Two is a gripping paranormal romance about how far people will go for love—and how deadly obsession can become.

 

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Night Times Book Three

Night Times Trilogy 3

Arabella survived death, but immortality comes with a price.

As she learns to embrace life as a vampire under Ethan's guidance, the memories of her torture and murder refuse to fade. While vampire society struggles to accept her return, Arabella secretly plots revenge against the vampires responsible for her suffering—including the woman who wanted her dead.

One by one, her enemies begin to disappear.

As fear spreads through the vampire community and suspicion grows, Arabella must balance her thirst for vengeance with the future she's building alongside Ethan. But some wounds can only heal in darkness, and some debts can only be paid in blood.

Night Times: Book Three is a dark paranormal romance filled with vengeance, passion, secrets, and a love strong enough to survive death.

 

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Eileen Sheehan is an Internationally published, Best Selling and Award-Winning author of paranormal romance thrillers & horror for the mature adult. A professional and full-time spiritual advisor and holistic practitioner for over 30 years, the majority of her 76+ novels feature the paranormal, but some are novels about people in love, and a very few are self-help. Eileen incorporates experiences through the years along with her imagination to provide the best believable and entertaining read possible. As the years progressed, so has her writing style. Although she still includes romance and strives for a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and a touch of horror in them.

A former busy working mother (who is now a laid-back grandmother), Eileen understands the value of time. She makes it a point to write novels that are able to be enjoyed in one or two evenings.

 

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