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All reviews and opinions shared on The Faerie Review are mine alone. I review books of my own accord. All books reviewed on this blog are e...

Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Blitz: The Pandora Experiment

Title: The Pandora Experiment
Author: Jonathan Yanez
Genre: SciFi
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR
Blurb: Would you choose peace over truth?
How long could that peace last?
The citizens enjoy the peace of their perfectly planned city. But when she notices cracks in the facade, Jordan’s waking dreams turn to nightmares.
She thought she had received the promotion of a lifetime; she was wrong. The promotion only brings her closer to terrifying truths of the administration.
Secrets told to keep the citizens safe turn out to be lies to keep them in line. Those in power manipulate from the shadows behind whispers and fear.
Because if Jordan is brave enough to look past the veil, a mad wasteland awaits.
Now, for any chance at survival beyond the wall, she must create implausible alliances. Time is short. Hope exists. And the truth could be even more shocking than she expected.
Blurb: A new colony of humans.
But are they truly human?
Their whole life has been one big experiment. But the relationships, the love, and the loss have been real.
Surviving the wasteland was only the beginning; and meeting the Founders only brought Rhun and Jordan more questions.
They’ve been bred for combat...
Can they bring what’s left of humanity together and avoid all out war?
First they must save their homes and those they left behind from the same fate as the decimated City 6.
Blurb: They should have left the doors closed.
Now, their creation will rain destruction.
The horde is coming…
And the only hope Jordan or Rhun have is to unite the survivors and face the onslaught together.
When the silent city's gates are opened, monsters are unleashed on the planet.
Aid will come from the most unlikely of allies as the experiment's endgame draws closer.
Ready to lose everything
It may be too late for Jordan’s new love. Rhun’s reunion might be short-lived.
Face the end of the Pandora Experiment and the beginning of what life looks like once the dust settles. New alliances will be made, traitors will be exposed, and hope will find a way.
More animal than man, he bleeds caffeine and... Ah, I'm just kidding. It sounded cool though right?
I'm Jonathan, a former personal trainer turned full-time author and part-time model.
I could go on and on about how many books I've written and awards I've won and blah, blah, blah but I'd rather use this time for you to get to know the real me.
I write because that's what I was born to do and I freaking love doing it. Because of awesome people like you, I get to do it full time.
Connecting with fellow lovers of the written word is important to me so please join the Pack via my website at where you can grab an exclusive story or hang out with us at
Hope you decide to stay in touch,
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Friday, June 14, 2019

High Noon

Title: High Noon
Author: Casey L. Bond
Genre: YA PNR, Dystopian/SciFi
Editor: Stacy Sanford/ The Girl with the Red Pen
Cover Designer: Melissa Stevens/ The Illustrated Author Design Services
Model: Breanna Ellis
Publication Date: June 7th, 2019
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:  Historians weren’t being modest when they described the settling of the western frontier as wild. That means with Eve’s record of landing in the most inhospitable locales, of course she drops right in the middle of an unforgiving land, rife with conflict and fueled by desperation. Though a treaty was signed between the Native Americans and the settlers who continued to pour into the west in droves, a tension lays over the land, as thick as the blood being spilt over it.
But there are more than just gun fights and saloons scattered across the barren plains; there is an ancient source of magic known to its inhabitants that predicts a very disturbing image of Eve’s future. Battling her thirst to return home against her desire to stay with the man she loves, she must fight to ensure that what was predicted never comes true, and safeguard against becoming the thing she hates the most…

Rating: 4 out of 5 faeries

Review: First, let me say this is not a series where you can't jump in without reading the books in order. It was well written, but the pace felt a little off, and some of the descriptions were a little too in-depth. I liked the story overall, and I think it makes a great addition to the series. Perfect for dystopian lovers. 

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Casey Bond lives in West Virginia with her husband and their two beautiful daughters. She likes goats and yoga, but hasn't tried goat yoga because the family goat is so big he might break her back. Seriously, he's the size of a pony. Her favorite books are the ones that contain magical worlds and flawed characters she would want to hang out with. Most days of the week, she writes young adult fantasy and paranormal fiction, letting her imaginary friends spill onto the blank page.
Casey is the award-winning author Frenzy series and fairy tale retellings such as Riches to Rags, Savage Beauty, Unlocked and Brutal Curse. Learn more about her work at
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Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Blitz: Northwest of Normal

Title: Northwest of Normal
Author: Blue Jones
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: June 10, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 62700
Genre: Contemporary, NineStar Press, LGBT, road trip, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, slow burn, gay, romance

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When Ben wakes up from a nap in his Jeep, he is horrified to find two strangers driving it. His car’s been stolen, with him in the back seat. Ben overhears just enough to discover they are brothers on the run for murder. Randall is a thug, delighting in showing off his gun and vowing to use it if Ben tries to escape.

Ben just wants to get out of this alive but soon finds himself fighting a dangerous attraction to Randall’s younger brother Murphy. His tough exterior hides someone sweet, vulnerable, and completely gorgeous. The sexual tension between Ben and Murphy becomes impossible to ignore as they are kept in forced proximity. Bound together, made to share a room and even a bed night after night in increasingly weird motels, they slowly turn from enemies to secret lovers. When Murphy discovers Randall’s true plans for Ben, he must choose between the brother who has always been his everything, and Ben—the man it might be worth losing everything for.


Northwest of Normal
Blue Jones © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Ben woke up facedown in the backseat of his car, one cheek pressed hard against the warm leather seat and a hand hanging down to the bristled mat on the floor. He yawned into his sleeve. He’d driven for hours yesterday and was still exhausted. The last thing he remembered was parking up at the roadside late last night and pulling a blanket and coat over himself for warmth. He’d only intended to take a quick nap, but judging from the bright light, he must have slept until late morning. His groggy mind started to clear, and he turned over onto his back, pushed his coat away from his face, and stretched out.

He gazed up lazily at the roof of the car as a shadow passed over it. Then another. He pushed the coat down farther and squinted at the opposite window. Trees rushed by. It was only then that he noticed the steady purr of the engine and the vibration of the car beneath him. The car was moving. Someone had stolen his Jeep. With him in it.

He was suddenly very awake. He smelled cigarette smoke and stale beer and heard someone breathing in the driver’s seat by his head. As he edged slightly to his right, he saw a stocky man with short hair and a dirty, green shirt sitting on the passenger’s side. Ben slowly lay back down and kept his breathing quiet, even though he felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. For one surreal moment, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. They were the ones who had stolen his car, but it felt somehow impolite to interrupt them.

What was he supposed to say? Should he shout at them to get the hell out? Or should he tell them they could keep the car and politely ask them to let him go? He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and listened as the man in the passenger seat spoke.

“You chose a decent car, kid. Full tank of gas.”

Ben jolted. For a second, Ben thought the man was talking to him. The guy looked about forty and had a southern accent, local to where they were in Georgia. He leaned forward in his seat as he spoke, like he had a surfeit of energy coiled up.


Ben only had that one word to go on, but the man driving sounded younger and calmer, with a softer voice.

There was a long moment of silence before the younger man driving spoke again. “Why’d you have to do it?”

“I did it for you, and you know it,” said the older man sharply.

“Don’t give me that,” said the driver, sounding defensive.

“I told you one day I’d end up killin’ him. Just a matter of time.”

“Never thought you meant it.”

Jesus Christ. Forget confronting them. Ben would curl back up under the blanket and hide. Perhaps he could slip out unseen next time they stopped for gas or food or to kill their next victim. He was about to duck down under his coat when the passenger looked in the rearview mirror—his shocked gaze meeting Ben’s.

“What the hell?”

The driver followed his partner’s gaze and whipped around, shouting in surprise. The passenger reached out one meaty hand to grab the blanket off Ben and grip his wrist tight. His ruddy cheeks contrasted sharply with his pale, wrinkled forehead and the puffy bags under his eyes.

“Nice work, little brother,” the older one mocked loudly. “The one time I let you drive, you pick an occupied car.”

“Shut up, Randall,” said the younger guy.

“If this isn’t the dumbest shit you’ve ever pulled.” Randall threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I said shut up. You didn’t notice him either.”

“Weren’t my job to look.”

The car slowed and pulled to the right.

“What’re you doing?” Randall let go of Ben and reached out, jerking the steering wheel back toward his brother so the car stayed on course.

“Pullin’ over to get rid of this guy.”

“No way, Murphy. I’m not havin’ him run off to the cops. He’s seen my face. Anyway”—Randall turned in his seat and winked at Ben but continued to talk about him as though he weren’t there—“never look a gift horse in the mouth. We can use him.”

“What the hell for?” Murphy gave Ben a worried glance in the mirror before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’ll think of somethin’.”


“Why do I always go along with your stupid, dumbass plans?” Murphy muttered.

“Because you love me.” Randall stared at Ben. “What’s your name, kid?”

Ben licked his lips and sat up, pushing the coat off himself and freeing his legs from the blanket. “Benedict…Ben.” He tried hard not to let his voice tremble.

“Why’d you leave your car unlocked, Benedict Ben?” Randall asked.

“I didn’t know I had.”

Had he really done that? If the man was lying and they’d broken into the car, he surely would have been woken by the noise. Maybe he was just that stupid and had left the car unlocked all night. Ben slid to the middle of the backseat where he could see them both—the driver in profile and Randall, who was still staring at Ben. A male voice with an English accent spoke, and all three men jumped.

“Make a left turn at your earliest convenience.”

“Shit, sorry. That’s my GPS. It’s sort of temperamental. Never makes any sense. I don’t even use it,” Ben rambled.

“Switch the fucker off, brother.”

Murphy scrabbled with the buttons with one hand, and it spoke again.

“Please make a U-turn.”

Murphy gave up on the buttons and yanked out a wire. The device bleeped, and its red light went out.

Randall turned sideways in his seat and stared at Ben once more, a smile transforming half his face into deep crow’s feet. He scratched at the light gray stubble covering his chin and jaw.

“Gimme your phone.”

Ben pulled it from his jeans pocket and handed it over.

“Where’s your money at?”

“Uh.” Ben couldn’t think straight. He patted all his pockets and then remembered. “Oh, my wallet’s in the glove compartment.”

Randall yanked it open and went through everything. He rifled through Ben’s collection of napkins and ketchup packets from fast-food restaurants, his bug spray, and mini bottles of hand sanitizer and finally found Ben’s black leather wallet. Ben sighed as he remembered he’d taken out five hundred dollars in cash before he’d set off. More than enough for food, gas, and motel rooms all along his route.

Randall opened the wallet and whistled. “We hit the payload.”


NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Blue Jones is a British author who writes sweet and sexy romance, full of offbeat characters and happy endings. Her books have been published by Dreamspinner Press, NineStar Press, and various UK & US literary journals. When she’s not writing or painting, she loves Twin Peaks, Daniel Clowes comics, and watching Call Me By Your Name on repeat.

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Blitz: Tales from Ardulum

Title: Tales from Ardulum
Series: Ardulum. Book Four
Author: J.S. Fields
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: June 10, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 57800
Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, aliens, bonded, criminals, religion, science, smugglers, space, spaceships, telekinesis, telepathy

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One year after saving the Neek homeworld and redefining the people’s religion, the crew of the Scarlet Lucidity returns to the Charted Systems for a much-needed break. For Nicholas and Yorden, the Systems will always be home, but for Emn and Atalant, too many memories compound with Emn’s strange new illness to provide much relaxation.

TALES FROM ARDULUM continues the journey of Atalant, Emn, Yorden, Nicholas, and Salice as they try to define their place in a galaxy that no longer needs them while battling the artifacts of Ardulan colonization. Other stories include Yorden’s acquisition of the Mercy’s Pledge (and his grudge against the galaxy), Atalant’s exile from her homeworld, Ekimet and Savath’s romance, and many others.


Tales from Ardulum
J.S. Fields © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Mercy’s Pledge
2030 CE

“Scrub it down. Start with the cockpit, then work your way back. No toilets on this thing, of course, because the astronauts used diapers way back when and most of these old models were just for animals, so that’s a bright side.” The museum curator—a short, thin woman with wavy, brown hair and pinkish skin—produced a half-hearted smile. She tapped a white panel on the starboard flank of the old decommissioned Soviet shuttle. Housed in the warehouse section of some museum in Kaluga, the ship was a Buran model, although it’d been modded so many times since its initial flight that Yorden Kuebrich doubted its insides looked anything like the historic photos.

“Yeah, I got it. No worries.” Yorden ran his fingers through his beard in what he hoped was an endearing gesture rather than a creepy one, smoothed out the wrinkles on his too-tight coveralls, grabbed his cleaning kit, and walked up the shaky platform steps to the entrance of the shuttle. Cleaning the inside was going to take days, which was just fine. After the year he’d had in the Gaza Strip, not to mention the little heist he was planning, a bit of mindless cleaning while he worked out the details was exactly what he needed.

He grimaced at the rank smell of old oil and deteriorating plastic as he squeezed through the narrow walkways of the shuttle. Either the Soviets had been a lot smaller back then or Yorden had put on more weight in the past decade than he’d realized. Didn’t matter. Muscle, fat, facial hair…it was all the same when you woke up every morning from nightmares of a friend killed, a family home destroyed, or a passive-aggressive act of one angry government against another. Who was right, who was wrong—it didn’t matter then, and it didn’t fucking matter now. The world was full of old decay. Religious cousins were still at each other’s throats, although now they used words instead of bombs. And it was all stupid because there were actual aliens, turns out, flying around in space.

Aliens! Yorden snorted as he entered the tiny cockpit and set his cleaning kit down on a metal case. For ten years now, Earth had been part of the Charted Systems. For ten years, fucking aliens had been showing them how to use wormholes and cellulose tech and weird biometals, and here Yorden was, standing in a metal bucket containing a throttle-lever thing and analog controls after having fled yet another country he’d wanted to call home.

His first home, Poland, he’d left because fuck communism and fuck his early memories of the exorbitant price of meat and his family never getting a condo because the lottery was never in their favor. And fuck the lines. He was glad he’d never had kids, never needed to wait in line for twenty-four-plus hours just to buy a damn doll. Anyway, toilet paper was a goddamned miracle he never wanted to live without again.

Things got better in the nineties—but he’d been done. Naturally, Yorden had just managed to trade one tortured ideology for another. Israel. Gaza. He was Jewish, in that ham-eating, post-Soviet way. Still, birthright. Homecoming, sort of. It was enough to pull him in. Enough to convince him to try out settling there. That had failed miserably. It was just a different kind of death out there: a faster one, from bullets and bombs.

That was all over now, though, because of Charted-fucking-Systems-mandated peace, but nothing could erase his memories. Thus, Yorden was back in Eastern Europe, on a dilapidated shuttle, preparing to install the Cell-Tal components hidden under his cleaning kit and in his bag, so he could fly this hunk of metal off Earth and get into the Systems proper. Yorden grinned. Off Earth, out of this solar system, and away from the crush of history. Away from his history. Away from the politics and the false smiles and the lovey-dovey crap everyone spewed now instead of the thinly veiled racist ideology of the past. People didn’t change—Yorden didn’t believe they could, not for a hot minute. Humans sure as hell didn’t change. Aliens might have brought technology based on turning trees into spacefaring biometals, and they might have brought peace, but neither of those came without a price. If he was going to live a lie, then better if he did it on his terms, in space, where it was a hell of a lot easier to avoid everyone.

So, forget Earth. Forget Mars, even. He’d take “diaspora” to a whole new level.

“You doing okay, then?” The curator’s voice reverberated within the metal, making Yorden wince. “Some of that stuff up in there is pretty delicate.”

“Yeah, I got it! I’ll do the gun turret last since it’s not part of the original structure and looks like it wasn’t put on well to begin with. I don’t know what you guys thought you’d need to shoot with this, other than the peace-toting Risalians that came knocking at our solar door ten years ago.” He paused and considered the walls and his very heavy gear bag stuffed with Cell-Tal tech. “I’m going to have to take the wall panels off, too, to clean. I think you’ve got mice.”

An expletive came from the curator, although Yorden wasn’t certain what language it was in. Not Russian or Polish—he was sure of that. Definitely not Yiddish. Since she was already upset but clearly not willing to come in and inspect the “damage,” Yorden added, “Probably best to strip her down to the floor and walls anywhere I can. If you’ve got one nest, you’ve got ten, and I don’t think you want to pay a guy to redo wiring, right?”

“Do what you can and just…make it look right on the outside, okay? No one is ever going to look under the panels. It’s not like this Buran is ever going to fly again. That laser was never even fired, from what I know. It was attached quickly. Apparently, humans didn’t want to give up their guns when the peace treaty was signed. Not that it does any good on a ship that can’t fly.”

“Oh, she’ll fly,” Yorden muttered. He waited until he heard the door to the hangar slam shut, followed by the screeching of the wide bay doors to the warehouse closing, and then peeled a clump of old metal and coated wires from the wall. He would put it all back together again, snug as a bug. He just needed to make a few modifications of his own first.


NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

J.S. Fields is a scientist who has perhaps spent too much time around organic solvents. They enjoy roller derby, woodturning, making chain mail by hand, and cultivating fungi in the backs of minivans. Nonbinary, and always up for a Twitter chat.

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