New Release Goldie by Danni Maxwell


Title:  Goldie

Author: Danni Maxwell

Publisher:  NineStar Press

 Release Date: July 6, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 12400

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, mythical creatures, Magic/Magic users, Fairy tales, fantasy, romance” Add to Goodreads




Cast out of her village after being accused of killing her father, Marigold Lovelock has nothing but the clothes on her back and the willpower to make it into the woods.


With the company of an Ursidae, a mythical creature known as Squeak, she seeks out The One, the Storyteller who speaks the truth.


Throw in a nasty beast called the Gromas, a pack of wolves, and a girl with lips as red as blood, Marigold knows she must learn how to embrace the person she was always been destined to be.





Danni Maxwell © 2020

All Rights Reserved


A person falls in love with three people in their lifetime. At least that’s what the Storytellers will show you in their legends.


Each love will come at a time in a person’s life when they need it most. Even if they don’t realise they needed it in the first place.


There’s the first love, the one who teaches what the magical thing called love is. It’s young love. It’s innocent, and it’s pure. It ends far before it can truly begin, but it will always remain the first love of one’s life.


The second love is a hard love to endure. It changes a person, teaches them that a heart can break, that a person can wound you more than a knife, that not every love is a fairy tale. It makes a person stronger; it shapes them, helps them grow, teaches them that a heart can mend in time.


Then there is the third love, a love that has no warning, that sneaks up on a person and takes them by surprise. It’s the love that they didn’t know they needed, the one they were not looking for. It’s the love that will truly last the test of time. This is the love that can withstand all the battles a person has to endure. It’s unwavering. This is the love that feels like a fairy tale.




Marigold Lovelock had heard these legends more times than she could count, but she never once believed in them.


Her father was a Storyteller. His job was to be the one a person seeks for the knowledge, the truth, the wisdom. His job was his life. It took precedence over everything else, including Marigold. Her father’s favourite thing about his title, his powers, was the fact that people blindly adored him. They believed her father could do no wrong, that he was the one with all the answers. He could gather as many of the townspeople as he wanted, tell them of the stories, the legends, the prophecies that had been passed down to him by Storytellers past. And the townspeople would gather; they would flock, run, rally to the town’s centre to hear a new story each day; their eyes and hearts full of belief, of wonder and whimsy.


They truly loved her father, for he could tell them all the things their hearts desired to hear, could warn them of the dangers of the beasts and demons that lay beyond the town’s edge. Her father was the light, and Marigold his shadow. The people treated her like she was nothing, like all she did was bring the darkness wherever she went. They skittered away if she got too close, made shifty, judging glances with narrowed eyes and lips pressed in tight lines. The children were ushered away and taught to keep their distance.


Though Goldie never knew why they did this, she wondered if it was out of fear, and if that were true, perhaps she was afraid of them too. She’d shy away from everyone as they would hiss and pull away from her. Because why would you even try to fit in when you’re a puzzle with one too many pieces that will never be completed?


Her life had never been easy. She lost her mother to childbirth, she lost her father to the Storytellers, and she lost herself to the darkness of being alone. The darkness enveloped the townspeople too but not as heavy as it weighed on her. They all had lost their light; her father had died this past spring, and though the doctor had said he passed from age and peacefully in his sleep, Marigold wondered if he had died of a broken heart. He was always so lost without her mother, and he blamed Marigold for that loss; it’s why she never felt close to him, to anyone.


Everyone believed Marigold was cursed, that she possessed something inside her so dark and wicked that it had killed her mother, and that anyone who got close to her, anyone who loved her, would fall dead to the curse too. Her father was just another reason for them to fear her. The townspeople were lost without their Storyteller. The next was still learning the stories and prophecies, and so they had no one to turn to for guidance, for what should be done about Marigold, about who they thought she was, what she was to become, and who she might hurt in the process. The elders of the town were brought up on the stories, but they could only remember so much. Only the mind of a Storyteller could remember all. Their older minds were forgetting, slowly with time, but they never failed to forget the prophecy of the Kalakuta. That is what they believed Marigold was.


The Kalakuta were ancient beings, the ones the elders and Storytellers alike would call “the potion people of death.” Their prophecy tells of the Kalakuta being a sentient being that lived long before the time of people. Beings that, once they found a host, would kill any human or being in its path, for the darkness inside told them to do so. They were the makers of death. Her father, the Storyteller, had spoken of a Kalakuta preying on their town, feasting on the sick, the weak, the lost, believing that over time they would eventually take everyone, and there would be no one left to stop it. The minute Marigold’s father had passed, it was like any suspicion they had of Marigold being a Kalakuta had all but been confirmed.


This is why she now stood at the edge of the wood, at the final edge of sand between the unknown and the town, her only belongings scattered just beyond the trees, and the entire town standing at her back, waiting to be rid of her at last. Their mourning period was over for the Storyteller. The townspeople were no longer grieving; they were rioting. The moment their mourning cloud had lifted, they went on a manhunt for her. They found Marigold hidden away, wishing to be forgotten in her small hut of a home. They were all afraid of her, just as she was afraid of them. No one was willing to get too close to her. She cowered in her corner, begging someone, anyone, to leave her alone.


Someone looped rope around her body, cinching it at her waist and all but dragging her out of her home toward the dark wood. She was scrambling to grab anything she possibly could, begging them to stop, promising them that she would willingly go if they just let her grab her things. They stopped for a moment, enough time for her to grab a satchel with two dresses to change, her pouch of every coin she had saved that her father had hesitated to give her as gifts on special days, and the only drawing she had of her mother, one that her father had tried to throw away in anger and mourning on the anniversary of her death, Marigold’s birthday. It was the one thing Marigold had treasured all her life. It was the last thing she had.


“Now. Get going,” the man holding the end of the rope had grunted, tugging on the rope so hard her chest ached with the effort to breathe.


The people gathered in her hut parted at the door. They led Marigold out of the town to the wood with a rope around her waist, something hard pressing into her back, pushing her forward while tears streamed down her face. She gripped at her satchel, her heart breaking with every step she put in behind her. Please, she had begged them. Please don’t send me away.


All that resulted in was her being shoved even harder, falling to the ground, her crying out in pain as something hard, no doubt the broom handle of a local keeper, cracked down on her back. Her things were grabbed by the children, her satchel tossed, her dresses strewn, her photo crumpled into the tiniest ball. Her pouch of money pressed against her hip, hidden in the pocket she’d sewn into her dress herself. It was the only thing they couldn’t take from her.


“Be gone, Kalakuta!” They were all shouting obscene comments at her now, where she stood straight as a pin, her bare toes touching the edges of the dark wood.


“Please, I am not a—”


“You are a killer, Marigold Lovelock. You killed your parents; you kill the elders, the children even! You have a darkness in you that will never settle. We ought to kill you, but that would be too kind of us. We shall let the beasts of the woods decide your fate. Never return to Veritas, or we will change our minds. Kalakuta.” The man spit at her. The crowds were throwing things at her, rocks and sticks and anything they could use to hurt her.


“Please—” Marigold pleaded one last time, her cheeks dripped with tears, her whole body trembling. She had never been so scared in all her life.


“She does not learn. We have no pity,” an elder breathed in hushed tones.


“Let us show her what we do to Kalakuta.”


This was the last thing Marigold heard before she felt a sharp, blunt pain at the back of her skull, and the world went black.


Purchase Links


NineStar Press | Amazon


 Meet the Author


Danni Maxwell has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. Born and raised in Ontario, Canada, she is a debut author who is currently studying to become a librarian, a job she defines as the best of both the reading and writing world. She has won multiple prestigious writing awards in the past few years. Her favourite genres to write are contemporary, LGBT+, and more recently she’s been dabbling in YA, sci-fi and poetry. When she’s not writing, you can find her creating book- and writing-related videos on Youtube’s Booktube community, at Danni Darling.


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ANd sorry everyone for the bare codes. WordPress made a major change and isn’t getting along with HTML and I don’t have time at the moment to worry about it.

Rainbow Snippets

Still chasing my own tail. I hate this feeling but I do have good news. The knee seems to be healing well and I went to the Bob Evans Farm Fest to relax a little so that was nice.

Picking up with These Haunted Hills. They’re outside the Wells home trying to get EVPs (as the home is boarded up)

“Did you get an EVP of Wells?” He glared after the dog. “We’re not going to get any tonight.”

“Hell no, not with all that noise. And no, I did get a few but nothing that leads me to believe it was Wells.”

“Can I hear them when we get home?”

Josh balked. Brendan could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “One or two I guess. Not sure I have them all.”

“Why don’t you want me to hear them?” He didn’t point out again that Josh was a bad liar. He knew it.

“Honestly because one of them is a little kid calling for her daddy.”

Brendan caught his breath and sad nothing for several long moments. “Yeah I don’t want to hear that.”

Rainbow Snippets

October, my favorite month. Maybe I can keep on track with a ghost story this month. I am so overwhelmed as of late that I am not able to keep all the balls in the air.

Continuing with These Haunted Hills. Brendan and Josh are still talking. They do that a lot.

Athens is way more liberal than here. Just keep that in mind in case you suddenly can’t keep your hands off this fine body.” Josh let go of the steering wheel so he could gesture to himself with one  hand effectively lightening the mood.

It’ll be an effort but it’ll restrain myself,” Brendan replied dryly.

Josh chuckled. “Hey if your ghost hunter is anything like me, just don’t let the ghosts do rude things to me.”

“Wait, that can happen?”

“In theory. I can say I’ve never had it happen though I swear someone groped me once. Could have been Cass or Hunter messing with me though.”

“Any of you pull that on me, you will DIE in the book.”

Rainbow Snippet

Still not back into the swing of things but I’m trying. And since I’m way behind in literally everything I’m dropping my snip and running. This is still from These Haunted Hills.

“And it’s you I care about, not the fanboy part of you. I mean that’s flattering of course but Josh, I like you for you. I came out as bi years ago to my fans when I wrote that into the series for John. If someone doesn’t want their kids reading my stories because I’m dating a man, it’s not going to matter to me. For every conservative dipshit who wants my books banned because of John’s orientation or mine, there are two people who’ll buy the books just because of the controversy. I want to be seen with you.”

Josh sighed. “Good. I haven’t told anyone. Well, it’s only been two days since you kissed me and god, I wanted to tell Cass but I haven’t. We hadn’t talked about it and the part of me that wants to shout to the world I’m with B.A. Halloran, the intelligent part of me knows that would be super uncool and disrespectful.”

Rainbow Snippets

I cannot get back into the swing of this to save my soul. However, I survived two weeks of being in front of the classroom and did not need to resort to my walker in lab. My cane is good enough so progress. I even joined the Y to keep this leg going in the right direction. That leaves little time for anything else though.

I’m picking up right where I left off with These Haunted Hills. Brendan and josh are driving around being geeks.

“Can I ask you a question now?”


“In Dungeons and Dragons you’re a chaotic good half elfin ranger, aren’t you?” Brendan smiled.

Josh’s head drooped. “I think part of me hates you for seeing through me so well but the other part of me is like wow, he knows Dungeons and Dragons. I am crazy about you.”

“I can live with that.”

Want to roll up a character and join us?” Josh grinned.

“I don’t know I’d go that far but I want to go to the steampunk party. Think I’d be welcome?”

Josh all but danced on the seat. “Are you kidding? Everyone is welcome but of course you’re welcome. You could be my date…if you want to.”

The hesitancy in that last bit cut into Brendan. Did he think Brendan wouldn’t want to be seen with him? “Of course.” I would love to be your date. We did sort of skip that part, didn’t we? Did you think I wouldn’t want to be seen in public with  you?”

“I wasn’t sure. I mean…” Josh sighed. “You’re famous and I’m…me.”

Rainbow Snippets

Since I’m forever running late and I have to get stuff ready for the start of the semester in a day I’m just dropping more of These Haunted Hills and running. Where I left off was with them in Point Pleasant and now Josh is driving Brendan around to explore some of the little towns (sorry this is more than 6 lines) For context Vince is a character in Brendan’s bestselling YA series

As they made the long drive on Route 35, Josh filled him in on the haunts and a bit of town history before turning the conversation back to the Green Tablet.

“Seriously, why did you kill off Vince?”

“Never going to be forgiven,” Brendan muttered. “Originally it was going to be John but killing off a bisexual main character really would have gotten me flak, probably deserved. Besides, Connor wouldn’t have spoken to me ever again.” He touched his pendant again. “He was pretty steamed that Vince died.”

“I’m with your son on that one.”

“Someone had to die. It was part of the curse, remember? If I had wrote around that, it would have been a giant plot hole or a deus ex machina ending and I didn’t want that. So poor Vince died.”

I ugly cried.”

“You said.”

For DAYS.”

“I’m sorry.”

You owe me.” Josh drew the word out.

“A blow job?”

Josh jerked. “Don’t make me wreck.”