Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Alibi Club by Carrie Talick, which releases on September 29th 2026.

Single, female, forty-one. Forensic psychologist Jamie Frisco’s bio reads more like victim data than stellar online dating fodder, and she’s on the verge of becoming a forever-spinster. Then her mother threatens to leave her out of her will unless Jamie brings a suitable date to her wedding. Enter matchmaker Lorna Gray, who invites Jamie to a blind date night—Dinner for Six.

Recently paroled antiquities thief Cliff Weston is desperate to change but needs a loan to start his new security business. Looking to schmooze his benefactor by passing as a family man, he accepts Lorna Gray’s invitation to Dinner for Six.

As Dinner for Six commences, Jamie, Cliff and four other unlikely singles are digging into their main course when bombs knock out the power, throwing everything into chaos.

After the smoke clears, a SWAT team arrives and a lockdown ensues, trapping them together. As the night goes on, sparks fly between Cliff and Jamie. Meanwhile, the biggest heist in Manhattan Beach history goes down, and someone at the table might be behind it all.

A note from the author: If you’ve ever had the misfortune of entering the murky waters of online dating in your 40s (or older) you inevitably start boiling people down to three-word-descriptors as you endlessly swipe right; Short, funny, from Colorado, or Redhead, marathon runner, slightly insane, or Brawny, airplane mechanic, owns a sword.

What sounds like fun at first becomes a monotonous stream of bathroom selfies, discerning if one’s hobbies incline them to serial killing, and taking part in The Ghosting Olympics. It’s bleak out there online. Enter the concept for my latest novel The Alibi Club, where six aging singles take a different approach to finding love; they put their fate into the hands of a matchmaker whose gift may be heaven sent but whose group blind date setup ends in total calamity as the biggest heist in Manhattan Beach goes down and one of the guests at the table may be responsible for it all. In the midst of all the chaos, does love stand a chance?

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Happily Ever Afterlife by Emma R. Alban, which releases on September 29th 2026.

Frannie’s awful boss, celebrated literary novelist Henry L. Olsen, just told her that her latest manuscript is a dud—again. Frustrated and lonely, Frannie stomps around the ninth floor of the famously haunted Dakota Building in Manhattan, desperate for change.

And then Bridgette, the ghost of a little girl, appears and asks Frannie to play catch. Shocked, Frannie agrees and soon meets Bridgette’s ghost brother, Michael…and the children’s exceedingly attractive and aloof ghost mom, Elsa.

Fascinated and more than a little flustered, Frannie starts writing a book about Elsa (a.k.a. Hot Ghost Mom). While her boss is on a book tour, Frannie and Elsa slowly become friends, which blossoms into something more.

To stay with Elsa and the kids, Frannie has to either give up her ambitions of becoming a novelist  or somehow free her ghost family from their immortal home. Can Frannie find a way to write them all a happily-ever-after…life?

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from From Beijing, With Love by Bei Lin, which releases on September 29th 2026.

Daniel Wu’s life in Amsterdam is far from spontaneous. When his boyfriend dumps him on the same day a work mishap lands him on leave, he breaks all his rules by impulsively escaping to Beijing to visit his best friend, Poppy.

There’s just one hitch—Poppy isn’t there.

Alone in the foreign city his late father grew up in, Daniel wants nothing more than to fly home early. After all, running away is what he does best. But then Poppy signs him up for a tour of the Great Wall.

Enter Yang Li, the PhD student moonlighting as a tour guide. A transplant to Beijing, Yang has never felt at home in the bustling capital—or with himself. Cynical and disciplined, he isn’t the least impressed when Daniel shows up to their tour hours late. The tour is painful in more ways than one, but at least it’s a one-time ordeal.

Then life pushes them together again and again, until time spent together over stunning sights and mind-blowing eats feels less like vacation and more like finally finding home.

From Beijing, to Xi’an, to Tokyo, will they confront their own ghosts—past and present—to find their happily-ever-after?

Brimming with humor, wanderlust, and emotional vulnerability, this charming debut is perfect for fans of Casey McQuiston and Alison Cochrun.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from When Forever Falls Apart by Kat T. Masen, which releases on September 22nd 2026.

Maddy Beaumont has been dubbed the runaway bride of Cinnamon Springs after leaving her ex, Myles, jilted at the aisle and escaping to Europe. But she can’t escape the townspeople’s judgment for long. Months later, she’s forced to return home and face reality, and Maddy is surprised by feelings of regret when she learns Myles has a new girlfriend so soon.

Did she make a mistake by calling off the wedding? There’s only one way to find out. When Maddy is invited to an event with Myles in attendance, she strikes a deal with pastry chef Elliot, her best friend’s charming older brother. For one night, Elliot and Maddy are going to pretend they’re dating. Easy, right? Just hold each other’s hand and pretend to look in love.

But the more time Maddy spends with Elliot, the more she realizes what they share might not be so fake after all.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Sugar Sand Land by Patricia Leavy, which releases on September 22nd 2026.

Twenty-eight-year-old beauty Emerson Blue is the second most followed celebrity on social media. A self-proclaimed “living piece of art” who rose to fame as a reality star and then parlayed her celebrity into a megabucks career as an influencer, she seems to have everything.

Forty-eight-year-old Grammy winner Renn Walker is a fallen country music star. Years ago, he was canceled following allegations of sexual misconduct, and he has lived in seclusion ever since. Once a beloved figure, he seems to have lost it all.

When Emerson and Renn meet, sparks fly. Against all odds, a star obsessed with popularity and a recluse shunned by the world fall in love. Everyone in the public and media has an opinion and thinks they know Emerson and Renn. But in a world dominated by social media—a world that blurs the lines between what’s public and private, what’s real and what’s illusion—do we ever really know anyone?

EXCERPT

While Leo was shuffling around papers in his briefcase, Renn’s eyes wandered, flitting from a group of well-known music producers huddled together to a Jeff Koons sculpture to a famous film director arguing with a woman who was definitely not his wife, and then his gaze landed on her: a stunningly beautiful woman sitting on a love seat next to someone, with a crowd standing around her, enrapt by whatever she was saying. She laughed and tilted her head back, and Renn found himself staring so intently his mouth was hanging open.

“Found the contract,” Leo announced, closing his briefcase. Renn didn’t respond, so he tapped his arm. “Hey, you okay?”

“Who’s that woman?” Renn asked, his eyes on her like a laser. “With the long spiral curls and piercing blue eyes.”

Leo followed his gaze. “Emerson Blue. You seriously don’t know who she is?”

Renn shook his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her.

“She’s only the most famous person on the planet, literally,” Leo explained. “How the fuck do you not know who she is?”

Renn shrugged. “Never heard of her. What’s her deal? Is she an actress?”

“She rose to fame on social media, starred in a reality show about her life, and parlayed it into a megabucks career as an influencer. She partners with fashion, cosmetic, and lifestyle brands. She gets paid seven figures just to show up on a red carpet or at a casino or nightclub opening. If she’s there, the place becomes huge. She’s a goddamn marketing genius. She has this shtick about being a living piece of art or some bullshit. People can’t get enough of it.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-eight. She hit it big about five years ago, right around the time you . . .”

“Yeah,” Renn muttered.

“I honestly don’t know how you haven’t heard of her.”

“I don’t go online.”

“This chick is everywhere. It’s impossible not to know her. Have you seriously not turned on a television or walked past a newsstand in the last five years?” Leo stopped to shake his head. “Don’t answer that. When you decide to shun yourself and live like a recluse and you can pay people to get your groceries or anything else you want, I guess it’s fucking possible.”

“Tell me more about her,” Renn said.

“She’s somehow made herself America’s sweetheart. Everyone loves her. Every teen and twentysomething on the planet wants to be her, but she’s got that eight to eighty appeal. The secret sauce as we say. The paparazzi can’t get enough of her. She’s earned over fifty million dollars. Everyone predicts she’ll be a billion-dollar brand.” Leo huffed.

“What?” Renn asked.

“You know how she got her reality show? She amassed a decent following on social media and then started this campaign with a spectacular close-up beauty shot of her face and the caption, ‘Who is Emerson Blue?’ The thing went viral, kids reposting, even some A-list celebrities commenting on it. Suddenly, her name and face were everywhere, a girl no one had ever heard of. She made herself famous out of nothing, like fucking magic, in front of the whole damn world.”

“Who’s the guy she’s next to?”

“Friend. Gay. The son of some Persian tech guru. He was on her reality show, but really, he’s a no one. It’s all her.”

“Is she with someone?”

“She’s been linked to a laundry list of big stars. Actors, musicians, athletes, they’ve all doggedly pursued her. I once heard some rich hedge fund prick tried to woo her by buying her a jet. Things have changed. I won over my first wife with a plastic ring. Came from one of those dollar toy machines in Coney Island, the kind where you try to retrieve something with that claw. Cost me four bucks. I had set my max at five.” Realizing he’d gotten off track, Leo said, “As for Emerson Blue, far as I know, she’s single. But who the fuck knows. Changes minute to minute. She could be dating anyone, or everyone.” He paused and looked at Renn, who still had not taken his eyes off her. “This is a bad idea. She’s not for you. You’re a shut-in. This chick doesn’t go anywhere without an entourage. She would take a film crew to a colonoscopy.”

“Emerson Blue? Is that really her name? It’s such bullshit.”

“Probably a fortune cookie name that stuck. Sounds like a porn star I once knew. Well, porn star is generous. More like a hooker who let guys film her. Listen, just stay here,” Leo said as he started scanning the crowd. “I’m gonna go find my client. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Leo walked off and Renn grabbed his drink and headed straight toward Emerson and her crew.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Sugar Sand Land’ by Patricia Leavy appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Meet Cute Magic by Morgan Elizabeth, which is out now.

She’s a witch who can’t fall in love without getting her heart broken. He holds a grudge like no other.

Bookstore owner Rosie Mayfield wants a love of her own, but it’s not meant to be––because of her family’s curse. To break it, she conjures a ghost who will break her curse, but for a cost––she has to brew a potion to help him transition to the other side. The problem? There’s only one person who hates Rosie in all of Heartwood Hollow, and she needs his help to complete the required task.

Jack Haggerty, the ghost’s grandson, has lamented about Rosie for years––she’s a disaster and she’s forbidden from visiting his gaming shop. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, so he’s stunned when his beloved grandfather makes an appearance. While he loves his family and will do anything to help his grandpa, he fights against the chemistry brewing between him and Rosie until he can’t anymore. But he doesn’t know how to tell her he no longer wants to go through with the plan, and she won’t admit that she’s falling for him because they’re doomed from the start.

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Excerpt reprinted with permission from Meet Cute Magic by Morgan Elizabeth © 2026. Published by Union Square & Co., an imprint of Grand Central Publishing, a division of Hachette Book Group.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Meet Cute Magic’ by Morgan Elizabeth appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from If Not For You by Ellen O’Clover, which releases on September 15th 2026.

Mattie French has always known how to tell a good story. It’s why she stopped at nothing to land her dream career as a copywriter at a scrappy independent advertising agency. In fact, if it weren’t for one person, Mattie would probably be the most-talked-about rising star in town.

Campbell Porter is a senior copywriter at Chicago’s slickest agency. Absurdly talented, incredibly aware of it, and the bane of Mattie’s existence since they were interns together, Campbell is always just…there, with his golden-boy smirk and the familiar gaze that never fails to taunt her across a crowded room.

Mattie would love nothing more than to avoid Campbell forever. But when their agencies are pitted against each other to compete for a luxury resort account, it’s her chance to prove she can beat him—and earn the promotion she covets.

During the month of travel required for the pitch, Mattie and Campbell are thrown together as fierce competitors and, slowly, as unexpected witnesses to each other’s hidden wounds and softest parts. As their trip barrels toward its final pitch, Mattie is forced to confront the increasingly obvious truth: the story she’s crafted for her and Campbell over the years might need a new ending.

EXCERPT

“It’ll be fine,” Iris says. “They probably want us to see what they’re working with so that when they cut someone, we under-stand what they aren’t looking for.”

“Brutal,” Dexter says, shuddering. I tug at the hem of my dress. Black wrap, black hose, black block heels. You look like Morticia, Dexter said when I showed up. Ninety-five percent of my wardrobe is black, formal attire being no exception. “As long as it’s not us.”

“It’s not going to be us,” Iris and I say at the same time. And then Campbell Porter steps into the Four Seasons.

I hear him before I see him, that voice I’d know anywhere. He has a backpack slung over one shoulder and he’s wearing a suit—blue, tailored, too bright. Clean-shaven, the scatter of freckles over his nose sun-darkened and striking here at the end of summer. I picture him on the L platform in January. His brown eyes meet mine, and it feels like a burn.

“The Art Room,” he says happily. That’s the thing about Camp-bell: he’s jovial.

“Campbell,” Iris says, extending a hand. She met him at Cannes; Dexter, too. “Good to see you again.”

But it’s not good. Being around Campbell makes me feel like I’ve stepped behind an X-ray machine, like my bones are exposed. I think of Ava, last week, in our apartment. There’s no denying it: all at once, I do feel attack-y.

“This is Soraya,” Campbell says, gesturing at the woman to his right. She’s a vision in navy slacks and a silk blouse. “Art direction.”

“Me, too,” Dexter says, and they shake hands. “Dexter.”

“And, French,” Campbell says, his eyes moving over me, “you know Nolan.”

Nolan Reeves—cold and misogynistic and right there behind

Campbell’s shoulder, his gaze lighting on mine. The creative director I liked least from my summer at Slater Faust. When I’d told him at our intern send-off party that I had an interview lined up at the Art Room, he’d looked at me over his wineglass and said, Of course you do. It’s our job to make you a marketable writer other agencies want. Like all the credit was his, not mine, for my work there that summer. Now, he nods curtly in my direction before offering his hand to Iris.

“Feeling ready?” Soraya asks. Her accent is British. “I know we were a bit surprised to learn we’d all be here together.”

“Us, too,” Dexter says, adjusting his bolo. “Has anyone seen the OverComm team?”

“Here already, I imagine.” Nolan speaks softly, like a threat. “They tend to be early.”

“Should we head up?” Iris asks, checking her watch. “The conference room’s on the second floor.”

Nolan gestures toward the staircase. “After you.”

In spite of my extremely concerted efforts, Campbell and I wind up ascending the stairs side by side. I catch a waft of his cologne—light and linen—and want to sprint to the second floor to gain distance from him.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes sweeping over my dress. I wonder if he pities me, now, after that night at the L stop.

“Don’t flatter me,” I whisper. Dexter and Iris are chatting ahead of us, Soraya and Nolan bringing up the rear.

He laughs, a husky sound. The last time he saw me in a dress, in France, he’d said the same thing—though I hadn’t believed it then, either.

“Mattie French,” Campbell says. “Never could take a compliment.”

“Campbell Porter,” I mimic. “Never could give one from the heart.”

He puts a hand over his chest. He still wears that gold signet ring on his right pinky. “You wound me.”

“I’m sure that’s not possible,” I say, and then we step into the conference room. It’s enormous and distinctly bridal: padded white chairs with rounded backs, billowing drapes clouded around floor-to-ceiling windows. People must get married in this room all the time. It makes standing here next to Campbell feel even more jarring.

“There’s OverComm,” Campbell says, though when I glance at him he’s tipped to speak into Soraya’s ear, not mine. She nods, her dark eyes unblinking and perceptive.

There are folded place cards set at tables in three corners of the room—OverComm, The Art Room, Slater Faust. The fourth corner is arranged with a podium, a projector, and a long, panel-style table.

“We should prepare,” Nolan says, nodding to Campbell.

I watch Campbell turn to me in slow motion. I’ve spent so much time dreading him—so much time listening to people talk about If Not You, so much time wondering what I could’ve done to win that Lion, so much time being furious—that finally sharing a physical space with him makes me feel delirious. I could just as easily slap him or burst out laughing.

“Good luck,” he tells me. His blond lashes lower, turning his eyes copper. Everyone else has dispersed to our assigned tables, so it’s only Campbell and me squared off by the door like chess pieces.

“Don’t need it,” I say.

Campbell grins. The asymmetric slash of it, smug as ever. Again, he says exactly what he said at Cannes. “May the best man win.”

I respond the same way I did then, too. “Woman.”

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Red is a slowburn werewolf shifter romantasy featuring the forced proximity, fated mates, and found family tropes. It deals with themes and topics like family, secrets and lies, exclusion and rejection, isolation, love and heartbreak, trust, grief and loss, war and hostility, abuse and harsh punishments, propaganda, myths and legends, change versus tradition, magic, and intolerance of differences. Red is perfect for fans of werewolf shifter romances like Mating the Huntress by Talia Hibbert, Alpha’s Burden by Luna Lark, Bride and Mate by Ali Hazelwood, as well as The Fake Mate and The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson.

Firstly, being Canadian myself, I loved how Red was set in Canada. All of the high stakes secrets, fast-paced action, and spicy slow burn romance in Red made for a really addicting read that I didn’t want to put down. Furthermore, right from the stunning cover art and the first two sentences in chapter one, I was intrigued by and felt drawn into this book. I found the character of Aloka to be super relatable (and I think that other readers will too) as she loves reading and spends a lot of time by herself, plus she feels like an outcast and is constantly underestimated because of her differences. Red is the first book in The Myth Than Burns duology and I really appreciated that, even though there were still many open plot lines at the end of the book, there wasn’t a huge anxiety-inducing cliffhanger.

Honestly, there wasn’t really anything about this book that I didn’t like. The only small thing that I found a little bit frustrating was the miscommunication between Aloka and Stark; they consistently missed or misunderstood signs and actions that seemed obvious to the reader, especially at the beginning of the book. But, seeing as Aloka is keeping a big secret and is (at least initially) trying to keep her distance from Stark, some miscommunications were to be expected. 

I really enjoyed reading Red and I cannot wait to read book 2 in The Myth That Burns duology! If you enjoy slow burn paranormal romances with fast-paced action and high stakes, then I definitely recommend picking up a copy of Red.

Red is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore, as of September 16th 2026.

Will you be picking up Red? Tell us in the comments below!

SYNOPSIS

Forced into the home of an unyielding Alpha, a grieving girl bent on revenge ignites a slow-burn werewolf romance where loyalty is law—and legends burn.

Her brother is dead.
Her freedom stolen.
And her greatest danger may be the Alpha werewolf sworn to guard her.

Aloka Tutten never asked to live among the pack. To them, she’s just a human girl—too small, too fragile, an unwanted liability. Her unwilling protector, Stark Lamont, makes no effort to hide that he doesn’t want her in his territory.

But the walls between them aren’t as strong as they should be. His quiet strength pulls her closer. His touch lingers too long. And beneath the heat of his gaze, the truth inside her threatens to break free.

Aloka isn’t what they believe.

And as war looms, her secret will rise—either to save them all…or set their world on fire, even if it burns her too.

The post Review: Red by Izzy Barry appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Hexy Beast by Avery Flynn, which releases on September 8th 2026.

As the eldest daughter of the magical Sherwood family, I’m supposed to have everything together. Well, joke’s on them—I, Effie Sherwood, am chaos incarnate, and you’ll never be able to guess my next move.

Like jumping on the back of Darius Aetos’ motorcycle. Not only is Darius grumpy, gruff, and hot, he’s also the head of the Aetos werewolf pack.

My spur of the moment decision has quickly become a much bigger commitment, because a pack elder is convinced this hunk of a man (or wolf, depending on the hour) is my fated mate.

Even though I’m a witch and he’s a werewolf, we’re stuck together until we can find our way out of the tricky pack politics. But under the light of the blue moon, it’s almost starting to feel like Darius doesn’t want to stay away from me. And I’m not sure if it’s my magic going haywire or the starlit skies, but I can’t imagine leaving his arms either.

EXCERPT

There is nothing worse than lusting for the guy who kidnapped you.

I mean, it doesn’t happen to me a lot. This is the first time I’ve been held for ransom, but I have to believe that full-throttle come-and-get-me-you-sexy-tatted-up-muscle-bound-werewolf isn’t the appropriate reaction to the moment. Shouldn’t I be saving all my oh-my-what-deliciously-big-thighs-you-have dirty thoughts for someone who isn’t holding me magically hostage? There is a certain sense of logic to that, don’t you think?

But then again, when do I ever do what’s expected? Pretty much never.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself, which is not a surprise to anyone who knows me or follows me on WitchyGram, where I post all my escapades (much to my family’s dismay about my wild behavior).

I’m Effie Sherwood, the oldest daughter of the magically badass Sherwood family, one of, if not the most powerful in all of Witchingdom. As the eldest Sherwood child, everyone expected me to inherit our family magic and become the head witch in charge of the Sherwoods, because that’s how the world works.

Every witchy family has their own stream of magic that flows through the head witch and out to all the other members like water in a river out to its tributaries. Magic binds everyone together and empowers them. Then, when the firstborn of the next generation hits their thirties, they move from being the heir to the family’s magic to the head of the family.

That’s the way everyone’s witchy family magic works in Witchingdom, going from firstborn to firstborn like clockwork—boring, never varying, watching-paint-dry clockwork.

Until I came along.

The story of my birth hit legendary status before I was even old enough to understand the whispers.

It was a dark and stormy night. Kidding! It was a bland and sunny Tuesday morning when I came into the world.

Sherwood magic, tangible as electricity in the air, filled the room in anticipation of my birth. My magical matriarch mom went through labor without a hair out of place while my shifter dad had fully morphed into a literal bear because of the stress.

I came out bald as a troll and screaming my lungs out—I never have liked being woken up before noon.

The family magic flew around the three of us, going from invisible force to a sparkling purple stream of pure power. It swirled around the room in a circle that tightened and tightened until it resembled a glittering wreath small enough to sit on a newborn’s head and thus bestow status as the family’s magical heir.

The thing is, with me, it didn’t.

Oh, it got close. If I would have had any of the thick, wavy, light auburn hair I have now, the magic would have touched it. But instead of coming to rest on my slightly pointy head, it poofed out of there, leaving behind a thick dusting of honeysuckle-scented sparkles that landed on my cheeks in the exact spots where today I have a bazillion freckles. A few sparkles ended up on the inside of my wrist, forming a weird splotch of a birthmark that looks like a constellation of stars if you squint and tilt your head just right.

And just like that, without saying a word, the Sherwood family magic had declared me not the chosen one.

That outcome was not expected—unless you’re me, because I don’t do what’s expected.

Not as a newborn.

Not as a grown-ass witch.

I’m a free spirit. The wild one of the family. The one who always tells her stories out of order and always eats dessert first. I’m the Sherwood who’s been voted most outrageous on WitchyGram five years running. I’m sure there’s a reason why I’m not the heir to our family’s magic nor am I destined to be the family matriarch.

I just wish I knew what it is.

The best reason I can come up with for the whole glitch in the oldest-child-becomes-the-heir thing is that I’m just not that witch. My sister Leona (the second-oldest Sherwood sister) is, and she’s fantastic at it, and that’s why when she was born, the wreath landed on her infant head without a second of hesitation. Yeah, it’s a little weird and can be kinda (read: so fucking very) awkward when people start giving me pitying looks and wondering aloud just what’s wrong with me that would result in what ninety-nine percent of Witchingdom sees as a demotion. But it is what it is.

It hardly ever bothers me.

And when it does? What do I do when some nosy nixie slides into my DMs to ask what it feels like to be passed over, or when a concern troll (not an actual troll; they’re really pretty cool, if bloodthirsty) wants to make sure I’m all right considering how my life didn’t turn out as (society) expected?

Well, that’s when I double down on bringing the shenanigans to Witchingdom, like when I hosted a Lucky Charms eating contest with the winner getting their body weight in cereal marshmallows. The catch? Participants had to do it while dressed in rainbow tutus and balancing on floating surfboards. That one totally got me trending on WitchyGram.

It’s not the life anyone expected of the firstborn Sherwood sister, but it’s mine, and I love it just how it is.

So I’m the family bon vivant, showing my four younger sisters how to live their best lives (and kicking the ass of anyone who tries to stop them). I’ve got a big mouth, a big attitude, and big thighs—all of which, for the record, I love about myself. The first two definitely get me into big trouble of the societal snubs kind, but the third gets me all the good kind of trouble I can handle—and believe me, I can handle a lot.

You may be asking: Does that mean things just seem to spin out of control when I get involved?

Fine.

Yes, it does.

But I roll with it. I embrace the chaos. What fun is life if there’s not any adventure?

And that’s why I wasn’t surprised to find myself on a Tuesday (why is it always a Tuesday?) being accidentally kidnapped by Darius Aetos, the alpha of the Aetos Werewolves and the man with the best ass in Witchingdom.

Don’t get distracted by that last factoid. Trust me.

Just look at his glorious gluteus maximus, appreciate the ten out of ten smackable-and-squeezable roundness of it, and then go on about your day, because his butt may be glorious, but it’s not enough to distract from his bossy personality.

Believe me, getting a peek at all six foot seven inches of muscular, tatted-up Darius can give you full-on fantasies about how he’d lift you up so high you could rest your legs on his shoulders as he went downtown, uptown, and all over town until you were wrung out, turned out, and possibly blacked out from pleasure. There’s a reason I can’t seem to stop myself from lusting after the big ol’ grump, so really, I do understand why you might have that reaction to him.

But again, do not become distracted by his hotness or begin to wonder if maybe the Fates have something in store for you with the thick-thighed, long-haired, grumped-up werewolf. The man has a personality disorder called head-up-the-ass-itis. It’s true! Darius Aetos is a tightly wound accountant inside the body of an MMA fighter.

Okay, so you’re probably wondering how I ended up being kidnapped by Sir Sexy and Surly. Well, it all started when I

*ahem* borrowed Darius’s motorcycle without his full written consent.

Fine.

I stole his motorcycle.

In my defense, though, at the time he was in the process of trying to steal the biggest, baddest, most coveted spell book in all of Witchingdom from my sister Leona and her secret husband, Erik.

There was no way I could let Darius get away with pulling a stunt like that.

Firstly, no one steals from the Sherwoods.

Secondly, no one takes something from one of my sisters without me getting all in their face about it.

Thirdly, I was sorta bored.

Therefore, I didn’t have any choice but to take dramatic action to retrieve The Liber Umbrarum from him. It’s only the most powerful spell book of ancient charms and hexes in Witchingdom, and if it falls into the wrong hands, it would be devastating. Yes, a pack of lawless werewolves who’d probably sell it to the highest bidder qualifies as wrong hands, but so does the Council.

Who’s the Council? Just an evil coven determined to drag Witchingdom back to the Middle Ages, lock everyone into rigid roles, and snuff out any flicker of fun, originality, or not being an awful, horrible, judgmental witch with a hard-on for fascism. They were the last people in the world who should possess The Liber Umbrarum, and they’d definitely be willing to pony up the most cash for a black market deal with the Aetos pack for the spell book.

Hence, when Darius the uptight alpha followed my sister and her secret husband to the edge of the pixies’ Killjoy Forest, I didn’t take time to think—I acted.

Why wouldn’t I?

I knew what needed to be done—the totally unexpectedly expected, an Effie Sherwood specialty.

One second Darius was about to get away with stealing the spell book, and then—abracadabra—I’m on his lap, ready, willing, and able to steal The Liber Umbrarum right back from him.

If only it had gone to plan (or as much of a chaotic, slapdash plan as someone like me can make)—but I’m getting ahead of myself again. Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you about that.

Okay, let’s take a step back and start at the moment when I first spotted Darius on the edge of the Killjoy Forest and decided that no werewolf—not even one with the best ass in Witchingdom—was going to fuck with my sister.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Hexy Beast’ by Avery Flynn appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Dating Game by Ally Zetterberg, which releases on September 8th 2026.

The friendship game. The dating game. The end game. For board game designer Tilda Smith they’re all necessary steps on the path to finding happiness. And by structuring her life according to a set of rules, just like in the games that she loves to create at her job, Tilda can finally win.

The only problem? The other players don’t know they’re playing by Tilda’s rules. She’s fair. Very fair, in fact. But then one night her date pushes her too far and she gets just a bit carried away. Any player who disappoints must face consequences, right? But as Tilda finds herself transporting a body in a laundry bag, she has to question how to make the punishment fit the crime.

And now someone is watching Tilda and playing a game of their own. Will they turn the tables on her, or can she figure out a way to best them? The game is never really over until she says it is.

Game on.

EXCERPT

A letter is an unusual occurrence, and so I carry it with two hands, like you would a fragile baby chick, as I wait for the lift, alight, press the fifth floor with my elbow, and finally get out and open up the door to my quiet apartment. I regularly receive prototypes of board games from my publishers, yes. Games that are being sent out for play testing. I also receive boxes with an agreed-upon number of finished copies for me to keep, as part of the contract. I often get mail that are packages. But letters in brown envelopes that look like they contain words rather than items are not commonplace. I kick my sneakers off, not bothering to place them on the shelf. Who cares? I live alone and never have any guests. If I have a Zoom call, I can face the opposite direction of any mess.

The letter has been returned once and re-sent, and the brown en-velope is worn and thin when I squeeze it between my thumbs. My throat is dry after my walk, but I ignore its call for water and carefully peel the flap open with my naked nail.

Then the tears come. Or they would have, had I been able to cry like other people. Now the only hint I get that it’s sadness I’m experi-encing is the fiery burning behind my eyelids as my tear ducts try their best to release something, in vain. I rub at them, alleviating a burn similar to that of hay fever. Then I read.

Tilda,

I’m awfully sorry to unsettle you like this. I have had this forwarded in agreement with the firm handling my estate. I know how you hate being unsettled and for life to be stirred. Tilda, my girl, happy thirtieth birthday! I wish I could have been there to celebrate it with you. We would have had a Colin the Caterpillar cake, wouldn’t we? Like we always do. All those fancy cakes from bakeries can’t beat Colin. With some prosecco to wash it down. I hope you did something nice to celebrate yourself.

Now, if you have reached the point in your life where you’re happy, then do toss this letter in the paper bin, will you, and forget all about it. Off you go to enjoy your day. But if you are not happy, if you are still alone, still in the place you were when I left you, then continue reading.

Tilda—get yourself together. Life is more than work and board games. I always said one day you’d believe me, and I’d like you to make that day today. Life is more fun if you aren’t lonely. Now, this might come as a surprise to you. Considering we spent all our time with one another. I always wanted you close, didn’t I, my girl? Was quite happy with your predisposition and loyalty to me. I only wanted to protect you and steer you on the right path in life. Maybe that was wrong and maybe one day you’ll judge me for my selfishness. But you’re still young as I leave you, and can turn your life around. Please do that—turn your life around. Work less, see the sun more, swim in the ocean, and drink sweet cocktails even if they’re just empty calories. Because before you know it, you might be fifty years old and in a hospice saying goodbye to your only daughter.

Think of it as a game if that helps. Taskmaster, perhaps? I won’t design it for you because that’s your area. I’m simply your contractor telling you to design the game in which Tilda completes tasks and ends up less lonely and bitter than her poor old mum.

Promise me?

Bye, my girl. I trust that you’ve said your goodbyes and moved on from my untimely death by now. That you kept the promise to move somewhere sunnier than Bristol for me. Spain? Portugal?

Australia? I can only imagine the place you picked and the things you get to see. I hope you chose a therapist like I told you to. Someone to help you make sense of the world and control your emotions now that I’m gone. If you did, you’ll be ready. I’ll leave you with this list. It’s short but please take it seriously. This is what I’ve learned—if only too late—and I’d like you to try.

• Find a Everyone needs friends. Look for one in a place you normally wouldn’t look and approach someone you normally wouldn’t think is for you. Keep an open mind. When you find a friend, you need to do anything to keep them.
• Find love. There is someone out there for you. You just have to trawl through the woods and find him or A nice young man or woman who gets you and supports you being you. Do not settle.
• Finally, be That’s the endgame here. Just be happy.

Please try for me, darling.

If all this confuses you, then simply do this and the rest will follow:

Go make a difference in the world in your own special way.

Love always, Mum

I fold the letter up, more times than necessary, into a tiny little square, as if I’m attempting origami. I think I miss the voice the most. Her slow, calming tone. Dark and sweet, like wine. It’s like she’s here with me. I feel like I am important again. A daughter, a loved one, someone’s little girl. Not just a woman alone in a town where every-one knows someone except her.

Mum was right. I am still lonely. When I needed to burn some bad cells off my cervix a year ago I put a made-up name on my next of kin form and my own phone number below it. If they ever called it they’d end up in my voicemail. My thirtieth birthday was spent alone with a glass of prosecco, no Colin, because the English aisle at Carrefour doesn’t stock them—just tin after tin of Heinz baked beans, as if that’s what an expat really craves. The only wishes I received were from my publisher, Grant, on a work Zoom and from Asos telling me my gift was 25 percent off a full-priced item of my choice.

If Mum were still here I could explain to her that she was never selfish. She was my most beloved mother, and nothing gave me as much joy as staying close to her, in our own little world. Of course, I did fulfill her first wish—I moved abroad. I fulfilled her second wish, too—I found a therapist. If only I could explain that I’ve tried all the things she suggested and in the end I gave up because it just doesn’t work.

I let the instructions take space in my mind, turning them around until they look like games, just like Mum said. I like games; I always have. They are easy to understand, and you know exactly what to ex-pect. If the dice says three, you take three steps. Games are a haven in a world where people say one thing but think another and then end up doing something else completely.

Three games. Three missions. The Friendship Game, the Dating Game, and the End Game, where I will have the perfect, happy life. I’m not sure about it one bit, but then you should listen to your mum, shouldn’t you?

I’ll go and make a difference in the world in my own special way

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