She was in the largest office she’d ever seen. Not even the Director of the CDC had an office like this. She’d been in the offices of the CEOs of huge pharmaceutical corporations and she’d never seen anything like this. Here, too, like everything else in Black Inc., everything was sleek and modern and high-tech. One wall was covered in thin monitors, there was a conference table bigger than the conference table in the Situation Room of the White House, which she’d been in, a fully equipped kitchen and a living room suite for informal talks. One thing was missing. Though she knew, because she’d read it somewhere, that Jacob Black had been a highly decorated soldier, there was no glory wall. No citations, no photos of him with important politicians or generals, no medals. Nothing. Not one of those items that so fed the egos of important men. It could have been any man’s office, if that man ran one of the largest security corporations in the world and was one of the richest men in the world. The office faced west and it was the moment when the setting sun’s lambent rays hit the eyes full on. The…

(Sylvie is at the gym in her building for a trial session with a trainer named Fielding (Rip).) He started me on the treadmill and worked his way around the room, explaining the purpose of each exercise and the form to maintain for optimal benefit. I found the gray metal architecture of the exercise stations reassuringly solid. Footrests were right where I needed, hand grips where I instinctively reached to brace myself. He instructed me which muscles to focus on, but the machines isolated the correct ones, keeping me on the physical straight and narrow. I could have done without the mirrors lining the walls. I knew they were there so that clients could see if they were doing their exercises correctly, but I couldn’t help feeling they were sitting in judgment. Though Rip kept the weights light and the repetitions few, I worried that if I failed to control the weight on the resistance machines, I would be snapped forward, back, up, or down. “This may sound irrational, but are these machines safe?” “We haven’t crushed any noses or launched anyone butt-first so far. Your muscles will take care of you.” “These? I’ve got less muscle than a lox.”…

The Duchess of Dedham’s husband was dead.   The wretch had expired nearly a year ago, found with a broken neck at the bottom of the stairs. No one was surprised given how poorly his health and how dependent he was upon whiskey and laudanum to get through each day. No secret, that. Perhaps the only surprise was that he had survived as long as he had before plummeting to his death in the midst of a country house party.   Now, as the Dowager Duchess of Dedham, Valencia was free and ready for revelry. Truth be told, she had been ready upon the discovery that she was a widow, but there were rules. So many rules. Rules that she had followed all her life. Not that they had ever served her well. Rules, she found, rarely served women well. And yet those rules had changed now that she was no longer Dedham’s wife. At long last.   She was done with mourning. Done with her widow’s weeds. Done with hiding away in her Mayfair house.   She had made it a year. Eleven months to be precise, but that was time enough not to raise eyebrows. Time enough devoted…

HAPPILY NEVER AFTER Excerpt   Max   I KNOCKED ON the hotel room door and waited. This was my least favorite part. More often than not, the bride who desperately wanted out of her own wedding was an emotional mess afterward, shocked by the end of what she thought would be the beginning of the rest of their lives together. And I was not the reassuring kind. Back pats and handkerchiefs were not my thing. I just needed my money and to get the hell out of there. On a side note, who the hell doesn’t have Venmo or PayPal? I heard a noise just before the door flew open. “The Objector!” A blonde in a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt that went down to her knees grinned at me. “I’m Asha. We talked on the phone . . . ?” Ah, yes. The bride’s best friend and my college roommate’s cousin. “So you’re Tom’s cousin.” “Yes!” She grinned again, and I realized she was totally buzzed. “Come in!” She held open the door, and I followed her inside what was obviously the bridal suite. Huge living room, bedroom to the left that appeared to have rose petals everywhere, and…

Excerpt from WHITE MIST by Jaclyn Reding   She was utterly surrounded by them. Eleanor could feel their frozen gazes on her at all sides, watching her in silent study as she sat with her hands folded, gloved fingers laced together in her lap.  No matter where she looked, no matter how she tried to avoid them, they were there.  If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear them, their voices whispering to her on the flurry of the island wind— Run… Get out now… Before it is too late…  Eleanor’s eyes shot open. A medley of assorted deer, wildcat, and furry pine marten met her gaze, stuffed and mounted on gray stone walls that were unfinished and rose a good twenty feet above her head.  Nearby, a fierce-looking claymore whose scratched and pitted blade had no doubt contended with more than its share of severed heads hung alongside a dagger that looked quite able to gut an ox. Oh dear, she thought to herself.  What in heaven had she just done? Eleanor sat alone, back lamppost straight, knees pressed tightly together, wondering not for the first time what could have possessed her to come there. Perhaps she should…

“Boo, wait,” said Oaken, but she flashed him a smile. “We’re good, Oaken. See you tomorrow.” Then she headed outside. The sun was still up but falling into the backside of Mt. Talachulitna, gold shining upon the whitened peaks, bronzing the waters of Cook Inlet. She unlocked the Rogue and it beeped. “Boo, wait up!” What is with this guy? She opened the back door, threw her pack in, and turned. He jogged up to her. Stopped. Met her eyes, hands on his hips, and took a breath. “What?” “I know.” She just blinked at him. Swallowed. “What?” Her voice emerged high and silly. “Boo Hoo.” Her jaw tightened and she looked away. Back. “Wow.” He hadn’t moved his gaze from her. A beat, and something in his expression softened. “And I get it,” he said gently. She had to reach out and brace her hand on the top of her car. “What?” “I know how it feels to be judged, wrongly, by the media. By the world. To have words you didn’t mean—” “Oh, I meant them.” He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. “I’ll bet you did. At the time. But . . . my guess is that there was a…

A Special Excerpt from AFTERMARKET AFTERLIFE by Seanan McGuire, the 13th book in the NYT-bestselling and Hugo nominated InCryptid urban fantasy series   The cinnamon rolls were done, out of the oven, and had been solidly decimated as member after member of the family came drifting in, lured by the scent of bacon, coffee, and carbs. Even James had eventually woken up and come down from his room, although he had refused my fresh homemade waffles in favor of blueberry Eggos from the freezer. I would have been offended, but given that he was wound so tight with anticipation that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he spontaneously froze himself into a block of ice, I figured he could be allowed a little comfort food. He didn’t bother with the toaster, instead passing them to Annie to heat before he smeared them with a layer of whipped butter and began dipping them in his coffee. No one reacted. Every family has their weird food habits, and ours sometimes seems to have more than most. It’s better not to comment. Kevin glanced at his watch. He still wore an old-fashioned one, gears and glass on a leather strap. It was a…

The lighthouse at Point Offbeat faced into the teeth of the storm. Banshees howled around the tower, screaming unintelligible threats, the light circled and flashed through the clouds, and lightning blazed. During the two and a half years Helen had lived here, she’d only seen this kind of storm once before. She had gloried in it. The wildness, the waves, the glory was in absolute opposition to everything in her carefully orchestrated and carefully preserved life. Tonight she thought hell had spat up the storm as a curse and a warning. She stood on the viewing platform, four stories off the ground and near the jutting edge of the cliff, facing into the slashing rain. At the base of the cliff, the Pacific Ocean roared and clawed, sending spray so high into the air she could taste salt before icy rain sluiced it away. Or maybe she tasted her own tears. Everything was black: sky, clouds, violence and nature’s indifference. And white: the froth of the waves, the blinding flashes of lightning, the electrical discharges that danced through the air. Standing out here, Helen was courting death. She deserved death. She had arranged to have a friend killed. But like…

From BROOKLYN, by Tracy Brown. Copyright © 2024 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.   CHAPTER ONE Church Girl December 1995 The church was rocking like a rap concert. People were on their feet finishing the pastor’s sentences like lyrics to a song they all knew. Reverend Elias James stood tall in the pulpit with the Bible gripped firmly in his hand. His deep, melodic voice boomed across the sanctuary, eliciting shouts of “Hallelujah!” and “Amen!” from the crowd. Brooklyn Melody James was a seventeen-year-old beauty. Named after the borough where she was born, she seemed to embody the spirit of the place. Tough, trendy, edgy, and popular. Although she was born there and bore its name, she had few memories of the place. Her parents had moved to Staten Island, the city’s forgotten borough, when she was just a child. In a place with such an interwoven community, her golden skin, bright eyes, and dimpled smile made her a magnet for just about every type of attention. Boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her friend, and everyone seemed eager to be liked by her. As the middle child in her family, she…

LEOPARD’S HUNT Exclusive Excerpt   Maya sighed. She knew she wasn’t capable of a relationship with Gorya. What could she possibly give him? She was damaged goods. How could she fight for him if she wasn’t prepared to live with him? She struggled to think of a way out for them both. She knew there wasn’t one. Either she accepted the situation and his claim on her or she took the out he was giving her and walked away, leaving him to do whatever he felt he had to do. Gorya still faced the window, refusing to look at her. He might have regained control, but that only added to the determination in every line of his body. From the back, he looked relaxed, once more the man who appeared to command everyone around him when he chose. She found it interesting that he could appear so easygoing and charming, and yet the moment he entered a room, those around him knew he was in charge and listened to every word he said. “Maybe before we make permanent decisions, we should just slow everything down.” Maya couldn’t think what else to say to him. She needed time. Sliding the pack…