Book Blitz with Excerpt + Giveaway: Dragon Descending by Jennifer Allis Provost @parthalan @XpressoTours

Dragon Descending by Jennifer Allis Provost

Series: Fire and Claw #2

Publication date: September 1st, 2026

Synopsis:

Dragons value family above all else--but when a dragon shifter can't shift, how will he protect the ones he loves?

Lochlyn Blackmoor, the last dragon shifter in Alessia, has lost his ability to shift. Heartened by a prediction that he will shift again, Lochlyn retreats to Dragon Ridge with his beloved wife, Rosalie. They're content to enjoy a quiet life, until they receive unsettling news from the capital city.

The king's seer has been marked for death, all because she helped him free Rosalie's sister from the king's clutches.

Despite his current weakness, Lochlyn embarks on a mission to rescue the seer with his brother-in-law and spymaster in tow. Almost immediately, one of their few allies--Arthus Flameborn, Grand Master of the Order of the Phoenix, who also happens to be Rosalie's grandfather--abandons them. As they run out of time and options, Lochlyn turns to a former foe for assistance: Basilisk, the same rogue shifter he freed from the Order's dungeon, and nearly killed him.

Basilisk proves himself a worthy ally, and his vast knowledge Alessia's royal family comes in handy more than once. As more of Basilisk's past is revealed, Lochlyn learns Alessia's darkest, most dangerous secret, information so deadly it could unravel everything he's ever known. To make matters worse, the ruthless Grand Master wants to form a relationship his granddaughter, Rosalie, and he doesn't care who he hurts in the process--not even Rosalie.

And only a dragon can overpower the Grand Master.

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The sun had barely crept over the horizon when Curran jogged down the castle steps. When he woke his blood had been rushing through his veins, and he wanted to use the sunrise as cover to shift into his phoenix form. Granted, Dragon Ridge was far from Serpens, and it was unlikely that word of a phoenix flying above the remote mountains would get back to his father. But Curran had been careless once, and that led to his and Caterina's capture. He wouldn't risk his princess's safety again.

Curran walked toward the stables, intending to visit his horse, Barleymane, before he shifted. As he passed through the herb garden, he heard Rosalie's voice. He walked toward where he'd heard her, and saw her standing in front of a thatch of dried out grasses shaking out her hand.

"Balls," she muttered, then she blew on her fingers.

"Something wrong?" he asked as he stepped onto the path. "Why are you out here so early?"

"No, I..." She looked at her hands and frowned. "I'm trying to make my fire come when I call. It seems to have a mind of its own."

"You've called your fire before." He remembered watching her shift to warrior form when they'd been attacked by the basilisk outside the palace. She'd reminded him so much of Aurielle in that moment, her bravery on full display as her body burned brighter than the sun. "What makes you think you won't be able to call it again?"

"Yesterday, after Lochlyn cut the lead charm out of Devlin's neck, I tried to cauterize the wound," she began. "But nothing happened, and I haven't been to call it in so long. What if... what if my fire never comes back?"

"That won't happen," Curran said, then he sat on the ground. "Sit with me?"

"All right," she agreed, sitting in front of him. "What are we doing down here?"

"We're having a lesson," he replied. "My fire wouldn't come for the longest time. My mother and Auri assumed I was latent, which would be unusual being that my parents are so powerful. Mama wanted me to be patient and wait for my fire to find its own way out, but I hated waiting."

"Me too," Rosalie said. "How old were oyu when it manifested?"

"Almost eight," he replied. "Auri would sit with me just like this, and try to coax the fire out of me. If not for her, I may never have found it." He extended his hand. "Want to try?"

"Yes," Rosalie said as she placed her hand in his. "What do we do?"

"Watch." Curran lit a single flame on each of his fingers; since he and Rosalie were blood relations, his fire wouldn't harm her. "Feel how each flame is different?"

When Rosalie nodded, he extinguished the flames, then he held up his hand with his palm toward her. "Put your hand against mine." She did, and he lit one flame at the tip of his index finger. "Close your eyes, and feel the flame. Not just the heat, but how it's moving between our skin."

She let her eyes close. "It feels... it feels like water flowing between us. But it's sharper than water."

"Very good. Now search for that feeling inside yourself."

Her brow pinched. "What if I can't find it?"

"Then we try a different way." Curran regarded his niece. She didn't look very much like his sister, but Rosalie resembled Aurielle in many other ways. One of those ways was what Curran once called stubbornness.

"You're determined like your mother," Curran said. "Auri was one of the strongest warriors I've ever known, and not just physically. Her mind was just as strong as her body, and if she couldn't defeat an obstacle one way, she would come up with a new plan and try again. Auri never would have let a few flames get the better of her, and I don't think you will, either."

"Mama certainly wouldn't have let a bit of fire win." Rosalie agreed. "I wish she was here to teach me."

Curran grasped her hand. "I wish she were here, too. Maybe... maybe the best way to honor her is for you to become the phoenix she always knew you would be."

"You think she knew," Rosalie began, then a flame bloomed between their palms. "Curran! I did it!"

"I knew you would," he praised, his face split by a grin. He lowered his hand, and the flame extinguished.

"That always happens," Rosalie pouted. "Unless I'm very angry, my flames only last a few seconds."

"Give it time," Curran said. "The more you work with your fire, the more control you will have. After you've attained your warrior form a few more times, we can work on getting you to fully shift."

"Into a full phoenix?" Rosalie traced the spot where the flame had been on her palm. "Then I could fly with Lochlyn. My mother could fully swift?"

"She could," Curran replied. "She burned even brighter than my father."

"That's amazing." A cloud passed across Rosalie's face, and Curran worried their impromptu training session had dredged up some unpleasant memories. But the emotion passed as quickly as it appeared.

"Have you anywhere to be right now?" Rosalie asked. "Or do you have time to talk about my mother a bit more? I'd love to hear what she was like growing up."

Curran smiled, and realized his own shift would have to wait. He had more important things to see to at the moment. "I have all the time in the world. As for what Auri was like when we were young, she was an absolute terror."

Rosalie laughed. "She was not!"

"Oh, yes she was."

JENNIFER ALLIS PROVOST writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies, too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library.) An early love of mythology and folklore led to her romantic fantasy series, Fire and Claw, and her degree in environmental science helped shape her urban fantasy. Poison Garden. When she's not writing about murderous plants or sexy dragon shifters she's working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction.

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Dragon Descending Blitz

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Book Blitz with Excerpt + Giveaway: Unrising by J.E. Rizzo @jennifererizzo @XpressoTours

Unrising by J.E. Rizzo

Series: Fitzjohn Duology #1

Publication date: September 1st, 2026

Synopsis:

England, 1381 AD: Blanche Fitzjohn is an outcast in her small coastal village. Not only is she the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, the man responsible for her neighbors' over-taxation, but she possesses strange abilities: hearing sound from miles away and smelling people's emotions.

She takes solace in her studies with the local wisewoman and in her friendship with Geoff, a groom at the local manor. Until the day Henry of Lancaster, Blanche's half-brother brings her news of an arranged marriage to Sir Thomas Prescott, Constable of the Tower of London. Although she smells cruelty on him, Blanche agrees to marry Thomas in the hopes that her influence may help better the lives of Geoff and all England's villains.

But soon, the peasants' discontent turns to revolt. Though her heart is of the people, Blanche's nobility makes her an enemy to the rebels. To save herself and Henry from the executioner's ax, Blanche must use every power at her disposal, even those she once considered a curse.

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Chapter 6

Something shifts, like summer's green leaves transforming to autumnal gold. Speaking with Geoff about my marriage hurts like I'd never expected, a deep ache. The moon thrums, and an owl, perched in a nearby tree, shifts as she searches for prey. My temples throb.

"It seemed..." he begins again. "It seemed he didn't want to marry you, after you..." I glare and cross my arms before lifting my face. He continues: "I thought perhaps you could get out of it because..."

"Because of what?"

"Because, ye're..."

"What, Geoff, what am I?"

His mouth opens like a fish above water, and he doesn't bother to shut it. In the tree, the owl flaps his wings and leaps into the air.

"Ye're..." The tips of Geoff's fingers flutter. "Well, I don't know what you are, Dandy. Ye're just... yerself. And I thought--"

"You thought he wouldn't want me?"

His face falls. "He's not like you, Dandy. That's all. He's not a good man. I heard him talking, when it was just the men..."

He drops his eyes and his cheekbones redden.

Neither of us seems to know what to say next. After a full minute of silence, he lurches forward and grasps my shoulders, crushing me to his chest. "Blanche, just consider."

I gasp and have to steady myself. But within seconds, tears come to my eye, along with a calming release of tension. I grip his forearms, inhale his familiar scent. He's always smelled of horses, with a hint of bread dough and sugar from the manor kitchens he's constantly raiding. There's something different tonight. I sniff. It's crisp, yet soft. Evergreens in winter, covered with fresh snow.

He buries his nose in my hair. "You could refuse," he says, voice a gentle rumble against my face, "and stay with yer mother. She'd be angry, yes, but she wouldn't throw you out. They can't drag you to the church. For a marriage to be real, you must consent."

Consent. The word ripples through me. It makes me see that I want more, from Maman, from my father, but most of all from Geoff. I need something I can't identify, something I can't express.

"If I marry Thomas..." My muffled voice breaks. "It will make the duke happy. He'll..." I tense, regretting my words.

"He'll what?"

I can't answer, can't tell him that by marrying Sir Thomas, I hope to earn my father's love. To replace... something.

The moon moves behind a cloud and the trees shift, branches releasing a shower of rain. Geoff drops one hand to the small of my back and lifts the other to my cheek. His palms are warm, and I slide my own to clench his upper arms. When my fingertips brush hardened muscle, I almost snatch my hands back. Before tonight, I still thought of Geoff as a child, the lanky villein who could ride any horse, no matter how fierce. Now... my mouth goes dry, but I can't resist running my hands up the length of his arms, letting them rest on his shoulders. The skin beneath his tunic is damp with sweat.

Corded muscles tense and stretch beneath my fingers, sending little jolts through me. He stoops, chin brushing my temple.

I touch the notch of his throat with my fingertips. He freezes. Tiny curls of dark hair peek above his collar, tickling my fingers. He lets his face linger on mine, and I feel him inhale.

A pleasant warmth spreads through my belly, then down. Something's happening, something I don't understand. I should run, should leave. But I don't. Another breeze drifts through the tree branches, and he pulls me closer, pressing me to him.

I feel him, all of him, from feet to chin, in a way I never have. A tingling, heavy warmth settles on me, and I feel Geoff's own need pressing against my belly.

It should make me uncomfortable, but I find myself pressing back, wanting more. Wanting it all.

I'm not well-versed in what happens between a woman and a man--that's one area of my education Maman neglected--but I'm not completely ignorant. I know Geoff and I stand on a cliff, gazing into a deep ravine. One more step, and we'll both be lost.

I'm still touching his throat, suspended in our odd dance beneath the shuddering tree branches, when he bends further. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his stubbly chin against my face. He exhales, and a shiver runs down my spine.

"Dandy..." he murmurs.

The owl swoops to snatch a mouse from the forest floor in shape talons. Her screech is like a battle horn, ricocheting with painful deliberation in my skull, joined by the mouse's squeal. My eyelids snap open and I step out of his embrace.

J.E. RIZZO is a life-long history fanatic and writer of historical fiction whose work can be found in Vanity Fair, The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The Tudor Times, Tudor Life Magazine, Scary Mommy, and Ultrarunning Magazine. Additionally, her article, Past and Precedence: Abortion Law in the Middle Ages and Its Use to Overturn Roe v. Wade, won History Inquiry's Medieval History Writing Challenge. Rizzo's debut novel, Uprising, Book One of the Fitzjohn, a fourteenth century neurodivergent woman whose perceived disabilities became superpowers during England's peasant uprising of 1381.

By day, Rizzo works in Human Resources--a field offering more than ample opportunity to observe the follies and fancies of humankind. Before her career in HR, Rizzo worked as an opera singer, a professional baker, and a dog walker. These days, when not writing she can be found running ultramarathons through the forests and mountains of New England, knitting, reading, sewing, baking, or performing any number of (what some might call) old-lady hobbies. She also keeps busing caring for her two children and forty-seven houseplants, making her husband carry heavy things and cook her gourmet meals, and rehabilitating her rescue dog and semi-feral ginger cat.

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Uprising Blitz

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Book Blitz with Excerpt + Teasers + Giveaway: Love Next Door: A '90s Anthem Duet by Eve Kasey & Melanie A. Smith @XpressoTours

Love Next Door: A '90s Anthem Duet by Eve Kasey & Melanie A. Smith

Publication date: September 1st, 2026

Synopsis:

One volume, two steamy interconnected romances set in 1995 Seattle

Come to My Window

Hazel Bell has lost everything--her job, her apartment, and her future in Seattle. Now her whole world is a thrift-store wardrobe, a family of houseplants, and a stranger in the opposite window who knows exactly what to say.

They exchange notes instead of names. Confessions instead of introductions. And somehow, the man she's never met becomes the one person she can't live without.

Gideon Sarkis knows the truth would end them before they ever begin.

He knows exactly who Hazel is. But she doesn't know him--or how badly he once hurt her. The more notes they write, the harder he falls. But with his obligations pressing in and her options disappearing, their time is running out.

Some windows are meant to be opened.

But some secrets can shatter everything.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Ben Pedersen is a ghostwriter stuck crafting someone else's thrillers when a misdelivered package introduces him to the mystery of unit 203--and its elusive occupant, Heaven Lee.

Lee is a software engineer burning the candle at every possible end, helping build one of the first online bookstores. She doesn't have time for nosy neighbors. She barely has time for sleep. But the guy upstairs keeps getting her mail, and he's funny, patient, and her dog likes him more than the UPS guy. So maybe one coffee not-date won't kill her.

The neighborly arrangement that follows becomes something neither of them planned. But Lee won't admit what's in the misdelivered packages, and Ben's writer brain won't let a mystery rest. When curiosity crosses a line, both must decide what matters more: protecting their secrets or fighting for what they've found.

Love Next Door is two warm, witty nostalgic love stories about the secrets we keep, the walls we build, and the people worth tearing them down for.

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Hazel is parked in a chair in front of her window, arms around her knees as if she needs the extra support. Our gazes collide across the space between us. Even with the tiny smile she offers, she looks small and lonely, and it breaks my heart.

There is no note. Just her.

After a long moment in which we just share space, she unwinds her arms and turns to her kitchen table. Her hair falls across her face as she scribbles out a note. I watch as she tucks long locks behind her ear, and wish it's my fingers instead.

Coffee shop? her note says. She's drawn a steaming mug beside the words.

I nod.

And wait.

Her next note is unexpected. I saw you at the grocery store yesterday.

My stomach flips. Seriously? In the same building twice in as many days? I wonder how often that's happened without our knowledge. Maybe we've been circling around each other for months, just out of reach.

And? She'd seen me and done nothing about it. Why?

A bit of her sparkle returns as she shares a small, sly smile. And I still think you're incredibly handsome.

I chuckle softly, but I won't let her slide. Talk to me, Picasso.

Her smile fades. Nodding, she turns her attention back to her art supplies. Her words against the glass are navy blue and stark. It's been an invisible day. Ever feel invisible?

I don't. My size and coloring make me stand out. I've never felt invisible, but I've never truly felt seen, either. Not until eye contact with my neighbor was all I had.

I shake my head before bending down to write the next note. I may not have seen you, but I see you. I make the last three words bold, going over the letters several times. Then I make a second sign. You shine, Hazel. Even in the dark.

Thank you, she doodles out, including leaves and buds around the letters. Then another. You have a way of helping me heal. A broken heart held together by stitches.

"Killing me, Picasso," I breathe. That is the greatest compliment she can give me, especially knowing what I do.

You get me through the day, Hazel. Even before I knew you, you were the reason I smiled.

She puts her hand on her heart, and I swear I feel myself fall.

Smiling, Hazel writes another note and holds it up to the window. Do I get to know your name?

With those words, I hit the earth.

I refuse to let my panic show on my face. Thinking quickly, I scrawl out a desperate reply. If you've named all your plants, I know you've named me, too. What do you call me?

She visibly cringes, and heaves an exaggerated sigh I can see across the alley and holds her confession up to the window.

Fred. 

I blink. As in Flintstone? Why?

Hazel is slow to reply, but I don't mind because I have her pursed lips and another peek of her clavicle to focus on. Because you're too sexy for your shirt.

It takes a few seconds to process her words. Then I burst out laughing, harder than I have in weeks. Not Flintstone, then. Right Said Fred. The guy with the truly obnoxious song.

Still chuckling, I glance down at my exposed abs, loving that she appreciates my hard work, loving even more that "too sexy" is how she thinks of me.

Despite the crazy day, despite the secret I'm holding in my heart, I make sure that Hazel knows that the feeling is mutual.

I let desire take over every part of me, slowly, like a trickle of light rain. I allow heat into my gaze. Leaning forward on the shelf, I let my muscles pop and eyes roam. I take her in as I share my more lascivious thoughts through body language.

For her, I strip myself bare, deeper than flesh. I stop hiding how I see her. And I drink down what I witness across the way.

A flower opening in the sun.

EVE KASEY writes for a design firm by day and reads (and writes!) indie romance novels by night. Her contemporary romances balance swoon and steam while aiming to teach readers something new. She loves romance for the hope the genre conveys as well as the amplification of the simple truth that everyone everywhere deserves a happily ever after - however that looks to them. Eve lives in and loves the Pacific Northwest.

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MELANIE A. SMITH is an award-winning, international best-selling author of steamy romance with smart, self-sufficient heroines and strong, swoony book boyfriends with hearts of gold. A former engineer turned stay-at-home mom and author, when Melanie is not lost in the world of books you'll find her spending time with her husband and son, crafting, or cross-stitching.

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Love Next Door: A ‘90s Anthem Duet Blitz

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