Nov 04

New Release Blitz: Swallows of Mostar by Neira Fazlovic (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Swallows of Mostar

Author: Neira Fazlovic

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/04/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 216

Genre: Contemporary, YA/NA, sports, LGBT, sapphic, Sports romance, cliff diving, summer read, college, contemporary, Bosnia, Herzegovina

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Description

Two years after she moved to Mostar, a historic small town in Bosnia and Herzegovina, eighteen-year-old Franka Garcia still struggles with loneliness, language barriers, and terrible grades. After she accidentally falls off the famous Old Bridge, Franka is rescued by Mirna, a wickedly intelligent, but exasperated teenager obsessed with cliff diving.

Despite training all her life and frequently besting her peers, being a girl means Mirna can never participate in the centuries-old tradition of diving off the Old Bridge. But stubborn and determined Mirna won’t give up so easily.

After Franka’s near-perfect accidental dive, Mirna reluctantly takes on the challenge of teaching her all she knows about cliff diving. If Franka and Mirna want to compete, they must enact their unorthodox plan to take down the patriarchal system forbidding them from diving. Falling in love was never part of the plan.

Excerpt

Swallows of Mostar
Neira Fazlovic © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Čudna jada od Mosta grada

The morning sun was warm against Franka’s skin, and the pleasant summer wind ruffled her hair. Her lungs eagerly took in the first wisps of fresh air after weeks of being stuck inside with nothing but textbooks and math equations to keep her company. She leaned against the cold, stone wall of the ancient street that led to the Old Bridge, as the sweet and nutty taste of her ice cream caused her brain to produce some much-needed serotonin. With the River Neretva carrying away her worries, Franka looked up at the bright sun and smiled for the first time in weeks.

The scene in front of her was a common sight in this part of Mostar. The lanky guide was probably barely out of high school, with a subtle Slavic accent in his English and a vocabulary that could use a bit more work. Still, his flock of tourists (Canadian retirees, if Franka was correct) seemed interested in what he had to say about the city of Mostar, the often overlooked jewel of Southern Europe, as he called it, even if they probably could have read most of his speech on Wikipedia. Today, Franka didn’t mind because, only moments ago, a miracle happened: after two years of living in this city, she finally effortlessly understood a single sentence of the language.

The sentence was uttered, or to be more precise, yelled, through a thick accent by a tall young woman in a traditional Bosnian costume who sold trinkets to the tourists at the store closest to the Old Bridge. To be perfectly honest, the sentence wasn’t overly complex, but it was more than a hello or a plea to buy some souvenirs Franka would have recognized even before she was so cruelly punished by the gods and forced to live in Mostar. It wasn’t even directed to Franka or any other tourist, but to Ado, a short young man (at least, short for the land of giants that was Bosnia and Herzegovina) who was now running past Franka in only his bikini bathing suit, sporting a very smug grin on his youthful face. The sentence was simple, but it might as well have been poetry to Franka. “Ado, idiote, ne naginji se na ogradu, neki kreten ju je jučer razvalio!”

Some jerk busted the fence yesterday, and Ado was a fool for leaning against it. What a lovely statement!

Croatian was needlessly complicated, in Franka’s humble American opinion. So was Bosnian. And Serbian. Mostly because they were the same language with a few subtle differences, no matter what the native speakers would like to argue. Declinations, verb changes, and grammar cases, not to mention genders were all entirely unnecessary. Who decided “river” was female and “bridge” was male, and can their descendants pay for making Franka’s life in the city of Mostar somehow even more miserable?

But on this sunny summer morning, as she made her way to the Old Bridge, Franka at least got this one sentence correct. Maybe Mom was right. She really needed to leave the house.

*

“Franka, I just heard from a reputable source that it is summer outside. Can you believe it?” Mom had announced last night. She had walked into Franka’s, what could in the most generous terms be called “room,” without knocking and skipped over a pile of textbooks on the floor.

Franka sat behind her desk, a few days away from being completely taken over by the chaos that spread far and wide. Math, chemistry, and physics textbooks covered most of the available surfaces, other than the bed with messy covers that were probably supposed to be changed a few weeks ago. The seemingly endless quantity of mugs and bowls of cereal that kept appearing, but never disappearing, were very close to developing their own civilizations in this hot and moist environment. Franka didn’t have time to care. She had more important things to worry about.

She had finished studying chemistry for today (the urea cycle) and turned to math practice, littering her desk with scraps of paper filled with math formulas she understood perfectly. In English. Croatian was a different story.

“Really?” she asked, not even looking up at her mom, checking her result in the back of the textbook instead. It was correct, as was every single result she’d gotten for days had been. “I haven’t noticed,” she added in Croatian when she remembered this was her “no English summer.”

“Go out, please,” Mom said, switching back to English. “I beg of you. You have been in this house for a month! You will pass your exam.”

“I thought so last time, but here we are now!” Franka said. She was so lucky Bosnian colleges worked differently than the American ones, giving her an opportunity to retake her entrance exam in September and actually get in. The whole schooling system was unlike the one she was used to, where specialized colleges for pharmacology (as well as anything else) allowed her to skip undergrad studies and become a pharmacologist in just five short years. That was, if she could pass her exam.

“You have been stuck in this filth since June! That’s not healthy,” Mom continued, looking around as Franka suddenly became aware of the mess, the faint smell of stale air, and the boxes of stuff she should have unpacked two years ago. Still, she shook her head “no” and picked another math problem to focus on instead.

“Neither is not getting into college,” she said and tried to get back to her linear systems with two variables. Every list of questions from previous entrance exams for the Faculty of Pharmacy at the University of Mostar had at least one of those. If she wanted in, she had to be proficient, so god help her! “Very bad for the thyroid gland.”

“So, you want to cram two years’ worth of studying that you didn’t do into two months?” Mom asked, perfectly aware Franka might pull it off by any means necessary.

“That’s the plan,” Franka said and turned back to her math problem, but Mom wasn’t quitting.

“Go out. Please,” she begged again, but Franka wasn’t listening. “One hour?” she asked. “Can’t you spare one hour, so I don’t think you are losing your mind with all that science? One hour and you can get me off your back for at least a week.”

Franka paused for a moment. She was wasting time arguing right now, as she did for the past few days. It probably added up to an hour or so in total. Maybe this was the solution.

“You are in one of the most popular travel destinations in Eastern Europe. Enjoy it for an hour,” Mom continued. “Pretend to be a tourist. Grab some ice cream. Please. Mostar is a beautiful city. I promise you.”

“Very overrated,” Franka scoffed. When she was a kid, Franka had loved coming to Mostar for a few weeks every few years. Then she would go back home to Atlanta and tell her friends she went all the way to Europe and to this small country called Bosnia and Herzegovina in the Balkan Peninsula where her mom was born. Now that she was stuck here, it was hell. The city didn’t change, but everything else did. Mostar was a picturesque town, filled with history, world-famous for the sixteenth century Old Bridge that connected both sides over the gorgeous River Neretva that divided them. It was also too hot, too touristy, and too small (both in its size and the mentality of its people).

“Because our suburban hellhole in Atlanta was so much more fun,” Mom said, making Franka frown. If nothing else, Mostar was a living, breathing, organic city, even if half of the buildings were destroyed in the War and never fixed.

“I have to study. I don’t have time to mess around,” she continued. Tomorrow was the time to tackle the Krebs cycle again. Last time she lost at least ten points on that question. She knew it in English, but when she tried to explain it in Croatian, panic took the wheel of her brain and drove them both straight into a ditch.

“You want to practice the language? Go out, talk to an actual Herzegovinian other than me! It will do you wonders,” Mom continued, closing the textbook right in front of her.

That was the second argument that had given Franka pause. Coming to Mostar with barely any knowledge of the language despite her mom being born and raised here and then going to a school that was in English for two years really didn’t make any of this easier. Every time she thought she had the hang of it, someone would drop a new slang word or speak too fast and she would get lost again, so it was easier not to try at all.

“And you know, Isabella would love a selfie from the bridge. You know she loves bridges,” Mom added in her sweetest voice because she knew bringing up Aunt Bella would work.

And it did.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Neira Fazlovic is a writer of books about lesbians, ghosts and science. Veterinarian by trade (and soon to be a PhD), she has been writing since she was thirteen. She is a great fan of cats, typos and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

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Oct 28

New Release Blitz: Two for Holding by S.B. Barnes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Two for Holding

Series: Minor Penalties, Book One

Author: S.B. Barnes

Cover Artist: Tuisku Hiltunen

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/28/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 280

Genre: Contemporary, gay, athletes, coming out, enemies/rivals to lovers, in the closet, slow burn/UST, San Francisco, sports/ice hockey, self-esteem issues, “practice with me” trope, anxiety attacks

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Description

Tom Crowler has been captain of the San Francisco Sea Lions for a decade of failures. With no cups or trophies to show for his time in the NHL, Tom retreated into himself a long time ago, and that’s exactly where he intends to stay until he retires. But when he catches the new team superstar, Jaxon Grant, in a compromising position, Tom finds it impossible to continue hiding his deepest secret behind a bland, pleasant mask.

Jax is everything Tom isn’t: loud, flashy, the winner of multiple NHL Awards, and—oh, yeah—gay enough to get traded to San Francisco because of a potential PR scandal with his old team. At first, he thinks Tom catching him means the next trade, the next rejection for being just a little too much for other people to take. When it turns out the two of them have more in common than talent on the ice, though, Jax finds himself drawn in by pulling Tom out.

As animosity gives way to a partnership neither of them saw coming, Tom and Jax are left facing new challenges. Will Jax’s impulsive nature put Tom’s deeply valued privacy at risk? Or will Tom’s reticence force Jax into pretending to be someone he isn’t? And if they can’t even figure each other out, how can they save a struggling NHL team from bad coaching and internal division?

Excerpt

Two for Holding
S.B. Barnes © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Kayleigh: Hi everyone, I’m Kayleigh, your San Francisco Sea Lions media gal, and I’m here in the Sea Lions’ home base, Cyberian Arena, with the team’s newest addition, Jaxon Grant! Jax, how does it feel to be on the West Coast?

Jaxon: Um, good, yeah. Different. Less humid than in Philly.

Kayleigh: [leans in toward the camera] So, Jax—I can call you Jax, right?

Jaxon: Yeah, of course.

Kayleigh: Your trade came as a bit of a surprise, and so close to preseason. Can you tell us what brought you here?

Jaxon: [laughs] Uh. Good question. Honestly, if I could answer it, I might not be here.

Top comments:

sealions4lyfe: I know we had an offensive gap but…this guy? Really? He’s good, but does that make up for his personality?

Jefferson Howard: In my day, hockey players played hockey instead of dyeing their hair and buying designer watches.

(Video posted in The Rookery, the direct-to-consumer streaming service of the San Francisco Sea Lions and all associated teams, on 09/18/2024)

*

Joining a new team was always nerve-wracking.

The last time Jax had to do it, he’d been drafted third overall by the Philadelphia Magpies and had already gone through development and rookie camps. He’d earned his place. At the time, he was also eighteen and making more money playing hockey than his parents’ house had cost. He might have been slightly overconfident.

Now, Jax knew he was exactly the right amount of confident. He had six years in the NHL under his belt as well as the Calder his rookie year and an Art Ross two years ago. Any team would be lucky to have him.

As he walked into the San Francisco Sea Lions’ locker room for the first time at the tail end of training camp, he kept his shoulders back and his chin up, projecting all the confidence he could muster. No one had seen his trade coming, least of all Jax, and he’d missed all the team bonding events to start the season, but he was used to coming in as the underdog. He could make this work for him. He would make this work for him.

With that in mind, he strolled up to Tom Crowler, team captain, absolute beast on the ice and averaging comfortably over a point per game for the last decade. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Tom, right? I’m Jax, I’ll be—”

“I know who you are,” Crowler said.

“Um. Okay. So—”

“They’re probably going to give you an A. Phil can tell you what you need to know about your responsibilities.” Crowler waved vaguely in the direction of Phil “East” Easton, the only other person who’d been on the team as long as him.

Then, Crowler got up and walked out of the locker room.

Jax stared at his retreating back. Had he said something wrong? Accidentally worn a Magpies jersey out of habit? He looked down at himself. No, there was the stupid Sea Lions logo, a stylized swirl of lines only vaguely reminiscent of a real animal.

“Don’t worry about it.” A man roughly twice as broad as most humans came up to Jax and slapped him on the back, hard enough he had to brace for impact. “Captain’s always like that.”

“Seriously?”

“I’d been on the team for a month before he talked to me. I wasn’t even sure he knew my name.” The man smiled toothily. “Chris, by the way. Chris Calabrese. But everyone calls me Breezy.”

Right, a junior defenseman who’d gotten more and more minutes toward the end of last season and a lot of buzz in the press.

“Nice to meet you,” Jax said.

“You too, man. Excited to have you. We need some more young guys around here, you know? It’s just me and the rookies.” Breezy nodded over at two other guys in his corner of the locker room, both staring down at their phones.

Did no one in this locker room talk to one another? Chat?

“Sounds awesome,” Jax said weakly. Then he rallied. He’d make it work here. He would make himself integral to the team so he wouldn’t have the rug pulled out from under him with another goddamn trade. “What do y’all do for fun?”

Breezy made an odd face as if no one had ever spoken the word “fun” in the locker room before. “We don’t really do much as a team. But, hey, we should totally change it up!”

They absolutely should. They would be spending the next seven to ten months sharing a locker room and a charter plane and a team bus. What did they do, sit quietly next to one another, not talking? Jax wouldn’t survive for ten minutes, let alone eighty-two hockey games.

Breezy could definitely see his trepidation. “Here, come meet East. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Twice now, someone had referred him to Easton for guidance, though he wasn’t the captain of this team. As Breezy led him across the locker room, Jax peeked out through the door. On the fresh, empty ice, Crowler drew circles around and around, all by himself, skating faster and faster as he went.

He was so good. Why was he so alone?

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

S. B. Barnes attended college in the Hudson Valley, studying English Language and Literature and Anthropology (although unlike her characters, her time there was not interrupted by crime-solving). She grew up split between the USA and Germany, attending university in both countries before eventually settling in Germany. Today, she works as a teacher and lives with her husband and two cats in an apartment with too little shelf space. Fiction has always been one of her greatest loves, as a reader, as a teacher, and as a writer. While S.B. has been writing for most of her life, this is her first foray into publishing her work.

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Oct 21

New Release Blitz: The Devil’s Garden by Jack Bumgardner (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Devil’s Garden

Author: Jack Bumgardner

Publisher: NineStar Press

Cover Artist: Mandy Porto

Release Date: 10/21/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: NB/NB

Length: 366

Genre: Contemporary, Crime, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, poetry, small town, law enforcement, mental illness, prison, fugitives, road trip

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Description

Otho Linker is a gay man living in a small Southern town. Long abandoned by his family, he refused to leave the area and subsequently became a police officer. His neighbor, Wheeler Yost, is an older gay man who has watched over Otho for years, serving as a father figure and mentor. To Otho, Wheeler is the family he always needed, and he loves him unconditionally.

When an abandoned house in the woods suddenly explodes, Otho is called in to assist the two detectives on the force. This appears to be just another meth-head disaster until a body is found incinerated inside. As Otho investigates the case, he quickly identifies at least one suspect who could have been involved.

As he learns more about the suspect, Russell Snell, he also realizes he has feelings for the man. Then, in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the investigation, Wheeler passes away, leaving Otho totally alone. With nothing to lose, he decides to go on the lam with Russell, despite the doubts he still harbors about Russell’s involvement in the child’s death. Will he find love, or will he find heartache? Only time will tell.

Excerpt

The Devil’s Garden
Jack Bumgardner © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The car dusted the dirt road and hit the macadam just as Sherrill’s distinctive nasal drawl squawked through the radio. Otho quickly grabbed the speaker. “Linker.”

“Hey, hon, house fire at 2954 County Road Six.”

“House fire? Is the Volunteer Fire Department there?”

Sherrill laughed. “Well, hon, they got there as fast as they could from Wahnell County. Anyway, it looks like a head-house burn. Could hear the explosion all the way up here. Jim’s already at the scene, but he needs backup.”

“Roger. On my way,” he said, speeding down the road. He knew the address well, having busted a couple of rings of meth heads there in the past few years. The unfortunate layout of the town consisted of acres and acres of forest lands dotted with abandoned houses built by millworkers who valued the parcel of land they built on more than their homes, as evidenced by choosing to bury them in woods.

Then, as the families moved or died off, their houses became magnets for anyone looking to mix the chemicals that burned through their brains at lightning speed, turning high school heroes into hulks of toothless addicts and school beauties into scab-faced streetwalkers.

Otho traveled down County Road Six, ignoring the stretches of nothingness and wondering if the culprits were familiar, any faces he’d known as a kid. It had happened once or twice, but the meth heads he knew were too tweaked out of their minds to recognize him.

And, in a way, he was glad to remain anonymous to the people of his past.

Yet the fifteen-year-old in him sometimes wanted them to realize who was behind the badge and see his choice.

Tremendous plumes of gray smoke curled up above the tree line, and Otho grabbed the face mask on the passenger seat just as he pulled in behind Jim Lumsden’s patrol car. When he jumped out, he pulled the mask on, but it didn’t stop his eyes and nose from running as the chemicals from the explosion poisoned the air.

Jim turned around and greeted Otho with a half wave. His face and eyes were covered with the new plastic personal protection gear he had just ordered, making Otho wonder why he hadn’t received his yet. Responding to head-house explosions had become as routine to him as they had to his captain, yet rank was ingrained in the Temperly Police Department, just as it was everywhere else.

Jim waved him away from the scene, and they trudged down the skinny driveway until they were almost at the road. Then he pulled his mask off, coughed and said, “Sherill tell you what was going on?”

“Looks like just another head-house burn,” Otho said.

Jim nodded and looked back toward the fire. Orange walls of flames viciously devoured the plain little clapboard house as the firemen hosed it down, doing their usual miraculous job of keeping the flames from spreading to the tinderbox of pine trees that surrounded the structure. The Wahnell County Fire Inspector’s car roared past them.

“Glad Grace Twofeather’s here,” Jim said. “When this starts to cool down, she can tell us where the flashpoint was. Anyway, son, I’m glad you came. With all the horseshit budget cuts we’ve had lately, it’s hard to find backup for anything.”

“No problem, sir. But I’m wondering why you responded? Weren’t Brady or Cruickshank around?”

Jim shook his head and twisted his mouth as if he was trying to keep certain words from flying free. He looked around as if he was searching for spies in the trees, and he shrugged his round shoulders a few times. His stocky build and shiny pate cast him as a stereotypical Good Ole Boy, but his eyes shone with a deep intelligence. So he knew which officers were worth sending to troublesome calls. And he also knew which ones to send to monitor the Dairy-Rite ice cream stand, one of the few booming businesses left in town.

“Anyway, believe it or not, we’ve got some info on this place, unlike the other houses. Old Lady Snell lives in the area,” Jim said, nodding up the road.

The heat and smell were getting to Otho, so he pulled his wet shirt away from his chest and shuffled his feet. When he realized Jim was lost in thought, he said, “Sorry, sir, but what has Mrs. Snell got to do with this explosion?”

Jim looked at him. “Someone was seen running to her house by Bonnie Ingram as she drove past the fire.” He paused. “I know Mrs. Snell has a boy. Named Russell, I think. We’ve busted him on minor pot stuff.”

“Russell Snell?” Otho said.

Jim coughed more gunk out of his lungs. “Yep. I’m sure you’ve run into him whenever you cleaned out this shithole before. Haven’t you?”

The odd thing was that he hadn’t. But the name picked at his memory.

“No, sir,” he said. “But I’ll get on over to Mrs. Snell’s house.”

Jim nodded and began to walk down the driveway toward his car. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Otho. The smoke from the house fire was drafting down like a dark hand reaching to grab him but Jim just walked through it, wiping his eyes. “Listen, son. I could be mistaken. Bonnie Ingram’s been a little excitable lately, especially since Joe left her. But at least we got a name. Okay?”

“No problem, sir.” Otho got back into his car, jerked the mask off and strained to find Mrs. Snell’s house. He hated questioning the older residents of town since most of them met him with a government-resenting sneer or a squinty-eyed quizzical look. But the name Snell was still intriguing to him, so he took off down the road. Rolling down his window, he greedily gasped for fresh air, the last thing his hometown had in abundance, and he hoped her son was paying her an overdue visit today.

Within minutes Otho was in front of her house. He decided he would park on the narrow shoulder of County Road Six and walk up to the structure. That way Russell Snell wouldn’t hear the motor and shoot out the back door. And Otho wouldn’t be trapped in her slender driveway.

The house was a duplicate of the one that had just morphed into ash and smoke nearby. Except Mrs. Snell’s house was newer with a more recent veneer of aluminum siding and freshly painted green shutters. It stood as an anomaly to the other clapboard homes in the area, and Otho took note of its condition as he approached the front porch and punched the black dot of a doorbell.

He waited to hear someone amble toward the door or even a dusty shuffle but there was only silence. VFD clatter and shouting reached him from the fire next door as he noticed the houses were closer than he had first realized. That fact troubled him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as another explosion travelled through the air, and he found himself instinctively ducking on the porch.

Once he realized that the fire department was getting everything under control and heard the hiss as their hoses sprayed the flames, Otho stood up and pressed the doorbell again. This time he put his ear to the door to try to discern any voices or footsteps. Nothing.

“Temperly Police, ma’am!” he hollered, now tapping on the wooden door, its ancient grain surfacing through the tired paint. A quick glance through the tattered sheers on the windows showed a dark house with only the outline of furniture and a large rug on the floor.

Russell Snell. Why don’t I know that name? He walked off the porch and inspected all around the shoebox house. He couldn’t find anything amiss—no windows busted, no back door flung open. Not even any footprints in the backyard. Otho reached his car and took one more look. Just another poor widow’s house.

But no. The place and its possible inhabitants held an answer to something and not just a possible sloppy meth head arsonist or his poor mother. If the house next door was just ending its life, this one had something to do with it.

Its stubborn existence, standing pristine beside the rubble of its twin, held a sort of malice. A remorseless killing.

Otho got into his car and notified Sherill that he was on his way back to the station. She told him to hurry since it was potluck day in the snack room, then disconnected before he could ask her about the house on County Road Six or the woman who owned it. Or the man whose name was echoing in the memories he had shut down years ago. He took a breath and cursed, though he wasn’t sure why.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Jack Bumgardner is a Southerner by birth and a Westerner by choice. Born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina, he graduated from Stetson University in Florida.

He is the author of the novella Underneath It All and has had several short stories published in literary magazines. He also co-scripted a radio drama, “The Fire Talker.”

He now calls Denver, Colorado his home.

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Oct 17

New Release Blitz: Kuro by Ana Raine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Kuro

Author: Ana Raine

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Cover Art: Renee’ George

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Hot Flash, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance

Themes: Dark Romance, Halloween, Holiday Themes, LGBTQ+ /Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Second Edition, Shapeshifters

Series: Jack-O-Lanterns (#7)

Book Length: Hot Flash

Page Count: 29

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Synopsis

When Preston saves a black cat everything he knows about life and demons is going to be questioned.

While shopping for candy for his friend’s Halloween party, Preston saves a strange black cat from a group of teenage boys. Overcome with a desire entirely new to him, Preston takes the black cat home and discovers things are not always what they seem, especially on Halloween.

The cat, a demon named Caleb, has been searching for his mate for months and can’t help but be fascinated with sweet Preston. He’s determined to drag Preston down to his home in the underwater demon world.

Now Preston must choose between his mortal life, or one full of demons — and love.

Excerpt

Kuro (Jack-O-Lanterns)
Second Edition
Ana Raine
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Ana Raine

“Will you bring some candy for tomorrow?” Jackie’s voice was desperate. Before Preston could answer, there was the sound of crashing glass on the other end of the phone.

“Are you all right?” Preston asked his oldest friend. He somehow managed to balance a plate of leftover salad with a cup of almond milk while keeping a good grip on his cell. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for the party tomorrow. Or trying to.”

“And that involves breaking glass?” Preston smiled. Although Jackie and he had both majored in dance in college, Jackie was anything but graceful.

“No, dummy, it involves me trying to get these crystal dishes I got from my mom to all fit on the table.”

“Crystal? Sounds… extravagant. For a Halloween party.”

“Look, this is like the fourth Halloween I’ve been alone. Time to step it up.”

Preston sighed. “Okay.” He slipped out of his dance pants and pulled a pair of jeans over dark briefs. “What do you need me to bring?”

“Candy. Whatever kind you want. But not cheap shit — that makes me sick.”

“I’m on it.”

The wind was colder than Preston had expected. His windbreaker was thin and cheap, more of a decoration than an actual coat. It didn’t do much to keep him warm but this was the perfect opportunity to save money on gas. He was between productions, so he needed to save money any way he could. Leaving the car parked in front of his apartment, he walked down the street.

Jackie’s request was going to be hard to fill. There were only yellow sale signs where piles of candy should have been. Luckily there was one large bag of chocolate bars, which he grabbed. Narrowly avoiding a collision with a young couple, he felt his cock twitch, sending shivers of anticipation down his spine, almost as if he had a tall, handsome man to go home to… He’d watched too many vampire movies with dark-haired, blue-eyed heroes. Why else would he be getting so hot in the grocery store?

There were hardly any cars in the parking lot.

“Get it,” a voice shrieked so loud the plastic bag Preston had been holding fell to the ground when he flinched.

Toward the end of the parking lot, besides a clustering of trees, he saw a group of teenage boys. Preston could make out three of them, all tall and gangly, but a fourth stepped back as Preston neared the group. “What are you…”

“Get out of here, man,” the one who had just stepped back ordered. He had dark, pinched eyes and a glance that made Preston’s blood boil.

Although Preston wasn’t one for fighting, the urge to find out what the teenagers were doing was stronger than any emotion he’d felt in a while. “I asked what you’re doing.”

“Just havin’ fun,” one of the other teenagers jumped in defensively.

Two of the four teenagers were quiet, quickly dropping large sticks onto the pavement.

“Isn’t there a curfew tonight, guys?” the young man nearest to the woods asked, moving away from Preston.

The tallest of the teenagers took a step back, revealing a large black cat, sitting on its back legs but with an apparent twist in its front leg.

“How could you do this?” Preston asked, brushing past the young men. “This is just wrong.”

“Whatevs.”

Preston scooped the cat into his arms. The cat was so heavy he had a harder time straightening up again. “Gosh, you’re big. And black.” The cat reminded him of an anime cat — bigger and blacker than anything he’d ever seen before. “I think I’ll call you Kuro.”

The cat swished its head from side to side, glancing back at the retreating backs of his tormenters. Purple eyes, outlined in a deep black that was different from the shade of his silky black coat, stared at Preston. The gaze was penetrating and unearthly. Preston’s knees began to tremble. Even his arms were shaking as Preston held the cat close to his chest. He fumbled to pick up the plastic bag, missing the handle because the cat’s gaze was so consuming.

Sexuality was running rampant through his veins. He felt like he’d eaten drug-laced candy and was swimming through a current, trying to make sense of reality again. Get a grip, Preston chastised himself.

Maybe that hadn’t been enough, which could explain his sudden feeling of fatigue. But there was stunning need to find release. His legs prickled and because his eyes flickered so quickly, there were dark patches clouding his vision.

The cat meowed in his arms, but didn’t try to escape. Once Preston entered the glow of his brightly lit street, he was sure that the cat was safer, but the thought of releasing the dark fur pushed a feeling of tremendous pain through his chest.

“I’m not allowed to have pets,” Preston said softly, snaking a hand around the bag of chocolate so he could pet the top of the cat’s head. The cat had his eyes trained on him. “We should get you to the vet to fix that leg. Although I think we’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” The cat’s purple eyes were unnerving, but he couldn’t chase away the intrigue…

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Ana is still figuring out what she wants to do with her life, although social work seems to be the most likely. Her best friends are a box of chocolate and her kitten who always sit beside her while she writes. When Ana was in high school, she often wrote about the LGBT community, but now her work is less…innocent. Ana enjoys writing anything and everything, including BDSM, dragons, shifters, magic, and more.

Website | X | Goodreads

 

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Oct 14

New Release Blitz: Death and Coffee by Lisa Acerbo (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Death and Coffee

Author: Lisa Acerbo

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/14/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 362

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, paranormal, historical, urban fantasy, bisexual, lesbian, Death, reaper, witches, Salem

Add to Goodreads

Description

The end is a new beginning for Prudence. After witnessing her mother’s wrongful conviction as a witch in 1661 and wishing for death, she gets just what she asks for when recruited. In her new job as a reaper, Prudence must learn to navigate the delicate balance between the living and the soon-to-be-deceased. However, her duties as a harbinger of souls are only the beginning of her trials as she makes her way as an immortal through the centuries. With nothing else to care about, Prudence excels on the job, even with an ill-tempered horse demon to keep fed and jealous coworkers vying for her downfall.

Love arrives for this reaper with one of her soon-to-be-dead clients. Prudence is instantly smitten with hospital doctor Daxone, defies Death to save the woman, and pursues her desires. Unfortunately, immortals shouldn’t love humans. Worse, revealing Death’s secrets gets the couple banished to purgatory. Prudence settles in only to be yanked away to Salem, Massachusetts. Once there, she is forced to deal with another of Death’s deadly problems. Thrust into a world of witches and dark magic, Prudence must harness her innate powers and confront a coven plotting to overthrow Death. With the world’s fate and her lover’s life hanging in the balance, she must find her magic and understand her past to keep the love of her life and the entire planet alive.

Excerpt

Death and Coffee
Lisa Acerbo © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Hartford, Connecticut, 1661

A frigid wind slashed the outside of the building but the chill inside the dimly lit wooden church had little to do with the temperature. In the thick press of bodies, the smell of fear and anger assaulted my nose.

“Pray, pardon me.” I wormed my way deeper inside. Not a single compassionate glance or “Good morrow” came my way. The people who sat sermon with me and greeted me on the pathway a few days ago averted their gaze, tone hushed.

My father, coward, refused to attend the trial. Earlier in the morning, I’d asked him to bear witness to this day, but he claimed to be too ashamed of his family, meeting my gaze purposefully with his own.

When most attendees had seated themselves, jammed together on benches like barnacles, the minister glowered and declared, “It’s time.” He pointed. “Repent your wicked and reviling acts for your soul’s salvation.”

My mother hunched in the gloom, halfway hidden behind a burly guard. The man’s hand crushed her slight shoulder before she slid to the ground like a rag doll, exhaustion and pain creeping over her face and frail body. The audience gasped but for reasons other than the jailer’s brutality. They believed her collapse proved the devil.

The preacher hammered my mother with his words. “There is light in the darkness, Martha. Be repentant for the sins of your life. Ask forgiveness from God. Admit the devil afflicted you and commanded you to unleash wickedness on our community, and your soul can be free in death.”

“I’ve done nothing.” Mother’s gaze found mine in the last pew. Her once beautiful auburn hair, which rarely strayed from its cap, fell lank and greasy around her face.

“You have been a practitioner of poisoning in hand and deed, but in God’s house, no devil has power.” The minister’s voice boomed; his chin raised to the heavens. “It is the only way to possible salvation.”

Blinking back the tears forming, I knotted my hands. “Please stop this. I promise my soul, my life, anything demanded of me.” No one heard my whisper of pain. “If you exist, show yourself and give this horrible congregation something to fear.”

Those prayers elicited no response from the heavens. The two small, low-set windows failed to remove the shadows and darkness extending beyond the rafters and into the congregation.

“God will cast the wicked into Hell. He can most easily do so, and you will be next unless you tell the truth before all your brethren in attendance.”

His words were drowned in a cacophony of outrage from the spectators who packed the pews for this horrible show.

I stepped forward.

An almost imperceptible shake of my mother’s head slowed my feet.

Last week, on the only occasion Father allowed me to visit Mother in jail, she’d begged me to avoid her, fearing for my life. Heart empty, I had questioned if there was life waiting for me with her gone—she, the only person who loved me in this world. Her tormented sobs made me regret those words.

Clamoring voices thickened the air as her trial dragged. Someone in town had to stand up for her. Instead, the crowd grew louder and angrier. Few still loved and wished to protect her. And, no doubt, my former friends would happily turn me over to the minister if I said or did anything here.

Rumors about my mother started in the late summer. After church one day, our neighbor Bridget complained of stomach pains. My mother had sent me to her house with tea, but the herbs meant to help had only made it worse.

In Hartford, Connecticut, when a problem occurred, everyone prayed, but prayers often didn’t reach heaven, and divine intervention seldom arrived. My mother and her knowledge of natural remedies had been a quiet aid to the community for years. No one had said a word against it.

Even my father had allowed it.

However, Bridget’s condition worsened, and a fever struck her the day after she drank the tea. Not a week later, she died, arms and legs flailing without consent, screams of pain echoing from her house for all to hear. My mother had been restricted to our home first, then jailed until her trial.

Bridget’s death brought rumors of witchcraft to my door, and now, not even six months later, shouts of anger and fear assaulted the walls and my ears.

“You deserve to be cast into hell.” The words heaved from my neighbors like boulders. “Witch. Devil’s spawn.”

My mother’s desperate glance revealed the true horror of the ordeal; a stark contrast to the minister next to her and the pudgy magistrate who sat high on a bench, shrouded in black robes and stern expressions.

Bridget’s friends and family stood and faced the crowd as they recounted her illness and the supposed potion my mother provided that led the girl first to the devil and then to death.

It had only been dandelion tea. I’d helped prepare the draught, but fear of the community and that I’d be next to my mother in jail clamped my lips shut.

The flickering candlelight turned the magistrate, perched on his bench by the altar, into a demon. This man had been a guest in our home not only to share the word of God but to ask my mother for a cure for his headaches.

“You’re accused of witchcraft,” he said. “How do you plead?”

“I’m innocent. I never practiced witchcraft. I swear it on my soul.” My mother turned to Bridget’s parents when the room had quieted. “I’m no witch. I swear by all that is Godly. I’m innocent of all you proclaim.”

Charity, a friend of Bridget’s, spoke. “She bewitched Bridget and made her suffer. All should have witnessed the horror of her last moments. Her lips fumbled to make a sound, teeth gnashing and mouth foaming. Her body trembled and shook before her limbs flailed, unable as she was to control them.”

“Do you deny the accusations of witchcraft against you?” the magistrate asked.

“I’m a God-fearing woman, and I’ve harmed no one.”

My push forward parted air thickened with tension and sweat.

“The evidence against you is abundant,” the magistrate said. “You’re wicked. A consort with the devil. All to spell innocent people. Your potions and teas are well known in town. You deserve to be cast thither. Under the law of a righteous God, your eternal soul shall be condemned to hell.”

“I have done nothing wrong other than use what God has provided in nature. I’m innocent. This I swear in His name.”

The crowd reared like the head of a snake, the hiss loud and damning.

I bit my thumbnail to hold back a scream, and an iron tang met my tongue.

“Do not profane his name.” The magistrate called the minister over, and their conversation lasted less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity.

“You’ve been found guilty of witchcraft. The sentence of the court is death by hanging. Let this be a warning to all. The devil stands ready to seize our souls as his own.”

“I’ll die guiltless.” My mother yelped when the guard squeezed her arm to silence her.

The crowd held me back. Their slurs stalled me as much as their bodies. As they herded me out of the church, I reached out to touch my mother but stumbled as those gathered pressed back to the jail. My cry filled the air, unable as I was to offer support.

The sting of my last chance at a goodbye nettled.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lisa Acerbo is the Director of General Education and Liberal Arts at Post University. Her short stories and poetry appear in Scarlet, Sagebrush Review, Moonstone Arts, Poor Yorick Literary Journal, Ripples in Space, Universe in a Bottle by Flying Ketchup Press, Whatever Happened to Hansel and Gretel? by Fathom Publishing (a finalist in the 2024 Best Books Awards in the category of Fiction: Anthology), and Birds of Vermont Museum. When not writing, you can find her walking in the woods with her rescue dogs.

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Oct 10

New Release Blitz: Medically Necessary by Emily Carrington (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Medically Necessary

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance

Themes: LGBTQ+ /Gay, Medical Romance, Multicultural & Interracial, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Medically Necessary (#4)

Multiverse: SearchLight Academy (#12)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 300

Synopsis

Trust is Earned (Medically Necessary 1): Amir is a General Practitioner for magical creatures, particularly werewolves. When the leader of all werewolves comes to him with a problem that presents like psychosis, Amir needs help. Oliver’s nursing a grieving heart and a chip on his shoulder. Still, when Amir asks for his help, he jumps at the chance. The submissive wolf is beautiful.

Trust is Fraught (Medically Necessary 2): As the leader of the werewolves sinks further into insanity, Amir and Oliver fight prejudice and time to rescue their alpha. As Oliver and Amir are pulled deeper into the dangers of the psychic world, their love may be the only thing keeping them sane.

Trust is Sacred (Medically Necessary 3): Oliver’s terrible secret is eating him alive. Amir thinks purging and confession are medically necessary for spiritual and physical well-being, but Oliver will stop at almost nothing to hide his scars.

Can either of them learn to trust?

Excerpt

Medically Neccesary
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from Trust is Earned

He had tended to different members of the Tilthos and Merle werewolf packs over the years. Being positioned in southern Erie County, located in Upstate New York, had been the best thing he could do for his medical practice. Once he’d finally convinced Nicholas Black of the Merle pack in Buffalo, New York, to work with him as the werewolf equivalent of a midwife, his office was often full to bursting with pregnant female werewolves.

And it didn’t matter one bit that he spoke Werewelsh, the native language of most werewolves, with an accent or as only his fourth language. For Dr. Amir Othman, the prejudice he might have encountered because of his unusual parentage and his even more unique upbringing was all overshadowed by one truth. He was good at his job.

That didn’t make him less nervous to meet the alpha above all alphas. Tilthos Charles, alpha of his own pack and leader of the wolves of North and South America, was supposedly intimidating. All of which pointed to this truth: while Amir had healed every magical creature from djinns to kelpies, and even two dragons, he still worried about doing or saying the wrong thing in Tilthos Charles’s presence.

What bothered him even more was that he almost qualified as a lone wolf. A “packless loner,” in werewolf-speak, and that was not a compliment. He had a technical pack, run by Kreisha Alexander. When that particular alpha threw his weight around, everyone obeyed. Thankfully, that pack was in Washington, DC, nearly two hundred miles away. So, unless Alpha Alexander gave him an edict directly over the phone, as opposed to in an email or via snail mail, Amir could basically do as he chose.

Except, now the alpha above all alphas was coming to his office and would surely demand to know why he hadn’t switched his allegiance to a pack up here in New York. “It doesn’t have to be mine,” the most powerful werewolf on the planet would say, “but it can’t be you operating under your own aegis.”

So, when his assistant, Carly, sent him a message that Tilthos Charles was here, Amir’s pulse picked up. He responded to her message, saying he’d be in Exam Room Three in under five minutes. Then he did a deep breathing exercise, using the five senses trick he’d learned as a young wolf when he first realized he wanted to become a doctor and would be around blood and anxious magical creatures.

Five things he could see. His fidgety hands. By crossing his eyes, he could see his nose. His computer screen, which held everything his clinic had on the alpha above all alphas. Trying to look farther away in an attempt to slow his racing heart, he looked at the carpet in front of his desk. It was a boring brown that didn’t hold his attention. Finally, he looked at the door where he’d hung a poster of a Great Pyrenees, which was the closest breed to his family’s wolf forms, which were usually white.

Four things he could hear… The thudding of his heart. The rush of blood in his veins, which meant he was really keyed up still because even though he was a werewolf with acute hearing, he didn’t usually pay attention to the sounds of his own or others’ bodies. He struggled hard to refocus and heard the buzzing of the fluorescent light in the ceiling. He needed one more thing, so he made his chair creak. Oddly, the sound of something he could completely control helped him breathe a little easier.

Three things he could touch… The pen in his hand, which he’d been nervously twirling. He set it down. The feel of the chair under him, with his suit coat slung over the back. He could also feel his toes in his shoes. He breathed in more deeply than he’d managed so far and felt still a bit better.

Two things he could smell… He could no longer smell adrenaline. That was a good thing. He lifted his hand to his nose and smelled the soap he’d washed with maybe ten minutes ago.

And one thing he could taste, which was his cold lavender matcha latte.

Glancing at the clock icon on his computer, he saw it had been almost three minutes. Well, it was now or never. He doubted he’d be calmer if he sat here longer. So, he stood, straightened his white medical coat, and left the office. He listened to people talking quietly in the waiting room as he passed. He smiled at Carly, who mouthed, “Good luck.” Then he knocked on the door of Exam Room Three.

“Please come in.”

The voice that had responded was lightly accented, and he wondered why no one had ever told him Tilthos Charles was Hispanic. Then he was in the room, and he saw there were two people inside. The werewolf was certainly Tilthos Charles and the psychic vampire… Oh, yes. Tilthos Charles’s mate was a psychic vampire.

The alpha wolf sat on the exam table and his mate stood at his side. It was actually the psychic vampire who moved first, holding out his hand. “Dr. Othman, I’m Luis McLaughlin.”

Amir shook with him and then offered his hand to the burly werewolf. He saw the wolf’s eyes flicker quickly down to his hand and then away. Then his hand was taken and Tilthos Charles said, “Please to meet you, Dr. Othman.”

He sounded it too, but there was something bothering him. Well, and didn’t that make sense? Folks who were completely healthy rarely came to the doctor’s office.

“The pleasure is mine,” Amir returned, smiling at both of them. Then he retreated until he could sit on his stool. He watched Tilthos Charles’s eyes try to focus on him. “Forgive me, but while I have some information about your general health, I know very little about your visual impairment.”

He saw his guess had been right, that the alpha above all alphas indeed had something wrong with his vision.

“I told you he’d know,” said Luis as his mate brought out a folded white cane from behind his back.

“Forgive me the test, Dr. Othman,” said Charles, “but I’ve been seen by too many doctors who miss the obvious until I point it out to them.” He settled the cane on his leg, keeping one hand on it so it wouldn’t fall. “We’re here today, not because of my visual impairment, which has been unchanged since I was born, but because Luis is convinced there’s something…” He hesitated.

Luis said, “He’s distracted and agitated.”

Amir watched Charles’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. “I’m on edge because Agent Sowerby’s… Shit. I must be off-balance somehow if I’m about to spill state secrets.” He smiled ruefully at Amir. “Forgive me. Luis is right. I just can’t figure out how you’ll help me or if there is any help for the mess we’re about to be in.”

“May I examine you?”

Charles nodded.

Amir went through all the basics, including sending the alpha werewolf out to give him a urine sample. When the door closed, he turned to Luis. “How long has he been on edge?” He could smell the wolf’s almost panic.

“About three weeks. “

“Did anything precipitate his anxiety?”

Luis sighed. “I’m not sure what’s really private. I assume you’re bound by medical confidentiality?”

“I am.” He could see the psychic vampire hesitating. “Please tell me everything you can. I cannot be effective while only possessing half the facts.”

“My mate holds the belief that the head of SearchLight is going to expose all magical creatures.”

Amir’s mouth went dry. “I know Tilthos Charles probably has the ear of SearchLight. Is he correct?”

“Absolutely not, but I can’t convince him of that.”

“Has he talked to…” He couldn’t remember the name of the new head of SearchLight, only that Agent Weinberg had stepped down.

“I’ve tried getting Jack Sowerby to talk to him. No dice. Not that Agent Sowerby wouldn’t, but Charlie didn’t believe him.”

Amir held up his hand. The bathroom door had creaked open. He turned his head toward the exam room’s entrance for good measure.

Tilthos Charles entered. “Your assistant took my sample.”

Amir said soothingly, “Please, Alpha, sit down.”

He saw his words had the opposite effect to what he’d intended. Instead of resting on the table again, Tilthos Charles drew himself up. He was taller than Amir by half a foot and intimidating as hell.

Sitting on his stool, making himself as nonthreatening as possible, Amir put his hands palms up on his thighs. “I mean you no harm.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Shapeshifter Central

 

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Oct 07

New Release Blitz: Husky and Heartfelt by Jole Cannon (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Husky and Heartfelt

Series: Big Boys of Gilroy, Book Two

Author: Jole Cannon

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/07/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 75100

Genre: Contemporary, Romance, family-drama, gay, bear, teacher, second chance, coming out

Add to Goodreads

Description

Loneliness has taken its toll on Sean’s life. He once loved Hugo but let him go after college. After twelve years, he misses what they had, but dating a man could end his career as a high school gym teacher and varsity football coach. Staying in the closet has become a shield for him, one that is cracking.

Openly gay music teacher, Hugo, puts on a happy persona to his students and colleagues. He’s tried dating, but they always want what he isn’t: a masculine, well-toned man. Outside, everyone he knows says he’ll find the right guy, and he needs to be patient with himself. Inside, there is a hole in his heart no one can fill except for Sean.

When Sean finally talks to Hugo after avoiding him for years out of fear of being outed, a friendship sparks. Can this spark be enough to reignite the passion they had in college before Sean broke Hugo’s heart, or will it dwindle into nothing?

Excerpt

Husky and Heartfelt
Jole Cannon © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Sean

Friday, January 8th, 1999

Sean locked his car and walked toward the school building. Two dozen cars filled the school’s parking lot. Staff who worked year-round and a few teachers, who like him, came in on the Friday before school started. Everyone would be here on Monday for the mandatory meeting and workday.

Sean entered the front office. One woman sat behind the desk, rifling through papers and checking her computer. Her long blonde hair was tied in a bun on the back of her head.

“Good morning, Helen,” he said.

“Good morning, Sean. Ready for another semester?” She smiled.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’m going to scout a few of the Sophomores on the JV team for my team next year. I need to get them ready and in shape.”

“Sounds like you’re looking to win the state championship again.”

“It’s been too long. We have to take it back.”

“Best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

Sean walked to the back office and collected his stack of papers from his box.

He headed to the break room and grabbed a cup from the cupboard. The aroma of the coffee in the pot tantalized his nose. It was store-bought basic coffee, but Helen made sure it was strong. That was what he needed today.

He dropped a quarter into the donation tin and poured a cup. The first taste of the rich black liquid seeped down his throat, awakening his senses.

He sat at one of the small tables and started flipping through the stack of papers until he found his spring roster. Two classes of Sophomore PE, third period prep, and they’d capped him at twenty-five students this semester. He’d complained that trying to wrangle thirty kids while also coaching and training the football team was too draining. A minor threat to quit as head coach next year altered their decision. He enjoyed having some say in his class sizes. His roster this year was tight. He was going to fight for players on his varsity team. He’d watched a few freshmen who could be second string on his team, but the JV coaches would fight to keep them. It was going to be fun this semester building a team.

“Good morning, Sean.” A familiar voice hit his ears. The pleasant and positive tones of Hugo.

“Good morning, Hugo. How are you this morning?” Sean said.

“I’m doing great. How are you?”

How can someone be so lively this early in the morning?

“I’m doing good. I just need coffee to get my engine started.”

“I hear ya,” Hugo said. He placed some change in the bucket and poured himself a cup of coffee. He added powdered creamer and sugar.

Sean watched Hugo. Even in the morning, he appeared very well-dressed. No students, and he still wore his tan slacks, light blue button-up shirt with a gray bow tie, and matching sweater vest his belly pushed against. Hugo’s short blond hair and trimmed goatee rounded out his look. His smile reached his baby-blue eyes, magnified by his round glasses.

Still as handsome as he was in college. I want to run my fingers through that hair again. I wouldn’t mind rubbing my hands over his chest and belly again, either.

Over a decade had passed since Sean broke the man’s heart, and he still remembered what he looked and felt like.

“Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?” Sean asked. He’d avoided Hugo for six years. He couldn’t do it anymore. It killed him to distance himself from Hugo.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Hugo sat down and took a sip of his coffee. Sean read his face. The invitation surprised him. Sean didn’t blame him.

“What’s your schedule for the day?” Hugo asked.

“I’m going to plan the activities for the semester. Usual things. Basketball, some dodgeball, baseball if the weather holds up. What about you?”

“I’m going to choose the music for the semester. I want my advanced band and choir to perform together at the end-of-year rally. They work so hard, and I never get to put them together for a performance. I haven’t selected a song yet, but something will come to me. I talked to the advisor of the rally, and she said she would be happy to give me ten minutes at the rally.”

“That sounds exciting. I’m so happy for you.”

He was honest. He wanted to see Hugo succeed. The man had done so much for the music department, and Sean wanted to support him.

“It’s going to be a great semester,” Hugo said.

“I agree.”

“I’m sorry the team didn’t make it to state this year. I’m sure you’ll get there next year.”

“Thanks. They struggled at the beginning. A lot going on, but I’m sure we’ll do great next season,” Sean said. “I know your band and choir will be spectacular. I can’t wait to hear them.”

“Thank you,” Hugo said. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”

“Not really. Most of my weekends are me lounging around my house. Until baseball season starts.”

“Do you still see that guy I ran into you with at the game?”

“Bernard? Yeah. He’s a friend of mine. He’s a nice guy,” Sean said.

“That’s great.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll play my guitar, clean the house, and maybe watch a musical.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“Anyway, I better go. I’ll see you around.” Hugo stood to go. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Did Kirkpatrick talk to you yet?”

Matthew Kirkpatrick was the school principal. He was one reason Sean hadn’t come out. Kirkpatrick and some of the administrators, along with the school superintendent, disapproved of same-sex relationships. They weren’t openly hostile—that would violate the union agreements—but everyone knew their position.

“What would he need to talk to me about?” Sean stiffened.

He’d been careful. Bernard was the last man to visit him, and that was over a year ago. He stayed away from places that could incriminate his sexuality, and no one came to his house.

“He mentioned sending some of us to the conference in Austin next month. I couldn’t find details, but it’s a weekend like usual. You and I were the only ones on the list from our district.”

Sean eased up. He didn’t love attending conferences, but there were worse things the district could ask him to do. He’d be able to spend time with Hugo. Maybe take Bernard’s advice and let him know how he felt.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Sean said. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

Sean sat in thought. He’d need to broach the subject of being gay first.

How can I tell Hugo I’m gay? I convinced him I wasn’t. What will he think if I tell him now?

Sean walked down the path to the gym. The school stood on a large plot of land. Beautiful patches of grass separated the buildings. This gave the campus an open feeling. Sean did his student teaching in a one-building school and agreed he’d never do that again. He enjoyed the spaciousness of Gilroy High.

Sean unlocked the boys’ locker room and made his way to the office.

The office held three desks, one for each male gym teacher, a cabinet with the first aid kit, extra gym equipment, and odds and ends they’d collected over the years.

Sean sat at his desk and powered up his computer. He sipped his coffee and rummaged through papers.

He pulled out the JV roster and started highlighting the players he thought had potential for the varsity team. He was losing more than half his team this year when they graduated. His current juniors needed a lot of help, but he had a plan. Threaten to replace them with the new juniors next year and that would light a fire under them.

A few names popped out. Beau Thompson, Clive Martin, and Stephen Miller. Those boys were fantastic. All three freshmen, and all three could play varsity as sophomores for him next year, if their parents signed off. They would form a powerful defensive line.

He was finishing up the first string of players when there was a knock at the door and Matthew Kirkpatrick walked in.

The principal was tall, over six feet, and glared down at people. This was his fourth year at Gilroy High, but Sean had never got to know him outside of staff meetings. He never visited the teachers, he never had meetings with parents or guardians, he did nothing but deal with paperwork and discipline students. Most of the staff disliked him, and he scared the students. It was fine for students to respect you and behave as a result, but he scared them in a way that upset Sean. He’d raised his voice at students and yelled at his team, but they knew why. Matthew yelled to dominate, not to garner students’ attention when they were being rambunctious. He’d heard Kirkpatrick through the walls of his office shouting at a kid who spit gum on the floor.

“Hello, Matthew. How are you this morning?”

Sean had learned not to call him Matt. The man didn’t appreciate the familiarity of first names and wanted them to use surnames. He gave up the fight when everyone called him, and one another, by their first names, but still refused to let his own name be shortened.

“I am doing well.” His voice echoed through the small office. “Mr. Janssen said you were on campus today. I wanted to talk to you about the conference in Austin. I think you would be a good fit as someone to represent our school. Would you like to attend? I will send you and Mr. Janssen.” Kilpatrick never used contractions. If Sean didn’t know better, he’d say the man was allergic to them.

“I think this would be an excellent opportunity for us. When is it?”

“It will be the last weekend of February. You will fly out on the twenty-fifth and return on the twenty-eighth.”

“I’d be happy to go. It’ll be a great opportunity.”

“Good. I will have the paperwork ready by next Friday so we can get clearance for you both to attend.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“No, that is all.”

“Thank you for visiting. I’ll talk to you later.”

“One more thing,” Kilpatrick said. “We could only acquire one room, so I am going to have you share with Mr. Janssen. I am sorry that we could not get you into your own room. If it becomes an issue rooming with Mr. Janssen, please let me know and we will talk about getting you alternative accommodation.”

An issue? Because he’s gay, right? You can’t say that out loud though, you bigoted asshole.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I will see you at the staff meeting on Monday morning.”

Matthew held out his hand. Sean shook hands.

“Goodbye, Mr. Patterson.”

“Bastard,” Sean said after he was sure Matthew was out of earshot. He picked up his phone and punched in a series of numbers. “Pick up, pick up. Please be there.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Jole Cannon is a high school math and math programming teacher. When he’s not shaping the mathematical minds of tomorrow, he’s playing video games with his partner, watching television, doing math for fun, and working on his master’s in history.

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Oct 03

(No title)

 

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Themes: Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ /Gay, LGBTQ+ /Sex/Gender Shifters & MPreg, Murder Mystery, Vampires

Series: Splintered Bloodlines (#2)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 74

Description

A ritual decades ago leads Beau to the one person he never expected to meet: his fated mate.

Detective Beau Kirkland has to work directly with the local vampire house to find a murderer, but that’s the easy part. The difficult part? His attraction to Garrett Dawson’s, one of House Saridan’s top hunters.

Garrett Dawson’s methods are brutal but very effective, even for a vampire. When a mortal detective begins working with House Saridan, Garrett finds himself unable to ignore the attraction between them.

Excerpt

Spellbound (Splintered Bloodlines 2)
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mychael Black

Garrett

There were few things I truly loved in this world, and one was currently in my hand as I took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor of Saridan Tower. No one else shared my addiction to the most amazingly sweet coffee concoction currently sending copious amounts of caffeine through my system. I stepped off the elevator on the top floor and headed down the hall to the usual conference room. I didn’t get any farther than the doorway, though. I simply froze, body alternating between hot and cold.

Normally, these meetings were just the three of us lead Venari and Deacon.

Not today, apparently.

Beau Kirkland looked up at me, eyes wide for a moment. No one said a word — not even Deacon. Somehow, I got my feet to move and sat opposite the omega cop. It took more effort than I really had this morning to focus on work and not the stupidly hot human across from me.

I didn’t go for twinks like the others. I liked my men older, more experienced. Beau fit that requirement with ease. His short brown hair bore a little bit of gray here and there, and his dark chocolate-colored eyes studied me whenever I glanced at his face. He was a few inches shorter than my own six-three, and unlike most omegas, he was a bit muscular due to his job. Dressed in his dark navy uniform, he presented the most fucking delectable package on the planet. I cursed silently and tore my gaze from his when all blood began rushing south.

Deacon cleared his throat and looked at each of us. “I’m sure you all know one another, but for protocol’s sake, I’d like to introduce Officer Beau Kirkland. He’s our liaison within the police department. He’s also the one handling this latest case on their end. Officer Kirkland, these are my head Venari: Nikolai Hart, Victor Pace, and Garrett Dawson.”

Beau nodded. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

We exchanged the usual pleasantries before Deacon continued. “I’m stepping back for now,” he said, glancing at me briefly, “but I’m here if needed. To that end, the table’s yours, Officer Kirkland.”

“Thank you,” Beau said. He handed each of us several folders. “Eight victims so far, all completely drained. Eyewitnesses have seen the perp in passing, but no one can agree on a description.”

“Could be a Lupyn,” Vic said as he flipped through the contents of one of the folders.

“That was my assumption, but you all know far better than we do if that’s the case.”

I went through the first folder in front of me. Crime scene photos, pics of the victims post-mortem, notes, and statements. I scanned over everything and couldn’t disagree with the shapeshifter idea. It would make sense.

“What do you need from us?” Nik asked Beau. “We’re more than happy to work with you and your folks.”

I’m not sure I would’ve gone that far, but we did need to get this monster off the streets. I might not have been particularly nuts about humans, but that didn’t mean I wished them dead. My methods were saved for my own kind.

Beau passed out papers to us. “These are the last few places he was sighted. He’s a vampire, so we humans are outgunned here. We can help corner him, but capture is a different story altogether.”

Nik nodded. “Agreed. Well, we’re here and ready to go hunting.”

I didn’t miss the slight grimace on Beau’s face before he managed to school it into something more neutral. Apparently, neither did Deacon, but the man just remained silent.

“Thank you,” Beau said. “Please keep me updated on everything. In the meantime, I’ll be at the station downtown, trying to narrow our possible location leads.”

“Thank you for coming to us,” Deacon said. “I guarantee we will be in touch. These guys are my best hunters, and I have no doubt they’ll find this son of a bitch.”

Despite the situation, Beau smiled. “Thank you very much.”

The others left the room, though Beau shot me a cryptic look before stepping out the door. I stayed seated, knowing Deacon had something to say. Sure enough, as soon as we were alone, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Is this going to be an issue?”

I could’ve played dumb, but he already knew everything. There wasn’t any point. “No. I’m fully capable of working with him.”

Deacon raised one eyebrow. “Really? Because pheromones say otherwise.”

I managed to avoid scowling at him. Lupyns were more sensitive to things like that than Venari. “Unlike Nik, I’m perfectly capable of keeping my dick in my pants, Deacon.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He was far older than us, and being under his scrutiny made even me feel like a scolded kid sometimes. “Don’t let it get the best of you, Garrett. His job involves danger, and you can’t protect him from that unless you’re mated and bonded completely.”

“Who said I was –” I snapped my mouth shut at his glare.

“I’m old, not an idiot.” Deacon leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “Either fight this until the perp is in custody or fucking claim Beau. I can’t have you out there distracted. Understood?”

“Yes,” I replied, biting back a growl.

“Good. Dismissed.”

I stood abruptly, grabbed the folders and paper, and left the conference room. I made it halfway down the hall before Nik and Vic both cornered me. Fuck.

“That didn’t go well, did it?” Vic asked.

“No,” I snarled.

I continued walking, and they followed me to the elevator. I stabbed the DOWN button and had to unclench my fist before I gave into the urge to hit something. In the door’s reflection, I saw Nik and Vic exchange cautious glances.

We all stepped into the elevator and took it to the lobby. Without another word said, it was a given where we’d wind up. Colby’s was the city’s best diner with the most amazing coffee blends. Maybe the combination of carbs, sugar, and caffeine would calm me down because just the thought of claiming Beau sure as fuck wasn’t doing it.

Quite the opposite, actually.

I was hard as a fucking rock.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

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Sep 30

New Release Blitz: It Begins by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: It Begins

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/30/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 45700

Genre: Horror, gay romance, explicit sex, group sex, sex games, first time, students, waistcoat love, happy ending, Halloween ‘fun.’

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Description

Byron, PhD student and waistcoat admirer, knows about yearning and betrayal. It’s been four years since the love of his life, Ruben, walked off without explanation. Byron dreams of midnight sex he can’t fully remember and a beloved man with dancing eyes. If only Ruben would return… But life moves on. At least it did until you-know-who unexpectedly pitches a tent in the garden, provoking ghosts from the past as well as Byron’s aching heart.

Ruben understands how to push Byron’s buttons. But he doesn’t know why someone is stalking them or why his memories are haunted by students playing a naked truth-dare game in an ancient room. What happened on the claw-marked table covered with crispy skin flakes?

Halloween draws close, and with it comes a rollercoaster ride of sex, fear, and love. At the back of their minds, a chilling, familiar voice reminds Byron and Ruben of a game from long ago and a pact that can’t be abandoned or left unfinished.

True love never dies.

Excerpt

It Begins
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Oxford. October 31st, 1980

Sid

It begins on Halloween with seven students sitting awkwardly around a table damaged by scratches and deep claw markings an animal must have caused: Elvin, Ed, Vernon, Lily, Veronica, Ola, and me, Sid. Although it’s my first time here, I recognise Ed and Vernon from lectures.

Ola dragged me here in the rain and the cold, all very dramatic. To be honest, I’m surprised no one’s wearing a silly Halloween witch hat or something. I didn’t want to join a crappy society, but she said it would help me make friends. I’m ashamed she noticed I hadn’t made any. She’s weird though. One time, I bumped into her in my dorm corridor, and she was carrying a book about embalming and taxidermy. I asked her what on earth she was reading. She laughed. Beneath the lamp, her face reminded me of an old, rotting potato.

“Just in case I need to steal a body,” she said, leering like a rabid dog seeking flesh to bite into. I realise she was joking, but I was terrified. Still am.

She catches me studying the others and elbows me in the ribs, whispering, “You’re staring. Try to fit in.”

Oh, god. Already, I’ve embarrassed her. Earlier, when we were chatting about the group, Ola’s unblinking eyes reminded me of an owl. Something about her isn’t right. She’s eighteen, the same age as me, but she seems way older, and her accent slips between posh and old-fashioned. I’m not even sure she’s a student. I asked her what course she’s on. She made a growling sound and said, “Fun and games.”

Right, yeah, very helpful, not.

Why are the others in this stinky room when they could be winning awards or making conquests? Vernon’s trying and failing to impress Ed and the women. Having sex is probably the limit of his desires, but I don’t know for sure. He licks his lips often, eyes on Lily’s chest. He reminds me of an orangutan with his red hair and long limbs. His desperation is not appealing.

Lily is an ice queen from a Hollywood movie, wearing a light blue cloak and matching sapphire earrings. Who the fuck wears a cloak? Those shiny stones could pay my rent for the rest of my life. The only clue about her motives is how her body constricts as if kicked when Veronica inches closer.

Ola told me earlier that Veronica is Chinese. Veronica doesn’t seem happy to be here or to exist at all. Her long dark hair is lank and unwashed. She wears beige, apologetic clothing.

Ed is a wanker extraordinaire and a bully. I encountered him during Fresher’s Week, when he treated me like a servant, saying I should fetch his drinks and be grateful. The bastard was incredulous that I was invited into any space he frequented, and he showed this by crossing his muscular arms, diminishing me with a scornful what-the-fuck expression. I expect he’s bored with college, money, and winning. Maybe he wants a different experience. To fail? To be hurt? Degradation? And now I’m aroused and also sickened, which is a surprisingly thrilling combination.

The person I’m most interested in is Elvin, Elvin, Elvin. Inside my head, his name turns into a soft, sexy whisper. The guy’s super handsome, brown-skinned, fit, with hair I wish I could play with. Shit, though, he’s wearing a waistcoat with an actual historical watch fob, for fuck’s sake. First a cloak and now a waistcoat. What’s up with these people?

Elvin sits stiffly at the table head, peering at a neat, organised folder. When I skimmed his society diaries, pinned to the board on the door, I noticed he handwrote them with an old-fashioned ink pen, which I’m guessing belongs to him.

Maybe he’s as lonely as me. Why else wear a ridiculous, tight waistcoat if not to keep himself from spilling out? Everything about him fascinates and draws me in. I’ve often followed him around campus, staying out of sight. I’m good at that. Elvin’s always alone, the same as me. I can’t begin to guess what he’s doing here.

Maybe the most pressing question is, what do I want from this unlikely group of students? The answer is tragically simple—to escape the emptiness eating at me since starting college and probably all my life. For years, I toiled to be the first kid from the children’s home to reach Oxford University. Now I’m here—urgh. When did I last enjoy anything? I want to feel, to know I’m alive instead of chasing rich arseholes who beat me on every level.

Ola has forgotten about me. I expect her act of charity is complete now she’s dragged me here. She wanders away and perches on the table beside Lily, admiring the obscene cloak trying to butter up Veronica while all the time resembling a lizard inside a human skin Yuk. Maybe she really has been mummified. Each time she moves her hand, nasty scabs of dried skin land on the table. Ugh. Lily’s trying, and failing, not to appear revolted.

Everyone’s chatting except me and Elvin. I’m used to being on the outside but still feel utterly alone and lonely. Where and how should I sit? Would it be better for me to leave?

Okay, that’s it, I’m off.

I stand, trying to make as little fuss as possible when I slip away.

One person notices my discomfort: Elvin. He pats the chair next to him. “Good evening. You’re welcome. Please, don’t be nervous. Sit, and let’s chat.” BBC accent, bright, hazelnut eyes holding me. And look—the fountain pen peeping from a tiny, embroidered breast pocket. I’d failed to notice his gorgeous, cheeky, shy, irresistible smile though.

Wow.

Sit with Elvin? Oh, yeah. I hurtle across the room gracelessly and gratefully fall into the seat he’s patting. “Thanks. Thank you.” I’m sure he knows about the rip in my jacket, which I bought from a charity shop, and the hole in my shoe.

Elvin watches me intently, the doctor assessing symptoms, not missing a trick. “What’s Ola told you? Our quaint little society must seem rather unusual to newcomers. We had to request permission to use the room.” He grins at me conspiratorially.

Room? I don’t know what he means, so I smile hopefully, my heart racing.

He waits politely, and a little impatiently, for my answer, pen poised, ready to add a ‘pass’ tick against my name.

Like always in this hellish shithole, I don’t understand the rules of the game. “Er, well, she told me you’re doing social research for your studies. I could use the research, too, for my dissertation about peer pressure. And make friends.” Oh god. Why did I admit I have no mates to the most handsome guy I’ve ever met?

He waits for more, watching, always watching.

I’m tired enough to give up, roll over, and die. Why do the students always want more? Don’t they know I have nothing to offer people who own everything.

But I very much want to impress Elvin, so I try again. There are no clues about why this room is special among the many hideous paintings of horses or the stylish furniture. If I had to guess, I’d say this is a place where no one has ever been kind. “It’s a great room. The library is awesome,” I say, referring to a dark corner, which contains a small library filled with weird shit about reincarnation, from what I can see.

Elvin’s shoulders sag. He plays dismissively with his pricey pen. Whatever it was, I’ve failed the test. “Mm-hmm. We’re tired of library learning. We wish to test the boundaries.”

I imagine his life as a series of boarding schools and posh tea parties. However, I really, really want to know him, so I try again. “The room suits your purpose.” It’s a phrase I heard on the news last night in the common room. The broadcaster discussed an ancient, supposedly haunted pub. The new landlord said his ales all bore spooky names.

It works. Elvin leans towards me, chin in his hand, eyes burning with undisguised interest. “Indeed. Did you get a chance to explore the library?”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!

She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!

For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.

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Sep 23

New Release Blitz: Cryofactory Cryptid by Brenda Murphy (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Cryofactory Cryptid

Author: Brenda Murphy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/23/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 27500

Genre: Horror, Lit/genre, horror, paranormal, urban fantasy, humor, lesbian, urban explorers, cryogenics lab, genetically modified creature

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Description

When urban exploration photographer Cat McIntyre and her wife Lelia stumble upon a gruesome discovery in an abandoned cryofactory, their lives are thrown into chaos. Pursued by relentless security forces, they barely escape only to realize something even more terrifying is stalking them.

The creature in the shadows isn’t just any predator. It’s intelligent. It’s deadly. And it may be tied to Cat in ways she never imagined. As the women fight for survival, Cat must confront a buried secret from her past, one that has unleashed a monster.

When the cryofactory’s enforcers strike again, the bond between Cat and the beast becomes undeniable, forcing Cat and Lelia to make an impossible choice.

A campy horror thriller, Cryofactory Cryptid is a tale of survival, identity, and the unexpected bonds of found family.

Excerpt

Cryofactory Cryptid
Brenda Murphy © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The cryofactory door lock gave way with little effort. Cat advanced her crowbar and used it to lever the door open wide enough for them to slip inside. She winced as the screech of metal on rusty metal echoed through the chill night.

“So much for stealth mode,” Lelia whispered.

Cat turned to Lelia. “This entire row of warehouses is abandoned. The nearest house is over a mile away. I’ve watched this place for weeks. Don’t worry.” She used her shoulder to shove the door open wider and shone her flashlight across the concrete floor before sweeping it over the open room. “The cops don’t even patrol over here. Nobody cares about this place. Tweekers don’t even use it.”

“Then why did we have to climb a fence to get in here? And park so fucking far away? What is wrong with me that I let you talk me into doing this URBEX stuff?”

Cat turned back to Lelia, her face half lit by the flashlight glow. “Cuz you love me.”

Lelia nodded. “Yeah, I do. Let’s get moving. I don’t want to get busted. My mom’s still pissed about the last time she had to bail us out for trespassing.”

“We paid her back.” Glass shards crunched under Cat’s boots as she walked ahead.

“Not the point.” Lelia followed close behind her.

Moonlight filtered into the cavernous space through broken skylights and clerestory windows along the south side of the building, lighting the space with a cool white glow. Cat clipped her flashlight to her sweatshirt and picked up her camera. She framed a shot of computer desks haphazardly piled together against a door surrounded by toppled desk chairs. File cabinets lay on their sides, their contents spilling out. Dirty rain-warped paper littered the floor. “They sure left in a hurry.”

“As should we. I don’t like how this place feels. Or smells.” Lelia stepped up next to her. “You want me to video like last time?”

“Yeah, let me pull my mask up.” Cat pulled her face cover into place and tugged her hat lower.

Skittering rodent sounds followed them as they worked their way around the room, snapping shots of the disarray. Lelia followed Cat closely, filming her adventures. Cat arrived at a door. Its glass panes were spider-webbed, the safety glass hanging out of the top frame. A doorplate identified the space as Laboratory Nineteen.

Lelia lowered her phone. “What kinda place was this? Did you get the bullet holes on the south wall? Did the cops raid this place? There’s fucking tear gas canisters everywhere.”

“Couldn’t find out much online. Cryogenics. Sperm vault. Assisted reproduction research type stuff. Nothing about anything illegal. Are you getting those rat noises? I want to make sure I have them for the video.” Cat stepped over a puddle. “Watch the water.”

“It’s never water in these places.” Lelia walked around the edge of the suspicious puddle. “How much more do you want to explore?”

“Just a bit more. You okay?” Cat turned back to Lelia.

“Not at all. This place is creepy. And it’s rank.”

“Creepier than the mental hospital?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Cat studied Lelia’s face lit by the moonlight. She leaned forward, pulled her face mask down, and kissed her cheek. “Come on, babe, just a little more. I want enough for two episodes and some B-roll.”

“Fine.” Lelia lifted her chin. “But we’re adding this to the ‘you owe me’ column.”

“Fair.” Cat turned and stepped over the threshold into the lab with Lelia behind her. She crouched down, trusting Lelia to get a pan of the room before she proceeded to photograph it. She stared at rust-red spatters on the black and white tile floor before she snapped a few shots of them.

“Holy fuck.” Lelia gripped Cat’s shoulder and dug her fingers in. “Look.”

Cat stood. On the lab bench before her lay what remained of a body. “Oh fuck.” She forced herself to look at it. Covered in the shredded remains of a tattered white uniform shirt was a human torso. Neck bones and sinew stuck out of the shirt collar where the head should have been. One arm remained, its fingers curled around a folding knife.

“That explains the smell.” Cat moved closer to the remains. Past the juicy stage and sheltered from the elements, the body was desiccated. Its rib cage was exposed. Nothing of its internal organs remained. One leg was canted at an odd angle, the other missing below the knee, the exposed bone cracked and splintered. Cat took another shot of the body. Dried bloodstains filled the top of the workbench.

“Get away from it. We need to call the cops.” Lelia’s voice quavered.

“To tell them we found a body while trespassing?” Cat moved along the bench and took another few photos.

“We can’t just leave it here. That’s someone’s person.” Lelia stepped closer to Cat.

Cat bent to study the knife clutched in the body’s hand. Matted hair stuck out along the blood-smeared blade. “We’ll make an anonymous call when we get home.”

“They’ll be able to trace it. Come on. We have to get out of here.” Lelia shoved her phone into her coat pocket. “I’m done with this.”

“Babe. Calm down. I’ll get a burner phone.”

She framed the body and fired off another series of photos as she moved around it from different angles.

“What the fuck are you going to do with those photos?”

“I don’t know. It seems wrong to not record this. What the fuck could have done that?” Cat glanced toward Lelia. “A bear?”

“Are you high? How the hell would a bear get in here? When was the last time you saw a bear in the city outside of the zoo?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. But look at it; it’s ripped wide open. There’s all that black hair on the knife.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“I’m not stupid.” Cat backed away from the body.

The snap and crackle of a two-way radio echoed through the building. Cat swallowed on a dry throat. She shut her flashlight off and lifted her finger to her lips. Lelia nodded her understanding. Slowly they lowered themselves to the floor and duckwalked to the wall next to a bank of low cabinets. Cat gripped her camera close to her chest and pressed herself against the wall.

Garbled radio conversation mixed with the crunch of footsteps grew louder. Cat set her teeth on her lip. Lelia clasped her hand tight. She focused on her breathing, willing herself not to panic. Cat peeped around the corner of the cabinet. Two pairs of tactical boots. She shrank back against the wall. A light flashed in the upper part of the room, the bright beam sweeping from left to right. It paused on the body on the bench before moving around the room again slowly.

“Anything?”

“Nah. Just Hank. Hanging out.”

“Ha ha. You’re so funny, Chuck. I saw them come in here.”

“So what, Dawn? They’ll end up like Hank. Or we’ll catch them when they come out. Come on. My lunch’s getting cold.”

Their voices faded. Cat lifted Lelia’s hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. They waited until they no longer heard footsteps before they stood.

“Out. Now,” Lelia whispered. She tugged Cat’s hand, pulling her close to her. “If you stop to take one more picture, I swear I’ll divorce you.”

Cat switched to a red lens for her flashlight. “They’ll be watching the front door.”

Lelia huffed a breath. “So, what do we do?”

“The drone photos I took showed a loading dock out back. We can go out that way. Part of the fence is down. We can scoot through it. Or over it. Hop the guardrail and follow the drainage ditch along the interstate back to our car.”

Staying low, they exited the lab and turned toward the back of the building.

Clouds scuttled across the moon, leaving the space in deep darkness. Cat swept the red beam back and forth as they picked their way through the cluttered warehouse. The scrape of metal on metal echoed through the room. Lelia yipped and bumped into Cat’s back. The short hairs on Cat’s neck stood up. The hum of machinery kicking over and the grinding of gears above their head drew her gaze and she raised her flashlight. Muted by the red lens, it failed to illuminate the far reaches of the ceiling. The floor vibrated under her thick-soled boots, followed by a rhythmic wet thumping sound.

Lelia dug her nails into Cat’s hand. “Run.”

They barreled toward the loading dock. The concrete stairs leading to the dock were littered with bits of bones. They charged up the steps to the loading door. The large roller door was shut. Cat slung her pack off her back and pulled her pry bar from the front pocket. She wedged the edge of it under the door and forced the upper end down. The metal door bent with the force but did not move. She lifted the blade and pushed the edge farther under the door. With both hands she shoved down harder. The blade slid sideways and popped free. The bar spun toward her; the sharp end jabbed into Cat’s hand.

“Fuck me.” Blood welled up from the wound. Bright red, it dripped onto the dusty cement.

“Forget it. There’s a window.” Lelia jerked Cat’s jacket. “Come on.”

Cat wiped her hand on her jeans. Lelia strode to the window over a desk next to the dock. She swept her hand over the desk, shoving clipboards and papers to the floor.

“You first.” Cat held her hand out for Lelia.

Lelia clasped Cat’s hand and clambered to the top of the desk. Cat passed her the pry bar. The window lock lever was rusted shut. Lelia bashed the rusty lock with the end of the pry bar, knocking it loose. With two hands she wedged the flat end of the bar under the window and the sill. She pressed down with her body weight, forcing the window open.

The moon returned from behind the clouds, lighting up the warehouse. Lelia passed the pry bar back to Cat before she hoisted herself up onto the sill.

Silhouetted in the window, she turned to Cat. “You can step on the railing from here then down to the loading dock. There’s glass everywhere. Be careful.”

Lelia disappeared from Cat’s view. The sensation of being watched pricked her skin. Cat glanced over her shoulder. In the pale moonlight, the faint outline of a form on all fours stood out against the darkness. She lifted her camera and snapped off a shot.

“Come on, Cat. Hurry.” Lelia’s desperate tone drove her, and she climbed through the window. Brown glass littered the loading dock, and the parking lot sparkled beneath the full moon.

“There.” Lelia pointed to a bent and twisted section of fence. They bolted across the weedy parking lot and dove through the opening into the wooded highway buffer.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Brenda Murphy (she/her) writes erotic romance. Her most recent novel, Double Six, is the 2020 Golden Crown Literary Society winner for Erotic Novels, and Knotted Legacy, the third book in the Rowan House series, made the 2018 The Lesbian Review’s Top 100 Vacation Reads list. You can catch her musings on writing, books, and living with wicked ADHD on her blog Writing While Distracted. She loves sideshows and tattoos and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local library, she wrangles twins, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a free short story, information on book signings, appearances, work in progress snippets, previews and sneak-peeks, sign up for my email list at:

Website: www.brendalmurphy.com

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