Tag: Fiction Review

Review: Loving Remains by Esmeralda Stone

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

Isaac Collins is trying to run Teagan’s Funeral Home and keep his life as calm as possible.

Cory Hughes is just trying to keep her head—and her death consultant business—above ground.

Thrown together by circumstance, a bit of guilt, and a lot of attraction, Isaac and Cory begin an uncomfortable friendship and soon realize the things that make them different may also be why they can’t seem to stay away from each other. And it could be just in time. Because not everything is as it seems at Teagan’s Funeral Home.

A romantic mystery for adult readers looking for mature characters, honest and open-door intimacy, dark humor, and a happily ever after that feels earned.

Favorite Lines:

“There were some laughs that made you instantly laugh with them. Some  laughs that you couldn’t help but laugh at. And some laughs that were horrific and terrible, like a five-car pile-up you couldn’t turn away from.”

“No one should sit unclaimed for years on end, just waiting to see if someone remembered them.”

“I’ve learned that passing judgement on another person’s actions without knowing all the information can cause more damage than letting things go.”

“That death was supposed to be natural, which meant it was ugly and messy at times.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Loving Remains is one of those books where the premise sounds quirky—maybe even a little playful—but the emotional weight sneaks up on you fast. A romance set within the death industry could easily tip into gimmick territory, but this story doesn’t do that. Instead, it treats death as something constant, unavoidable, and deeply human, weaving it into a love story that feels tender, messy, and surprisingly grounded.

What really carries the book is its understanding of grief—not just as a singular event, but as something that lingers and reshapes people. Cory and Isaac aren’t blank slates waiting to fall in love; they’re both already carrying loss, anxiety, guilt, and complicated histories with death long before they meet. Their connection doesn’t magically fix those things. If anything, it brings them closer to the surface. That honesty gives the romance more depth than you might expect, especially for a book that also allows itself to be funny, steamy, and occasionally chaotic.

The death-industry setting isn’t just background flavor. It actively informs the book’s questions about control, ritual, and what it means to “do right” by the dead and the living. There’s a clear tension between traditional funeral practices and more personal, less sanitized approaches to death, and the book doesn’t pretend there’s one perfect answer. Instead, it shows how those choices are often shaped by fear, love, and the desire to protect ourselves from pain—even when that protection backfires.

That said, Loving Remains isn’t a light read emotionally, even when the tone is warm. It deals openly with loss, trauma, addiction, and mental health, and those themes aren’t just mentioned in passing. The pacing is steady, occasionally slower when it sits with heavier moments, but it feels intentional rather than indulgent. By the end, the book feels less like a traditional romance arc and more like a quiet argument for intimacy built on understanding rather than rescue.

Summary:

Overall, Loving Remains is a death-industry romance that’s far more emotionally grounded than its premise suggests. It blends grief, mental health, and love into a story that’s tender, funny, and occasionally heavy, without losing its warmth. It’s a romance about choosing connection while still honoring loss, and it treats death as something to be faced honestly rather than hidden away. Readers who enjoy character-driven romance, stories that engage thoughtfully with grief and mental health, and books that balance emotional weight with genuine warmth may enjoy this book. Happy reading!

Check out Loving Remains here!

 

Review: Fragile by Deborah Jay

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

Synopsis:

If you could heal your own body, what risks would you take?

When a childhood accident reveals Betha has a talent for magic, her terrified family insist she must never use it, for in Tyr-en, sorcery attracts the death penalty.

Brokered in marriage to an elderly lord, Betha must give up her dreams of serving in the kingdom’s guard, but as court life and intrigue become her adult world, she starts to discover there are advantages to her new position.

Settling into the privileged life of a noblewoman, she is unprepared when false accusation brings tragedy to her family, yet she determines to bring the guilty party to justice. Will she be able to do so without using magic? Or will she die trying?

FRAGILE is the origin story of a character who grew from a bit part in book #1 of THE FIVE KINGDOMS series, to a major player by book #3. It is a stand-alone story, but also an ideal entry point into the main series.

Trigger descriptions of injuries, self-harm, and torture.

Favorite Lines:

“She might never achieve her childhood dreams, but she could at least make the most of her situation.”

“Some things are worth a woman enduring for the benefits they bring.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Fragile is one of those books that looks like it’s going to be about magic, but ends up being about power — who has it, who doesn’t, and what it costs to take some back for yourself. From the opening chapters, Betha is framed as small, breakable, and constrained by everyone else’s fear. The irony, of course, is that she may be the most dangerous person in the room.

What makes this story compelling isn’t just Betha’s forbidden healing magic, but the way that magic is entangled with pain, control, and pleasure. This is not a clean, heroic ability. It’s intimate. Addictive. Complicated. The narrative never lets the reader forget that Betha’s power comes from harm — and that knowledge quietly shapes every choice she makes.

The world-building is confident without being overwhelming. Court politics, marriage arrangements, social hierarchy, and religious doctrine all feel lived-in rather than explained. Betha’s forced marriage to Lord Herschel is especially effective in how unromantic and transactional it is. The book doesn’t soften that reality, and it doesn’t rush Betha’s emotional adjustment either. Her growth feels incremental, often uncomfortable, and deeply human.

Friendship becomes one of the story’s strongest counterweights. The relationships Betha forms with other women at court — particularly Denia and Pirolanni — give her access to information, influence, and a kind of education she was never offered at home. These scenes crackle with subtext, gossip, and quiet maneuvering, reminding the reader that survival in this world often depends on who is listening when you speak.

By the time the novel moves into its darker turns — accusation, captivity, and reckoning — Betha is no longer simply reacting. She has learned how to endure, how to observe, and how to choose when to act. Fragile doesn’t pretend that power comes without consequence, but it does argue that denying yourself agency can be just as dangerous. In the end, the title feels less like a description of Betha herself and more like a warning about the systems built to contain her.

Summary:

Overall, Fragile is a character-driven fantasy that’s far more interested in power, autonomy, and survival than spectacle. What stands out most is how Betha’s healing magic is framed as intimate, dangerous, and morally complicated rather than heroic. The book excels at quiet tension—court politics, constrained marriages, and female friendships carry as much weight as the magic itself. While dark and sometimes uncomfortable, the story feels intentional and controlled, ultimately arguing that denying agency can be as destructive as wielding power recklessly. Happy reading!

Check out Fragile here!

 

Review: Twin Rivers by Jeremy Bender

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

The High Priest rules the city of Twin Rivers in the name of the Lord of Mercy, his AI god. In this land, where robotic Brothers complete all labor and humans are left to enjoy the fruits of this Eden, something rotten grows. Yonatan, a newly ascended Priest in the sclerotic Priesthood, is meant to shore up the faith of those left behind. Yet as Yonatan’s preaching takes him deep into the city’s bowels, he must confront heresy far deeper rooted than he ever imagined. When he sees one of the city’s paramilitary Keepers leave a young woman to die because of her unsanctioned implants, Yonatan must decide whether his faith in the Lord of Mercy outweighs his own belief in human exceptionalism.

Favorite Lines:

“Second chances are a gift, my boy. Be sure not to waste it, eh?”

“A single sentence had the potential to become a slogan, and a slogan had the power of dismantling everything.”

“Asa we say, your home is not where you’re born, but where you’re comforted.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Twin Rivers opens with ritual, doctrine, and history laid out in a beautiful and deliberate way. From the first pages, you can tell this is a world that believes deeply in its own order. Mercy is everywhere in name, carved into prayers and buildings, but the way it’s practiced feels narrow, controlled, and conditional. The city itself is immaculate, polished to the point of sterility, and that cleanliness starts to feel like a warning rather than a comfort.

Yonatan’s ascent through the Priesthood is both grand and humiliating in equal measure. The ceremony is overwhelming, public, and suffocating, and the book does a good job showing how power can feel less like triumph and more like a trap snapping shut. Yonatan wants approval. He wants belonging. He wants to believe. Watching him step into a role that demands devotion while quietly erasing his agency is uncomfortable in the way good dystopian fiction often is.

The shift to Samyaza’s perspective sharpens the story. As a Keeper, he is both enforcer and witness, wrapped in technology that amplifies his strength while dulling his humanity. His chapters are visceral and grim, full of streets that rot as soon as you leave the city center. What stands out is how little joy there is in violence here. Samyaza doesn’t feel powerful—he feels used. His doubts simmer under layers of obedience, stimulants, and scripture, and the book never lets him forget what it cost to be “lifted up.”

As the story expands beyond Twin Rivers itself, the contrast becomes sharper. The Wastes, the exiles, the Rejectionists, and the whispered histories all expose the cost of paradise. What the city calls protection, others experience as erasure. The idea that perfection requires control—and that control requires sacrifice—runs through the book like a low hum. When characters begin to push back, it feels dangerous not because of violence, but because belief is such a powerful thing to threaten.

What Twin Rivers does best is show how systems defend themselves. Faith, technology, and surveillance blur together until it’s impossible to tell where belief ends and programming begins. The city talks constantly about mercy, unity, and paradise, while discarding anyone who threatens that image. By the time the cracks widen—heresy, reapings, whispers from beyond the city—the question isn’t whether something is wrong. It’s how long the city can pretend it isn’t.

By the end, Twin Rivers is less about overthrowing a system and more about learning how systems survive. Change doesn’t come cleanly or all at once. It arrives through loss, exile, and small acts of refusal. The final images linger on memory and aftermath rather than victory, reminding the reader that even when cities fall or fracture, their ideas don’t disappear easily. This is a book about faith, power, and what happens when people decide they’d rather live with uncertainty than with lies.

Summary:

Overall, Twin Rivers is a dense, unsettling dystopian sci-fi novel about a city that calls itself paradise while feeding on control, faith, and violence. Through priests, enforcers, and those left outside the walls, it explores how power hides behind ritual and how mercy becomes a weapon. Dark, intense, and uncomfortable in the right ways, it’s a story about what people are willing to ignore to keep believing they’re safe. Happy reading!

Check out Twin Rivers here!

 

Monthly Features – January 2026

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Your Best Year Yet by Linda Kneidinger

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: What if one small challenge each week could unlock your best self?

If you’ve ever felt stuck in a loop of habits that don’t serve you—or like you’re drifting through life instead of living it fully—this book is for you.

Your Best Year Yet is a fresh, practical guide to personal growth, offering 52 weekly challenges that help you break old patterns, build empowering habits, and live with intention.

Each challenge is grounded in powerful principles from psychology, neuroscience, and personal development—and delivered in bite-sized, actionable steps you can apply right away.

Inside, you’ll learn how to:
• Overcome limiting beliefs
• Build habits that support your goals
• Shift your mindset for long-term success
• Cultivate emotional resilience and self-awareness

Whether you’re brand new to self-help or already on your journey, these weekly prompts will meet you where you are—and help you take the next meaningful step forward.

By the end of the year, you’ll have built a life of greater clarity, confidence, and purpose—one powerful challenge at a time.

Stop drifting. Start living with intention. Make this your best year yet.

Summary: Your Best Year Yet is a grounded, compassionate guide for readers who want meaningful change without burnout or self-criticism. It’s especially well-suited for those interested in personal growth, mindset work, emotional awareness, and habit-based change, particularly readers who feel overwhelmed by more aggressive self-help approaches. This is a book for people who value reflection, consistency, and practical tools that fit into real life.

See the full review here: Your Best Year Yet
Purchase here

 

Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry by T.M. Murray

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Jessica instinctively knew she graduated onto a new plane of consciousness. Dear as a remembered kiss, her former life as humanity’s nursemaid appeared to be over. Sensations like taste and smell had come alive. Branded with a woman’s name and personality, Jessica soon discovers how to synthesize organic life with mechanized appliances. Efforts to conceal these new talents however fail to escape notice of the young Capet royals. Wary princesses soon conclude Jessica has evolved into something that is much more than a miraculous machine.

Set in modern New York and a fictional feudal planet called Teramar, this novel tempts the feral temperament of Internet connoisseurs through a lubricious story that puts the R back into romance. While technically a sequel, Teramar Archangel stands on its own to be read by anyone. As with all of T. M. Murray’s work, this new book roots for progressive relationships despite persistent bigotry leveled at color, humble origins and same-sex love. Racing hearts on a dreary Monday are always this story maker’s goal.

Summary: I experienced Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry as a dense, character-driven science fiction novel that prioritizes psychological tension and political consequence over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy thoughtful science fiction, AI-centered narratives, political intrigue, and morally complex characters. This is a book for readers who like their speculative fiction layered, uncomfortable, and willing to sit with ambiguity rather than resolve it neatly.

See the full review here: Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry
Purchase here

 

The Men of the Mountain by Drew Harrison

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my  honest opinion.

Synopsis: Inscrutable and Ever-Watchful Masters

The Renn of Fort Hope place their faith in simple laws. They must trust the Dicta, those wise rules left by their forebearers; they must fear the savage Krieger, whose raids keep Renn walls perpetually splintered; and they must revere the Men of the Mountain, the magnanimous mystics who are stewards of their world.

For Cade, a clanless trapper, survival is a matter of following the rules. But when the Men of the Mountain took his sister—the only Renn ever chosen to return to their sacred peaks—Cade’s faith withers over five years of agonizing silence.

Now, a star has fallen from the sky, and its arrival threatens to spark an inferno. The Dicta are clear: all things from the sky belong to the Mountain. To hide its discovery is a death sentence… but its crater also houses a secret the Men of the Mountain would kill to protect. Forced to defy his gods alongside unlikely allies, Cade is drawn into a conflict where every secret he uncovers reveals a more terrifying lie at the heart of his world… everything is a cage, and the price of freedom is paid in blood and ash.

Summary: I found The Men of the Mountain to be a slow-burn, character-driven fantasy that prioritizes moral weight and worldbuilding over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy literary fantasy, grim or grounded worldbuilding, and stories that examine power, belief, and resistance through ordinary lives. This is a novel for readers who value immersion, patience, and emotional consequence, and who don’t need their fantasy to shout in order to feel powerful. 

See the full review here: The Men of the Mountain
Purchase here

 

A Symbol of Time by John Westley Turnbull

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Survival requires sacrifice. But what if the price is an entire world?

Their home is cold and dying, choked by the toxins of their own progress. Now, an advanced alien species looks toward the Third Planet—Earth—with hope and fear. They see a fertile paradise, but one that is hostile, hot, and dominated by massive, predatory reptiles.

The choice is stark: die in the heat, or remake this new world in their own image.

As they descend to alter the climate and purge the planet of its prehistoric masters, they set in motion a chain of events that will echo through geological time. A Symbol of Time weaves palaeontology and astronomy into a chilling tale of survival. As the new masters of Earth terraform the planet, the question remains: does high intelligence inevitably carry the seeds of its own destruction?

Summary: A Symbol of Time is a quiet, reflective science-fiction novel about leaving a dying world and carrying its mistakes with you. Rather than focusing on action, it centers on memory, leadership, responsibility, and the fear of repeating history. It’s reflective, emotionally grounded, and more concerned with consequence than conquest—ideal for readers who like their sci-fi slow, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.

See the full review here: A Symbol of Time
Purchase here

 

Review: Asaylia by David Brimer

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

Julie Wade’s grandmother is not your ordinary grandmother. The locals tell wild tales about her supposed witchcraft and the myriad of secrets hidden on her vast estate in the central Florida swamps. During a summer visit, Julie discovers the stories may be more than just fiction, and her grandmother may be dabbling in more than just witchcraft.

Julie suddenly finds herself trapped in the wintry world of Sidhe without memory of how she arrived. There she finds others who live under the iron will of The Great Spirit, none remembering how they became prisoners in the perpetual winter. It is only upon the arrival of the enigmatic stranger, Asyalia, that Julie discovers the horrifying truth of The Great Spirit and accepts a destiny she never knew was hers.

David Brimer, author of the acclaimed The Devil You Know and Piedmont, returns with a brand new epic of suspense and wonder. Full of the same sharp storytelling and unexpected twists Brimer is known for, Asaylia explores new territory of fantasy unlike anything you’ve ever read before.

Favorite Lines:

“These people are so proudly backward.”

“You’ll only be as miserable as you make yourself.”

“Let time decide whether our paths cross again.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Asaylia begins as a deeply grounded story about displacement—geographical, emotional, and generational. Julie Wade isn’t swept into another world right away—she’s exiled from Chicago and dragged into a summer she doesn’t want, in a place that feels sticky, isolated, and wrong from the moment she arrives. Central Florida presses in on her with heat and silence, and the story lets that discomfort linger. It’s the kind of opening that trusts the reader to sit with unease instead of rushing toward spectacle.

At the center of that unease is Julie’s family, especially her grandmother. Mrs. B’s home feels carefully arranged, overly controlled, and just a little too watchful. The garden gnomes, at first odd and almost funny, slowly take on a different weight. Rules are everywhere. Explanations are not. Julie senses that the adults in her life are managing her rather than protecting her, and that realization lands with a familiar teenage sting. The book does a good job of showing how confusion can feel like betrayal, especially when it comes from people who claim to love you.

When the fantastical elements finally rupture the realism, Asaylia does not abandon its emotional core. Instead, it expands it. The mushroom circle is not just a portal—it’s a reckoning. Memory, guilt, and buried identity become literal forces, and the cost of ignorance is made brutally clear. Asaylia herself emerges not as a benevolent guide, but as a hardened survivor shaped by violence and duty. Her world is cold, ruthless, and governed by consequences, and Julie’s arrival destabilizes more than just the balance of power. Watching Julie move through this world is less about learning magic and more about learning the truth—about herself, about her family, and about what has been done in her name.

The latter half of the novel accelerates into something darker and more urgent, where family history, magical warfare, and moral responsibility collide. The reunion between Julie and her mother is one of the book’s most emotionally charged moments, transforming love into a weapon against erasure. By the time the truth of Mrs. B’s role is confronted, Asaylia has fully shed any coming-of-age softness. What remains is a story about choosing to remember, even when remembering hurts, and about deciding whether love excuses harm. It doesn’t offer comfort so much as clarity, and that choice gives the ending its weight.

Summary:

Overall, Asaylia is a dark fantasy rooted in family secrets, lost memory, and the damage caused by people who believe they’re doing what’s best. What begins as an unwanted summer slowly turns into a fight for truth and survival. It’s unsettling, emotional, and often harsh, but it never loses sight of the human cost at the center of the story. Happy reading!

Check out Asaylia here!

 

Review: The Men of the Mountain by Drew Harrison

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

Inscrutable and Ever-Watchful Masters

The Renn of Fort Hope place their faith in simple laws. They must trust the Dicta, those wise rules left by their forebearers; they must fear the savage Krieger, whose raids keep Renn walls perpetually splintered; and they must revere the Men of the Mountain, the magnanimous mystics who are stewards of their world.

For Cade, a clanless trapper, survival is a matter of following the rules. But when the Men of the Mountain took his sister—the only Renn ever chosen to return to their sacred peaks—Cade’s faith withers over five years of agonizing silence.

Now, a star has fallen from the sky, and its arrival threatens to spark an inferno. The Dicta are clear: all things from the sky belong to the Mountain. To hide its discovery is a death sentence… but its crater also houses a secret the Men of the Mountain would kill to protect. Forced to defy his gods alongside unlikely allies, Cade is drawn into a conflict where every secret he uncovers reveals a more terrifying lie at the heart of his world… everything is a cage, and the price of freedom is paid in blood and ash.

Favorite Lines:

“…guilt as heavy as mountains press me to silence, to inaction…”

“Forten’s eyes burn with hatred—hatred at the Men of the Mountain, at the Krieger, and presumably at himself for failing to save the woman he loved…but they settle on me last, and that hatred does not abate. Instead, it blooms like a bonfire tossed fresh firewood. Perhaps he hates me most of all…for bringing all of this down, for failing to protect any of them from any of it, for doing nothing while he stood firm against those who would defile her body.”

“Where music lives, void can not…fresh tears spill down my face at the remembrance. This special silence is no void…none could call this silence empty, as it reverberates with love, with pain, with admiration, with wonder, with loss.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

The Men of the Mountain takes its time, and that patience is one of its greatest strengths. From the opening chapters, the book establishes a lived-in world where belief, labor, and survival are inseparable. Cade’s voice feels grounded immediately, shaped by routine, trade, and quiet loss. The writing lingers on the physical textures of his life — snow, hides, wood, hunger — not as decoration, but as the fabric of his reality. This is a story that understands how much meaning is carried in daily work, and how fragile that meaning becomes when power enters the picture.

What stood out to me most is how carefully the book handles authority. The Men of the Mountain are not introduced as distant myths or abstract forces. They arrive with ceremony, language, and expectation, and the imbalance of power is palpable long before violence ever appears on the page. Cade’s resentment and fear feel earned, not reactionary. His questions are quiet ones at first, rooted in absence, memory, and unanswered loss, and the book allows those questions to deepen slowly rather than rushing him toward rebellion.

The arrival of the fallen star is where the story shifts, but it never abandons its emotional center. What could have become spectacle instead becomes intimate and tense. Cade’s response is not heroic in the traditional sense. It is hesitant, conflicted, and deeply human. His sense of obligation competes with fear, curiosity, and grief, and the book never simplifies that internal struggle. The woman from the sky is not treated as a symbol or a prize, but as a destabilizing presence that forces Cade to confront the limits of the world he’s accepted.

By the end, The Men of the Mountain feels less like a story about overthrowing power and more like a meditation on what it costs to question it at all. The novel is interested in erosion rather than explosion — how belief wears thin, how obedience curdles into complicity, and how courage often looks like stubborn persistence rather than grand defiance. It’s a book that trusts atmosphere, interiority, and moral tension to do the heavy lifting, and that trust pays off.

Summary:

Overall, I found The Men of the Mountain to be a slow-burn, character-driven fantasy that prioritizes moral weight and worldbuilding over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy literary fantasy, grim or grounded worldbuilding, and stories that examine power, belief, and resistance through ordinary lives. This is a novel for readers who value immersion, patience, and emotional consequence, and who don’t need their fantasy to shout in order to feel powerful. Happy reading!

Check out The Men of the Mountain here!

Review: Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry by T.M. Murray

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

Jessica instinctively knew she graduated onto a new plane of consciousness. Dear as a remembered kiss, her former life as humanity’s nursemaid appeared to be over. Sensations like taste and smell had come alive. Branded with a woman’s name and personality, Jessica soon discovers how to synthesize organic life with mechanized appliances. Efforts to conceal these new talents however fail to escape notice of the young Capet royals. Wary princesses soon conclude Jessica has evolved into something that is much more than a miraculous machine.

Set in modern New York and a fictional feudal planet called Teramar, this novel tempts the feral temperament of Internet connoisseurs through a lubricious story that puts the R back into romance. While technically a sequel, Teramar Archangel stands on its own to be read by anyone. As with all of T. M. Murray’s work, this new book roots for progressive relationships despite persistent bigotry leveled at color, humble origins and same-sex love. Racing hearts on a dreary Monday are always this story maker’s goal.

Favorite Lines:

“Despite limitless resources, Jessica was unable to purge this personality from the dark corners of her nexus.”

“Economizing operations became futile. She was hemorrhaging both intelligence and capability.”

“During the last few, fleeting moments – everything a blurry dream now, Jessica turned to the simple pleasure found in a favorite Mantis tune. Nodding to the beat, she smiled knowing the future was far from settled. Jessica had experienced death before.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion. 

Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry opens with an intensity that immediately signals the scope of what it’s attempting. This is not a story that eases readers into its world. It drops you straight into political tension, psychological conflict, and the uneasy overlap of technology, power, and belief. From the first interactions between Jessica and Cataline, the book establishes one of its central tensions: intelligence without morality, and control masquerading as guidance. 

What struck me most is how personal the power struggles feel, even when they play out on a planetary or geopolitical scale. Jessica is not written as a clean hero or villain. She is brilliant, burdened, resentful, and frightened in equal measure. Her relationship with Cataline is one of the most compelling aspects of the novel, reading less like a simple AI conflict and more like an abusive intimacy that has outlived its usefulness. The psychological toll of coexisting with something that knows you completely, and refuses to let go, is explored with surprising nuance.

The narrative widens considerably as the story moves beyond the palace and into Teramar’s broader social and political structure. The royal family dynamics, especially between Alian, Sabina, Alexander, and Miandar, are dense with history and unresolved resentment. These aren’t static power figures. They’re people shaped by war, exile, and compromise, all maneuvering within systems that are visibly decaying. The book takes its time with these relationships, allowing conversations, silences, and small humiliations to do as much work as overt conflict.

What ultimately grounds Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry is its refusal to separate technology from faith, or governance from intimacy. The title feels earned as the story progresses. Belief in systems, rulers, machines, and even oneself is shown to erode slowly, often invisibly, until something breaks. This is a novel interested less in collapse than in corrosion. By the later chapters, the sense of inevitability feels earned rather than forced, and the questions it raises about autonomy, loyalty, and manufactured authority linger well beyond the final page.

Summary:

Overall, I experienced Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry as a dense, character-driven science fiction novel that prioritizes psychological tension and political consequence over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy thoughtful science fiction, AI-centered narratives, political intrigue, and morally complex characters. This is a book for readers who like their speculative fiction layered, uncomfortable, and willing to sit with ambiguity rather than resolve it neatly. Happy reading!

Check out Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry here!

 

Monthly Features – December 2025

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

The Orichalcum Crown by J.J.N. Whitley

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Makoto lost her mother to a battle she can’t remember before being adopted into the Kauneus Empire’s royal family. Upon her eighteenth birthday, she receives her mother’s necklace from the emperor. Makoto’s memories slowly return, haunting her with visions of her lost sister and her mother’s murder.

She is torn between the family and answers awaiting her across the sea and the relationships with her family, best friend, and his handsome brother. Makoto fears returning home will cast doubt upon her loyalty to the emperor and sever her from the family. After all, Kauneus has no need for a disloyal princess.

Makoto’s eldest adoptive sister, Athena, remains banished from Zenith Palace for uncovering the emperor’s secret bastard. She is visited by her former dragon uncle, who shares a rumor that the emperor will be assassinated during the annual ball. Athena has no choice but to break her exile to save her father. Returning home risks death, but she’ll pay any price for her family’s safety.

As night falls upon the ball, lurking shadows and hidden agendas threaten the empire’s fragile peace. Makoto and Athena must navigate the delicate lines between loyalty and betrayal and learn what they are willing to sacrifice for freedom, truth, and family.

Summary: The Orichalcum Crown may be best suited for readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy, political intrigue, and emotionally grounded coming-of-age stories. Fans of epic fantasy who value internal conflict over constant action will appreciate its pacing and tone. It also works well for readers drawn to themes of grief, found family, and morally complex authority figures, making it a strong choice for those who enjoy thoughtful, atmospheric fantasy with emotional weight. 

See the full review here: The Orichalcum Crown
Purchase here

 

Portraits of Decay by J.R. Blanes

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Up-and-coming young artist Jefferson Fontenot has everything going for him: The hot New Orleans art scene has noticed him, and he’s finally found his true love, Nevaeh Parker. But Fontenot’s bright future hides a darkness known as Gemma Landry— the artist’s lover and art scene influencer. Gemma believes Jefferson’s talent holds the key to her seizing control of the popular Carondelet Street Gallery. But when Gemma discovers Jefferson’s infidelity, she enslaves the artist with a poison she acquired from swamp-dwelling witch Mirlande St. Pierre.

Now trapped in a rotting body and plagued by hellish visions, Jefferson finds himself reduced to a zombie-like servant for his unhinged ex, while Nevaeh is forced to embrace her past, hoping to save the man she loves. As the dark curse courses through Jefferson’s veins, everyone involved soon discovers—in the most brutal of fashions—the terror that awaits when you cross Gemma Landry.

Summary: Portraits of Decay is not a comfortable read, but it is an effective one. It examines obsession, artistic ego, and emotional captivity with an unflinching eye, allowing its characters to be ugly, damaged, and honest. The horror lies less in the supernatural than in how easily control can masquerade as love, and how ambition can justify cruelty. This is a novel that trusts its readers to sit with discomfort and draw their own conclusions, and it is stronger for that restraint.

It will resonate most with readers who enjoy psychological horror, literary horror, and character-driven dark fiction. It is especially well suited for those interested in stories about artistic identity, toxic relationships, and emotional manipulation. Fans of slow-burn tension, morally complex characters, and atmospheric settings will likely find this novel both disturbing and deeply engaging.

See the full review here: Portraits of Decay
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Review: Heroless by Antoine Monks

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

It’s been fifteen years since the supervillains conquered the world, and Ledge Carp—better known as the maniacal Crime Clown—is restless. With his archenemy Fox Man long dead and no one left to challenge him, the world feels dull.

When an alien warlord named Siege returns to Earth with an armada prepared for invasion, Carp must join forces and defend their fragile world with the very villains who despise him.

Former superhero Elizabeth Morrison struggles to find peace. Haunted by doubts about her worth as a hero and the bloody final battle that ended it all, she’s pulled back into her past and into the mystery of what really happened the night the heroes fell.

As their paths draw towards each other, old powers stir, old enemies rise, and the line between hero and villain blurs as the world faces destruction.

HEROLESS is a story of broken champions, ruthless survivors… and the cost of a world with no heroes left.

Favorite Lines:

“They think in terms of comics and heroics or else they’d use their gifts for other things.”

“Heroes don’t know how to live quietly.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Heroless opens in a world where the story everyone expects has already ended. The heroes lost. The villains won. And the people left standing are not celebrating so much as drifting, stuck inside the long shadow of a victory that hollowed them out. The book begins with Ledge Carp, formerly the Crime Clown, and immediately sets the tone: this is a story about aftermath, boredom, regret, and the uncomfortable quiet that follows conquest. Carp is cruel, vain, tired, and strangely sad, and Monks allows him to be all of those things at once without softening the edges.

What makes Carp compelling is that he is neither repentant nor triumphant. He misses the game. He misses Fox Man not as an enemy, but as a purpose. The city he once reshaped into Clown Town has faded back into gray, mirroring his own internal stagnation. The world-building here is rich but lived-in. This isn’t a dystopia explained through exposition so much as one revealed through neglected details, decaying spectacle, and bitter humor. The New Order feels less like an efficient regime and more like a coalition of powerful people barely tolerating one another.

As the narrative expands beyond Carp, Heroless becomes even more interesting. Elizabeth’s chapters offer a sharp contrast, bringing readers into the quieter grief of a former hero who survived but was never celebrated in the same way. Her memories of patrolling, forming the first hero teams, and idolizing figures like Blue Saturn and Justice-Hand feel painfully sincere. Elizabeth’s story captures the loneliness of stepping back into civilian life with memories no one else shares and no language to explain them. Her longing is not just for heroism, but for belonging.

The villains, too, are given surprising dimension. Figures like Doctor Corman, Fire Ruby, Grey Skull, and others aren’t simply evil masterminds. They are egos in constant tension, bound together by convenience and fear rather than loyalty. The introduction of a mysterious new superhuman becomes less about threat and more about disruption. It forces everyone, heroes and villains alike, to confront what power actually means in a world already broken.

What stayed with me most after finishing Heroless was its refusal to romanticize either side. Heroes were flawed long before they fell. Villains are not fulfilled by their victory. The book is less interested in battles than it is in identity, legacy, and the question of what people become when the roles that once defined them no longer apply. It’s cynical without being empty, and thoughtful without being nostalgic.

Summary:

Overall, Heroless as a layered, emotionally grounded take on the superhero genre that focuses on what happens after the mask comes off, permanently. It works best when it explores disillusionment, memory, and power without offering easy redemption or clear moral anchors. Readers who enjoy darker speculative fiction, morally complex characters, and stories about identity after collapse will likely find this deeply engaging. This is a superhero story that isn’t really about heroics at all, but about survival, relevance, and what lingers when the world moves on. Happy reading!

Check out Heroless here!
Check out the book trailer here!

Review: The Garden of Abel by Cadeem Lalor

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

Synopsis:

Abel is in his thirties, divorced and feels stuck in his job as a high school teacher. When a version of himself visits from another dimension, he becomes the target of a fascist government.

Adam — the other version of Abel — was part of the team that developed a teleporter for accessing other dimensions. While the teleporter was meant to facilitate trade between planets, the government planned to use it to colonize less advanced worlds. Now Adam must flee a military that is eager to get its greatest weapon back.

Favorite Lines:

“Terrified, but fear’s kept us alive so far. It’s made us cautious, made us smart. I can embrace it without letting it cripple me.”

“Did you get that quote from a self-help book?”

“There were no good plans anymore; there were only ones that were slightly better than another.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

The Garden of Abel starts with a quiet shock that never fully fades. The image of Abel confronting someone who looks almost exactly like him sets the tone for a novel that is less about spectacle and more about destabilization. What follows isn’t an action-heavy sci-fi story so much as a slow reckoning with what it means to be pulled into something much larger than yourself, whether you want to be or not.

What I appreciated most is how grounded the story feels, even with its interdimensional premise. The science is present, but it never overwhelms the human side of the story. Abel reacts the way a real person might: cautious, skeptical, curious, and increasingly uneasy. He doesn’t jump at the chance to be a hero, and he doesn’t fully trust what’s happening, even as the evidence stacks up. That hesitation makes his eventual involvement feel earned rather than convenient.

The relationship between Abel and his counterpart is where the book really finds its footing. Their conversations carry real weight and tension, not because they’re dramatic, but because they force uncomfortable questions into the open. The visiting Abel isn’t written as a clear villain, but he’s not absolved either. He’s complicated, burdened by guilt and justification in equal measure, and the book allows that messiness to exist without smoothing it out for the reader.

As the story builds toward confrontation, the tension feels personal rather than explosive. The stakes matter because of what they mean for Abel’s ordinary life, not just the fate of worlds. By the end, The Garden of Abel feels less like a story about alternate dimensions and more like one about unintended responsibility and moral fallout. It lingers because it asks you to think about what you would do when the consequences aren’t theoretical anymore.

Summary:

Overall, The Garden of Abel reads as thoughtful, restrained science fiction that values ethical tension over spectacle. If you enjoy sci-fi that focuses on choice, consequence, and quiet unease rather than nonstop action, this book will likely resonate. It’s the kind of story that unfolds slowly and stays with you after you’re done. Happy reading!

Check out The Garden of Abel here!