It's a good time to be a horror fan (not a good time to be a member of the HWA, however, but that's a story for another time!)

Let's talk about all the horror going on at Bindery!

Boozhoo Books

1. What Feeds Below, Tatiana Schlote Bonne, 10/6/2026 , a YA horror/fantasy for fans of Annihilation and The Descent following two teen orphaned girls who give cave tours to rich tourists in search of treasure. Each layer of the cave gets more difficult to pass, as quicksand, monsters, mushrooms, worms and more await. Who do you become in the dark?

2. Cracks, Kristy Park Kulski, 4/27/27, a Korean American teenager's grief summons an ancient water ghost that has been feeding on her family's sorrows for decades. Gracie Russell feels she belongs nowhere. In suburban 1990s Washington, she is constantly at sea—struggling with her biracial identity, her father's violent alcoholism, and her mother's looming mortality. When Ji-eun dies, Gracie will lose her last chance to mend their relationship. But she can already feel her mother slipping away, pulled by the tides of memory back to authoritarian 1970s South Korea. The secret she buried there has awakened something in the deep. And now it is rising.
   For readers of Catriona Ward and Han Kang, Cracks is a harrowing vision of heritage, violence, and the histories that possess.

3. Book Three, Under Contract, Redacted Redacted Redacted

4. Book Four? Our marketing director read the first page and messaged me WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO? HOW ARE YOU? MY NAME IS? I'm currently reading this and :0

Inky Phoenix Press @Kathryn Budig

Strange Beasts, Susan J Morris, Book 1, Available Now, In this fresh-yet-familiar gothic tale—part historical fantasy, part puzzle-box mystery—the worlds of Dracula and Sherlock Holmes collide in a thrilling exploration of feminine power.

Wayward Souls, Susan J Morris, Book 2, Available Now Six days before Samhain—the night when the veil between worlds is thinnest—Samantha Harker, daughter of Dracula's killer, and Dr. Helena Moriarty, daughter of the famed criminal mastermind, are thrown into their next case: the mysterious disappearance of two Society field agents in Ireland. Only this time, the Royal Society is sending Jakob Van Helsing to keep an eye on them.

(This is series is highly recommended for fans of Penny Dreadful (by me lol, I highly recommend it for fans of Penny Dreadful)

Ezeecat Press @Jaysen Headley

Of Monsters and Mainframes, Barbara Truelove, Available Now, Demeter just wants to do her job: shuttling humans between Earth and Alpha Centauri. Unfortunately, her passengers keep dying—and not from equipment failures, as her AI medical system, Steward, would have her believe. These are paranormal murders, and they began when one nasty, ancient vampire decided to board Demeter and kill all her humans.

To keep from getting decommissioned, Demeter must join forces with her own team of monsters: A werewolf. An engineer built from the dead. A pharaoh with otherworldly powers. A vampire with a grudge. A fleet of cheerful spider drones. Together, this motley crew will face down the ultimate evil—Dracula.

She's A Doll, Barbara Truelove, 9/8/2026 Lucy isn’t a normal girl. Ghost. Victim. Killer. She’s a doll on a mission—to find the man who killed her and return the favor.

Mareas @Marines Alvarez

Our Sister's Keeper, Jasmine Holmes, Available Now, Mississippi, 1927. The groanings are coming.

No town is perfect, but East Cobb comes close. It's a wealthy all-Black Free Town―untouched by white oppression―where ambitious Thea Elliot and her husband plan to make good on their big dreams. Little do they know that the idyllic town teems with ghoulish, walking nightmares . . . that only the women can see.

Last Press On The Left @LastPodcastNetwork

Saint's Hotel, M.I. Minaeva, Fall 2027 a depressed, burnt-out architect named Ernest has been having recurring dreams about a Gothic French town since he was a child. He doesn't know whether it's real or not. His parents deny it ever existed. And then one day, he just stumbles upon it. But once he's there, the town of Sainte Verlise won't let him go.

Like House of Leaves or Marcus Kliewer's We Used to Live Here, it's told in a collage style: traditional narration is mixed in with found footage, newspaper articles, footnotes, internet archives, artifacts, and static.

Have you read any of these yet? Which ones are you adding to your TBR? (The correct answer is ALL OF THEM)

Icarus continues!

Chapter 4

Icarus couldn’t breathe. Not for a lack of trying, the Pale God knew. His collar felt too tight. The room was too oppressive. His cassock was too thick. He was shedding layers and opening windows before he had a moment to think. Cold country air slammed into his lungs, but made no difference to the smoke that filled his head. He turned without thinking and stalked across the room.

Maren watched him like a tamer would a lion. She set bowls and herbs back in their proper velvet-lined places in her kit. When he crossed the room, she turned haphazard with a curse under her breath. He threw open the door and moved wraithlike down the dim hall. His long legs carried him quickly to the stairs. 

“Icarus,” she warned, trying to catch up to him, “whatever you’re going to do, don’t.”

Nothing but the rush of wind and the low whine of his own shock rang in his head. Distantly he heard her, but that was a problem for another time. He hurled open the door, hunting down the trembling figures of the Donaghue family a dozen yards from the house. Margaret stood half-collapsed against her father, watching. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the priest. His face twisted, fingers stained a bright cobalt that had begun to thread through his wrists and creep up his arms like angry painted vines. 

Icarus jammed a finger at her, “Where?!”

“What-” her voice cracked.

“Where did you go to pick thyme or flowers or whatever asinine thing you were doing!?”

Maren’s hand closed on his upper arm. She planted her feet and held. He twisted, she dug in. Her grip tightened with every attempt he made to pry her off. He turned his wild eyes on her and tried to wrench her fingers from him. 

“Get off me! I have to-”

“Get a hold of yourself, Father,” she hissed. A jerk of her chin sheared the anger off the top of his perception, “You’re scaring them and you need to dose. We both do.”

He stared more clear-eyed at the huddled mass of figures standing in the cold yard. Argus held an arm out, shielding his family from the wrath of the exorcist. Maggie curled behind him, her husband trying to turn her away from the scene. Both young daughters peered out from behind their father in fascination. 

Icarus inhaled sharply and stepped back. He looked down at his hands. The spreading lace of Rot up his forearms pulsed blue-white with every rapid beat of his heart. His breath still came too hard, too stunned. He could not look at this horrified family, could not face the manifestation of his own ire. 

He kept his voice a whisper, but the fight had drained from it, “I need to know where she was. Maybe there’s an entrance, a sidhe, some crack in the Veil-”

“We’ll get to that,” Maren eased her grip enough to ensure he was not about to turn and shout at Maggie again, “but we have to dose. You’ve got ampules?”

Reality sharpened abruptly. He saw the cobalt veins climbing Maren’s arms, the way his bones ached everywhere it touched. The Rot cough started simmering in his lungs. Air hit his bluish skin like fire to a wheat field. He nodded to clear the fog from his head and her hold on him released. They dug in their pouches and withdrew small glass vials. Maren leaned around him to address the Donaghues. Her tone was soft, assuring, trying to reverse whatever damage Icarus had done. 

“We need to stay the disease. May we use your front room?” She waited. Argus made an affirmative sound, but did not follow them back in. She could not blame him. 

The two priests settled on the straw-stuffed mattress that passed for a couch. Glass ampules cracked and they mimed a toast before dropping the iridescent, waxy substance into their eyes. Icarus blinked and hissed against the faint sting. His pupils flared, then constricted. Maren’s head already lolled back, jaw slack, eyes filmed over in brilliant blue. It took a few more seconds before the euphoria hit him. 

The sounds of spring danced through his ears and his body went limp. Birds, chimes caught in the wind, distant laughter of people and something inhuman mingling together in the wind. He was no longer on the couch, not in the farmhouse, nowhere near Baldongan. A field spread out before him, dropping off the edge of a stepped basalt cliff. He could hear the water churning below before he leaned over to see.

Rich indigo swirled in the river cutting through the canyon. Creatures pirouetted through the spray, riding the light where it fractured into rainbows. Somewhere overhead, the pulsing air of impossibly large wings caressed his face with each beat. He walked through the field to nowhere, letting his hands brush the stalks of bright yellow gorse.

Something snared under his foot. He dropped his gaze to the earth, but his feet were lost in the peculiar haze of the false reality. A few steps later, it happened again. Not a snare--a tug. He tried to see what moved in the undergrowth. Nothing disturbed the glittering mist around his ankles. He walked a few measured steps before it yanked him so hard he tumbled headfirst into the earth.

Icarus hit the floor of the farmhouse so hard it knocked him out of the Eidolon haze. He cried out, his head striking an uneven floorboard. Maren shook off the euphoria like a dog coming inside from the rain. He rubbed at the edge of his forehead, reluctantly letting her check for marks. 

Pursing her lips, she sighed, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”

He shot her a sour look and rubbed the last of the Eidolon from his eyes. A lightness had seeped into his limbs. He tried to focus. The hallucinations were always the same. A field, a waterfall, a massive salmon. Something would make sounds or he’d catch music. Then he would be back in the regular world still vibrating from the intoxicating effects of the only thing that kept the Rot at bay. 

“You can’t run out there like a madman again,” she warned him. “The last thing we want is this village thinking we’re Rot-crazed. You know what they’d do if they did.”

He did, in fact, know, “I just want to find out where she went, retrace her steps. You heard the it. It… knew him. Knew me. I have to at least ask.”

Her cool eyes bored into him, “He’s been missing for years. Fae are deceivers. If it knew you could cast it out, maybe it just took a last stab at your confidence.”

He hesitated. She was right. Everything about the situation screamed that she was right. Still, something about its wide-eyed wonder he could not shake. It did not feel like deception or an attempt to rattle him. It felt like a message. She released him, aware there was no stopping him once he was set on something. 

He tried not to stalk back out this time. The Rot signs had faded and the color in his hands had mostly returned. He looked less crazed, less full of fury. Argus still kept his family in close reach. Maggie stayed tucked into Connor’s side. The young man puffed out his chest, ready to defend his wife until Icarus raised his hands in surrender. 

“I apologize,” he directed his words to Maggie, “but your bodach said something to me and it’s important I look into it. Can I ask you some questions?” When Argus looked poised to decline, he added, “I’d have to do a debriefing either way. Church requirements.”

Church requirements seemed to give the man pause. Whatever he felt about the Netherists in his home, the Church had his utmost trust. He did not interrupt, but he did not invite Icarus to continue. The priest took this as assent. 

“I need you to tell me everything you remember. Where you went, what you saw. Leave nothing out,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a notebook and pencil. “Smells, sights, sounds. Anything. Even if you think it was a trick of the mind, tell me.”

He tried to keep his hands steady, not to interrupt her when she spoke, not to barrel her with questions about what she knew of his father. He questioned her time under its control -- what had it said, thought, done, told her. No stone left unturned in his inquisition, not this time. Icarus was not always thorough in the aftermath, he chose to let Edith handle the interrogation when clients dropped off payment, but this was different. 

Unfortunately, Maggie recalled very little. She had described it like being in a dream or sleepwalking, nothing concrete made its way back to her. He snapped the book shut. She jumped. Ruefully, he smiled with as much assurance as he could muster, “You’ve been a great help, Margaret. We’ll investigate and let you know if we need anything else.”

Argus cleared his throat and pulled her back into the protective circle of loved ones. He held his own question on his tongue for a long time, shoulders slumped as they always did when a man lacked surety. He made himself meet Icarus’s impatient gaze. 

“This is far south for a bodach, is it not? They’re a Scottish sort, I’ve heard.” He frowned and waited for Icarus to nod, “Does that… mean something?”

Icarus tucked his notebook away in an effort to buy himself a few moments to respond, “Not sure. Maybe. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch.”

He did not wait for an answer, leaving the family boring wary holes in his back. Maren stood like a statue guarding the edge of the property. Her head tilted, eyes narrowed, and flicked to him. He knew that look. Helpful though they might have been to this family, they knew what they were. His outburst had not helped. The Donaghues wanted to forget the ordeal as soon as possible and a pair of Netherists standing in their yard were preventing that suppression. It irked him more than he wanted to admit -- choosing to forget something so devastating instead of understanding it. Willfully ignoring instead of healing. 

Oh well. Not his family, not his problem.

He mounted his horse and followed Maren on the long, damp road back into town. They made short work of packing up and delivering their report to Bishop Franklin. He seemed anxious to ask about their plans to depart, which Maren assured him would be immediately. Staying in a town where they were very obviously unwanted was never part of their plan. It chafed how used he felt when it was done even after all this time. 

Small towns breed small minds, he thought bitterly. It was unfair, but not as unfair as throwing away the only people who could help them over Church superstition. 

The train lurched its departure and only when they had started the journey back to Dublin did Maren let herself relax in the microscopic way only Icarus seemed to notice. After a half hour, she seemed to focus on some distant problem buried in the wall of the car. Her arms folded across her chest and she made a low, questioning sound. 

“Father Reed asked for you off record,” she rubbed her chin absently, “and then the bodach mentions Daedalus by name.”

“Already been turning it around in my head,” in truth it was so tightly wound in his mind he could not turn it anymore. He was too seasoned at this to believe in coincidences. Too many missing pieces to this story. He was remarkably tired of missing pieces when it came to his father. 

They had not planned it aloud, the decision to go to Father Reed’s offices went unspoken as most things did between them. The pair of them stalked the too-familiar route from the station to the Church of Saint Lazriel. The strangeness of it had not quite worn off for either of them. Returning as outsiders to the building that had once been like a second home still felt alien, off somehow. 

The cathedral sat like a sentinel guarding the city from Trinity College across the bridge. Built like a nightmare captured in stone, carved to reveal all the things that might happen to a sinner if they failed to abide by the Pale Doctrine’s rules. Its spires clawed at the grey sky overhead, each ornate statue stretched like a talon desperately reaching for the Pale God’s infinite forgiveness. Along the archivolts scenes of demons radiated along every voussoir until they reached the tympanum - an intricate scene of the Archangel Lazriel valiantly holding back the monsters to protect the massive double doors. Each door held the unpainted visage of a wooden saint - Saint Lazriel and Saint Patrick. Beneath their hands lifted in mirroring benedictions, the massive iron rings sat waiting.

They were quite immune to the dramatic effect of the place by now. Icarus heaved, the door that was Saint Patrick gave, and they disappeared inside. 

When the door to the main offices crashed open, the secretary started. It took her a moment to register who she was looking at. She blanched. Futilely, she stood to stop them, “You don’t have an appointment-”

“Noted. Thank you Berta,” Icarus brushed her aside. 

Priests situated at scattered desks looked up at the commotion. A few exchanged nervous glances. One attempted to intervene. Father Aaron, if Icarus recalled him right. New to the cloth when he was seen out the doors and asked not to return unless requested. He was a bigger man than Berta, broader than Icarus, and they had to pause to maneuver around him. 

“Icarus, you’re not supposed to be here unless summoned,” Aaron frowned, “and you weren’t. Why are you here?”

Icarus sighed heavily, “Due respect, Father Aaron, but this is between myself and Father Reed. So please, kindly, get the fuck out of my way.”

Aaron’s hard eyes dropped to the white tab collar and his frown deepened into something colder, “You’re not supposed to be wearing that anymore. You were-”

“Stripped,” he tried to move around the larger man, but was thwarted, “I know. But here’s the thing about being stripped. It goes both ways. The Church can’t tell me what to do, including what to wear. Get out of my way.”

Maren held her case in front of her, voice like a breaking pane of ice snapping the room in two, “Aaron.”

The larger man stopped. He turned his attention to her, but not for long. None of them could ever hold her gaze for more than a few seconds. At first, she hated it. Now, it was the source of her power in this building. 

Cowards. 

“I can’t just let you-”

“Move.”

Silence blanketed the room. So thick and loud it made Icarus’s ears ring a little. One breath passed. Then another. 

Aaron stepped aside. When they passed him, Maren kept her unblinking eyes on him until he sat at his desk and turned back to his work. She caught the flush in his cheeks with a secret satisfaction, then turned and followed after Icarus. 

He did not bother to knock. It would ruin the dramatic effect he felt entitled to. Father Reed’s head snapped up from his desk. He blustered until he registered who had dared to throw open the door and interrupt his work. Icarus had expected outrage, frustration, surprise. Instead, he watched the old man’s brows knit together in comprehension. He sighed, nodded, and gestured to the two empty chairs in front of him. 

Maren glanced at Icarus. They exchanged raised brows and eased into their seats. He had planned to come in and have a yelling match with the old priest, not be prompted to have a seat. Reed’s sheepishness is what lit the fire in Icarus’s chest again. 

“You son of a bitch,” Icarus kept his voice low until Maren leaned back to shut the door with a sweep of her hand. He leaned forward, jamming an accusatory finger into the wooden desk, “What didn’t you tell me? How much did you fucking know?”

Reed, long since accustomed to Icarus and his temper, leaned back in his chair. He lifted his thin-framed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry, my boy. I just needed… I wasn’t sure. That’s all.”

“How much -- and I ask again -- did you fucking know?” Icarus raised his voice enough to be clear he would keep going. 

Reed nodded to himself and ran a hand over his mouth. He made himself meet Icarus’s sharp, angry stare and sighed, “I wasn’t sure. Father Simon called from the hospital and updated me on what happened. He said it asked ‘for the one with fire’, then tossed him into a wall and broke his legs.”

The huffed laugh of Icarus’s outrage struck every corner of the room, “And you decided this was unimportant to share? It fucking asked for me, Reed. And you’re telling me you weren’t sure. You’ve got other priests in here lighting fire with their hands? Lots of us waddling about, yeah? It meant me. You knew it and you lied by omission.”

He stood now, vibrating with rage. He knew he was cast out, he expected to be obfuscated or kept in the dark about things. This was not Church business, though. This was his business. This was his father. He took to pacing, running a hand through tangled blond hair that was starting to get irritatingly long. When he rounded on Reed again, the man recoiled at the shadow in his face. 

“Do you want to know what it said to me?” He raised his eyebrows in mockery, “Yeah? It said ‘Daedalus sends his regards.’”

The air in the room went cold. Reed froze. Maren studied him from her quiet position in the chair tucked farthest from the scene in front of her. She watched as the older priest’s expression halted -- broke apart, reformed into something new. Curious, she kept still. People tended to reveal more when they forgot you were there. It helped when someone else drew all the room’s attention.

“Daedalus sends his regards,” Reed repeated. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t know what to say. The Church Investigators closed that file years ago, he’s been presumed dead-”

“For fifteen years, yes, thanks. I’m sure you all did a bang on job, but I want the files,” Icarus seethed through clenched teeth. “I’ve blindly trusted the Church enough, you’ll understand if I’d like to take a look at your work.”

The tension between them thickened. Maren thought she could see it if the light struck the space at the proper angle. Blinking, it vanished. Reed stayed under that reformed expression he had cobbled together, his affirming nod too stiff and his blank face too forced. 

“I’ll have to requisition-”

“Now,” Icarus warned. “Or would you like me to call on Cardinal O’Donnell and inform him of your personal request for my involvement? I’m sure he’d be pleased as punch for an excuse to audit your office.”

Silence again. Oppressive, heavy with the threat of bureaucratic violence. Reed hunted for a way around the demand, Icarus hunted for red tape to cut him off. They stared at each other, unsure who was predator and who was prey. For a moment, Maren could picture Icarus backing down. She shuddered at the thought. Then Reed broke away and got to his feet. His motions were wooden, straining against whatever invisible shackles had been placed around him about this case. 

He unlocked the storage closet and disappeared inside. Rustling paper, the smell of old parchment, hissing cardboard, and the curse after a shuffling thump followed him back out. When Icarus snatched the file box from him, he was almost insulted by how light it was. He stared at the blank top, suddenly unsure what to do. In part because he had not expected to get this far this soon, but also because he was not precisely sure what he planned to do with it.

“I can give you five days. Make your copies,” Reed offered, his contrition seemed genuine enough. He reached out to cover Icarus’ hand with a reassuring pat, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“You should have,” Icarus tried to frown, but his anger had always burned hot and fast. “Don’t do it again.”

Maren opened the door and let him pass. She lingered in the doorway, watching Reed’s wistful face followed her comrade. He looked at her only when Icarus was out of sight. 

“He’ll find it,” she said. Cool, factual, as though they were on the same page, “Whatever you’re hiding from him, he’ll find it.”

She closed the door, not bothering to wait for a reply.

From Nancy Drew to vampires, spicy romance, and building a brand-new paranormal world J. Vinita is taking readers somewhere deliciously different. 🧛‍♂️❤️‍🔥

We’re excited to share our full Book Club Conversation with J. Vinita, author of One Smile and the newly released Blood Lust.

In this conversation, J. Vinita talks about switching from contemporary romance to paranormal romance, creating her own vampire lore, writing emotional characters, her creative process, and what it’s like bringing her second book into the world.

🧛‍♂️ Switching Genres

Moving from the emotionally heavy contemporary romance of One Smile into the paranormal world of Blood Lust gave J. Vinita the opportunity to flex a completely different creative muscle.

“I got to work my creative muscles to figure out what type of vampire I wanted them to be.”

And when we asked her to describe the vibe of Blood Lust in three words?

“Two spicy men.” 😂🔥

🎶 Every Book Gets a Playlist

If Blood Lust had a soundtrack, don't expect one particular artist or genre. J. Vinita says her books always feature a wide range of music and each book gets its own playlist.

📖 The Books That Made Her a Reader

As a kid, J. Vinita couldn't get enough of Nancy Drew, often checking out three books at a time and starting one before she even made it home from the library.

As an adult, Close Quarters by Kandi Steiner became her gateway into romance after discovering it through Bookstagram.

And her ultimate comfort reread? Fifty Shades Darker, which she credits as her gateway into romance and smut. 👀🔥

❤️‍🔥 When Friends With Benefits Gets Complicated

One of her favorite parts of writing Blayze and Om's relationship is that moment when the characters realize the lines are starting to blur.

The little gestures.
The denial.
The “this is still casual” excuse.
And finally…the emotional chaos when they realize the feelings are real.

🩸 Creating Vampire Lore

J. Vinita isn't interested in being boxed into one set of vampire rules. With Blood Lust, she enjoyed combining different vampire lores and creating something that felt right for her story.

Because that's the beauty of writing: you get to choose the path.

✍️ Plotter or Pantser?

Somewhere in the middle!

She likes having a basic outline, but doesn't over-plan because, as every author knows, characters have a habit of doing whatever they want.

💻 The Writing Setup

Her current writing setup?

Laptop + bed. 😂

And she's a morning writer, getting up early to write before heading to her day job.

Her writing fuel is usually coffee, an Alani, or water with very little snacking involved.

😩 The Best & Worst Parts of Writing

Creating the story and characters comes easily to her.

The struggle? That scene she's been imagining forever that simply refuses to come out the way she envisioned it.

Every writer just felt that in their soul.

☕ Meet Rani Patel

If J. Vinita could spend a day with one of her characters, she'd choose Rani Patel.

Their ideal day? Body doubling at a coffee shop. Honestly, we're here for this friendship.

🎉 Creating New Release Traditions

Blood Lust marks only J. Vinita's second book, so she hasn't established a release-day ritual quite yet. Her first release was bittersweet because of family circumstances, but this time she wants to start creating traditions around seeing a new book enter the world.

And we love that.

💫 A Dream Come True

Perhaps the most exciting part of this conversation is hearing how much this journey means to her.

J. Vinita dreamed of becoming an author for years and sometimes wondered if it would ever happen. Now she's released her second book, is already working on her third, and is excited to share more of her stories with readers around the world.

And we're excited to see where she takes us next.

📚 READY TO READ BLOOD LUST?

Read Blood Lust

Read One Smile

💭 BOOK CLUB QUESTION:
If you could spend a day with one fictional character at a coffee shop, who would you choose and what would you want to talk about?

#TheFirstEditions #BookClubConversation #JVinita #BloodLust #ParanormalRomance #RomanceBooks #VampireRomance #SpicyRomance #BookishCommunity #AuthorInterview

What happens when a contemporary romance author decides to unleash her creative side with vampires, paranormal romance, and two spicy men? 👀🧛‍♂️

We’re excited to introduce you to J. Vinita and give our free members a little taste of our upcoming conversation about Blood Lust, her newest paranormal romance!

💬 What was it like switching genres?
J. Vinita says it was a chance to work a different part of her brain. While writing One Smile meant stepping into a darker place emotionally, Blood Lust let her flex her creative muscles and decide exactly what kind of vampires she wanted to create.

🧛‍♂️ How would she describe Blood Lust in three words?
Her answer? Two spicy men! 😂🔥 Honestly, we don't think we need to add anything else.

🎶 What would the soundtrack sound like?
There isn't one specific artist or genre. Instead, J. Vinita creates a playlist for each book, with a wide range of music to fit the story and its characters.

📖 What books made her fall in love with reading?
As a kid, it was Nancy Drew. She'd check out at least three books from the library and start reading them on the drive home! As an adult, Close Quarters by Kandi Steiner became her gateway into romance.

🖤 What’s her ultimate comfort read?
Fifty Shades Darker the book that introduced her to romance and smut. Though, as she puts it, her reading tastes have definitely gotten spicier since then! 🔥

❤️‍🔥 What does she love about writing friends-with-benefits romances?
Those little moments when the characters start realizing their feelings are becoming something more: the small gestures, the denial, and eventually the emotional turmoil of admitting the lines have been crossed.

✨ And perhaps our favorite part? J. Vinita says becoming an author has been a dream come true. After years of wondering if it would ever happen, she's now releasing her second book and already working on her third!

💎 WANT THE FULL CONVERSATION?
This is just a sneak peek! The First Editions members can head over to our Bindery page to read the full Book Club Conversation with J. Vinita, including more behind-the-scenes insight into her writing, books, characters, and journey.

📚 Are you a Nancy Drew reader who grew up to love romance? And what book was YOUR gateway into the genre?

#BookClubConversation #AuthorInterview #ParanormalRomance #RomanceBooks #BookishCommunity