Showing posts with label Isabelle Adler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Isabelle Adler. Show all posts

Review: The House on Druid Lake by Isabelle Adler

A new city, a new job, a new home—things are definitely looking up for Oliver Foster. An aspiring young architect, embarking on a successful career in Baltimore, all he wants is to put the pain of a broken heart and broken trust behind him. The last thing he needs is another ill-advised romantic entanglement. But despite his best intentions, Oliver can’t help his growing fascination with Nym Brown, the mysterious owner of Lakeside Lodge.

When Oliver rents an apartment in an old Victorian house overlooking Baltimore’s Druid Lake, he expects it to be quaint and shabbily charming. But as Halloween draws near and all things spooky come out to play, Oliver becomes convinced there is more going on at Lakeside Lodge than meets the eye, aside from the faulty plumbing. His neighbors are a whole new definition of quirky, and his enigmatic, gruff landlord is both intimidating and dangerously attractive.

Dark and sinister secrets lurk behind the house on Druid Lake’s crumbling façade. Unearthing them might yet put Oliver’s future—and his heart—on the line.



I’m a bit conflicted here. I’ve enjoyed every Adler book I’ve come across, and when I saw this spooky paranormal come up, I felt it was total no brainer.

You’ve got Oliver, new to town, trying to start over in life and career and though his move is not the easy transition he was hoping for, he’s attracted to his gruff landlord Nym, and there seems to be a reluctant mutual attraction brewing. However, the other residents that live at Lakeside Lodge are a lot odd, there’s strange voices to be heard, and unexplainable goings on that give rise to goosebumps and paranoia. Things obviously are not what they seem.

So it’s a wonderful seasonal premise that had lots of potential but the whole set up fell somewhat flat as everything just wasn't explored enough - the kooky denizens of the house, the quick romance between Oliver and Nym, the awkward reveal, the awful conflict with unwelcome dramatics, and the resolution that was just too easy. For me. That’s just my unimportant thoughts as many others have loved this story and its quirky protagonist.

So I hate to be a bummer. I truly do. Assuredly, I am a fan of Adler, and she has written some really good stuff! I wholeheartedly recommend The Wolf and the Sparrow if you want a twisty historical fantasy or to start with Adrift if you’re jonesing for an outer space adventure. I’ll mark this as an unfortunate blip that just didn’t quite meld with my expectations, and I absolutely look forward to what Adler will bring next!



Review: The Homecoming Prince (The Castaway Prince #3) by Isabelle Adler


Having returned to the continent following Warren’s illness, Stephan and Warren are certain they’ve escaped the notice of spies from Seveihar and are ready to build a new future for themselves. However, their quiet life is shaken once again when they receive a message from Stephan’s sister, Nessa. She begs him to return home and help her stand against their older brother, Robert, who is abusing his power by oppressing his subjects and starting an unnecessary war with the neighboring country of Esnia. 

With dark family secrets coming to light, Stephan is faced with a difficult choice between safety and happiness in exile with the man he loves, and his duty as a prince to protect his people from tyranny. And yet, amid all the dangers, the greatest risk he might face is a broken heart… 

The Homecoming Prince is the final book in The Castaway Prince series. For best enjoyment, please read the books in order.





I'm not so great with goodbyes so I'm going to keep this short for fear of face leakage. 

Obviously I joined this party for superficial reasons but along the way Adler developed two really strong characters in Stephan and Warren that I came to like and admire and now find myself a little bereft that I no longer have more adventures to look forward to from them.

However, the finale ended on a strong and satisfying note in part by seamlessly folding in a few relevant current topics to this fantasy world that surprised and delighted me. I wish I could go into a couple things in more detail but I don't want to spoil, so suffice to say I went on an emotional rollercoaster and wouldn't mind if Adler were to pivot and focus on a different character(s) in this world.

Which leads me to the world building which is as impeccable as always and almost on par with Adler's prose, which I continue to be enamored by even though there seemed to be more editing issues in this one than previous installments. Regardless, I enjoyed the finale and would recommend the whole series to fantasy adventure lovers.






A copy was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.




Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Homecoming Prince (The Castaway Prince #3) by Isabelle Adler


Author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing host today's release blitz for The Homecoming Prince (The Castaway Prince #3)! Find out more about the latest in the fantasy series and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway!

Title: The Homecoming Prince

Series: The Castaway Prince, Book Three

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/17/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 25300

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, action/adventure, bisexual, cross-dressing, established couple, fantasy, genderbending, genderfluid, political, royalty, war

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Description

Having returned to the continent following Warren’s illness, Stephan and Warren are certain they’ve escaped the notice of spies from Seveihar and are ready to build a new future for themselves. However, their quiet life is shaken once again when they receive a message from Stephan’s sister, Nessa. She begs him to return home and help her stand against their older brother, Robert, who is abusing his power by oppressing his subjects and starting an unnecessary war with the neighboring country of Esnia.

With dark family secrets coming to light, Stephan is faced with a difficult choice between safety and happiness in exile with the man he loves, and his duty as a prince to protect his people from tyranny. And yet, amid all the dangers, the greatest risk he might face is a broken heart…

The Homecoming Prince is the final book in The Castaway Prince series. For best enjoyment, please read the books in order.

Excerpt

The Homecoming Prince
Isabelle Adler © 2021
All Rights Reserved

“I’m glad to say you look slightly less awful today,” Stephan said.

His tone was teasing, but it masked a very real concern. Warren’s bout of illness had been so prolonged and so grave that for a while Stephan had feared the worst.

Those days had been nothing short of horrible. He’d known plenty of wretchedness and weathered plenty of dangers, but nothing could ever come close to the long hours spent by his lover’s sickbed, holding his hand, wiping the sweat off his brow, and hoping the next rattling breath wouldn’t be the last while Warren thrashed about with fever.

“Always such a sweet talker,” Warren said.

A weak smile played on his lips as he brought a cup of tea to his mouth. He sat up on the narrow bed, propped against a stack of pillows. The only room they could afford at the inn had a tiny fireplace, which gave off more smoke than heat. The feeble flames fought a losing battle against the mid-autumn chill seeping through the windows and walls. But Stephan had piled all the blankets he could find on the bed, and the tea was hot and strong, at least.

Stephan took his own cup, savoring the warmth that spread through his fingers.

“You should go downstairs to the common room and warm by the big fire,” Warren said, having undoubtedly noticed him shiver. The illness did nothing to lessen his usual perspicacity. “Maybe get something to eat too.”

Stephan shook his head. They were running too low on funds for him to luxuriate in more than one meal a day now, and they’d already eaten lunch. Besides, he wouldn’t leave Warren alone in a drafty, cramped room while he enjoyed himself downstairs. Had their roles been reversed (as they so often had been), Warren wouldn’t have moved from Stephan’s side even for a moment unless for some dire need.

“I don’t actually mind the winter,” Stephan said wistfully. “We’ve been traveling through hot-climate lands for so long, the nip in the air is refreshing. It reminds me of home.”

Warren raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Stephan was being truthful. He’d loved Segor; the short time spent living together in the port city of Varta, free to express their love for each other, had been the happiest in his life. But when they were forced to flee, pursued by his brother Robert’s assassins, things had begun to go awry. The South Isles, where they’d found a temporary refuge, had proved too much of an extreme environment for them to thrive in. When Warren had fallen sick, the local physician had advised he return to the familiar climate of the continent—which they had, despite the risk inherent in such a journey.

“I do miss Seveihar sometimes,” Stephan confessed, coming to perch on the edge of the bed with his cup of tea. Warren folded his long legs, making room for him. “Even the winters at the castle, with the winds whistling through window cracks, and those endless creaking staircases. I always knew the cold and the snow would abate eventually, and then it’d be spring again, and then summer. The summers were always so beautiful there, up in the mountains.”

“I remember.” Traces of hoarseness clung to Warren’s voice, but already he sounded so much more vital than before. “I remember how you loved to roam the woods around the castle. Until…”

“Until it became too dangerous for me to go out on my own,” Stephan said. “It still is.”

The old pain of realizing his own brother hated him enough to plot his assassination flared back into life. The worries and tribulations of the last few weeks had almost made him forget the true reason for his self-imposed exile, but he knew better now than to think it was all behind him. The events that had driven them from their safe little haven in Segor into the dangers of the unknown had demonstrated all too clearly that they couldn’t afford to let their guard down again.

Warren reached for Stephan’s hand, threading their fingers together, and they exchanged a brief, bitter smile. Some of Stephan’s anger and disappointment dissipated into their shared warmth, as they always did.

“I’m sorry,” Stephan said.

“For what?”

“I seem to always bring danger to our doorstep. Even when we move halfway across the world.”

“And if it weren’t for you, I’d never have seen anything of the world.”

“Don’t joke. You fell sick because of me. If I hadn’t been so careless in Varta, we wouldn’t have had to travel so far, putting so much strain on you. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not,” Warren said. “And if I had a choice, I would have done it again. All of it. I would do anything just to be with you.”

Stephan shook his head, swallowing around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

“I love you,” he said, ignoring the treacherous crack in his voice. “So much.”

Warren’s hand on his tightened, and his eyes flashed in the low lighting, illuminated by the same surge of desire that washed over Stephan. That smoldering look made Stephan’s heart beat faster, filling him with the hope and relief for which he’d yearned for days.

He took the half-empty cup out of Warren’s hand and leaned down to brush his lips against his, tasting the strong flavor of steeped herbs.

It took some effort to pull back. He wanted nothing more than to sink further into Warren’s embrace, but the faint wheezing in Warren’s chest reminded him of the need for prudence.

“It’s late. I’ll go downstairs to fetch us some dinner,” Stephan said, rising from the bed. The desire to see Warren hale again outweighed the need to be frugal.

“I’m not that hungry. At least, not for food. Can’t you stay?”

“You need to eat to get your strength back,” Stephan said sternly. “If you can kiss, you can chew.”

Warren rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, settling back on the pillows. “Fine. Just please hurry back.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

Website |Twitter

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Blog Tour + Giveaway: Afloat (Staying Afloat #3) by Isabelle Adler

It's the final day of the Afloat (Staying Afloat #3) blog tour! Author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing host an exclusive excerpt, as well as more info about the series finale! Read more and enter in the $10 NineStar Press gift code giveaway!

Title: Afloat

Series: Staying Afloat, Book Three

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/15/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 70900

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, sci-fi, spaceships/pilots, action-adventure, space battles, abduction, aliens, alien ships, bisexual, demisexual, military

Add to Goodreads

Description

No place is safe anymore.

Matt and his crew know it all too well—and it’s especially true now as the war with the Alraki has reached the heart of Federation space and struck close to home. Suddenly, Matt is faced with a difficult choice. He has the opportunity to sway the tide of the war and rectify a past wrong by helping the Fleet obtain a groundbreaking Alraki technology. But to do so, he must risk his ship and the lives of his crewmates.

With Matt’s archenemy, the infamous Captain Rodgers, still on the loose and bent on revenge, the Alraki aren’t the only ones who pose a deadly threat to Matt and the people most dear to his heart. With danger and betrayal haunting their steps, Matt and Ryce must find a way to save their friends even as sinister secrets from the past threaten to tear them apart.

This time, the price of staying afloat might be higher than what Matt is willing to pay.

Afloat is the third book in Isabelle Adler’s exciting debut series, Staying Afloat, and concludes the series. For best enjoyment, advise reading the books in order.

Excerpt

Afloat
Isabelle Adler © 2021
All Rights Reserved

“Can’t wait to get the hell out of here,” Matt muttered to himself.

A Federation space map slowly revolved on the large canopy screen, illuminating the darkened bridge with the light of distant stars. A red dot flashed sedately at the very edge of the map, marking their current location. The Elysium system was as remote as an inhabited corner of the galaxy could possibly be.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, “remote” didn’t always mean “out of harm’s way.”

Matt set the empty coffee mug on the edge of the console and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head as he considered the vastness of the galaxy, sprawled before him in all its unassuming majesty. At first glance, it appeared to hold endless possibilities, but as it turned out, they were unfortunately limited by constraints that had nothing to do with Matt’s dreams and preferences. Even the parts of the galaxy ostensibly under Federation control weren’t always safe for humans, and out of those, quite a large number of places weren’t safe for him personally.

“Permission to come on the bridge,” a voice chimed over the speaker. Matt smiled and spun around in his chair to greet Ryce as he walked in.

“So formal. Are you going to salute me next and call me ‘Captain’?”

Ryce grinned back at him and leaned down for a quick kiss before sitting beside him in the copilot seat.

“Now who’s being kinky? I thought adherence to a chain of command wasn’t your thing.”

“It’s not. But it’d still be nice to get some respect around here.”

“Knowing your crew, there’s not much chance of that,” Ryce remarked and cocked his head as he studied the map. “Have you been here all morning?”

“Pretty much. And where were you? I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“I was playing chess with Val in the rec room.”

“Really? Two geniuses playing chess? Could you be any more cliché?”

“Neither of us is technically a genius,” Ryce observed, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Close enough from where I stand.”

“Val and I have also tested the new power converter for the engine, and, as far as he’s concerned, it’s all systems go.” The digitalized starlight reflected in Ryce’s eyes as he pulled up the specs at the bottom of the screen, making Matt’s attention momentarily slip. “We can be out of this system the second you decide where we’re going. Have you?”

Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His auburn locks had grown a bit too long for his taste, but with everything that’d been going on lately—namely, his engineer having been kidnapped and his pilot having been roped into participating in deadly drag races—he hadn’t had a chance to cut them.

“Not really. Since we’ve changed registration twice in one year already, there are only so many sectors where we could apply for a working permit, and a lot of the others are now a warzone. This whole war business is a real nuisance when you’re on the run.”

“Do you think Griggs is still after us?” Ryce asked. “It has been rather quiet lately.”

“I don’t know, but I’m not planning on hanging around much longer to find out.”

Griggs, the black-market king of the Freeport 73 station, was the man behind their crew’s recent misadventures, and though they’d managed to strike an uneasy truce, Matt wasn’t naive enough to believe the crime lord would swallow the bitter pill of blackmail without some kind of payback. Having to—literally—piece his engineer back together was more than enough incentive for Matt to look for opportunities elsewhere.

“Tony says we’re due a vacation, and for once, I tend to agree with her. We’ve all been through some tough shit in the past few months, and we all deserve a break while we have the cash to afford it. But before we go booking that luxury resort stay on Nova, I’d like to have all my bases covered.”

Matt shook his head and looked at Ryce.

“What about you? Is there anywhere you’d like to go, even if it’s just for a little while?” he asked gently, reaching out to stroke the other man’s hand. “Have you considered getting in touch with your mother?”

“I don’t think it’s time for that yet,” Ryce said, looking away. “I’m grateful for the money she sent me, of course, but it still doesn’t mean she wants to see me.”

There was something evasive about the way he said it, as if he wasn’t completely sure or completely truthful in his answer.

“Okay,” Matt said slowly.

It really wasn’t his place to pry or push Ryce into being more open about this particular subject; God knew, Matt was prickly about discussing his own family with other people. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. It was silly, really, but there he was, unable to hold back a frown because it implied Ryce didn’t trust him enough to share something a little more personal.

But his disappointment was his hang-up, not Ryce’s. So instead of quietly sulking, Matt squeezed Ryce’s hand in reassurance. The feel of Ryce’s skin against his was still wondrous to him, despite them spending barely any time apart, his own private miracle. Not only because he still couldn’t quite believe a man like Ryce could love someone as flawed as him, but because after everything they’d been through, they were incredibly fortunate to be alive to enjoy their happy ever after. This was what he should be focusing on, not some imaginary slights he was learning to recognize as self-sabotage.

Ryce smiled and covered Matt’s hand with his own, his cool touch sending sparks of excitement down Matt’s spine. “What are you thinking? You have that funny look on your face.”

“Must be the aftermath of last night’s dinner.”

Ryce scoffed. “You didn’t have to be quite so unequivocal about how bad you thought it was,” he chided, but there was a spark of laughter in his eyes.

“I’m actually glad you suck at cooking. Just goes to show nobody can be perfect at everything. And if you’re not perfect, there’s hope for the rest of us mortals.”

“Remind me to gloat with the same level of delight when I discover something you suck at.”

“So pretty much anything?”

“I can think of a few things you’re good at,” Ryce murmured, sliding from his seat and onto Matt’s lap in a fluid motion.

Matt’s heart sped up. He pulled Ryce closer, greedily drinking the kiss as he closed his eyes and lost himself to the whirlwind of stars around him.

He slid his hand over the front zipper of Ryce’s fatigues, but then Ryce withdrew abruptly, frowning, and touched the adapter on his temple, the one linked to Lady Lisa’s computer.

“There’s an incoming call,” he said.

“They’ll call later,” Matt said impatiently. Whoever it was, they could damn well wait another ten minutes. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“It’s a military channel.” Ryce’s frown deepened, and he stood up to sit back in the copilot seat.

“Damn it.” Matt sat up in his chair, pushing down on his arousal and frustration. His disdain for authority didn’t extend as far as ignoring contacts from the military. This could be Nora, of course, but his sister rarely used encrypted communications simply to check up on him. “Bring it on-screen.”

The face that appeared in front of them wasn’t Nora’s, but it was familiar. The bright white background didn’t look like the bridge of a ship. Something beeped steadily just out of sight, jolting unpleasant memories of Matt’s several stays in medical facilities.

“Commander Walker,” Matt said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you calling?”

Matt had been questioned ad nauseam by the man almost eight months ago, after their unfortunate stint on the Colanta-3 moon and the discovery (and subsequent destruction) of a Mnirian superweapon. He hadn’t liked Walker then, and he wasn’t thrilled to see him now, but he couldn’t deny he owed the commander his life after being saved from a slow, oxygen-deprived death in the depths of the alien bunker.

“I’m contacting you on behalf of Major Cummings.” Walker sounded unusually subdued. The stress lines around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper, marring his otherwise classically handsome features. “I thought you should know your sister was gravely injured in the line of duty.”

Ryce’s sharp intake of breath indicated that Walker had said something terrible, but for some reason, the moments stretched and stretched until the meaning of the words finally registered in Matt’s brain, hitting him with the force of a freight barge.

“How gravely?” he asked, digging his fingers into the arms of his chair.

Walker pursed his lips. “Enough for me to contact you on my own initiative,” he said, his voice clipped.

“What happened?” Ryce asked while Matt was busy remembering how to breathe.

“We were deployed back in the Sonora sector, and our ship, the Lennox, was on her way from Freeport 16 to the Sonora-11 outpost when we were attacked.”

Even though they weren’t touching, Matt felt Ryce tense beside him.

“Attacked? By whom?”

“An Alraki frigate,” Walker said after a pause. “A torpedo took out a portion of the bridge. Major Cummings was lucky to be able to get out before the shields gave and the section was sealed off.”

Matt and Ryce exchanged a look. Judging by Ryce’s startled expression, the same thought must have occurred to him, one that made Matt’s stomach, already tied in knots by the news, lurch with awful premonition.

“I haven’t heard anything about the fighting reaching as far as Sonora,” Ryce said, frowning. “The military bases in this sector are designated mainly for training and redeployment.”

“It hasn’t,” Walker said. “This was…an isolated incident.”

“An Alraki frigate attacking a destroyer battleship in the heart of Federation space?” Matt said, barely recognizing his own voice for the strain. “That’s—”

“Disturbing. I know,” Walker said. For the first time since Matt had met the man, he looked troubled, but a second later, he visibly pulled himself together, as stern as ever in his officer uniform. “By rights, I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I know how much your sister cares for you, and I thought you should be here by her side. Before it’s too late.”

Exclusive Excerpt – Afloat (Staying Afloat #3) by Isabelle Adler

Matt adjusted his face mask and looked around the dim cavern of the hold from where he was crouching next to Lady Lisa’s hull. The space around them seemed empty, the Alraki probably still busy fending off the Falcon fighters, but it didn’t mean they could dawdle. As loath as Matt was to leave his ship, eventually he’d have to make that first step into the belly of the beast and hope to God he wouldn’t be swallowed.

“Ready?” Ryce whispered beside him, and Matt nodded. Ryce’s face was half-obscured by the mask needed to adjust to the different oxygen and nitrogen levels inside the Alraki craft, but otherwise, they didn’t bother with any cumbersome protective gear, especially as the artificial gravitational pull was slightly higher than the regular 1 g. The environment wasn’t toxic, per se, just deeply…well, alien.

They ran across the floor, their feet bouncing softly on what felt like rubbery coating. Out in the open, the vibrations were much more pronounced but not strong enough to throw them off balance.

“Do you know where to go?” Matt whispered when they neared the tall arched doorway.

“Yes. I memorized the ship’s map from Walker’s briefing.” Ryce scanned the corridor in both directions, a blaster gun set on maximum impact at the ready.

“Of course you did. Watch out!”

They ducked, hiding behind opposite sides of the opening as several Alraki trotted down the corridor, their bio-mech armor creaking softly. Another party followed in their footsteps after less than a minute.

“They’re gonna spot us,” Matt said. “There’s no way we can evade them if they find us in the hallway, not without that fancy stealth armor.”

“You’re right. They’re on high alert now that Walker’s team has been compromised.” Ryce peered into the corridor again. Thin veins of reddish light ran through the curved walls, illuminating it. He gestured upward with his gun. “We’ll use the air ducts.”

Matt looked in the direction Ryce was pointing, at an opening in the ceiling covered with a ridged grate that made him think of gills. He shuddered involuntarily.

“Do you think the ducts are big enough for us?”

“Only one way to find out.” Ryce holstered his gun and stepped into the corridor, motioning for Matt to follow him. “Come on, I’ll give you a boost.”

Matt sighed. He didn’t think it was possible to like this mission any less, but every new development seemed to prove him wrong.

Ryce knelt on the floor and laced his fingers to make a support for Matt to step on. He pushed upward as Matt hoisted himself up, shoving hard at the grate. It had the same rubbery texture as the floor and the walls as if it were a part of a giant animal rather than an intelligently designed piece of machinery, which made him squeamish about touching it. With a bit of extra pressure, the grate gave, and Matt pushed it inward, grabbed the edge of the opening, and scrambled to slither inside as Ryce lifted his feet, giving him more leverage.

“Quick, someone’s coming,” Ryce warned.

Matt cursed and wiggled forward. The ventilation tunnel was just wide enough for a grown man to crawl inside, but it was hardly a comfortable fit, and its round shape was vaguely reminiscent of a corroded pipe or a blood vessel. Behind him, Ryce jumped, catching onto the edge of the hole as Matt had done before him, and heaved himself inside just as the footsteps of more Alraki soldiers echoed in the corridor below them.

They both held their breath, lying still as the aliens passed underneath them. Thankfully, none of them glanced up to notice the open grate.

“Now what?” Matt whispered after the Alraki retreated to a safe distance.

“Onward and upward,” Ryce said, deadpan.

Matt snorted, adjusted his mask again against the stronger flow of cold air blowing in his face, and pushed forward, putting his elbows to work.

They passed several more grates, spaced at what seemed like irregular intervals but which must have made sense for the Alraki. The advantage of the ducts not being made of metal was that the sound of their passage was much more muted and less likely to attract attention. Even so, they crawled in relative silence, with Ryce giving directions when the duct split. It was just as well because Matt didn’t have the slightest idea as to their location or which way they were headed, so he was more than happy to let Ryce take the lead, going on his recollection of the frigate’s layout. The ducts curved along with the corridors and the open spaces rather than running in straight lines, which made their progress more difficult, slowing them down.

Every minute they spent fumbling inside the alien ship’s guts was a minute Walker and his troops were fighting for their lives, and Tony and Val were sitting ducks aboard the captured Lisa. Matt didn’t dare switch on the communications channel so as to not be distracted by the noise. They had to pay close attention to what was going on directly below them, and the anxiety of not knowing what was happening in that sensor array room or the holding bay wore on his nerves.

“Wait,” Matt said, stopping. Ryce halted behind him. The tunnel ended abruptly, meeting with a vertical shaft. “Damn it.”

He peered up and down, both ends of the shaft lost in reddish gloom. The air rushed past him from below, making him squint.

“We go down,” Ryce said.

“That’s what worries me.”

Note on the series:

For best enjoyment, the books in the Staying Afloat series should be read in order:
Adrift (Staying Afloat #1)
Ashore (Staying Afloat #2)
Afloat (Staying Afloat #3)

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

Website | Twitter | eMail

Get the first two books in the series on Amazon


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2/22 Queer Sci Fi

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Afloat (Staying Afloat #3) by Isabelle Adler

Celebrate the Staying Afloat series finale, Afloat (Staying Afloat #3), with author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing! Read more about the spaceship adventure and enter in the giveaway to win a $10 NineStar Press credit!


Title: Afloat

Series: Staying Afloat, Book Three

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/15/2021

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 70900

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, sci-fi, spaceships/pilots, action-adventure, space battles, abduction, aliens, alien ships, bisexual, demisexual, military

Add to Goodreads

Description

No place is safe anymore.

Matt and his crew know it all too well—and it’s especially true now as the war with the Alraki has reached the heart of Federation space and struck close to home. Suddenly, Matt is faced with a difficult choice. He has the opportunity to sway the tide of the war and rectify a past wrong by helping the Fleet obtain a groundbreaking Alraki technology. But to do so, he must risk his ship and the lives of his crewmates.

With Matt’s archenemy, the infamous Captain Rodgers, still on the loose and bent on revenge, the Alraki aren’t the only ones who pose a deadly threat to Matt and the people most dear to his heart. With danger and betrayal haunting their steps, Matt and Ryce must find a way to save their friends even as sinister secrets from the past threaten to tear them apart.

This time, the price of staying afloat might be higher than what Matt is willing to pay.

Afloat is the third book in Isabelle Adler’s exciting debut series, Staying Afloat, and concludes the series. For best enjoyment, advise reading the books in order.

Excerpt

Afloat
Isabelle Adler © 2021
All Rights Reserved

“Can’t wait to get the hell out of here,” Matt muttered to himself.

A Federation space map slowly revolved on the large canopy screen, illuminating the darkened bridge with the light of distant stars. A red dot flashed sedately at the very edge of the map, marking their current location. The Elysium system was as remote as an inhabited corner of the galaxy could possibly be.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, “remote” didn’t always mean “out of harm’s way.”

Matt set the empty coffee mug on the edge of the console and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head as he considered the vastness of the galaxy, sprawled before him in all its unassuming majesty. At first glance, it appeared to hold endless possibilities, but as it turned out, they were unfortunately limited by constraints that had nothing to do with Matt’s dreams and preferences. Even the parts of the galaxy ostensibly under Federation control weren’t always safe for humans, and out of those, quite a large number of places weren’t safe for him personally.

“Permission to come on the bridge,” a voice chimed over the speaker. Matt smiled and spun around in his chair to greet Ryce as he walked in.

“So formal. Are you going to salute me next and call me ‘Captain’?”

Ryce grinned back at him and leaned down for a quick kiss before sitting beside him in the copilot seat.

“Now who’s being kinky? I thought adherence to a chain of command wasn’t your thing.”

“It’s not. But it’d still be nice to get some respect around here.”

“Knowing your crew, there’s not much chance of that,” Ryce remarked and cocked his head as he studied the map. “Have you been here all morning?”

“Pretty much. And where were you? I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“I was playing chess with Val in the rec room.”

“Really? Two geniuses playing chess? Could you be any more cliché?”

“Neither of us is technically a genius,” Ryce observed, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Close enough from where I stand.”

“Val and I have also tested the new power converter for the engine, and, as far as he’s concerned, it’s all systems go.” The digitalized starlight reflected in Ryce’s eyes as he pulled up the specs at the bottom of the screen, making Matt’s attention momentarily slip. “We can be out of this system the second you decide where we’re going. Have you?”

Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His auburn locks had grown a bit too long for his taste, but with everything that’d been going on lately—namely, his engineer having been kidnapped and his pilot having been roped into participating in deadly drag races—he hadn’t had a chance to cut them.

“Not really. Since we’ve changed registration twice in one year already, there are only so many sectors where we could apply for a working permit, and a lot of the others are now a warzone. This whole war business is a real nuisance when you’re on the run.”

“Do you think Griggs is still after us?” Ryce asked. “It has been rather quiet lately.”

“I don’t know, but I’m not planning on hanging around much longer to find out.”

Griggs, the black-market king of the Freeport 73 station, was the man behind their crew’s recent misadventures, and though they’d managed to strike an uneasy truce, Matt wasn’t naive enough to believe the crime lord would swallow the bitter pill of blackmail without some kind of payback. Having to—literally—piece his engineer back together was more than enough incentive for Matt to look for opportunities elsewhere.

“Tony says we’re due a vacation, and for once, I tend to agree with her. We’ve all been through some tough shit in the past few months, and we all deserve a break while we have the cash to afford it. But before we go booking that luxury resort stay on Nova, I’d like to have all my bases covered.”

Matt shook his head and looked at Ryce.

“What about you? Is there anywhere you’d like to go, even if it’s just for a little while?” he asked gently, reaching out to stroke the other man’s hand. “Have you considered getting in touch with your mother?”

“I don’t think it’s time for that yet,” Ryce said, looking away. “I’m grateful for the money she sent me, of course, but it still doesn’t mean she wants to see me.”

There was something evasive about the way he said it, as if he wasn’t completely sure or completely truthful in his answer.

“Okay,” Matt said slowly.

It really wasn’t his place to pry or push Ryce into being more open about this particular subject; God knew, Matt was prickly about discussing his own family with other people. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. It was silly, really, but there he was, unable to hold back a frown because it implied Ryce didn’t trust him enough to share something a little more personal.

But his disappointment was his hang-up, not Ryce’s. So instead of quietly sulking, Matt squeezed Ryce’s hand in reassurance. The feel of Ryce’s skin against his was still wondrous to him, despite them spending barely any time apart, his own private miracle. Not only because he still couldn’t quite believe a man like Ryce could love someone as flawed as him, but because after everything they’d been through, they were incredibly fortunate to be alive to enjoy their happy ever after. This was what he should be focusing on, not some imaginary slights he was learning to recognize as self-sabotage.

Ryce smiled and covered Matt’s hand with his own, his cool touch sending sparks of excitement down Matt’s spine. “What are you thinking? You have that funny look on your face.”

“Must be the aftermath of last night’s dinner.”

Ryce scoffed. “You didn’t have to be quite so unequivocal about how bad you thought it was,” he chided, but there was a spark of laughter in his eyes.

“I’m actually glad you suck at cooking. Just goes to show nobody can be perfect at everything. And if you’re not perfect, there’s hope for the rest of us mortals.”

“Remind me to gloat with the same level of delight when I discover something you suck at.”

“So pretty much anything?”

“I can think of a few things you’re good at,” Ryce murmured, sliding from his seat and onto Matt’s lap in a fluid motion.

Matt’s heart sped up. He pulled Ryce closer, greedily drinking the kiss as he closed his eyes and lost himself to the whirlwind of stars around him.

He slid his hand over the front zipper of Ryce’s fatigues, but then Ryce withdrew abruptly, frowning, and touched the adapter on his temple, the one linked to Lady Lisa’s computer.

“There’s an incoming call,” he said.

“They’ll call later,” Matt said impatiently. Whoever it was, they could damn well wait another ten minutes. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“It’s a military channel.” Ryce’s frown deepened, and he stood up to sit back in the copilot seat.

“Damn it.” Matt sat up in his chair, pushing down on his arousal and frustration. His disdain for authority didn’t extend as far as ignoring contacts from the military. This could be Nora, of course, but his sister rarely used encrypted communications simply to check up on him. “Bring it on-screen.”

The face that appeared in front of them wasn’t Nora’s, but it was familiar. The bright white background didn’t look like the bridge of a ship. Something beeped steadily just out of sight, jolting unpleasant memories of Matt’s several stays in medical facilities.

“Commander Walker,” Matt said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you calling?”

Matt had been questioned ad nauseam by the man almost eight months ago, after their unfortunate stint on the Colanta-3 moon and the discovery (and subsequent destruction) of a Mnirian superweapon. He hadn’t liked Walker then, and he wasn’t thrilled to see him now, but he couldn’t deny he owed the commander his life after being saved from a slow, oxygen-deprived death in the depths of the alien bunker.

“I’m contacting you on behalf of Major Cummings.” Walker sounded unusually subdued. The stress lines around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper, marring his otherwise classically handsome features. “I thought you should know your sister was gravely injured in the line of duty.”

Ryce’s sharp intake of breath indicated that Walker had said something terrible, but for some reason, the moments stretched and stretched until the meaning of the words finally registered in Matt’s brain, hitting him with the force of a freight barge.

“How gravely?” he asked, digging his fingers into the arms of his chair.

Walker pursed his lips. “Enough for me to contact you on my own initiative,” he said, his voice clipped.

“What happened?” Ryce asked while Matt was busy remembering how to breathe.

“We were deployed back in the Sonora sector, and our ship, the Lennox, was on her way from Freeport 16 to the Sonora-11 outpost when we were attacked.”

Even though they weren’t touching, Matt felt Ryce tense beside him.

“Attacked? By whom?”

“An Alraki frigate,” Walker said after a pause. “A torpedo took out a portion of the bridge. Major Cummings was lucky to be able to get out before the shields gave and the section was sealed off.”

Matt and Ryce exchanged a look. Judging by Ryce’s startled expression, the same thought must have occurred to him, one that made Matt’s stomach, already tied in knots by the news, lurch with awful premonition.

“I haven’t heard anything about the fighting reaching as far as Sonora,” Ryce said, frowning. “The military bases in this sector are designated mainly for training and redeployment.”

“It hasn’t,” Walker said. “This was…an isolated incident.”

“An Alraki frigate attacking a destroyer battleship in the heart of Federation space?” Matt said, barely recognizing his own voice for the strain. “That’s—”

“Disturbing. I know,” Walker said. For the first time since Matt had met the man, he looked troubled, but a second later, he visibly pulled himself together, as stern as ever in his officer uniform. “By rights, I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I know how much your sister cares for you, and I thought you should be here by her side. Before it’s too late.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

Website | Twitter | eMail

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Cover Reveal: Afloat (Staying Afloat #3) by Isabelle Adler

Author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing reveal the new cover for upcoming sci-fi tale, Afloat (Staying Afloat #3)! Read more today!

Afloat

Staying Afloat, Book Three

By Isabelle Adler

Cover Created by : Natasha Snow

Release Date: February 15th, 2021

Available to Pre-Order at NineStar Press


No place is safe anymore.

Matt and his crew know it all too well—and it’s especially true now as the war with the Alraki has reached the heart of Federation space and struck close to home. Suddenly, Matt is faced with a difficult choice. He has the opportunity to sway the tide of the war and rectify a past wrong by helping the Fleet obtain a groundbreaking Alraki technology. But to do so, he must risk his ship and the lives of his crewmates.

With Matt’s archenemy, the infamous Captain Rodgers, still on the loose and bent on revenge, the Alraki aren’t the only ones who pose a deadly threat to Matt and the people most dear to his heart. With danger and betrayal haunting their steps, Matt and Ryce must find a way to save their friends even as sinister secrets from the past threaten to tear them apart.

This time, the price of staying afloat might be higher than what Matt is willing to pay.

Books 1 & 2 Available on Amazon

Blog Tour + Giveaway: In the Winter Woods by Isabelle Adler

Merry Christmas to all that celebrate it! 

Welcome author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing to the blog and they visit on the In the Winter Woods blog tour! The author not only visits and shares more information about the Christmas "cozy-ish" mystery and host a $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway!


Title: In the Winter Woods

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 14, 2020

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61800

Genre: Contemporary Holiday, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, romance, gay, bi, seasonal/holiday, Christmas, Vermont, writer, law enforcement, crime, crime procedure, mystery, small town, maple syrup

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Declan Kensington isn’t really in the mood for Christmas. His latest mystery book sales are tanking, his finances are in a dismal state, and his spirits are anything but festive. Perhaps spending the holidays alone at his family lakeside cabin in the small village of Maplewood, Vermont, will provide him much-needed peace and quiet. Then he might finally get to work on a new book and (hopefully) jumpstart his stalling writing career.

When he starts receiving anonymous letters threatening him to leave, Declan realizes his solitary writer’s retreat isn’t at all what he bargained for. And if the threats aren’t enough, a killer strikes, casting Declan in the role of the most likely suspect. Now it’s up to him and the handsome local Public Safety Commissioner Curtis Monroe to find out the truth before Declan spends Christmas (and the rest of his life) in jail. But as dead bodies pile up and dark secrets are revealed beneath Maplewood’s picture-perfect facade, Declan’s heart may yet be in more danger than his life…



Author Visit 

Hi, I’m Isabelle! My newest release, In the Winter Woods, is a Christmas-themed, cozy-ish mystery that centers an M/M romance between Declan Kensington, a gay mystery author who struggles to get on track with his writing, and Curtis Monroe, a local Public Safety Commissioner, who investigates the murder of Declan’s closest neighbor. The story takes place in a charming lakeside village of Maplewood, Vermont, a week before Christmas, with a murder investigation adding an unexpected twist to a sweet holiday romance.

I write LGBTQ romance in a variety of genres (including sci-fi, paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary), but this book is my first foray into mystery. When I began writing it, I was incredibly excited about the concept, but I also approached this undertaking with a great deal of trepidation. A successful, gripping mystery narrative calls for a special kind of balance which is notoriously hard to achieve. On the one hand, the plot and its resolution should be plausible and believable, with clues peppered throughout as to give the reader the opportunity to play detective and attempt to solve the mystery before the sleuth character does; and on the other hand, the solution can’t be too obvious, or the reader will become bored with the whole thing. And the task becomes even more difficult when you throw romance into the mix and hope the readers will find the characters endearing enough to care for their potential Happy Ever After.

With all of this in mind, it’s not surprising that I was nervous about whether or not I could pull it off, but I was so enamored with the idea that I decided to take the plunge and see where it would take me. I chose to write a cozy mystery in order to take advantage of its conventions regarding setting – a small town, a limited set of characters, a quirky vibe – to better fit the holiday theme. I love reading and watching those sweet small-town Christmas romances (all the bonus points if they are queer!), so I thought it would be interesting to add murder to the tried-and-true formula.

Usually, I start writing a new book off a very limited outline, sometimes even just a general idea and an opening scene. In this case, however, this approach would simply not do, so I took the time to prepare a detailed plan, going chapter-by-chapter and scene-by-scene, making sure I hit all the basic beats for romance and the mystery plot. I also made a list of all the characters, noting their motivation and relationships with each other. I believe this approach had helped a lot with having everything in order and keeping track of the pacing, the clues, and the obligatory “red herrings”. Naturally, the plane changed here and there as the work progressed and it became apparent where and why some alterations were needed, but the backbone of the story remained the same. In fact, this technique proved so efficient, that I’m looking forward to implementing it in my future projects.

I’m very glad that I took the chance to explore a new genre, despite the challenges it presented, and I hope that my readers will like the result!

Where can readers find out more about you and your books?

I have a website where I post all the information about my books and upcoming releases, as well as some extra content for my readers. I’m also pretty active on Twitter, talking about books and posting snippets of my works in progress, so if you ever want to chat, follow me there!

Email: info@isabelleadler.com
Twitter: @Isabelle_Adler
Website: www.isabelleadler.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Isabelle_Adler
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Isabelle-Adler/e/B06XB123G4/

Excerpt

In the Winter Woods
Isabelle Adler © 2020
All Rights Reserved

At first glance, there was nothing sinister about the lakeside village of Maplewood, Vermont.

In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in the village. I had passed the post office, the fire station, the town hall, and a big billboard announcing the construction of some sort of theme park, all situated along the half-mile stretch of Main Street before parking my car in front of the convenience store. It abutted the first gas station I’d seen in the last few hours. The faded sign at the front was fitted with twinkling lights and plastic green holly garlands that had seen better days. Despite the general shabbiness, there was something charming and distinctly Christmas-y about it, like looking at a vintage postcard.

I got out and tightened my parka around me. Snow crunched under my sneakers, which were hardly suitable for the weather. I’d forgotten just how cold the winters here in Vermont could be, and now I was paying the price for neglecting to properly equip myself for the long trip from Manhattan’s Upper West Side all the way to Lake Champlain.

Granted, it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Not the part about leaving New York City, but coming here to Maplewood. I didn’t remember much of the town, having last been here with my family when I was thirteen or fourteen, but I doubted it’d changed much in the last twenty years.

The doorbell chimed as I entered the store. It seemed to be empty aside from a gray-haired elderly lady behind the counter, who looked up and offered me a distracted smile before turning back to a talk show on a small TV set tucked beside the register.

I blew on my hands and rubbed them together, then picked up a basket and started off down the aisle toward the refrigerators in the back. I suspected I would have to stock up on everything before going up to the cabin. It hadn’t been used for something like five years, since the last vacation my sister Jenny and her husband had taken there after being married, when the cabin still belonged to our parents. Everything still lurking in the depths of the pantry would have to be thrown out anyway.

Between grocery shopping and another full tank of gas, this retreat was turning out more expensive than I initially imagined. And it was a retreat, I told myself firmly, a writer’s retreat of one. Jenny would say I was running away from my problems, but it was the opposite, really. I’d come here to tackle them head-on.

I wanted to do battle with my lingering writer’s block somewhere where I wouldn’t have to stretch my dwindling income to cover rent for a Manhattan apartment. It’d come down to either living in the center of the known universe or, well, eating. And whoever had come up with the idea an artist had to starve to produce great art was clearly full of it.

The first thing that caught my eye was a display rack of Champ the Champlain Lake Monster merchandise. Much like the Loch Ness monster in Scotland, “Champ” was a popular piece of local folklore and somewhat of a draw for holidaymakers all around the lake. A cardboard cutout of Champ wearing a Santa hat invited the customers to peruse the display. I glanced at the selection of postcards and printed T-shirts and moved into the food isles.

I picked some sensible items—dried pasta, canned tomato sauce, eggs, bread, and some packaged vegetables. Then (because I wasn’t living in complete denial) I added instant coffee and a box of sugary donuts.

The doorbell rang again as I was contemplating adding cocoa to the selection. I glanced briefly above the shelves and saw a tall man in a dark blue uniform step inside. He wore one of those heavy-duty puffer jackets and a hat.

I hadn’t heard another car or a bike pull up, so I assumed he’d walked here. His cheeks were red, his pale skin flushed with the bracing cold of midday winter air. Maybe he was one of those people who found regular outdoor exercise invigorating. I shuddered.

The uniform clearly marked him as some sort of law enforcement officer. He was also handsome in that macho, all-American-good-looks kind of way I found inexplicably irritating. The blue eyes and chiseled jaw reminded me of the D-list actors who drifted from one episodic role in a network show to another for the length of their careers, relying on their appearance rather than talent to get them through.

The officer’s gaze swept over the store and lingered on me for a split second before he turned to greet the shopkeeper. I tuned out their chatter as I tried to figure out what else I needed for the next week or so. The cabin wasn’t that far away, but I preferred to avoid making frequent trips to the village if I could help it.

Having finally concluded my shopping, I took my basket over to the counter, which was decorated with green and silver tinsel. Both the newcomer and the elderly lady fell silent at my approach.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.

The shopkeeper put on the spectacles that hung on a dainty beaded chain around her neck and began scanning my items. She looked for all the world like a prim schoolmistress in her pale-pink sweater and upswept hairdo, her gray hair almost white against her deep brown skin. However, the look she gave me above the glasses now perched on the tip of her nose was friendly enough.

“Renting a cottage or just passing through?” she inquired.

The officer turned to examine a rack of magazines near the window, but for some reason I got the distinct impression he was listening in.

“Renting. That is, I’m staying in one of the cabins, up near the lake. It’s my family’s, actually. The Kensingtons?”

“Oh, yes!” Her face lit up. “I remember. Such a lovely family; came here nigh every year in the summertime. But not anymore.”

This wasn’t phrased as a question, precisely, but her voice rose expectantly at the last bit.

“My parents died last year.” Saying it still hurt, but I’d made my peace with it enough by now to be casual about it. “The cabin passed down to me. Well, to my sister Jenny and me, but I don’t think she has much interest in coming to Vermont anymore.” Neither did I, for that matter, but I wasn’t about to say so in front of the locals. “My name is Declan Kensington.”

The old lady raised her head, her eyes going wide behind the thin golden rims.

“The Declan Kensington? The mystery writer?”

“One and the same,” I said.

The man finally picked a newspaper and moved to stand behind me. He was definitely paying attention to our conversation, though why it would interest him, I had no notion. He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, in any case.

“My goodness!” the shopkeeper gasped. “You know, I’ve never made the connection with the Kensington family. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, Mr Kensington, am I ever!”

I was somewhat surprised that an old-fashioned-looking small-town shopkeeper would be reading crime thrillers that featured an openly gay protagonist, but perhaps I was being unnecessarily judgmental. Times were changing, after all—at least according to my Twitter feed.

She continued, oblivious to my incredulity.

“I’m Janice. Janice Bentley. I have all your books! Well, most of them,” she added almost apologetically.

I knew what she meant, of course. Even the most die-hard fans of my Owen Graves mystery thriller series had been loudly critical of the last books I’d produced, and the rest voted with their wallets. Which was why I was here, in Maplewood, in an attempt to cut down on my living expenses by taking up in an old family cabin while I worked on my next masterpiece.

And boy, did I need a masterpiece.

“Strange timing for a lakeside weekend getaway,” the man said. We both turned to look at him, and he shrugged. “It’s freezing.”

As if the fact wasn’t self-evident.

“I’m not here on a vacation,” I said icily. “I’m here to work.”

Not that it was any of their business, of course, but it struck me that saying it out loud was a commitment of sorts, as if their expectations would somehow keep me accountable. It was a bit pathetic, really, that I had to resort to such excuses to trick myself into writing, but I had to face the truth. I was fumbling my way through the worst writing block of my career, and I had to take all the incentives I could claw out. If I didn’t force the words out somehow, and soon, I might as well throw in the towel and become a junior analyst in my mother’s (and now my sister’s) financial advisory firm, waiting for a nice zombie apocalypse to put me out of my misery.

“Your light is broken,” the man said.

“What?”

He nodded toward the parking lot.

“The Honda Accord. It’s yours, right? I saw one of the taillights was busted when I walked by. You should get it fixed.”

“I’ll take care of it, officer,” I said, still reeling from the unpleasant way his words echoed my grim musings. “Unless you’d rather slap me with a fine.”

I don’t know why I was being snappish, really. The officer wasn’t being belligerent, but something in his careless standoffishness irked me. That, and I was already in a foul mood; not much was needed to set me on edge.

He didn’t exactly roll his eyes at my challenge, but I got the distinct impression he did so in his mind.

“The roads here can be dangerous in winter if you’re unfamiliar with them, especially at night,” he said with a hint of reproach. “If someone is driving behind you, you might be putting them at risk. Better be safe than sorry.”

I felt instantly bad. The man gave me no reason to be rude. And besides, my behavior smacked of the kind of privileged white-male arrogance I was doing my best to check myself on.

Clearly, I wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere this time. “I’ll have it fixed.”

The officer nodded and pushed a couple of dollar bills across the counter to pay for his newspaper, which turned out to be The St. Albans Messenger.

“Have a nice stay, Mr. Kensington,” he said and headed out. I saw him throw another glance at my Honda before walking off down the road, the newspaper tucked under his armpit.

“That’s Curtis Monroe, our public safety commissioner,” Janice said, dropping her voice conspiratorially, even though he couldn’t possibly hear her. “He’s a sweetheart, really.”

From our very brief acquaintance, “sweetheart” wouldn’t be the word I’d associate with Commissioner Monroe, but the last thing I wanted right now was to argue the point with Janice.

“Commissioner? So you have a large public safety department here at Maplewood?” I asked, looking longingly at the till. The light was beginning to fail ever so slightly, and I was itching to be off.

Janice laughed as if I were being purposefully funny.

“Oh, heavens, no! It’s just him and Jack Gleason, his deputy. It’s such a small, peaceful village; we hardly have any trouble going on except for the tourist season. And even then, it’s mostly folks having one too many drinks and making a ruckus. You’ll be bored with us quite soon, Mr. Kensington, I’m sure.”

“You know, maybe boredom is exactly what I need right now to focus on my work,” I told her, handing her my credit card. “It looks like the perfect place to get some peace and quiet.”

In retrospect, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

Website | Twitter

Tour Schedule

12/21 Joyfully Jay

12/22 Bayou Book Junkie

12/23 Love Bytes

12/24 My Fiction Nook

12/25 Boy Meets Boy Reviews

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: In the Winter Woods by Isabelle Adler

 

Author Isabelle Adler and IndiGo Marketing visit with In the Winter Woods release blitz! Read more about the holiday mystery romance and enter in the $10 NineStar Press credit giveaway! 

 

Title: In the Winter Woods

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 14, 2020

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61800

Genre: Contemporary Holiday, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, romance, gay, bi, seasonal/holiday, Christmas, Vermont, writer, law enforcement, crime, crime procedure, mystery, small town, maple syrup

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Declan Kensington isn’t really in the mood for Christmas. His latest mystery book sales are tanking, his finances are in a dismal state, and his spirits are anything but festive. Perhaps spending the holidays alone at his family lakeside cabin in the small village of Maplewood, Vermont, will provide him much-needed peace and quiet. Then he might finally get to work on a new book and (hopefully) jumpstart his stalling writing career.

When he starts receiving anonymous letters threatening him to leave, Declan realizes his solitary writer’s retreat isn’t at all what he bargained for. And if the threats aren’t enough, a killer strikes, casting Declan in the role of the most likely suspect. Now it’s up to him and the handsome local Public Safety Commissioner Curtis Monroe to find out the truth before Declan spends Christmas (and the rest of his life) in jail. But as dead bodies pile up and dark secrets are revealed beneath Maplewood’s picture-perfect facade, Declan’s heart may yet be in more danger than his life…

Excerpt

In the Winter Woods
Isabelle Adler © 2020
All Rights Reserved

At first glance, there was nothing sinister about the lakeside village of Maplewood, Vermont.

In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in the village. I had passed the post office, the fire station, the town hall, and a big billboard announcing the construction of some sort of theme park, all situated along the half-mile stretch of Main Street before parking my car in front of the convenience store. It abutted the first gas station I’d seen in the last few hours. The faded sign at the front was fitted with twinkling lights and plastic green holly garlands that had seen better days. Despite the general shabbiness, there was something charming and distinctly Christmas-y about it, like looking at a vintage postcard.

I got out and tightened my parka around me. Snow crunched under my sneakers, which were hardly suitable for the weather. I’d forgotten just how cold the winters here in Vermont could be, and now I was paying the price for neglecting to properly equip myself for the long trip from Manhattan’s Upper West Side all the way to Lake Champlain.

Granted, it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Not the part about leaving New York City, but coming here to Maplewood. I didn’t remember much of the town, having last been here with my family when I was thirteen or fourteen, but I doubted it’d changed much in the last twenty years.

The doorbell chimed as I entered the store. It seemed to be empty aside from a gray-haired elderly lady behind the counter, who looked up and offered me a distracted smile before turning back to a talk show on a small TV set tucked beside the register.

I blew on my hands and rubbed them together, then picked up a basket and started off down the aisle toward the refrigerators in the back. I suspected I would have to stock up on everything before going up to the cabin. It hadn’t been used for something like five years, since the last vacation my sister Jenny and her husband had taken there after being married, when the cabin still belonged to our parents. Everything still lurking in the depths of the pantry would have to be thrown out anyway.

Between grocery shopping and another full tank of gas, this retreat was turning out more expensive than I initially imagined. And it was a retreat, I told myself firmly, a writer’s retreat of one. Jenny would say I was running away from my problems, but it was the opposite, really. I’d come here to tackle them head-on.

I wanted to do battle with my lingering writer’s block somewhere where I wouldn’t have to stretch my dwindling income to cover rent for a Manhattan apartment. It’d come down to either living in the center of the known universe or, well, eating. And whoever had come up with the idea an artist had to starve to produce great art was clearly full of it.

The first thing that caught my eye was a display rack of Champ the Champlain Lake Monster merchandise. Much like the Loch Ness monster in Scotland, “Champ” was a popular piece of local folklore and somewhat of a draw for holidaymakers all around the lake. A cardboard cutout of Champ wearing a Santa hat invited the customers to peruse the display. I glanced at the selection of postcards and printed T-shirts and moved into the food isles.

I picked some sensible items—dried pasta, canned tomato sauce, eggs, bread, and some packaged vegetables. Then (because I wasn’t living in complete denial) I added instant coffee and a box of sugary donuts.

The doorbell rang again as I was contemplating adding cocoa to the selection. I glanced briefly above the shelves and saw a tall man in a dark blue uniform step inside. He wore one of those heavy-duty puffer jackets and a hat.

I hadn’t heard another car or a bike pull up, so I assumed he’d walked here. His cheeks were red, his pale skin flushed with the bracing cold of midday winter air. Maybe he was one of those people who found regular outdoor exercise invigorating. I shuddered.

The uniform clearly marked him as some sort of law enforcement officer. He was also handsome in that macho, all-American-good-looks kind of way I found inexplicably irritating. The blue eyes and chiseled jaw reminded me of the D-list actors who drifted from one episodic role in a network show to another for the length of their careers, relying on their appearance rather than talent to get them through.

The officer’s gaze swept over the store and lingered on me for a split second before he turned to greet the shopkeeper. I tuned out their chatter as I tried to figure out what else I needed for the next week or so. The cabin wasn’t that far away, but I preferred to avoid making frequent trips to the village if I could help it.

Having finally concluded my shopping, I took my basket over to the counter, which was decorated with green and silver tinsel. Both the newcomer and the elderly lady fell silent at my approach.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.

The shopkeeper put on the spectacles that hung on a dainty beaded chain around her neck and began scanning my items. She looked for all the world like a prim schoolmistress in her pale-pink sweater and upswept hairdo, her gray hair almost white against her deep brown skin. However, the look she gave me above the glasses now perched on the tip of her nose was friendly enough.

“Renting a cottage or just passing through?” she inquired.

The officer turned to examine a rack of magazines near the window, but for some reason I got the distinct impression he was listening in.

“Renting. That is, I’m staying in one of the cabins, up near the lake. It’s my family’s, actually. The Kensingtons?”

“Oh, yes!” Her face lit up. “I remember. Such a lovely family; came here nigh every year in the summertime. But not anymore.”

This wasn’t phrased as a question, precisely, but her voice rose expectantly at the last bit.

“My parents died last year.” Saying it still hurt, but I’d made my peace with it enough by now to be casual about it. “The cabin passed down to me. Well, to my sister Jenny and me, but I don’t think she has much interest in coming to Vermont anymore.” Neither did I, for that matter, but I wasn’t about to say so in front of the locals. “My name is Declan Kensington.”

The old lady raised her head, her eyes going wide behind the thin golden rims.

“The Declan Kensington? The mystery writer?”

“One and the same,” I said.

The man finally picked a newspaper and moved to stand behind me. He was definitely paying attention to our conversation, though why it would interest him, I had no notion. He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, in any case.

“My goodness!” the shopkeeper gasped. “You know, I’ve never made the connection with the Kensington family. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, Mr Kensington, am I ever!”

I was somewhat surprised that an old-fashioned-looking small-town shopkeeper would be reading crime thrillers that featured an openly gay protagonist, but perhaps I was being unnecessarily judgmental. Times were changing, after all—at least according to my Twitter feed.

She continued, oblivious to my incredulity.

“I’m Janice. Janice Bentley. I have all your books! Well, most of them,” she added almost apologetically.

I knew what she meant, of course. Even the most die-hard fans of my Owen Graves mystery thriller series had been loudly critical of the last books I’d produced, and the rest voted with their wallets. Which was why I was here, in Maplewood, in an attempt to cut down on my living expenses by taking up in an old family cabin while I worked on my next masterpiece.

And boy, did I need a masterpiece.

“Strange timing for a lakeside weekend getaway,” the man said. We both turned to look at him, and he shrugged. “It’s freezing.”

As if the fact wasn’t self-evident.

“I’m not here on a vacation,” I said icily. “I’m here to work.”

Not that it was any of their business, of course, but it struck me that saying it out loud was a commitment of sorts, as if their expectations would somehow keep me accountable. It was a bit pathetic, really, that I had to resort to such excuses to trick myself into writing, but I had to face the truth. I was fumbling my way through the worst writing block of my career, and I had to take all the incentives I could claw out. If I didn’t force the words out somehow, and soon, I might as well throw in the towel and become a junior analyst in my mother’s (and now my sister’s) financial advisory firm, waiting for a nice zombie apocalypse to put me out of my misery.

“Your light is broken,” the man said.

“What?”

He nodded toward the parking lot.

“The Honda Accord. It’s yours, right? I saw one of the taillights was busted when I walked by. You should get it fixed.”

“I’ll take care of it, officer,” I said, still reeling from the unpleasant way his words echoed my grim musings. “Unless you’d rather slap me with a fine.”

I don’t know why I was being snappish, really. The officer wasn’t being belligerent, but something in his careless standoffishness irked me. That, and I was already in a foul mood; not much was needed to set me on edge.

He didn’t exactly roll his eyes at my challenge, but I got the distinct impression he did so in his mind.

“The roads here can be dangerous in winter if you’re unfamiliar with them, especially at night,” he said with a hint of reproach. “If someone is driving behind you, you might be putting them at risk. Better be safe than sorry.”

I felt instantly bad. The man gave me no reason to be rude. And besides, my behavior smacked of the kind of privileged white-male arrogance I was doing my best to check myself on.

Clearly, I wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere this time. “I’ll have it fixed.”

The officer nodded and pushed a couple of dollar bills across the counter to pay for his newspaper, which turned out to be The St. Albans Messenger.

“Have a nice stay, Mr. Kensington,” he said and headed out. I saw him throw another glance at my Honda before walking off down the road, the newspaper tucked under his armpit.

“That’s Curtis Monroe, our public safety commissioner,” Janice said, dropping her voice conspiratorially, even though he couldn’t possibly hear her. “He’s a sweetheart, really.”

From our very brief acquaintance, “sweetheart” wouldn’t be the word I’d associate with Commissioner Monroe, but the last thing I wanted right now was to argue the point with Janice.

“Commissioner? So you have a large public safety department here at Maplewood?” I asked, looking longingly at the till. The light was beginning to fail ever so slightly, and I was itching to be off.

Janice laughed as if I were being purposefully funny.

“Oh, heavens, no! It’s just him and Jack Gleason, his deputy. It’s such a small, peaceful village; we hardly have any trouble going on except for the tourist season. And even then, it’s mostly folks having one too many drinks and making a ruckus. You’ll be bored with us quite soon, Mr. Kensington, I’m sure.”

“You know, maybe boredom is exactly what I need right now to focus on my work,” I told her, handing her my credit card. “It looks like the perfect place to get some peace and quiet.”

In retrospect, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

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