Jun 16

New Release Blitz: To Defend a Damaged Duke by Fearne Hill (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  To Defend a Damaged Duke

Series: Regency Rossingley, Book Two

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/17/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 76700

Genre: Historical Romance, historical romance, gay, UK, aristocracy, rich man/poor man, second chance romance, hurt-comfort, humorous, slow burn, reunited, opposites attract, scoundrels, brothel owner, horses, horse racing, scheming ingenues

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Description

Benedict Fitzsimmons, the reclusive fourteenth Duke of Ashington, nurses a secret desire for his own sex he’d much prefer nobody ever found out about. Indeed, having only ever given in to his urges as a youth—and with disastrous consequences—he never imagined they would. Preferring the company of his racehorses to people, Benedict spends most of his time working on estate matters, longing for a lost love he can never have.

When an anonymous letter threatening to expose Benedict lands in his lap, he’s shocked to the core. He doesn’t have any enemies; why would anyone want to destroy him? Terrified, and with his family’s impeccable reputation at stake, Benedict joins forces with loyal friend, the Earl of Rossingley, to track down the culprit.

Risen from poverty and with a sordid past he’d rather forget, Tommy Squire has a mind dedicated to growing his business ventures and a heart shaped from stone. When the man who once broke it in a life-changing betrayal requests Tommy’s help to avoid a scandal, he finds himself embroiled in a daring scheme to bring down a blackmailer. As their plot unfolds, Tommy realises it’s more than his former lover he’s endeavouring to protect, it’s his battered heart.

This second book in the Rossingley Regency romance series turns to friends of the fourteenth earl of Rossingley, Lando Duchamps-Avery, who once again has a hand in the shenanigans set in London’s wealthy Ton society. This book can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt

To Defend a Damaged Duke
Fearne Hill © 2025
All Rights Reserved

London, 1813

At the back of the fruit and veg market in Convent Garden, a showman scraped a living. Every Tuesday and Friday, for more years than Tommy Squire had been alive. Same patch, same old rickety stall, same old rickety routine. Same anticlimactic finale. Declaring himself the world’s greatest magician, he’d hold aloft a playing card, purse his wrinkled, whiskery lips, and pretend to blow the spots off it. Tommy had watched him fumble the cards up his sleeve hundreds of times; seen him drop them on occasion too. And yet, on his mother’s grave, even as he wriggled a grubby knave down from his elbow to his wrist, the old sot still swore it was magic.

Tommy was reminded of that showman whenever the lordling’s black eyes, like two jet pearls, fluttered closed. Usually, the memory came seconds after the lordling’s throat made a helpless little whine, speaking its own language, directly into Tommy heart. It heralded the shortest sliver of time before he spilled into Tommy’s mouth and then pressed his lips against Tommy’s, tasting himself on them. Whispering sweet nonsense.

Those were the times Tommy remembered that old showman and his frayed cards, and it was only years later he understood what he meant. The daft sod had spun the story to himself so many times, believing in the magic of it, he ended up fooling himself.

*

“Our young lordling’s here, Tommy. Waiting in the best room.” Ma Duggan’s expression soured, matching the sallow hue of her downturned sneer. “Taken off upstairs already to get hisself ready. He’s asked for you.”

Fancying himself as a bit of an actor—he had to be in this business if he wanted paying right—Tommy pretended not to notice young Dickie flouncing out of the parlour. Nor Sidney’s jealous sulk. After all, who could blame them? The handsome lordling had caught everyone’s eye.

“I’ll be there when I’ve finished me tea. Won’t hurt him to wait a minute or two.”

Tommy could control his face, keep it blank. And his voice flat. But the mad thumping in his chest? Not a chance. No more than he could prevent the spirited rush of joy to his head, nor the twitching of his prick. Not when his beloved raven-haired beauty impatiently paced six feet above his head.

He carried up a jug of ale, not pausing to check himself in the glass hung at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t need to; Tommy’s pretty looks hadn’t waned since he examined them last. Dress him in a corset and stays, and Sidney declared he could work alongside the girls in the bawdy house on the corner. He scratched at the door, thrice, his pulse hammering.

“Tommy. At last. I was growing quite weak with want.”

Already, the lordling had removed his hat and coat, all the better for Tommy to admire his raven locks curling over his stiff collar. Unfastening his cravat with an urgent flourish, he was as eager as Tommy, more so, if the swelling in his breeches was any measure. They were of an age, the raven and Tommy—Tommy eighteen years young to the raven’s seventeen. Yet both so sure.

“My lord.” In the demure fashion he’d perfected, Tommy bobbed his head. The lordling blushed with delight. He relieved Tommy of the laden tray, and his plump mouth twisted into a smile. His hooded eyes, dark as night, latched onto Tommy’s.

“Afterwards with this, Tommy. My…my need for you can wait no longer.”

The best room wasn’t much to crow about. Nothing but a slender bed with a mean pillow, worn sheets, and a wooden chair upon which his handsome raven had tossed his coat. Around a water pitcher, his paying guest’s silk cravat lay unfurled like a banner. Tommy’s threadbare neckcloth joined it.

“Then you must have at me, my lord.” Behind his ribs, his soft heart trembled. “I am yours.”

In pulled up undershirts and pushed down breeches, they tussled on the bed. A pair of kittens let loose in the sunshine. Tommy kissed his raven on the mouth, the only madge he’d ever kissed, but then none of the other madges tasted so sweet. Or returned his kisses with such unmatched desire.

“Tommy,” the lordling groaned as Tommy’s hand found his heavy cock. Already, his smooth fingers gripped Tommy’s more modest member with a familiarity borne of a summer of snatched rendezvous in this simple, private chamber. “Want you,” he sighed, his promise slipping over Tommy like satin. “Forever.”

That first release, as always, came blessedly fast. A race, a relief, a ritual. And if Tommy let his mind go there, it was an unhappy reminder of his true purpose—to let the raven pay for Tommy’s clever hand, and handsomely too. The prettiest youth in the house must pleasure him as he saw fit. That the lordling only ever asked for the plainest of pleasures, and that he pleasured Tommy in return, that he whispered words of affection and held Tommy in his arms as they dozed awhile afterwards, were transactions they kept to themselves.

“Alas, I have but a few more minutes,” the lordling said, wiping Tommy tenderly. Dropping the cloth to the dusty floor, he scooped him up against his chest. “Mama and Grandmama are conducting the serious business of purchasing hat ribbons at Madame Bellevue’s. I am to join them. Apparently”—and at this, he blessed Tommy with a wicked grin—“I am in dire need of two new cravats.”

Tommy fumbled for the one so hastily discarded earlier and pretended to examine it, rubbing the fine fabric between finger and thumb.

“Goodness, yes. This is so last season,” he drawled in an approximation of the lordling’s own cultured vowels, making the other laugh. A most joyful sound, Tommy wanted to capture it and pin it like a moth.

The lordling caught the length of silk as Tommy tossed it aside. Then, easily, because he was so much bigger than Tommy, he rolled him onto his back. Taking Tommy’s slim wrist above his head, the lordling turned it over and pressed his lips to the thin skin, tracing the fragile tangle of blue veins with his tongue as if a path leading to his wildest dreams.

“You dare mock me, Master Tommy?” His scolding was ruined by an escaping giggle. “Then I shall punish you by tying you to the bed. With last season’s cravat, too; oh, the shame of it.”

Pouting, Tommy fluttered his eyelashes. With his fair curls and eyes the docile blue of a china doll, he was a picture of innocence. “That is no punishment at all, my lord.”

“Don’t be too hasty, Tommy.” The lordling wound a loop of cloth around Tommy’s wrist, playfully pulling it tight. “I haven’t yet outlined my plans for when I have you all tied up and at my mercy.”

Anything. You can do anything.

He kissed Tommy’s mouth. “I shall tease you, relentlessly,” he murmured, his tongue stealing Tommy’s breath. “Starting here.”

With his wrist now secured to the bedstead, Tommy tugged a little, sighing with pleasure as lips ghosted along his jaw. Groaning, the lordling buried his face into Tommy’s neck.

“Why do you always taste so divine, Tommy?”

Tommy rolled his hips, his prick hard for his lover once more. “Perhaps because I was made especially for you.”

The lordling leaned up onto an elbow. Solemnly, he studied Tommy. “I do believe you were.” A flush crept up his neck. They could stare at each other all day and never grow tired of the view.

“You were saying,” Tommy prompted, his need growing. “Something about doting on me until I spend again?”

His raven grinned, showing all his beautiful teeth. “Yes! And I shall make it my life’s work.”

Warm fingertips glided up Tommy’s thigh as the lordling came back to himself. “We shall grow old together, you and I. And I shall pass the years teasing you endlessly. Each morning, I shall touch you like this, everywhere but here.” The tip of his thumb tapped the head of Tommy’s swollen prick. “Until I have you begging for me.” Again, his black eyes lifted to gaze adoringly into Tommy’s. “As, hourly, you have me begging for you.”

Lain over Tommy like a thick blanket, the lordling’s body was supple and smooth. If God chose to take Tommy in that moment, he would thank Him kindly and consider it a life well lived. As they deepened the kiss, the lordling’s hips ground into Tommy’s. One day soon, Tommy decided, he’d suggest more; his empty hole craved it, a topic they had yet to broach. Sometimes, Tommy wondered if his lover even knew that was a thing men like them could do. He would explain it, then take the youth’s innocence as tenderly as if it were his own first time.

Soft lips melded as they lost themselves to love. The lordling rubbed himself against Tommy, his teases forgotten. His eyes shuttered closed, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, the alabaster skin of his cheeks glistened with heat. He was close; they both were. Slipperiness built between their bodies, and with his one untethered hand, Tommy clasped the lordling’s tight buttock.

“I lov—” the raven began.

And never finished.

Cut off by a holler from below. Rattling Tommy’s soul like a musket blast.

“Raid,” Sidney screeched. “Everyone out! Raid!”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Fearne Hill lives deep in the southern British countryside with three untamed sons, varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and a beautiful cocker spaniel.

When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary romantic fiction. And when she is not doing either of those things, she works as an anaesthesiologist.

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Jun 10

New Release Blitz: The Spy by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Spy

Series: Princes of Toval, Book Three

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/10/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57800

Genre: Historical fantasy, adventure, baking, magic, missing person, MM Romance, politics, royalty, spies

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Description

After spending two years away at culinary school, learning the arts of baking and magic, all Karl wants to do after graduation is return home to the kitchen where he grew up. However, when Karl’s adoptive uncle asks him to do a little favor for him along his journey, of course Karl says yes. He needs to find a missing person, one who may have been captured somewhere in Yaroi, a neighboring country to Karl’s home in Toval.

Finding the missing person is hard enough. Add in each of their secretive pasts, and the implications and dangers inherent with being a Prince of Toval, and a simple rescue turns into a deadly adventure. Especially once Karl learns just why Ama was arrested in the first place. Karl’s chances of returning home to use his newly honed baking skills dwindle as escaping the situation with their heads still attached is proving to be almost impossible.

Excerpt

The Spy
Mell Eight © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Ama knew how he had gotten into this situation. The Yarokai had excellent noses, so sniffing him out, tracking him down, and capturing him had been far easier than in most of the places Ama went to sneak around. Even his magic hadn’t been enough to prevent his capture, warning him too late that he should have taken his chances heading for the border rather than holing up and trying to hide.

What Ama didn’t know was how he was going to get out of this with his head still attached to the rest of his body. The Yarokai were, in general, a suspicious bunch, insular, and parochial. Any strangers in the cities within the country of Yaroi received extra scrutiny. Tracking them all had to be difficult, since the majority of Yaroi’s cities were coastal trade cities along the Eiroi Strait with merchants, sailors, and travelers from other countries coming and going constantly. They were the main entry port to the rest of the continent for land-based travel too, so Yaroi always had caravans of foreigners crossing through.

Ama had planned to blend in. He arrived at Yaroi’s capital city of Yari with a merchant caravan, acting as a guard to deter thieves, and then spent plenty of time each day visibly working to negotiate a contract to leave Yaroi with a different caravan. Only in the quiet hours around noon, when any good Yarokian was meditating and business was never conducted, or in the dark of night, had Ama tried sneaking around.

He had never failed so miserably.

Sensory deprivation was the worst sort of punishment for a Yarokai, so Ama’s cell didn’t have any windows to allow light or air in. The door was thick wood with only a small flap at the bottom to push meals through. While depriving sight, sound, and smell might be particularly terrible for the Yarokai, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for Ama either, especially since he was basically convicted before they could put him on stage for a sham trial.

At least Ama would go to his execution knowing his last mission had been successful. Queen Trina would be relieved to know that much. Aunt Millie would be sad to know he was gone, although given her abilities, she probably already knew he was in trouble. She was too far away to help, though, so Ama wasn’t counting on that. Aunt Millie knew better too. In her four years since taking the throne in Namin, she had become a good and trustworthy ruler, and Namin was beginning to return to prosperity. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, including engaging with Yaroi on his behalf, particularly after what he had just done. Even if Yaroi didn’t use military assets to attack Namin, they controlled the trade from the Eiroi Strait. If they leveled extra tariffs on Namese goods or simply refused to allow Namese goods to be traded through Yaroi ports, Namin’s economy would backslide. No, Ama was definitely on his own there.

At least Ama had visited home recently, to see all his aunts, uncles, and cousins, and had visited Namin too. Seeing Aunt Millie was always fun. She had been too busy at the time to really talk though. The last time Ama had actually sat down with her alone for more than a hurried lunch, before she went on to her next meeting and Ama returned to work, had been four years ago, right after her coronation. Ama had hoped her words at the time meant he had a happy future in front of him, but now he knew better. She had meant he shouldn’t worry about his future because he would be executed before he had a chance to actually achieve his dreams.

“If you want my advice, I think you should continue adventuring on Prince Braxton’s behalf. Have some fun for a few more years, and maybe someday you’ll find whatever it is you’re actually searching for.”

Even Toval, who had assigned him this delicate mission, wouldn’t be able to save him. They couldn’t admit they had sent him to Yaroi, that they were involved at all, nor that they knew Ama even existed—all for the same reasons Namin wouldn’t dare help Ama. No, Ama had to take complete responsibility for this fiasco. That was the only way to save Toval and Namin, as well as to ensure the last parts of this mission were successful.

Ama shifted on the hard stone bench, the only furniture in his cell, and leaned against the rock wall, attempting to get as comfortable as possible. He tried to focus on happier memories as he waited to die.

The first time he had seen Prince Braxton, looking so strong and powerful on a horse as he rode through Ama’s home village. Ama making the decision to help Prince Braxton any way he could and going about gathering information so he could convince Braxton to hire him. The second time he had seen Braxton, he had snuck into Braxton’s camp and startled him. Once Braxton calmed down, Ama had managed to convince Braxton Ama was only there to share information. That memory made him smile.

Another of his favorite memories was more recent. Namin’s aggressions against Toval had grown too much, so Toval had decided to intervene by sending troops to support a coup. Braxton had asked if Ama might be able to find someone suitable to sit on the Namin throne after they removed the king of the time, which meant finding someone capable of wielding Namin’s royal magic. Ama had traveled only a few hours before finding Aunt Millie, who had chosen to come to him, to support Ama in Ama’s quest to help Braxton in any way the Tovalians needed. Now Aunt Millie was Queen Carmillian of Namin.

Ama couldn’t say how much time passed as he sat in the tiny prison cell, inwardly focused on his memories —a couple days, at least, but he couldn’t be sure. Food came, but not at regular intervals, so Ama couldn’t use that to gauge time. After what felt like a very, very long time, he finally heard the scrape as the lock was turned. The door opened with a slow groan, the light beyond almost blinding Ama. He blinked, trying to clear the spots from his vision, and a grinning guard eventually came into view. A pair of manacles in his hands were held out in Ama’s direction.

“Your punishment has been decided,” the guard stated as Ama stood and walked over to the door, arms outheld for the guard to place the manacles around Ama’s wrists. He didn’t say anything more, instead, shoving Ama forward so he stood in the middle of a circle of guards. They walked for a while, the floor sloping slowly upward, only the torches set into the walls at intervals supplying any light. The group paused when they reached a door, then waited for the guard in front to unlock it and pull the door open. He stepped aside and waved for Ama to go through first.

The guards and the excited crowd surrounding the perimeter of the stone-flagged amphitheater just outside the door let Ama get a good look at his punishment for a few long moments. Eager anticipation emanated from the crowd as they let him take it all in. Ama swallowed hard, but his resolve was firm. He would complete his mission no matter what they did to him.

“Anytime you want to tell us everything, this will stop,” the guard growled in Ama’s ear.

“There’s nothing to tell. I didn’t do anything wrong,” Ama replied. He tried to sound unconcerned, but his throat was dry and stomach clenched. He had hoped for a quick hanging or beheading, not a slow death like this, but either way, he would endure–for the sake of everyone he had to protect.

He had to.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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Jun 06

New Release Blitz: Kitten’s Bunny by Wanda Violet O. (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Kitten’s Bunny

Author: Wanda Violet O.

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: BDSM, Contemporary, New Releases, Razor’s Edge Erotica, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, Mafia & Organized Crime, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism

Series: Billionaire Daddy Doms — Bunny (#3)

Multiverse: Billionaire Daddy Doms (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 34

Synopsis

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Daddy Dom BDSM Erotica short story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

I’ve never been happier in my life than I am since I’ve come to live with Max. Then I meet Kitten and my world changes again. She’s kind and sweet and, oh, so sensual.

I’m about to find out what it’s like to be Kitten’s Bunny.

Excerpt

Kitten’s Bunny (Billionaire Daddy Doms — Bunny 3)
Wanda Violet O.
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Wanda Violet O.

“There you are, Bunny!”

I had been enjoying the warm spring air wafting through the open window and seating a bunny tail butt plug into my ass when the door to the bedroom I shared with Max burst open. I was bent over at the waist adjusting the end of the tail while looking back in a three-way mirror set up specifically for this purpose. The plug had a curved silicone extension that fit between my cheeks so that the puffy tail sat at the base of my spine.

I grinned over my shoulder at the small woman. She had on a headband with cat ears and a long, furry cat tail that swished with the sway of her hips as she moved. Normally. Right now, the tail was trailing along behind her as she bounded toward me in her excitement. Like me, the ears and tail were all she was wearing. I barely got turned around before she threw herself at me. Kitten was very affectionate, once she got to know you.

I wasn’t too proud to admit the feel of Kitten’s lithe body pressed against mine was a bit of a turn on. Though I appreciated a beautiful body, whether man or woman, I’d never been particularly attracted to a woman before. But Kitten was special, and I was certainly susceptible to her charms. Probably because, since I’d been with Max, he’d kept me in a heightened state of arousal almost continually. And I enjoyed every fucking second of our play.

I returned her hug with a tight, happy hug of my own. “I’m almost ready. Do you know what’s going on?”

Kitten nipped my ear playfully. “Yep. Come on.”

I laughed at her lightheartedness. Kitten loved to play. Right now, she had what looked like a case of the zoomies. She’d most certainly been aptly named. We’d been fast friends almost from the moment we met. Had that been five months ago? Daddy Jacob had insisted on waiting to introduce me to Kitten until he was sure I wasn’t going to hurt her by leaving abruptly. He’d been right. Kitten loved with her whole heart, and I was honored to have found a place in her life. “Wait! I need my ears!”

Kitten huffed out a mock exasperated breath, but I saw her lips twitch. “So high maintenance. It’s a good thing you have me.” We giggled as she helped me with my bunny ears and gave my hair one last fluff. “Max will be so proud of you.” Practically bouncing on her toes, she gave me a huge smile as she moved around the room looking for… something. Another accessory for my hair? Different bunny ears? I was partial to the pink ones. In the end she didn’t change anything, only fussed over me. With every excited squeal, Kitten’s breasts jiggled enticingly. I knew she had a child, and maybe there were a few stretch marks on her tummy, but her body was tight and toned, her breasts small but firm and perfectly formed.

“Are we ready? I think we’re ready!” The smile on Kitten’s face was so beautiful she nearly took my breath. She was flushed with excitement, which fueled my own anticipation. Whatever was about to happen was something she was looking forward to in the extreme.

It wasn’t unusual for us to help each other get ready when one of our men decided to share us. Kitten often helped me pick out different tails and ears when my turn came to be the entertainment after one of Daddy Jacob’s meetings. We always had great fun.

We hurried down the long hall together, both of us giggling. I was hand in hand with Kitten as she took us to the grand staircase. Naked. Fun times! We skipped playfully down the stairs, laughing the whole way. I was becoming more and more aroused the longer I was in Kitten’s company. The woman simply oozed sex appeal, and I was not immune. I didn’t know the protocol for this kind of situation, so I’d feel much better once I was with Max again. Or at least had him give me the OK to do whatever.

Enzo stood at the bottom of the stairs, greeting us with a warm smile. He was not only in charge of security for all of us, but also Daddy Jacob’s oldest and most trusted friend. Kitten launched herself at Enzo with a squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist in delight.

Enzo’s warm chuckle filled the massive formal entry hall. “Ah, little Kitten. You’re full of energy this evening, aren’t you?”

“I am, Enzo. Are you joining us later?” Kitten smiled up at him. Enzo’s affection for Kitten was obvious. Same as Kitten’s affection for Enzo was plain to see.

The big man gave her one hard squeeze before gently setting her on her feet. “Afraid not. I’m sure I’ll see you both soon though.” He gave me a wink as he bent to kiss Kitten on the lips. She giggled and wrapped her arms back around him so he could deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth until Kitten was purring like, well, a Kitten.

“Enzo.” Daddy Jacob stepped out of his study and leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head. If I’d thought Daddy Jacob would be angry or jealous another man was kissing his wife, I’d have been wrong. Daddy Jacob grinned and shook his head as if Kitten’s antics amused him. “Would you be so kind as to allow me the use of my wife this evening?”

Enzo smiled down at Kitten with affection and not a small amount of lust. “Only if you let me have the privilege of her company later in the week when I’m not on duty.”

“You’re always on duty,” Daddy Jacob shot back, but his lips spread wider and his eyes were merry. “But I think we can work something out.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.’s world of bedtime fantasy, where you’ll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play… she’s got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

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One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!

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Jun 03

New Release Blitz: A Flash of Golden Fire by AE Lister (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: A Flash of Golden Fire

Series: The Arrow and the Flame, Book One

Author: AE Lister

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/03/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 337 PAGES

Genre: Historical Fantasy, action/adventure, age gap, BDSM, pirates, sailors, hurt/comfort, magic/magic-user, menage, foul-mouthed bird

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Description

Twenty-two-year-old Simon White begs for a place on Captain Dinesh Martin’s pirate ship, the Arrow. When he proves hilariously inadequate at most tasks, he finds himself in the captain’s quarters as cabin boy, housekeeper, and bed warmer.

Captain Martin used to be a British naval officer, until he became disenchanted with the hypocrisy, racism, and classism of the institution and embarked on a life of piracy. He runs an organized and efficient vessel and prides himself on the men with whom he surrounds himself. He is esteemed and admired, and he gives them as good a life as they’ve ever known.

But Simon has more than a few surprises up his sleeve, including some frightening powers, and Dinesh learns that sometimes a pretty appearance and amenable disposition can fool even an experienced man of the seas.

Excerpt

A Flash of Golden Fire
AE Lister © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Salvation

Port Royal, 1781

The sea smelt of salt and death.

The bustling port city on the southern shores of Jamaica ran with booty and blood. The Brethren of the Coast or, more familiarly, men of dubious employ, otherwise known as pirates, came to the city to trade the goods they had amassed at sea in questionable circumstances. Of course, there was honour among thieves and all of that, but there were also short tempers and ravenous appetites for more than food and good ale.

Food and ale…

I licked my cracked lips and huddled deeper into the threadbare jacket I’d pulled off a washing line an hour earlier. It was the only clean thing on me, in fact. My other garments were stained and filthy, like my frigid skin.

So far, this coastal town hadn’t fulfilled its imaginary promise of a fresh and welcome start. I’d left the town of my birth to embark on a new life, thinking that my luck might be better in Port Royal.

Born in Spanish Town to missionary parents, I had been orphaned at twelve, following a calamity that had left them dead, and I was lucky enough to have been taken in by a friend of my mother’s, who saw to it to educate and care for me as best he could. My life was decent, though dull, until the age of twenty-one when he died of yellow fever, and I was forced to look to my own means for survival. I should have found my own way before that advanced age, but Carago had enjoyed looking out for me, since his wife had died in birthing his only son, who had lived for three days before following her.

Perhaps my childlike attitude and spoilt sense of entitlement were due to Carago’s fatherly indulgences, although innocence had flown from me long before his passing.

So far, in Port Royal, I’d been attacked at knifepoint by a fearsome fellow the night after I’d arrived and also robbed of all my belongings but for a meagre allotment of coin that I’d hidden in my boot. He’d left me with a sore shoulder, a black eye, and a newfound respect for, and fear of, strange men.

In Spanish Town, my encounters with strange men had been more cordial, although nothing I would ever have described to Carago, who, to my bad luck, had held a similar attitude to those of my father and wider society. An unruly mop of red hair and a face full of freckles had ensured me a boyish countenance that I’d likely retain into middle age—God willing I got there to enjoy the benefit. Men liked the look of me, to be frank, and I hadn’t lacked for companionship, although only in brief, physical bursts that had still proved rewarding.

I’d heard of the Brethren of the Coast—supposedly a breed of men who’d taken to a life of piracy with a different kind of philosophy, holding themselves to a higher standard than the average swashbuckling vagabond. If these visionaries did, in fact, exist, and if I could find one of them and beg for a place aboard his ship, perhaps I could prove my worth and gain passage off this pisspot of an island. A life at sea was a much better prospect than one on land at this point, and I was ready for an adventure.

I ducked into a tavern called The Penny Whistle to get out of the rain that now came in torrents, but not before I became soaked to the skin and chilled further. Quite a sorry thing to be so adrift at twenty-two, bedraggled and wet and without prospects.

The tavern was warm, at least, and nobody turned me out. A fire roared and crackled in a large hearth, in front of which a motley group of strangely attired men were seated at tables, their attention captured by an imposing figure who stood with his elbow on the mantle as he regaled them with animated voice and gestures.

I slunk to a stool by the bar and sat, my stomach cramping as the scent of cooking food filled my nostrils. I soon found myself as transfixed as the others.

The man was everything a pirate captain ought to be.

He was of indefinable race—likely a mixture of at least two. He was exceptionally handsome in a way far beyond his physical appearance, which was unique and appealing. And he was an excellent orator, regaling his audience with honeyed words and dramatic cadence.

He wore the jacket of a British officer, although the item had seen years of wear, and the badges had been removed, or torn from the cloth. The garment looked fine on him and gave him a ruffled distinction. His shirt and breeches were navy issue as well. He looked more put together than his crew, who sported the mismatched garb of unaligned men of the sea. He had the accent of a British officer and the elocution of a magistrate.

The serving wench made her presence known, approaching the captain, laughing in the way women do when they want a man to think of them fondly. But as far as I could tell, her charms weren’t working upon him.

The crew was another matter.

“Oy, my darling, come here and perch on me knee awhile,” a heavyset fellow suggested, leering at the young woman and waggling his eyebrows.

“Now, now, Mister Denbrooke. What would your wife think?” the captain said with an indulgent smile.

“My wife, Captain Martin,” Mr Denbrooke said, “is probably spreading her ample thighs for the butcher and the baker at the moment. So she wouldn’t care a damn.”

Captain Martin. I’d been right in my supposition.

“Oh, go on,” the girl said and flounced to the bar where she frowned and pretended to be unaffected by the captain’s disinterest.

Everyone laughed and the captain grinned wider.

“Never was able to keep her satisfied,” Mr Denbrooke continued. “I’ve only got one cock, and she likes to have three at once.”

The men laughed and Captain Martin nodded.

“Hmm. Well, I can’t fault your wife for that,” he said.

The men laughed harder and some even hooted, and my foggy brain couldn’t keep up.

I concentrated on dealing with the hunger pangs that assailed me and rehearsed ways I could approach this formidable man who took up space with such entitled ease.

“Hello, my name is Simon White. I’d like a position on your ship.” Or, perhaps I should say, “Simon White here. You gotta place for me on board?” or “I’m strong and quick—when I’m fed, at least—Are you taking on crew?”

None of these were likely to get me what I needed, so I sat there, suffering, whilst they shoveled beef stew into their gobs and tore up whole loaves of bread to devour amongst themselves. My mouth became dry as I watched. What I wouldn’t do for an ale or even a paltry glass of water.

There were things I’d thought about doing. Things that men paid dearly for in the back alleys and the whorehouses. But I couldn’t bear the thought of trading an activity I enjoyed so much for food and drink or coin. I hadn’t gotten to a point so desperate to fall into that. If I could only get onto Captain Martin’s ship, I wouldn’t have to contemplate a life of whoredom.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

AE Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They write explicit, adult LGBTQ+ romance. They also write much less graphic Young Adult LGBTQ+ romance under Alison Lister.

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May 27

New Release Blitz: Sin Eaters by Kathryne Lentes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Sin Eaters

Series: Apocrypha, Book One

Author: Kathryne Lentes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/27/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 52700

Genre: Urban Fantasy, sci-fi/fantasy, action, urban fantasy, bisexual, lesbian, mercenary, hacker, Fae, undead, vampire, Ireland, Chicago

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Description

Apocrypha is a Sin Eater, a mercenary who does all the jobs the corporations do not want anybody to know about that need to get done. She is an experienced operative who thought she had seen it all, but this time, she is up against cyborgs, elves, and the undead, all the while trying to break in a new partner. The stakes have never been higher, because if she doesn’t complete the mission, her father will pay the ultimate price.

Excerpt

Sin Eaters
Kathryne Lentes © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The young woman looked at the growing crowd of children; they had come back every day and brought more friends each time. Some liked her stories, some just wanted to be part of the group, and a select few listened and were getting close to understanding. Not too close, she hoped; she knew what came from complete understanding and wanted to let them enjoy their youth more than she had.

“Any questions before we start today?”

“What’s your name?”

“How did you get in here?”

“Why is your hair so many colors?”

“Will you go out with me?” That one was new; she must have started attracting an older audience without noticing it.

She thought about the questions. She had not given a name at these events yet and hesitated. She had gone by many names, some inappropriate in this setting. Crossroads thought about using the name she had been given by her parents, but she couldn’t; that was all she had left from them, and she could not share it. She thought about where her life had begun and said, “Crossroads.”

“Crossroads—that’s a stupid name.”

She glared at the child in the front row, and he closed his mouth. She continued, “My stage name is Crossroads; you know, like a band has a name they perform under. How I got here… Well, there are not many places I can’t go if I put my mind to it. As to the hair, well, that is a long story, and I am not dating anyone now, no matter how cute they are.” She finished with a wink toward the teenager in the back row. That should give him some points with his classmates for a day or two. “I have come here to tell you a story. The story is of this world and how it got to be the way it is.”

“We know that story. Our teachers taught us that.” Another look at the kid in the front row; she was starting to think he was going to be trouble.

“And what did they tell you?”

“The aliens came and destroyed the world, and only the people who were safe in the biospheres survived. That’s us; everybody else is dead or has turned into a monster.”

“That is an interesting story, and I am sure they would not lie to you, but let me tell you a different story. If you don’t believe me, then just remember it as a fantasy to think about when you are daydreaming.”

She put down the guitar she had been idly tuning while she spoke and stood up. She was tall for a woman at five-ten, and many years of performing had taught her to have a commanding presence, and the children quieted down as they approached the center of the makeshift stage. She pulled back her long rainbow-tinted hair and twirled it into a bun with a pencil, a trick she had learned from her mother, who had been a librarian of sorts.

“The world has not always been as it is. That statement is true of almost any age, as Dickens said.” This time, she froze the child in the front row before he could ask who Dickens was. “But times do not usually change as quickly as they did in the last ten years. Your parents created this place before the time of change. They thought the world was going to hell and wanted to divorce themselves from the outside. Then came the visitors, the aliens as you call them, and as they say, all bets were off. The war was terrible and cost more lives than most people can count. It also made a shift in the very laws that people thought regulated the world. The visitors had highly advanced technology and weapons that seemed to be more powerful than imagined. They rained destruction on the world, took thousands of people hostage, and performed experiments on them to see the range of our genetic code. They were amazed at what potential we had within us; just as it is almost impossible to see that a wolf and a poodle are cousins, so you could not look at many of these people and recognize them as human. This was the first mistake they made because many of these Cybreds, as they were to be called, broke free and fought the invaders with their newfound abilities.

“Your parents were not the only ones who fled the cities. There was a mass exodus to places of worship and sanctuary; the Vatican, Stonehenge, Cahokia Mounds, and the Masjid al-Haram all were soon surrounded by teeming masses seeking solace in the old ways to save them. The visitors thought these were military enclaves and sent fire from the sky to consume them. Then a strange thing happened; there were some deaths but not as many as there should have been. The holy places seemed to take in the energy, and the ley lines erupted.” She made no face at the kid in front; she wanted him to ask the question.

“There’s no such thing as a ley line. You made that up?”

“Have your teachers taught you about latitude and longitude, lines drawn around the world that sailors of old used to navigate the globe? Ley lines are the lines of power surrounding the earth, but they hold the life force of that planet; they hold its magic. The power of the weapons filled the lines, and they erupted, spilling out the magic they held and creating the Manna Sphere. A source of energy that the strong-willed and skilled could manipulate…”

A host of children started to open their mouths at this but stopped as a glowing nimbus of energy appeared over her outstretched palm. It widened and opened to seemingly become a hole in the air, a hole that appeared to lead to somewhere…elsewhere.

“The power does not just exist in an active state. It also affects things passively. Changelings have started to appear, babies born to normal parents whose appearance and abilities match those of races thought extinct or just a product of myth and legend. It also had an effect on diseases, creating new ones that rob a person of all semblances of life save the hunger for flesh. These diseases have consumed the country of Australia and there the world is just as your teachers describe it. But there are other places such as England, which has become a new home for all changelings and where magic has transformed it.”

The children listened intently, and their eyes were fixated on the sphere, which showed scenes corresponding to the vistas she told them of.

“Not all people are so accepting of the new things. Europe has banned either changelings or Cybreds from having any form of citizenship. America is a divided place; some people live in biospheres like you do, cutting themselves off from any outside contact, while others embrace the new frontiers we have been shown. Some parts of America have even greatly benefited from the Manna Sphere, such as the Alliance of Tribes, who have taken back parts of the lands they once lived on. The other people who have gained are the criminal element who were swift to bring those with dark gifts into their organization. Now they truly deserve the name the underworld.”

Some of the children had begun to back up as the visions in the sphere turned dark.

“The world is not all safe and quiet. I would be a fool to tell you it is, but I am letting you know that you have a choice between what you have and what you could have.”

The portal winked out of existence and the children snapped out of their reverie. A moment later, a terrible shouting came from the back of the crowd. Five men in long gray dusters that marked them as Pilgrims, the law enforcement arm of the biosphere corporation, yelled at the children to disperse as they moved toward Crossroads.

“Took you long enough, guys. Minneapolis found me in three days, and it took you guys a whole week.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Kathryne Lentes has been writing stories as long as she could hold a pen in her hand. She is a transwoman who, when not working on her own projects, operates Paper Phoenix Ink, a blog showcasing queer creators. She is currently living in Saint Louis with her wife, two cats, and a pile of science fiction and fantasy books.

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May 23

New Release Blitz: Terror by J. Hali Steele (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Heartwood

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: 05/23/2025

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Contemporary, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, New Releases, Romance

Themes: LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, LGBTQ+ Gay, New Adult

Series: Heartwood (#4)

Multiverse: Sticks & Stones (#1)

Book Length: Duet/Box Set

Page Count: 567

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Synopsis

Can love be shield, sword, and healing balm for this troubled couple?

White Oak (Heartwood 1): Mike Delaney, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist Aidan Kelly, a blind high school senior with a rainbow for every occasion. But the man who tormented Mike will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure his silence.

Black Mahogany (Heartwood 2): When Rick Hanlon, the man who molested Mike as a teenager, escapes justice, Aidan will stop at nothing to keep his lover safe, but Mike can’t let go of his self-recriminations or share his nightmares with Aidan.

Yew (Heartwood 3): Mike and Aidan have raised a daughter together. Now they’re looking to foster a second child. But fear and prejudice are even more dangerous enemies than Hanlon, the man who molested Mike when he was a teenager.

Thorn (Heartwood 4): Hanlon is not the only threat to Mike and Aidan’s happiness. From within their marriage, old arguments and insecurities rear their ugly heads. Can Mike and Aidan’s marriage survive?

Excerpt

Heartwood
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington
Excerpt fromWhite Oak/Black Mahogany

Mike gulped at his third cup of coffee. He fidgeted with the folder that held his résumé. “They’re paying nineteen thousand for the entire school year.”

His mother, over at the sink, asked, “Are you going to tell us what this interview’s for finally, Mr. I Don’t Want To Jinx It?”

“An aide position at Marisburg High.” He grabbed his cup again as another yawn threatened. God, but he needed to get more sleep.

His mother stalked to the table and grabbed both his cup and the nearly empty carafe from its place in the middle of the table. “Your hands are already shaking. You don’t need any more of this.”

Mike scratched at the narrow space between his neck and the collar of his dress shirt. He adjusted his tie. “I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you go in there looking like a tweaker, no one will take you seriously.”

“A what?” Mike laughed. “Where’d you hear that word? They’re not called tweakers anymore. That must be a word you used back in the sixties.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Were you a tweaker, Mom?”

“Getting back to this teaching position…”

“What?” his father grunted from the depths of the mudroom. “You’re not qualified for that, are you, Mike? You’ve only been at the community college for the summer, and you’re taking different language classes, not how-to-teach classes.”

“Foreign language classes, John,” Mike’s mother murmured.

The older Delaney laughed. “Listen to the woman, would you? She takes one college course herself, and now she’s the professor.” He clomped two steps into the kitchen, took off his hat, and bowed to his wife. “Thank you, Molly. I appreciate the correction.” Then he turned his attention back to Mike. “Well?”

“I’d be assisting a blind student with his class work.” His jittery fingers danced on the table, and he worked to pass it off as impatient tapping on the cover of a second copy of his résumé. “My interview’s in half an hour.”

“So get going,” his father said. “You planned to take night classes this semester anyway. Make the most of this opportunity.”

Mike got up, clutching the folder. Maybe I can take a nap when I get home. He rushed out the door. Assuming I can sleep.

* * *

Ninety minutes later Mr. Callahan, superintendent of schools, Mr. Connolly, the principal, and Ms. O’Carolyn, the guidance counselor, took turns shaking his hand. Their grips were a bit awkward, Mike being left-handed, but he’d given up trying to shake the normal way. Even if that would have further dispelled the stereotypes.

“Congratulations,” Mr. Callahan said. “We don’t usually make a decision this fast, but with teacher in-services starting next week, it’s important. You’ll be expected to participate in those, of course. I’ll e-mail you a schedule.”

Mike swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” He almost asked when he would meet Aidan Kelly, the blind student, but that would probably be on the schedule. For now he needed to worry about teacher in-services. Whatever those were.

“If you have questions, don’t hesitate to contact any of us. We’re at your disposal. But be patient. This is a busy time of year.” The superintendent ushered Mike toward the office door. “Good luck. I hear Mr. Kelly is intelligence personified, but a little… quirky.” He chuckled. “Have a great day, Mike, and again, congratulations.”

The carpet scraped the bottoms of Mike’s shoes as he made good his escape. Other administrative offices surrounded the superintendent’s enclosed haven like deficient, two-walled boxes. Mike headed back the way he’d come, unable to take a straight path because of the random assignment of desks and file cabinets.

His heart jackhammered in his throat. He slowed his feet and flexed his hands to keep his fingers relaxed. I got the job? Really? He felt a five year old’s irrepressible grin starting and forced himself to hold his bland, polite expression.

I’ll be reporting to Marisburg High every day. Just like when I was in high school.

That thought squashed any and all urges to grin, and he rushed past the final desk, anxious to be alone in his car.

He saw the wavering shadow of a person on the other side of the outer door. He had barely enough time to get out of the way as the door flew open.

“They promised to wait.” The man, resplendent in a black suit and dark, subdued tie, shoved his way past Mike as if he didn’t see him. Despite the overcast skies, he wore dark sunglasses. “They promised to get our input,” he went on muttering, his words barely audible. He swung a long stick out in front of him like a pendulum, tapping the floor rhythmically. “Now I hear they’re holding interviews for my aide without consulting me?”

Mike escaped out the door before it closed. And before too many people could catch him staring. Not that any of the office staff seemed to be watching him. Through the door’s window, Mike watched a woman intercepting the blind man, taking his arm.

The red-haired man tore his wrist out of her grasp.

That’s a white cane, Mike thought as his logic caught up with his shock. And that must be Aidan Kelly. He’s a high school senior, which means he’s probably sixteen or seventeen, but he looks like an Irish god.

Quirky wasn’t exactly the word for him. Arrogant, maybe, or rude.

A woman brushed by Mike, opening the office door and rushing in, but he scarcely noticed.

Or hot. His gaze lingered on the man’s mildly curly locks. And if he’s got an ounce of fat along with all that muscle, I’m a — He froze. A what? What was he exactly, staring at another man?

I’m straight. End of discussion.

“At least I got the job,” he told the empty foyer.

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.

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May 20

New Release Blitz: Zeno by Gene Gant (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Zeno

Author: Gene Gant

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/20/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78100

Genre: Contemporary YA, contemporary, US South, YA, high school, coming out, coming of age, bisexual, gay, Black teens, slow burn, friend crush, family, black joy, humorous, friendship, #ownvoices

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Description

At sixteen, Zeno Anderson is on the cusp of graduation. He’s anxious to leave for college in Illinois come fall, but his cautious parents have their doubts about letting him out of the nest before he’s eighteen. Zeno worries he’s doing more to hurt than help himself on that front.

The thing is, Zeno has a tendency to run from problems, and he’s a bit confused in his social life. After a terrible misunderstanding, he’s been avoiding best friend, Marvus, for months now, only to find himself semi-crushing on Jemma, who seems to be catching feelings of her own. When something serious happens to Zeno at Jemma’s unsupervised party, threatening their friendship, Zeno doesn’t do himself any favors by not letting his parents in on it.

Then, there’s tall, handsome Dalvin Drake, wide receiver on the football team. Zeno is surprised to discover, as his crush on Jemma wanes, his feelings for dreamy Dalvin fast-track from buddy zone to full-on flirt. With two friendships already on the rocks, Zeno doesn’t want to risk losing Dalvin. Yeah, but the thing is, Dalvin’s suddenly dropping hints that he’s into Zeno too.

Life is so complicated. What exactly is a fella supposed to do with all this?

Excerpt

Zeno
Gene Gant © 2025
All Rights Reserved

“Are we ready, Zeno?”

I looked up, the smile automatically spreading across my face. Mrs. Herron stood in the middle bay of my dad’s auto shop, smiling back at me. For a thirty-something sister, she was really pretty. And hella hot in her tight jeans and blue turtleneck.

“Sure thing, ready to rock,” I replied in my most upbeat, customer-friendly tone. For the record, the “we” she was referring to didn’t include me. She meant herself and her baby, the cherry-red Lexus NX 300 whose hood was currently undergoing a power-buffing at my determined hands.

This was my quasi-new hustle. Almost a year ago, in April, I started working part-time at Dad’s shop doing janitorial work—dumping trash cans, cleaning bathrooms, sweeping and mopping, that sorta stuff. Four months later, a dude brought in his muddy pickup for a new transmission and offered to pay extra for a wash and shine. When Dad turned him down on the cleaning, I volunteered my service, accidentally starting my own car detailing business. After scrubbing abused toilets and emptying absolutely unholy garbage cans, this was definitely a less disturbing and more lucrative livelihood.

Mrs. Herron, one of my best customers, was a corporate attorney who could’ve easily passed for a Memphis Grizzlies cheerleader.

“Well, let’s see about that.” She stepped from the shaded opening of the bay into the afternoon sunshine. Her short black Afro sparkled in the bright yellow rays. So did her eyes as she angled her way between me and the right front fender of her car. With blue microfiber towels clutched in both hands, I moved back to give her room.

I smiled, aglow with pride as she inspected my handiwork. The car interior had been thoroughly vacuumed and dusted, the leather seats and trim wiped down with honey-inspired leather conditioner. The windows had been polished inside and out, totally free of streaks. And the exterior, tires and rims included, bore a super shine worthy of a new car fresh out of the dealership.

“Well,” Mrs. Herron sighed when she completed the circuit of her car and stood next to me. The citrusy smell of her perfume tingled in my nose. Man! Mr. Herron was one lucky dude. “Baby looks like she just rolled off the showroom floor.”

See? I wasn’t exaggerating.

Mrs. Herron lowered her chin, looking directly into my eyes. The smile she gave me now was quite pleased. For some reason, my whole face suddenly flared hot, and I had to look away for a moment. She opened the little black purse she carried, pulled out a neat green roll, and handed it to me. “Great job as usual, Zenie. And you got Baby ready in time for me to make my meeting downtown as promised. Thanks. See you in two weeks.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Herron.” I opened the driver’s door for her. She slid behind the wheel, fired up the engine, and backed carefully into the street. With a casual wave, she took off.

I’d put away the hose and bucket after finishing the wash and rinse. Humming, I tossed my buffing towels into the old toolbox with the rest of my detailing supplies, grabbed the box, and walked into the service bay.

Bobbo, one of my dad’s mechanics, got in my face right off. He was, like, in his forties with a thin body, a bald head, and a wiry black whisk broom of a goatee. His dark red coveralls were so smudged with grime they looked black. After my last growth spurt, he was now maybe five inches shorter than me, which meant we stood with his nose about level to my chin. He still managed eye contact. His smirk was the kind you’d probably see on an anthropomorphic cat who’d just left a fresh hairball in one of your shoes.

“You don’t count your money, kid?” he said. “That ain’t good policy.”

“I trust Mrs. Herron.” I tried to step around him.

He got in my way again. “Don’t let the pretty faces make you stupid. This is business. Even if they ain’t cheats, people make mistakes. How do you know your customer didn’t accidentally shortchange ya?”

“Uhm?” Okay, he had a point. I unfolded the roll of bills Mrs. Herron had given me and counted them. My mouth dropped open. “Dang. She paid in full and threw in a fifty-buck tip!”

That smirk on Bobbo’s face turned evil. “Hell, I got it all wrong. Lady Law wasn’t the one who played on pretty, huh, ‘Zenie’?” He tweaked my nipple.

“Ow.” I jerked away from his pinching fingers. “What’re you talking about?”

“Yeah, right. Like that tight-ass T-shirt of yours got wet by itself.” Bobbo shook his head, chuckling, and turned away.

“You got it wrong, Bobbo,” I protested, but he waved me off as he went back to work on the car he had hoisted in the air. I felt stung. Let it be known that I’m not a tease, especially when it comes to grown-ass married women who happen to be customers of mine. My T-shirt was tight because I’d been working out a lot over the past few months, bulking up, and neither Mom nor I had gotten around to buying bigger shirts for me. My T-shirt was wet because I’d just finished washing two cars, and I was kinda sloppy when it came to water hoses. Any tips I earned were for doing a thorough, most excellent job and not because I showed off my muscles.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A former corporate writer of business correspondence, policy, and training manuals, Gene Gant lives with his family in a quiet little neighborhood outside Memphis, Tennessee. You can find Gene on Facebook.

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May 13

New Release Blitz: The Timeslot Paradox by Jeff Womack (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Timeslot Paradox

Author: Jeff Womack

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/13/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 100500

Genre: Science Fiction, time travel, time portal, time jump, time slot, rescue, revenge, romance, lesbian romance, friends to lovers, paradox, disabilities, found family, interracial/intercultural, university, computers, hacker, temporal engineer

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Description

Empowering time travelers to communicate across decades, an eager and gifted temporal engineer develops a secret mail drop, hidden in plain sight on a university campus. Codename: the Timeslot.
A charismatic physicist and a focused, revenge-driven hacker go to daring lengths to escape the man who murdered their best friend and fiancé—his boss.

A grieving musician in search of closure uncovers her late father’s notebook, written before she was born but, impossibly, dated twenty-five years in the future.

Generations later, another engineer, brilliant but disorganized, struggles to repair the abandoned Timeslot equipment after years of disuse. Her unexpected discovery draws this disparate group of men and women into a cascade of events which echo across a century of recent-past and near-future history.

Journals from five intertwining lives, Black, White, Asian, queer, straight, disabled, and not, blend time travel with mystery, revenge, found family, vintage music, sci-fi references, and even a little romance.

Excerpt

The Timeslot Paradox
Jeff Womack © 2025
All Rights Reserved

1

Crystal

August 1993

I spent weeks cleaning out the house before I discovered the secret compartment.

Unexpectedly, the lowest dresser drawer was crammed full of socks, far more colorful than I would ever wear. I slid the whole thing out to tilt them into the donation box. Shaking the drawer to free the last pair, I felt something shift, just before a false bottom hinged open, and a book fell out among the clothes.

The unmarked tan cover had no title, no call number, nothing.

Three months before, Mom had…faded to silence like the final song on an album. After the funeral, when the flow of her friends bringing food over eventually slowed and stopped, I slipped into a deep funk. No desire to move on, I’d just spun in place, the crackle of static at the center of a record repeating over and over.

My counselor suggested that the grief process could be helped by changing how I thought about the house. Even though I lived there alone, it still felt like Mom’s. So, I cleaned and sorted absolutely everything. Like learning to play an instrument, the only way to improve was practice. So, I practiced. I practiced being a self-sufficient adult, one shelf, one box, one drawer at a time.

Sorting and cleaning became the therapy that finally lifted my needle out of that endless groove.

Slowly, I’d worked my way through the entire basement, most of the garage, the kitchen, nearly everything except Mom’s bedroom. I knew I needed to build up to it, so I left her room to last. That morning, I’d stood in her doorway, debating between the dresser and the closet. It didn’t matter much. Since I was several inches taller, most of her clothes would be donated anyway.

Gently lifting the book out of the box, I opened it to the first page, where handwritten text began. “James was my best friend, and now he’s dead.” The date didn’t make any sense though: July 2018.

An unpublished novel set in the future? As a librarian, Mom lived her entire life around books. So maybe? Except this wasn’t her familiar handwriting. It was far too messy. Why go to such trouble to hide it?

Sitting on the floor, the socks forgotten, a story unfolded, page by page: time travelers, friendship, loss, escape, revenge, and even a little romance.

I read until my legs fell asleep. Standing unsteadily, a folded bundle of paper covered with undecipherable math calculations slipped out from between the pages onto the floor. Tucked inside, I found two white rectangles. I used the smaller, a worn piece of unlabeled plastic to mark my place in the book. The larger showed writing in one corner that I recognized was Mom’s. “Charles and me, 1968.” I flipped it over to see an old black-and-white photo of a smiling couple posing on a stair landing. An Asian man in shirt and tie had his arm around the waist of a White woman in a floral dress. She had straight dark hair parted in the middle.

Mom only had a few photos of my dad. Her favorite hung in the hall, the rest stayed in an album. I’d seen them all many times, but never this one. Dad looked the same as in all his other photos, but Mom was so young, her hair longer than I remembered and years before any gray crept in.

On the wall behind them, the bottom corner of an antique picture frame showed. I leaned close and noticed a dog in the painting. Gasping, I sat up straight. I knew that painting! I knew exactly where they stood.

I headed out the door so fast I barely remembered to lock up. Parking always sucked near the student union, so I paid for the parking garage. Through hallways, past meeting rooms, the main lobby, and then halfway up the atrium stairs brought me to a landing with a painting of the first dean of the university…and his dog.

I stepped back and held out the photo. It lined up perfectly: the corner of the painting with the brass plaque underneath, the curving handrail to the stairs, all of it. The only things missing were my parents.

The only things missing were my parents.

That hit me hard. My counselor said grief was a road that winds back on itself. On a stair landing, empty except for me and a century-old dog, I didn’t even realize I was crying until an older woman passed by and asked if I was okay. I wiped my cheeks, told her I was fine, and walked away, back toward my car, my house, and the book my dad had left behind.

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Meet the Author

Jeff is an architect, archer, author, costumer, hiker, home-brewer, re-enactor, woodworker, etc. etc. etc. He lives in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado, with his family.

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May 09

New Release Blitz: Terror by J. Hali Steele (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Immortal Heat

Author: Kira Stone

Genres: Action Adventure, BDSM, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

Themes: Alternative Universe, Dark Romance, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Vampires

Book Length: Duet/Box Set

Page Count: 237

Synopsis

Three vampires battle the lives they left behind to build a future out of the ashes of their pasts.

Immortal Steps: Tain, a renowned Celtic dancer, has bitter memories of his first crush and the trainer who left him without a word. For years he’s flung himself from one brief romantic encounter to another, the subject of tabloid gossip and speculation, always insisting he’s not gay. When Kyle, Tain’s old mentor, comes back into Tain’s life, the last thing Tain wants is to give the man, or the vampire, a place in his heart.

Hidden Depths: Pat’s devoted his life to locating the wreck of The Pelican’s Flight, sunk in 1692, along with forty other ships, when the infamous town of Port Royal slid into the Caribbean. Jamie lost more than his lover when The Pelican went down. Pat offers Jamie hope at finding his ship, along with a chance at rediscovering love. Will the secrets they share bring them together? Or tear them apart?

Vampires In Heat: Humans in Seattle are dying as a result of domestic cat vampires and demonesses working together. The latest victim is Erron’s neighbor and best friend. Nolan, the leader of Seattle’s Pacifistic Vampire Clan, and Erron, an albino who is commonly mistaken for a vampire, team up with the cat vamp leader to find the rogues who are killing needlessly and trying to discredit vampire-kind. And just maybe, between them, they’ll find more than a remedy for this vampire scourge — like love!

Publisher’s Note: Immortal Steps, Vampires In Heat, and Hidden Depths have been previously published as stand alone novellas.

Excerpt

Immortal Heat
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone
Excerpt from Immortal Steps

Alone, Kyle Lohan entered his private balcony at the Grampian Theater in Edinburgh, Scotland. As he sat down, the house lights dimmed briefly to signal a two minute warning before the show began. The box smelled faintly of sex, although he doubted anyone without a vampire’s heightened senses could detect the erotic scent. Regardless, it was his own fault for sneaking in to watch rehearsals the previous evening. He’d been unable to resist tugging his cock in time with the heavy beat of the dancers as they practiced.

Okay, not all the performers excited him. Just one.

Tain O’Halloran.

Tonight Kyle had better prepared for the public performance, or so he’d thought. The quick release during his shower should have calmed his libido enough to sit through the performance without a hard-on. But as the first strains of a flute solo poured across the stage, the anticipation proved to be more than his body could resist and his cock rose to an aching fullness.

Tain. On stage. His stage.

How long had he waited for this? Worked for this? Dreamed of this? Sometimes it seemed like forever. And yet, very soon, the moment he’d been preparing for would arrive. One way or another, he would finally end his long pursuit.

He adjusted the fit of his tuxedo pants as the chorus sprinted across the stage. Their shoes hit the wooden floor in rhythmic, staccato beats, flirting with the notes. Kyle couldn’t stop his own feet from scuffing against the floor in a pale imitation of the dancers’ fancy footwork. Had his heart been prone to beat, it would have been racing as fast as the music.

A few more seconds…

Then, appearing out of a flash of light and smoke, bam! There he was. Tain O’Halloran. The male lead’s long, sleek black hair floated behind him as he bounced in perfect synchronization with the little blond at his side. His grey eyes flashed with pure joy and a little arrogance. A smile curved his thin pink lips. And what that black leather did for his ass…

Kyle groaned softly as his cock twitched with longing, but he refused to slake his lust. Privacy wasn’t an issue, even during a public performance. No, nothing mattered more than soaking up every moment of this night to tuck away in his memories. If the evening didn’t go as planned, this could be all he had left to remember the talented young man come morning.

The first dance ended, and Kyle felt the tightness in his chest ease as Tain exited stage right. He’d reappear several times throughout the performance.

Kyle itched with anticipation for the next time, and the next… and the next… By the second act, Kyle could pick out Tain’s unique sweat from the morass of odors permeating the air. The scent teased his cock like nothing else. His whole body tensed as he imagined jumping over the balcony’s rail to land on top of the dancer’s young bones, then fucking him to within an inch of his life, claiming him on stage for all the world to see.

Well, that’s one way to announce that you’re back in his life, Kyle thought with a rueful shake of his head. Definitely not one of your brightest ideas though.

If anything, such a bold, stupid move would get him thrown out of Tain’s life for good. Kyle’s goal was quite the opposite. If he had his way, nothing would separate him from Tain ever again.

The show ended with a roar of applause that pulled the dancers back on stage for a second encore. Vibrant and smiling under the lights, Tain looked like he could hold out for a third reprise if the director let him. However, the rest of the troupe wasn’t fairing as well, so when the curtains closed again the house lights came up.

The show was over, but Kyle’s performance of a lifetime was about to begin.

Purchase at Changeling

Meet the Author

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories. Visit Kira’s Website.

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May 06

New Release Blitz: Blood Which Burns by BL Jones (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Blood Which Burns

Series: Liquid Onyx, Book Five

Author: BL Jones

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/06/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 128900

Genre: Fantasy, family drama, gay, sci-fi/fantasy, superheroes, vigilante

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Description

Three months ago, Rex discovered a world-shattering truth about what it means to be a Liquid Onyx survivor and experienced devastating losses in the process.

Rex, momentarily gripped by raw fury and freshly torn grief, committed an act of shocking violence and was reforged by it.

Unable to face his new, fractured reality, he ran away from everyone who loved him and threw himself into the life of a morally grey vigilante.
Every choice Rex makes pushes him one step closer to embracing his father’s legacy. But there are other legacies who won’t let Rex fall into that darkness without a fight.

At his lowest point, will Rex find the strength and courage to step out of Alex Nova’s shadow and finally become the man—and the hero—everyone needs him to be?

Excerpt

Blood Which Burns
BL Jones © 2025
All Rights Reserved

ANDY

I was six the first time I broke into my mum’s lab.

Even at that age, I knew I wasn’t allowed in there because it was full of dangerous and fascinating things.

I had to break into the lab at least two dozen times before Mum gave in and simply took me down there with her.

She would sit me up at a table and give me work to do. Just simple things at first, calculating equations and mixing low-risk substances as required.

When I watched my mum move through her lab, I marvelled at her intellect. She knew so much, understood so much of the world that I did not.

It seemed to me she was one of the most brilliant people alive, and I wanted to be exactly like her.

Then there was my dad, a man like a natural disaster, unrelenting and inexplicably dangerous, his unique genius as captivating and destructive to watch as a tornado tearing across continents. His mind was unrivalled, a man destined to change the world.

And he did. With my mum’s help. My parents were the creators of Liquid Onyx, the gods of superheroes, the killers of children.

But, in most ways, Alex Nova was the man who taught me how to swim at our local pool and how to do a cartwheel, who took me out for ice cream when I did well on a test in school. He was the man who tickled me until I cried with laughter and dried my tears away when I got hurt falling off my skateboard. He was the man who told me I could do anything I wanted with my life because I was brave and clever, when all anyone else did was call me pretty.

My dad was my hero, not because of his extraordinary mind or the things he could do with it, but because he was my dad, and I loved him desperately.

When he died, my world crumbled and my heart broke. A piece of my childhood was set ablaze, never to be recovered from the ashes.

From then, it was just Mum and me. Mum became my everything; there was no one else, really. She didn’t want me to have any contact with my dad’s side of the family, and her side didn’t want anything to do with either of us.

Mum tried to make up for it by always being there when I needed her, by being my best friend. She came to all my science competitions and supported my academic dreams with all the attention, energy, and money she could spare. She bought me enough books to sink a ship and took me to museums all over the world, encouraging me to seek knowledge wherever I could find it.

I came out at fifteen and Mum made me a cake with the pansexual flag colours, which we ate together in front of the TV, watching our favourite 80s eighties films, quoting lines from Top Gun and Back to the Future in terrible American accents.

For a very long time, all I had in my life was my mum and my work.

Then there was Dru, who was too easy to love, and through her I met my little brother for the first time. Rex. A boy I’d been thinking about for too many years, imagining what he would be like and all the things we might have in common. Shared DNA doesn’t have to mean much, I know that, but it still felt like a connection I couldn’t pass on the potential of. I was too curious, have always been too curious by nature. Mum used to say that was how she knew I’d grow up to be a scientist like her and Dad.

Now, Mum is dead, and it was Rex who murdered her, and all I could do was scream for him to stop. Useless. Fucking stupid. As if my pleading would mean anything to him at that moment, after what I saw in that factory, what happened to Damon North. After what happened to our uncle Roux.

Thing is, I was right about how it would feel to meet Rex. There was a connection, instant and visceral. I felt it wind around my heart like barbed wire the moment our eyes met across the university lawn. Eyes the exact replica of our dad’s. He looked so much like Alex Nova, my breath had caught in my throat, threatening to choke me up. It had been a long time since I saw our dad’s face, and seeing it reflected back at me, albeit in an undeniably younger and angrier iteration, was bizarre. It’s like there was an edge there in the cut of my brother’s cheekbones, in the sardonic twist to his mouth that I can’t remember our dad ever possessing. Almost too much to deal with. But when he looked at me, I felt something, a tether pulling taut between us, and I’m certain, even now, that Rex felt it, too.

That’s what makes hating him so hard.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

BL Jones is a twentysomething British author who spends all her free time reading and writing and taming her three much younger brothers. She works as a BSL interpreter in Bristol and lives with a temperamental bunny named Pepsi. She’s been writing stories since she was five, rarely sharing them with anyone except her numerous stuffed animals. BL has had a difficult journey into discovering and accepting her own queerness, and therefore believes that positive, honest, and authentic stories about queer people are very important. She hopes to contribute her own stories for people to have fun with and enjoy.

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