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

Another week, another time to be almost late. There is good news though. I am starting to write again (original fiction that is. Through my recovery I’ve done an awful lot of fanfic) Also the surgeon said the knee is healing well in spite of all the pain so that’s good.

I’m continuing with These Haunted Hills where in Brendan just found out his cabin is haunted and Josh knew it.

Josh contemplated for a moment how much truth to tell. Given what they had just done, honesty wasn’t just the best policy. It was mandatory. “It’s a little girl. The rumor is that she was here back around the time of the hotel when another set of cabins were in this spot and she drowned in the creek. But it’s probably just the wind. It’s not like she’s manifested before. All though…”

“All though what?”

“Ghosts like energy to help manifest themselves and sex generates a ton of energy,” Josh said slowly thinking about that. He’d never tested that theory before but this was the second time there’d been sexual energy in the air around him and Brendan and something used it to make itself known.

I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was haunted. You’re rotten.”

Rainbow snippets

My outpatient physical therapy is going well. I’m getting able to walk with a cane. That said I managed to kick my cane, broke a toe and nearly fell again. Sigh. Also dealing with the depression of losing a favorite tv show to early cancelation (thanks for nothing Fox) and the campaign to save it looking doomed. Probably wouldn’t have bugged me but this year has been SO hard.

I’m picking up with These Haunted Hills. Brendan and Josh had been woken up by foxes during their first night together. Back in bed, there are new strange sounds.

“Was that a fox?” Brendan asked dubiously then added when Josh shook his head, “the wind?”


“You’re lying.” Brendan propped himself up on one elbow, letting go of Josh’s hand. “You’re not good at it.”

“How can you tell? I said one word. You’re just sleepy.” Josh nudged him.

“Not so sleepy I can’t tell you’re avoiding the question,” Brendan said as the eerie sound echoed again. “Wind, right? Please wind? Oh my god! Did you rent me a haunted cabin?”

Would I do that?” Josh aimed for innocent Boy Scout with his tone.

Brendan snorted. “I distinctly remember you saying Mr. Halloran I have the perfect cabin for you and the landlord is willing to rent it for a month since it’s still off season.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Did you rent me a haunted cabin?”

“You wanted to immerse yourself with ghost hunting.”

“Oh my fucking god!” Brendan flopped back on the bed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, have you noticed her before?”

“Her? So you know who it is?”

Rainbow Snippets

Wow, I will never be on time with these this year but given everything that happens I can be soft with myself about it.

I’m going to dive right back into These Haunted Hills. We left off with Josh outside Brendan’s cabin after a noise woke him up.

He could just make out how bleary eyed Brendan looked in the silvery light washing down from above. “Sorry, I was hoping I didn’t wake you.”

“What are you doing out here?” Brendan rubbed his face, still obviously mostly asleep, standing there barefooted in his boxers.

Josh pressed his fingers to his lips then inclined his head toward the woods. He hoped to hear another cry or some gekkering but there was nothing but the relentless sounds of night insects. He shrugged and joined Brendan at the door. “I heard something.

“Sasquatch?” Brendan grinned.

“Absolutely.” Josh took his hand and guided Brendan back inside. “Partying with the Mothman.”

“I could almost believe you.” Brendan yawned then tugged Josh toward the stairs to the loft. “Foxes?”

“Yeah. They woke me up.” He tugged his boots back off before attempting the stairs.

Once in the loft they fell back into bed again, too exhausted for anything but lying there. Josh pulled the covers up over them then took Brendan’s hand again interlocking their fingers.

“I am sorry if I woke you.”

Brendan kissed him. “No worries.”

Another sound whispered along the roofline. Josh stared up at the ceiling, feeling Brendan shifting next to him.

“Was that a fox?” Brendan asked dubiously then added when Josh shook his head, “the wind?”

Rainbow snippets

Running very late. You wouldn’t think someone trapped at home from her injuries for months would constantly be out of time but here we are. So I’ll just dive right back into These Haunted Hills.

Brendan and Josh have had their first night together. Josh heard a noise outside so he went to investigate.

At one point he and Brendan had crawled out the bed and put on pants so they could whip up a midnight snack without singing anything important. Josh tiptoed into the bathroom to grab his boots then eased his way out the front door. Sitting on the porch, he jammed on his boots. He resisted the temptation to get the flashlight out of the truck.

There it was again, the cry of a fox. He ached to actually go out there and seem them in person but it would be disruptive. Josh knew he’d have to rely on the cameras of give him what he needed. Besides, his legs were still nicely jellied from all the fun earlier in the evening. Above him the moon was beginning to set and soon enough false dawn would paint the sky in grays.

Hearing the soft creak of the door behind him, Josh whipped around

Rainbow Snippet

So I turned another year older this week with very little fanfare. My knee is being even slower to heal than I would have hoped and I’m feeling worn out. So without much delay have a bit more of These Haunted Hills.

I’ve skipped over the shower scene which went as most would have guessed, leading to them having a little shower fun. I skipped it because it’s not where I’d like it to be so have a little of the after glow.

Josh woke up momentarily disoriented. He’d been having the world’s best dream. What had awoken him? He strained to hear but only detected someone breathing soft and slow next to him. so that really happened. Of course he’d known it was real but the reality seemed so impossible, he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d slept with Brendan. Holy shit!

A cry in the night reached his ears, muffled by the cabin walls. So that’s what had awoken him. Josh grinned. Wide awake now and not wanting to disturb Brendan, Josh rolled out of bed. He hunted up his jeans and pulled them up sans boxers which were god knows where. Maybe still in the bathroom with his shoes.