“So. Wolf thinks I need to stitch your wound,” Ingrid said, looking nervous at the prospect. “Yes. You probably do,” he agreed grimly. Though Magnus’ intervention had stopped the cut from being fatal, it was both too long and too deep to be left alone. “Could I have a drink first?” There was no use pretending this wouldn’t be an ordeal. He had never needed as much as a single stitch in his life and he dreaded the prospect. “Of course.” She handed him a cup full of the excellent ale he’d enjoyed during his stay under her roof. Was it only yesterday morning he’d left? It seemed more like two years. “I’ll get everything I need.” When she came back, she had a basin of water and a few pieces of cloth in her hands. “I need to wash the blood off first, so I can see what I’m doing,” she explained almost apologetically. “Will you be able to remove your shirt?” The mere idea of having to sit up sent his guts into a tangle of knots. “Perhaps I could just lift it?” he said hopefully. To his relief, she agreed. “It should be enough, as the cut…

BURIED TOO DEEP by Karen Rose Excerpt Phin Bishop stumbled to a stop, staring up at the building that was as close to a home as he’d known in a long time. It wasn’t the building itself, of course, although it was beautiful with its cast iron balconies and its shutters thrown wide in welcome. Even to me. He hoped. Because the magic of the building wasn’t in its bricks or balconies. It was in the people who worked within its walls. Burke Broussard and his people had become Phin’s family. But I deserted them. I ran. No. He could hear the voice of his therapist in his mind. You didn’t “run.” You have PTSD. You left to get better. But was he better? Am I ready to be back? A hand closed over his shoulder, warm and reassuring. “Phin?” Stone O’Bannion murmured. “We can come back tomorrow. Or we can get SodaPop. This is exactly what she’s trained for. Helping you through situations just like this.” Swallowing hard, Phin turned to meet his best friend’s eyes and saw understanding and compassion that Phin didn’t think he deserved. Stone was right. Phin should have brought his new service dog. But…

Chapter One As I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I remind myself that you can’t always trust Google Maps—On a T-shirt worn by Jinx McGee, Demon Hunter   Something weird was in the air. Literally. Unlike the last time, there were no exploding buildings or chaos, but the night was still young. There were strange glowing objects flashing to and fro above the downtown skyline before blinking out of existence. Or to another plane of existence. I scanned the sky looking for signs of imminent attack D, my demon boyfriend, ran toward HQ with my demon in tow. Then I stopped to get a better look. The objects weren’t flying demons, at least not any species with which I was familiar. The strange beings flitted between tall buildings, over the river and bridges, moving in sync with the music pouring from bars and honky-tonks. They glowed with an unearthly light, the creatures. Beneath the glow, there seemed to be an abundance of feathers. And eyes. So many eyes. Celestials. Celestials were on the loose. Biblically accurate angels were powerful, hideous, and terrifying. And they were flying around downtown Nashville in plain sight of modern humans who’d…

Excerpted from THE LAST LIGHT OVER OSLO, provided courtesy of William Morrow/HarperCollins Publishers. Copyright © 2024 by Alix Rickloff.   THE LAST LIGHT OVER OSLO BY ALIX RICKLOFF CHAPTER 1 March 1940 Oslo, Norway My dearest Anne, It’s 1914 all over again. This disturbing thought has been rolling around in my head ever since the news broke last September that Great Britain would come to the aid of Poland and join the fight against Germany. But never has it seemed so near as it has after this long deadly winter. My mind keeps returning to our years in France during the last great cataclysm, and I want to weep all over again for the failures that have led us back, barely twenty years later. Caught up in a web of memories, Daisy paused, her pen resting on the paper. The afternoon light faded to silver, fog shrouding the Oslo city streets surrounding the US minister’s residence. Kim dozed at her feet, the old German shepherd whuffling as his back legs twitched in dream. A few cars grumbled their way up the narrow street of Nobels Gate and turned into the legation’s drive. It would be the wives. Five of them…

Excerpt from DEAR HANNA by Zoje Stage Chapters 28 and 29: 1212 words Text copyright © 2024 by Zoje Stage, Published by Thomas & Mercer   Dear Hanna, Here’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently: there is a certain kind of man who was once fawned over and is now irrelevant. These are mostly older men, mostly white, and were highly accomplished in their fields—like, lots of artists, actors, film directors. Now their legacies are ruined and they’re in the Bad-Man file alongside the nonfamous lecherous old men. Once upon a time the Bad Boys could do whatever they wanted. They power tripped on their badness—and everyone’s blind acceptance—in an endless cycle of feeding their ego. Now we look at them and scoff, “Whatta piece of shit!” I’ve been thinking about this for two reasons. First, there’s something both fascinating and tragic about someone who was once revered, successful, living the high life . . . who is now a pariah. Aren’t some of those old fuckers in prison now? They’re probably all shaking their heads and screaming into their pillows, “What HAPPENED?!” Because they got away with their shit for decades—centuries? millennia?—and nobody cared. Long live the penis! And…

THE DUKE’S TREASON By Jeff Wheeler   PROLOGUE Lord High Constable TWELVE YEARS AGO   John Thursby crossed the bridge astride his turbulent horse, whom he’d nicknamed Truck, short for “truculent.” The soldier had ridden Truck all night to reach Kingfountain, and neither of them were in a cheerful mood. The smells coming from the food stalls along the bridge wafted pleasantly to his nose—the grease of fresh sausages, the fragrance of freshly baked muffins. He’d get food on his way out, though. He had a duty to perform for his master, Lord Devereaux. The roar of the waterfall against the flagstones jarred him. He passed the gates to Our Lady of Kingfountain, casting a wary glance at them. The worst thieves and villains lurked there, protected by the deconeus from the king’s justice by the rules of sanctuary. It was said many a soldier had taken refuge there after the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross. They’d feared the young king’s first acts of justice, but Eredur had been surprisingly lenient. John Thursby had no reason to object to that mercy since he’d benefited from it directly. His master had been elevated to lord high constable, a member of the king’s…

Excerpt for UNTIL I FOUND YOU by Wendy Lindstrom   Howling wind and a dark sky overhead warned Gray Sullivan to hurry back to his cabin before the incoming storm buried him in snow, but as he stepped from the cold shadows of the Maine forest, he stopped in stunned surprise. At the edge of the stream, a woman stood hunched and shivering in the frigid wind. Slowly, painfully it seemed, she sank to her knees, revealing her stocking-clad thigh through a long, jagged tear in her skirt. He watched her dip trembling hands in the creek, then bring her cupped palms to her mouth. Her whole body quaked and she emitted a small gasp as she swallowed, her hands immediately clutching her throat as if it hurt. Instinctively, Gray surveyed the long expanse of rock-strewn creek bed above him, then checked downstream where the stream widened and gained momentum, but he saw no one. Methodically, he scanned the timberline and the high cliffs behind the woman, desperately hoping someone would appear and claim her, but the mountain remained eerily silent. She appeared to be alone, and in her exposed condition he knew she would be dead before nightfall. Clenching…

From That Prince is Mine by Jayci Lee. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.   Chapter Two I don’t understand why you insist on staying at a hotel.” Gabriel glanced around the hotel café then shrugged his reluctant approval. “Charming café notwithstanding.” Michel took a sip of his excellent coffee. The hotel was something of a historical monument, built more than a hundred years ago, with rich wood panels, sparkling chandeliers, and a grand double staircase. But the airy, sunlit café that sat beneath the vaulted ceilings of the lobby was the main perk of staying at this hotel. The café was the perfect place to prepare for his lectures—and put out the occasional fires with the ministers back home—while indulging in some people watching. The hotel bustled with a variety of clientele, such as tourists dressed head-to-toe in Mickey Mouse paraphernalia to businesspeople in somber, dark suits. Michel relished the luxury of being the one to observe others for once. “There are many things about me you will never understand, my dear cousin,” he drawled. “Ah, yes,” his cousin said in a voice that made the Sahara Desert sound humid….

The Bowling Bet Excerpt from EXES & FOES copyright © 2024 by Amanda Woody.   I approach the pins, swing back, and let loose. The ball rolls halfway down the lane before careening sideways into the gutter. To my dismay, I hear Juliet yell, “That was a practice shot! You got this!” Of course she’d start paying attention right when I flub my first throw. Before embarrassment can reach my face, I swivel around and bow, causing both Alice and Juliet to clap for me. “I threw it into the gutter purposefully,” I say, hopping toward the ball return. “So you’ll feel okay when you take your first turns.” “I appreciate your sacrifice,” Juliet says with a grateful nod, and she snags her shimmering pink ball, climbing the steps to her lane. I spy the opportunity for a moment, and I grab my ball as well, meeting her at the lane to her right. “Who’s going to win this turn?” I ask innocently. “You.” “Why’s that?” “I have astigmatism,” Juliet says. Oh. Uh. I can’t find a way to make a joke about eye defects, so I say, “You saw my first throw, didn’t you? But let’s have some fun…

From the moment the auto repair shop door swung closed behind him, Axel Martinez knew he’d made a mistake coming back to Sea Glass Bay Automotive. Not one to back down from the hard stuff, he planted his steel-toed work boots on the concrete of the closed shop and looked around. Standing tool boxes and electric diagnostic equipment lined the side and back walls. An old Ford sedan occupied a far bay, hood up. Car lifts sat empty in two of the three other bays. To his right, a small waiting room and office had been made with plate glass running waist high to the ceiling. Sea Glass Bay Automotive was a mechanic’s dream. Well-cared for and large enough to make a good living. Axel wanted to buy it. He’d scheduled a meeting here with the owner, Dennis Hammond, and his real estate agent, Sam Bell. But he’d been stood up. Axel stuffed his hands in his grease-stained coverall pockets. “I was supposed to meet Mr. Bell and Mr. Hammond?” He hadn’t meant that to come out as a question. There was no question about whether he had an appointment. The question was why hadn’t the men honored it. Axel…