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 Snippet

Super late again but of course I didn’t even make it last weekend. That was because it was insanely hot at graduation that even the heat loving faculty were complaining. I was pretty near dead and I do think we all had some heat exhaustion because the next day a lot of us were pretty sickly.

Just picking up again with These Haunted Hills. They’re still getting ready to investigate the haunted ruined murder hotel.

Brendan studied the ruins, wondering how he would capture the isolation and loneliness of this place, the despair that seemed to taint the encroaching wilderness in words. He wasn’t sure he could paint a word picture this desolate. “Josh?”

“Yeah?” “You did tell them what happened last time we were here, right?”

The Rainbow Snippet group can be found on Facebook. It’s a fun low-pressure snippet sharing group for LGBTQ+ fiction. Come join us.


Rainbow Snippets

Running super late but I didn’t want nearly a month to go by which seemed likely. Last weekend was the oddities and curiosities expo in Columbus which was a blast. This weekend was free comic book day and I wasn’t missing that. Next weekend is graduation and me running around trying to grade all the things so I’m sliding in late with this.

Still working on These Haunted Hills with Brendan, Josh and company getting ready to investigate the haunted ruins.

Are you coming with us?” Josh cocked up an eyebrow.

Brendan blushed, realizing the team had started walking to the hotel and he was hovering near the truck being ridiculously horny. “Yeah, sorry, writer’s brain started working over time,” he lied. Well, half-truth or something, right? He did have an overactive imagination thanks to his craft.

He followed them through the high grass to the back side of the building where he and Josh thought they had seen shadows pacing in front of the window. Brendan hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t feel the overwhelming malice he had the last time he was here, but it could be lurking, waiting for them. Sure, he and Josh hadn’t shared a hallucination on that account.

Cassia waggled something at him. Brendan reached out realizing she was trying to hand him an EMF reader. “You remember how to use it, right?”

The Rainbow Snippet group can be found on Facebook. It’s a fun low-pressure snippet sharing group for LGBTQ+ fiction. Come join us.

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Rainbow Snippet

It’s world book day and I spent an hour of it reading on my porch because it’s also ridiculously warm for this time of year. It’s a pretty day and I wish I had time to enjoy more of it.

Still continuing with These Haunted Hills and Josh’s ghost hunting team is outside the ruined murder hotel with Brendan. It’s a little longer than 6 lines sorry to give the context.

“Good, let’s get that ladder up first,” Cassia said. “Might as well get it out of the way before we go tramping around inside.”

“Which of us is going up the ladder?” Hunter asked, hefting a camera.

“I do not like heights”  Madison said.

“I’ll do it,” Josh said. “Hunter, Cass you want a try too?”

“How about our guest?” Cassia glanced at Brendan. “You wanted to learn how we do what we do.”

Brendan shook his head. “Noooo, you don’t want me up a ladder. I’ll end up the next ghost in this place.”

“He’s clumsy, well according to him. I’ve yet to see it.”

“Because I’ve kept both feet on the grown. Honestly I’m surprised I haven’t fallen out of that loft bedroom at the cabin yet.”

“You still have time,” Josh returned cheerily as he and Hunter hiked the ladder toward the hotel.

“Thanks.” Now all he could picture was him and Josh getting too frisky and rolling right over the edge. What kind of obituary would that make? Worse, they might live, it would make the news and he’d never live it down. He could just imagine Heather’s reaction. Or Cassia’s for that matter.

The Rainbow Snippet group can be found on Facebook. It’s a fun low-pressure snippet sharing group for LGBTQ+ fiction. Come join us.

Rainbow Snippets

Missed yet another week. I was at Rathacon having fun with my airship group (the one I’m loosely basing Joshua’s on) and planned to do it the next day. AAAANDD my students successfully gave me the stomach flu that had been going around.

I’m picking up with Josh and Brendan out at the ruined murder hotel with his ghost hunting team. They are preparing to set up for a ghost hunting session.

Brendan jumped as their partners pulled up. “Fuck, I really am the panicky ghost hunter. This sucks.”

Josh laughed harder, nearly dropping the ladder. “You so are. I’m going to make sure Hunter keeps you in frame.”

You suck, Josh.”

You’d know.” Josh pursed his lips at him and Brendan flushed.

“Yeah, I certainly do.” Just what he didn’t need, thoughts of Josh’s full lips wrapped around his cock because the only thing more embarrassing than running from the ghosts would be running around with a giant hard on. If they were alone, he’d think about putting the bed of Josh’s truck to a different use but now the whole team was here bustling about. That was just the wet blanket he needed.

The Rainbow Snippet group can be found on Facebook. It’s a fun low-pressure snippet sharing group for LGBTQ+ fiction. Come join us.