Book Blitz + #Giveaway: Xonarye: Japan by S.H.S. @XpressoTours

Xonarye: Japan
S.H.S.
Publication date: September 1st 2025
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Young Adult

In the snowy heartlands of Izumo, Japan, Leaf Brodie seeks answers. What begins as a path of discipline and inner reflection under the watchful eye of Master Kenji becomes a deeper journey-one where ancient secrets lie hidden in the folds of tradition and trust can shatter with a single lie.

As Leaf explores sacred shrines and timeless landscapes, a betrayal from within rocks his world. Yuji, once a friend and fellow student, is exposed as a spy for the powerful Reblick syndicate. The destruction he leaves behind is devastating-but the artifact he steals, a sacred belt buckle, is missing one thing: the next clue.

That clue isn’t written on paper or etched in stone-it’s been burned into human skin. On Master Kenji’s back is a mysterious script, unknown even to him, and unlike anything Leaf or Selina have seen before. What they uncover is not just a lost language-it’s a gateway to the forgotten land of Xonarye.

Blending action, cultural discovery, betrayal, and ancient myth, Xonarye: Japan is a powerful continuation of the global adventure.

The complete series:
  

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

When the dojo finally came into view, Leaf’s sense of calm and safety was suddenly shattered.

The main gate hung open, crooked on its hinges. Shards of splintered wood lay scattered across the stone pathway. A few windows had been shattered, with broken glass spread all around him . The paper screens of the main hall were torn and flapping loosely in the breeze. It looked like a storm had blown through but there had been no storm. Leaf’s heart pounded in his chest. He quickened his pace, stepping
over the debris, eyes scanning every corner. The courtyard was a mess, the practice weapons strewn about, some cracked in half. The tatami mats were shredded, spilling straw across the floor like scattered autumn leaves.

“Selina?” he called out, his voice sharp against the silence. “Yuji? Kenji?”

Nothing but the breeze whistling through some rocks around the dojo.

The rooms were upturned. Mats tossed aside, scrolls unravelled, some torn. Kenji’s study , usually immaculate , was in chaos. Books were thrown from their shelves, papers were scattered, and ink was spilled like blood across the floor. Kenji’s prized calligraphy scrolls hung lopsided, some sliced through as if by a blade. The room smelled of old ink and cold air, carrying a whisper of ash as if something had been burned. Leaf’s mind raced. Who would do this? Why?

He moved quickly through each room, heart hammering. No one. No sign of life. He reached the small back garden where the snow had settled undisturbed.

Suddenly, footsteps crunched behind him. Leaf spun, fists clenched. Selina stepped out from the shadows, her eyes sharp, surveying the damage.

“What happened?” she asked, voice low and controlled.

Leaf shook his head, the words tangled in his throat.

Author Bio:

Scott Shepherd is an emerging Australian author with a passion for adventure, storytelling, and the lure of lost lands. Hailing from Naracoorte, South Australia, Scott self-published his first novel in 2020, introducing readers to the daring world of Xonarye. Since then, he has written three books in the Xonarye series, bringing his vivid imagination to life through tales set in exotic locations steeped in mystery and culture.

In 2025, Scott re-released a refined edition of his debut novel, Xonarye: Australia, followed by the second instalment, Xonarye: Cuba, with the third book, Xonarye: Japan, set for release later the same year.

A part-time novelist, full-time family man, and self-described “regular guy,” Scott continues to write from his hometown, where he balances storytelling with hiking, fatherhood, and shared adventures with his partner. Whether at his desk or exploring the outdoors, Scott is always chasing the next great journey—on the page or beyond.

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Book Blitz + #Giveaway: You Don’t Belong Here by D.M. Siciliano @XpressoTours

You Don’t Belong Here
D.M. Siciliano
Publication date: October 13th 2025
Genres: Adult, Horror, Paranormal, Suspense

A girl who feels invisible finally faces her worst fear on her sixteenth birthday and hastily makes a dark deal.

An old man returns to the same place every year on the anniversary of his wife’s death, to have one last moonlit dance with her.

A woman’s health concerns are ignored, and it leads to global chaos.

A young woman goes home to bury her father and sell his house but finds that the home is no longer hers.

An old man with Alzheimer’s becomes increasingly lost in his own house, which seems to be doing its own forgetting.

Two young girls find a Ouija board, thinking they’re communicating with a deceased relative, but find something much more cunning.

A woman, grieving the loss of her baby, takes a trip to a remote cabin in Tahoe. Her worried sister goes after her and isn’t prepared for what she finds.

A woman’s drive through California’s winding roads leads her to a perilous and sinister discovery lurking in the woods.

A woman takes a job as a nanny for two troublesome kids, only to find that the children aren’t the problem.

Goodreads / Amazon

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SNEAK PEEKS:

ROUND & ROUND

Once she was gone, the house grew quiet, the house got dark, even in daylight, even with all the lights on. He had taken to turning all the lights on most of the time, hoping it might give him some clarity, some help in understanding and navigating the house he knew inside and out. He’d flip the lights on, and then the nurse would come and shut most of them off behind him once he left the room. It was as if the house’s memory was beginning to slip, just like the old man’s. Things seemed to make less sense to both the man and the house. What might happen if the house couldn’t remember what its curving walls gave way to? What if it forgot where a door should be? Or even where the entrance and exit of the labyrinth in the backyard must be? He was certain the forgetfulness wasn’t all on him. Yes, his mind was playing tricks on him, but there was more to it than that. He played a part in it for sure, but there was something about the house. It was part of him, after all. His blood, sweat, and tears had gone into building it. The house was as much a part of him as his daughter was, perhaps even more.

—

SUNNY DAYS AHEAD

Tommy took a long sip of his milk, leaving a trail of a white mustache above his top lip. “She died.” He took the sleeve of his pajamas and wiped it across his lip, removing the stain. “She got sick. Sad sick.” He leaned back against a pillow on the sofa and pulled the corner of the throw blanket up to his chest.

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“She got confused a lot. And cried a lot. She confused me and Danny. Didn’t know who was who. Sometimes she yelled at my father for no reason. Sometimes she got so sad and nervous that she would itch her arms until they bled. That’s what Dad said.”

Terry pulled her sleeves down low, so as not to call attention to the long red marks that now plagued her arms. They began to itch and tease at her, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she locked her hands around her teacup. “That is very sad.”

“When everyone went to sleep, she stayed awake. She would walk up and down the halls. Open our doors and just stand there at the bed watching us sleep.”

A chill of recognition swept over Terry.

“If we were bad, she would lock us up in our room.”

—

HYSTERIA

If only women’s health had been taken more seriously, perhaps the invasion would never have happened. If the Earth were a woman, it would be giving the human race the middle finger and saying, I told you so!” right about now. What’s left of Earth anyway. It might as well be called something else entirely. Or perhaps that is a human ego’s way of thinking. Since human life on this planet changed, why couldn’t it still be Earth?

I’d spoken to my doctor more in the past few months than my literary agent. It was my third visit in six months for the same problem. What started with what my doctor had called vague, benign symptoms, turned into a nightmare. Even she recommended we might have to consider more invasive methods to deal with it. Hysterectomy: that’s what she’d called it. Such a strange word. Such an offensive base. In ancient Greece, hysteria was thought to be caused by the uterus, thus hysterectomy, so the removal of the uterus would cure the hysteria. If anything in life was that easy. In hindsight, I’d have preferred to have been hysterical and called it a day.

Author Bio:

DM is a lover of all things creative. From the moment she could speak, growing up in Massachusetts, she had a passion for flair and drama, putting on concerts for anyone who was even remotely interested (and even for those who were not). A storyteller by nature, she first pursued her young dream of becoming a singing diva while living in Arizona. She soon found that stage life wasn't the only form of storytelling she craved, so she dropped the mic and picked up a pencil instead. She still hasn't given up on her diva-ness, and hopes her pencil stays as sharp as her tongue.

A dark sense of humor and curiosity for haunted houses and things out of the ordinary led her down the path of completing her first novel, Inside. Several other projects are constantly floating around in her head and her laptop daily, and sometimes keeping her up much too late at night. Occasionally, those projects are so dark and twisted, she needs to leave a nightlight on.

She now lives in Northern California with her two fluffy furbabies, Cezare and Michaleto.

Website / Bookbub / Facebook / Instagram

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Book Blitz + #Giveaway: Motive by Joe Strazzeri Esq. @RABTBookTours

 

Meet the Invisible Guest in your wealth-biased relationships

Non-Fiction

Publication Date: October 10, 2025

Publisher: Serapis Bey Publishing

Successful families and business owners tolerate far too much angst and pain surrounding their material assets and cherished relationships. What if hope for a better way was closer than you knew to be possible?

Packed with uncommon insights, boots on the ground exercises, and real client stories, you will emerge from the experience with a profound exhale of relief, and practical steps to make the journey from friction to ease.

 

 

About the Author

 

Joe Strazzeri is an attorney and counselor to successful families and business owners. With a lifelong desire to become a lawyer, he leveraged his second career as a general contractor, hammering nails to pay for law school. He has been self-made since his 20s.

He is a founding partner in four companies that serve multi-generational affluent families and self-made business owners, and he teaches the trusted advisors to both. Their life’s work centers on Three Systems of Family Thriving: family wealth, family relationships and family business relationships, and family advisory relationships. They focus on four key capabilities: tax masterminding, business succession, cleaning up messes in families’ existing planning, and Family Synergy Work.

Over 25 years in business, he and his teams have counseled more than 750 eight- and nine-figure net worth families, and thousands of others. This experiential sample size renders the insights and perspectives shared in this book.

Joe credits his entrepreneurial tenacity to the dichotomy of his parents’ origins. His mother a German, Iowa farmgirl, and his father, a crazy Sicilian entrepreneur, who began life as a teenage immigrant and drove the success of several real estate enterprises.

 

Contact Links

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Teaser: Chains by Marteeka Karland @marteekakarland @RABTBookTours @changelingpress

 

Kiss of Death MC

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: October 17, 2025

 

Three black cats. One grumpy biker. Fate’s about to get witchy. And wickedly hot.

Elvira – Halloween’s my favorite holiday, until one teeny mishap with my practice spell. Suddenly I’m homeless, stinking of swamp gas, and dragging three black cats into a biker compound… Where I meet Chains. Big, broody, and superstitious as hell, he glares at my “demon spawn” like they’re plotting his death. But the way he looks at me? Let’s just say my spell isn’t the only thing that’s likely to combust. He’s all hard muscle and harder attitude, and I can’t tell if he wants to banish me… or bend me over the couch and have his wicked way with me. I would definitely approve of option number two!

Chains -- I don’t fear much after nine years inside, but Ellie is chaos. She’s a walking disaster. Loud, messy, and makes Halloween look like a lifestyle, not a holiday. And her damn cats have me spooked. I tell myself she’s trouble. Too naïve. Too good. Then she kisses me, and suddenly I’m ready to sell my soul for another taste. My MC brothers think it’s funny. Screw em. Elvira’s mine. And if anyone touches her, I’ll burn this place to the ground.

 

WARNING: Chains contains memories of domestic abuse and manipulation. However, there is a happy-ever-after ending that will make you feel warm and fuzzy.

EXCERPT

 

Elvira

I stood in the center of my apartment, surveying the disaster zone that used to be my living room. The cauldron, which was actually just my favorite stock pot, lay on its side on the stove. Dark green liquid dripped steadily from the countertop by the stove onto the cheap linoleum floor. My witches’ brew experiment had gone spectacularly wrong, again, filling the air with a stench so foul it made my eyes water. I’d only wanted to create a love potion. Instead, I’d concocted what smelled like a demonic skunk had mated with rotting eggs in a garbage fire.

“It’s okay, babies,” I cooed to the three black cats, who’d retreated to their carriers the moment the pot bubbled over. “Mommy just had a tiny magical mishap.”

Lucifer hissed from behind his carrier door, his yellow eyes narrowed in judgment. Binx paced in tight circles, while Salem had his paws pressed against his nose. Even my familiars couldn’t stand the smell.

“I know, I know. I should have followed the recipe.” I pulled my tank top over my nose, breathing through the fabric. “But who has time to find owl feathers and moonwater on a Tuesday night?”

I flung open every window in my apartment, the October air rushing in but barely making a dent in the stench. The smoke detector, which had been screaming for ten minutes, finally quieted. Green sludge dripped from the ceiling above the stove where the potion had splattered during its violent eruption. My carefully arranged Halloween decorations were now coated in something that looked like radioactive snot.

“We can fix this,” I muttered to myself, only half convinced. “Just need some bleach, maybe an exorcism, definitely a new carpet…”

The pounding on my door made me jump. “Miss Blackheart!” Yeah. He didn’t sound happy. “Open the door right now!”

“Coming, Mr. Peterson!” I sang out in my cheeriest voice, frantically attempting to right the fallen cauldron. Green goo sloshed over my fingers, burning slightly. “Just freshening up!”

I wiped my hands on my black jeans and pulled my long hair back into a heavy ponytail. Taking a deep breath, I immediately regretted it as the fumes hit my lungs, I opened the door with my most innocent smile even as my eyes watered.

Mr. Peterson stood there, his face the color of an overripe tomato. The vein in his forehead throbbed with such intensity I worried it might burst. His nostrils flared before he clamped a hand over his nose as the wall of stink hit him.

“What in God’s name --” He choked, stumbling backward. “The entire building smells like… like…”

“Aromatherapy!” I offered brightly. “It’s a, um, rare Eastern technique for cleansing negative energy.”

His eyes bulged as he peered past me into the apartment. “Your ceiling is green! There’s smoke everywhere!”

“That’s part of the process?” My voice lifted higher with each word, betraying my desperation.

“The Johnsons in 3B are throwing up. Mrs. Wittlesby’s cat fainted. The Andersons’ dog is howling like it’s seen a ghost.” He thrust a piece of paper at me. “This is an eviction notice. You’re out, Miss Blackheart.”

I took the paper with trembling fingers. “But Mr. Peterson, I’ve always paid my rent on time, and --”

“I don’t care if you paid your rent in gold bars! You’ve violated every health code in existence. People are evacuating the damn building!” The longer he spoke, the louder he got. And he’d been pretty damned loud to start with.

Behind me, one of my cats let out a mournful yowl. “Those damn black cats of yours,” he muttered, making the sign of the cross. “I knew they were bad news.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Don’t blame my cats for this. They’re innocent.”

“You have until tonight to get out,” he bellowed, gesturing wildly at my smoke-stained ceiling. “Eight hours! After that, I’m calling animal control for those beasts and the hazmat team for… whatever hellbrew you’ve cooked up in here.”

“But where am I supposed to go?” My voice cracked, the reality of my situation finally sinking in. “You can’t kick me out with no notice!”

“Not my problem. And it’s my damn building; I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Take it to court if you want. Don’t care. But until you get a court date, I want you out of here!” He stepped back, pulling a handkerchief over his nose. “I’ve put up with the stink for the last time. Eight hours, Miss Blackheart. Not a minute more.”

The door slammed in my face. I stood there, clutching the eviction notice, feeling the edges of panic creeping in. Sure, I could take him to court. He’d have to call the police to force me to leave and they wouldn’t make me unless there was a court order. But, honestly, I knew it was time to move on. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I’d hoped to save a little more money before then. But maybe this was a sign.

My hands shook as I turned to face my ruined apartment. The clock on the wall shaped like a grinning skull showed it was already noon.

“Well, shit,” I whispered to no one in particular.

I sank down onto my potion-spattered couch, the eviction notice crumpling in my grip. My eyes burned, and not just from the fumes. I really wasn’t sure where I was going to go. I had a couple thousand dollars in my savings account, and a hundred in my checking to do me until payday. If I could find a new place that wasn’t too expensive, I might have enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent. If I was really lucky. And that was assuming I could find something in the next eight hours. Right. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

I glanced at my phone, scrolling through the pitiful list of contacts until I came to Carrie’s number and took a deep breath. We weren’t exactly close friends, but she’d always been kind to me at the coffee shop where I worked weekends. She seemed like a really nice person. She’d offered me a place to crash the last time my landlord threatened to kick me out. I hadn’t taken her up on the offer then since I only knew her from the coffee shop, but I wasn’t sure I had many options at the moment.

The phone rang three times before she picked up. “Ellie! Hey!” She sounded excited. To hear from me?

“Hey.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m having a bit of an emergency.”

“Oh no, Ellie! What kind of emergency? Are you all right?” Carrie sounded distressed. She was such a sweet person I had no doubt she genuinely was distressed.

“I… um… may have accidentally created a biohazard in my apartment and gotten evicted?” I laughed, the sound hollow and desperate. “I need to be out by eight tonight, and I have nowhere to go, and I have my cats, and --” My voice broke, tears threatening.

There was a muffled commotion in the background. I could hear Carrie talking and other people responding, but it was like she had her hand over the speaker or something. I closed my eyes, bracing for rejection.

“Now drop me a pin and we’ll get over there.” Carrie sounded determined and, I thought, authoritative? Like she was the one giving the orders and everyone else was doing her bidding. So, I did as she instructed. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Relief flooded through me so fast I nearly dropped the phone. “We?” My voice came out a squeak. I knew Carrie’s man was a member of a local motorcycle club called Kiss of Death. Which I kind of liked the sound of, but it was still a motorcycle club. Honestly, though, I kind of thought the guys I’d met at the coffee shop were much safer than some of the people living in this building.

“Oh yeah! The girls are gonna get you a room ready while Hannah and I are bringing Knuckles and Hawk. We’ll get you packed up and out of there in no time.”

“I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble, Carrie. It’s bad enough I’m asking you guys for a place to stay.”

“Nonsense! We all want to help!” There was more racket in the background, then Carrie was back. “We’re bringing boxes and some big contractor bags. Anything you want to keep that’s soiled or smells too bad we can put in there and wash later. Be on the lookout for a blue Bronco.”

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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