Word Processor, Romance, Cats, Kids and Creed: Tour Stop: The Fall of Summer The Reckoning Duet Book 1 by Rebecca Dale

This isn't a fairytale.

It's a reckoning.

The Fall of Summer

The Reckoning Duet Book 1

by Rebecca Dale

Genre: Dark Romantic Thriller

When her father locks away a powerful man, Summer Miller becomes the one marked to pay the price.

The sheriff, Jacob Darnell, swears he’ll protect her. But he has always blurred the line between duty and desire. His badge is her shield. His house, her prison. His touch, the most dangerous risk of all.

In Rosefield, every promise hides a lie. Every smile conceals a weapon.
And the closer Summer comes to escape, the deeper betrayal cuts.

Because love isn’t salvation.
It’s obsession.

And vengeance isn’t the only thing waiting in the dark.

This isn’t a fairytale. It’s a reckoning.

What readers are saying:

“..my first time reading Rebecca Dale, and wow… what a read. The writing is smooth, addictive, and flows so effortlessly that it pulls you in from the very first chapter. Add in the constant suspense, and I genuinely couldn’t put this book down…..The plot and the angst are so well done. I was racing through the pages desperate to know what would happen next, while also dreading it at the same time. And that cliffhanger… absolutely brutal. I need book two now!

– MW Booklover

I was thoroughly immersed into this world! At first I didn’t know how this story was going to go with it being a dark romance but saying that, this is not your typical dark romance book!
This story had me wanting to keep reading late into the night purely because the story was intense, you got to see the different sides of characters and it all just gelled together into one amazing story! The second half of the book for me was when the intensity picked up, it was making my heart rate go up purely because I wanted the happy ending the characters deserved!
I love the setting of the story and overall everything was written extremely well for this debut author. I NEED BOOK 2 NOW!! - @katielouisepage

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Jacob

They think I’m smiling.

That’s the part that always gets me—how fucking easy it is.

A tilt of the mouth. A nod. A badge pressed to my chest like a holy relic. People will believe anything if the devil’s wearing a uniform. I could blow a man’s brains out in this bar and half of them would call it justice. The other half would thank me for keeping the peace.

But I’m not thinking about them. I’m thinking about her.

Summer.

Out there, with another man like she’s forgotten the name I carved into her life. The woman I dragged from the dark and put under my roof. The woman I told myself I would keep.

The woman I have been in love with for two years and have taken into my home to protect from the monsters that lurk in the dark. But she’s dancing with that fucker for all to see.

That singing stray with hands too familiar and eyes that don’t understand what it means to touch something sacred.

And she’s smiling. Not the smile she gives me. Not the one she wears when she thanks me through her teeth for the silk I buy or the food I put on the table. This one’s real. Soft. Lit from inside.

Unforgivable.

“She’s got moves,” some idiot mutters nearby. “Didn’t think the sheriff would let her off the leash.”

My head turns slow. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m the kind of man who loses control. Yet.

I find the voice. Lock eyes. Some oil-rig rat with beer on his breath and death behind his teeth.

“You want to repeat yourself?” I say, calm as a storm gathering under skin.

He chuckles. Weak. Backpedals. Good.

I’m not in the mood to bury another one behind the diner.

Haywood says something beside me—laughing about blood on a porch turning out to be barbecue sauce. I nod. Smile. Pretend I give a shit.

I don’t.

I’m too busy watching her. Still swaying. Still glowing. Still fucking mine.

He touches her waist. My hand twitches, the urge to pull out my gun and shoot the fucker burns through me like lava.

If she were smart, she’d be crying right now. Begging me to make it stop. Begging me to get him to take his hands off her. But she doesn’t⁠—

She’s gotten stupid. Or brave. Or both.

From the first second, she was mine. Not a passing obsession—an inevitability carved into me. I’ve memorized every shiver, every tear, every defiance. She’s always belonged to me, even when she thought she was running. She still looks at me like I’m the danger. Maybe I am. But I’m also the only thing standing between her and the monsters who wanted her. Who planned her destruction. And if she knew what they had planned, what I had really saved her from, she would never lead a normal life again.

Every road she takes will always lead back to me. Every breath she takes is already inside my hands. She can fight, she can hate, but she’ll never escape. I won’t let her. Not now. Not ever.

I haven’t owned her in the bedroom yet. I was never going to be the man to tie her down and take her against her will. Hell, that’s the men I’m saving her from. But right now, the idea of her in chains, taking every inch of my cock and staring into my eyes sounds like heaven. Maybe that’s what she needs. Maybe then she’ll stop eyeing bar rats and thinking it’s alright to let them put their hands on her.

I’m a fucking monster. But a rapist?

No.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to walk back to the table and sit, to hide the storm clawing at my insides and let the room think I’m calm.

“I’m waiting for you baby,” I mutter under my breath.

The song ends and he finally takes his greasy fucking hands off her.

I want to stomp on his fucking throat—but I won’t. I’ll play the long game. I’ll find out everything there is to know about that son of a bitch.

She heads back over. Eyes down at the ground. She knows. She fucking knows. She has the audacity to sit there like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just look at another man like he could save her. Like he could take her home and fuck her into forgetting I ever existed.

I saw it—that flicker. That spark she thought she could hide. She wanted him to look at her, to see her. To know she was interested. And now she sits there, all wide eyes and trembling lips, pretending she’s innocent?

“Had fun with your boyfriend?” The words come out smooth, almost playful, but they taste like rust on my tongue.

What I really want to do is drag her out by the hair and make her confess how far she would’ve let him go if I wasn’t here.

I was born and raised in Hull, England, where I still live today with my four incredible children, two mischievous dogs, and a cat who thinks she’s the boss of us all. Life in my house is busy, loud, and wonderfully chaotic—but through it all, I’ve always had one constant: my love for stories.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been reading and writing. I was the kid who snuck books under the covers with a torch, the teenager scribbling down half-finished stories in notebooks, and now the woman whose imagination simply refuses to switch off. Stories have always been my way of making sense of the world, and I’ve carried that passion into writing books that dig into the messy, complicated sides of love, obsession, and survival.

When I’m not writing, you’ll usually find me surrounded by my family, walking the dogs, or curling up with a book and a cup of coffee (probably cold by the time I get to it). I’ve always had a soft spot for anything furry, and our house is very much a mix of kids, pets, and chaos—in the best possible way.

My debut novel, The Fall of Summer, is the first in The Reckoning Duet, and it’s the story that’s been tugging at my heart for years. It’s dark, it’s emotional, and it explores what happens when love and danger collide. My hope is that these books make you feel something real—whether it’s your pulse racing, your heart aching, or that little shiver down your spine when a line sticks with you long after you’ve read it.

Thank you for being here and for supporting my journey as an indie author. I can’t wait to share these stories with you, and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

With love,

Rebecca Dale

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