Your Avelrow shelf.

Celtic Fantasy

Ashes at Blackwater

Sadhbh Éireann

On the day Bríd Ó Corráin is buried, blood boils beneath a kettle in the Blackwater Arms and her missing St Brigid medal rises from it with a warning: the fourth ash wakes. As Niamh confronts the enigmatic Cian Vale and the secrets her family kept in the name of survival, a drowned kingdom lights beneath Blackwater Harbour and an ancient oath tied to her blood begins to break.

Urban Fantasy

Daywalker Inc: Bloodline Protocol

Aislin Morrigan

The first rule at Daywalker Inc was not written on the glass wall in the lobby, or printed in the employee handbook with its expensive paper and its suspiciously cheerful diagrams about workplace wellness. It was not mentioned in the induction video, which featured smiling interns pretending not to fear the blood-fridge, or in the legal disclaimer that ran for eleven minutes before anyone was allowed near a needle.

Paranormal Fantasy

Dont Open the Red Door

Muirne Dubhán

The Red House Cycle, Book Three · Book 3

The Vale Hotel had been closed for eleven years, but the bells still rang. Not often. Not with any rhythm a sensible person could name. They waited for fog, for the hour after midnight when the Atlantic pressed its black shoulder against the cliffs and every road into Ballyrue narrowed under hawthorn and salt. Then one bell would answer another in the walls, a thin silver shiver travelling through the old service wires, from the kitchens to the linen rooms, from the linen rooms to the third-floor suites, from the third-floor suites down to the east corridor where the red door sat at the end like a sealed mouth.

Epic Political Fantasy

Mournfire

Aisling Vire

MOURNFIRE CYCLE • BOOK ONE · Book 1

Oaths, ambition and political power burn through Mournfire. This epic fantasy is concerned with what loyalty costs when every side has a reason to call itself right.

Mythic Maritime Fantasy

Oathtide

Fionnlagh MacAlpin

Oathtide Cycle • Book One · Book 1

Saltwater, old oaths and a world shaped by the sea give Oathtide its mythic pull. This maritime fantasy is about loyalty, consequence and promises that refuse to stay buried.

Paranormal Fantasy

Splinter Bride

Isla Vire

The House That Kept Its Teeth The first thing Seraphina Reed knew after the wedding was that the house was breathing. Not properly. Not like a living thing with lungs and mercy. It breathed the way old wood breathed in storms—swelling, complaining, remembering every hand that had ever struck it and every secret it had been asked to swallow. The sound moved through the walls in a long, damp groan, and for one sick second she thought she was still in the church, still standing under the white avalanche of flowers with the veil pinned too tightly to her scalp and every eye in County Clare waiting for her to say yes.

Epic Fantasy

The Bloodstar Heir

Aisling Vire

THE BOY BENEATH THE RED TIDE Ciaran Daire had learned, long before he had the height to reach a latch, that a man could survive almost anything if he kept his hands busy. That morning, his hands were in a barrel of brine up to the wrist. The salt bit into the old cracks across his knuckles, found the raw place under his thumbnail, and stung there with the private cheer of something delighted to be useful.

Epic Fantasy

The Drowned Oath

Aisling Vire

Dúnmara Chronicles · Book 4

The drowned boat came home without its men at the hour when the tide should have been going out. By then, Cara O’Dálaigh had learned to distrust every mercy that arrived clean. A boat returning was supposed to be a blessing. A small one, perhaps, compared with childbirth, harvest, fever breaking before dawn, or a husband’s hand finding yours beneath a table while men argued law around you as if women were furniture with opinions.

Paranormal Fantasy

The Vow Under Thornlight

Ailsa Crowe

Book One of the Thornlight Duet · Book 1

Ronan Black saw the car first. Not because he had been waiting for it. He had given up waiting for most things years ago: apologies, decent weather, a court that cared what money did behind closed doors, a letter from his father that was not folded around a demand. Waiting made men soft in the wrong places. It taught hope to sit at the table like an invited guest and eat everything before leaving you with the washing-up.

Gothic Fantasy

When the Monks Stopped Singing

Maeve D. Gealach

The bell in the crypt rang once, though no living hand had touched it in seventeen winters. Brother Malachy heard it through the kitchen floor while he was cutting black bread for the poor boxes, the knife paused halfway through the heel, crumbs clinging to the edge like little flakes of burnt peat. Above him, the monastery slept in its old arrangement: dormitory shutters breathing in the gale, chapel candles guttering in their red glasses, rain running in cold lines down the saints.