Apr 22

New Release Blitz: Destructive Forces by Harry F. Rey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Destructive Forces

Series: The Galactic Captains, Book Four

Author: Harry F. Rey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 22, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 70400

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, sci-fi, futuristic, war, space, war of worlds, gay, lesbian, military, royalty

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Synopsis

In the far reaches of the Kyleri Empire, young Captain Mahnoor travels around the system to escape the cultural pressures to marry. But his infatuation with a handsome imperial pilot leads him into a galactic war.

On Jiwani, Viscamon is attempting to consolidate his power, by blaming the Ingvar for the royal massacre and calling armies from across the Empire to track down the missing prince, and achieve his dream of destroying the Galactic Balance. However, Antari knows the truth about Osvai and must find the courage to stand up to the prince’s enemies, and his own, no matter the risk.

Meanwhile on Aldegar, Daeron is being held prisoner by the few remaining Ingvar forces and must find a way to break free to rescue his mother and the crew of the Daring Huntress once again, as well as the missing Prince Osvai, before the Kyleri come to take back what’s theirs.

Sallah, no longer the last Tevian, returns to Aldegar with no choice but to enlist the help of the man she hates and the woman she once loved to see her son again.

As the Galactic Balance tips ever more towards chaos, time is running out to save Ales from the destructive forces he has unleashed.

Excerpt

Destructive Forces
Harry F. Rey © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“Don’t let him get away!” Sallah screamed at the top of her lungs through the chaos of the fiery corridor. Two Ingvar soldiers had her by either arm. They’d dragged her out of the Trades Council plenum-turned-battle zone against her will. Her life was of paramount value to the Ingvar star-state, but she couldn’t care less about that now. Not while this Turo was getting away.

His words, spoken only minutes ago, haunted her mind. I have your son, he’d said, with a swirling sneer. Then everything exploded. Sallah had lost sight of General Morvas and Councilor Nexia in the shooting. Ingvar soldiers had also jumped on them, but the smoke and noise of weapons fire made trying to get back to the ship impossible. Yet it was the last thing Sallah wanted to do—the insurrection in the heart of the Trades Council be damned.

“Get off me.” She struggled against their armor-plated bodies, but they did not relent. Sallah’s feet kept slipping against the smooth marble floor; she couldn’t find a grip. Yelling and the ricochet of weapons banged around the air from every direction, stinging smoke encroaching on their position. Sallah yanked her head around to a din of shots being fired, and the two soldiers pulled her back from the brink of the great hallway where volleys of laser shot fired backward and forward into unknown, unseen sets of troops.

“Get back.” One of the soldiers said and knocked her head back against the wall, trying to avoid edging around the corner into the wide trench of ongoing warfare the great hallway had become. Sallah remembered the way. They had to get across to the other side, through the firing range.

A far-off explosion shook the walls of the building, seeming to strike at the core of the planet itself. The firing ceased, but silence did not return. Instead, the screeching sounds of warplanes entering the Targulian atmosphere filled the once-gilded walkway. Down beyond their position, toward the end of the great hallway, Sallah saw figures moving through the smoke. The shapes could be Turo, or even Ales. The only thing clear was her need to get to them.

Her Ingvar captors looked distracted, scanning the now eerily silent hallway through black visor helmets. One had his hand pointed backward in a halfhearted attempt to keep her still. She edged away from the wall, then glanced into the great hallway. It had the air of some ancient temple; high ceilings reaching up to a glass-domed roof to the hazy orange Targulian air. The heart of the Outer Verge, now consumed in inter-factional war, the Union against the Trades Council, while a foreign power circled the planet like some great mountain vulture. And here she was, the former last Tevian alive. She couldn’t let her life end this way. Not while her son might be right around the corner—hurt, or in danger. Sallah gritted her teeth and launched herself against one of the soldiers. With a swift kick, she booted him in the side, and he tumbled away from her into the space of no man’s land, his footing lost to the smooth-edged floor.

“What are you doing?” the other one cried out through his visor. But it was too late. A volley of weapons fire began again from both sides, riddling the Ingvar soldier’s body from the left and right. Puffs of vaporized blood and brain floated into the air as his lifeless body collapsed in a haze of reddish death.

The living soldier floated in front of her, as if suspended in time, now unsure if she was friend or foe. She wanted to leap toward him, grab the sidearm from his belt, flip, and blast him in the back. The sinews of her body, the echoes of Sallah’s yearning for her son she’d thought lost along with the rest of her home-world, ached for the ability to push him aside and sprint to her destiny. Yet something exploded against her back. It felt as if the walls themselves had collapsed onto her as the polished marble rushed up to meet her face. But she stopped. There was no impact. Something, no, someone grabbed her, saved her from being smashed to the ground.

“I have her,” a metallic voice said through the helmet. Sallah caught the edge of her reflection in the onyx visor. The whites of her eyes enraged and bloodshot against skin the color of a dark and stormy night.

“Let’s go,” said another.

The sound of many more boots smacking against the ground joined with the fire of weapons. Someone held her back, as a stream of Ingvar soldiers rushed from behind, firing their weapons to either side of the great hallway, building a wall of cover fire to cross to the other side. A black-gloved arm pulled her back by the chest, and she struggled to no avail.

“This way, general,” a voice said behind her. “Increase fire, don’t hold back,” it yelled to the soldiers holding the line the breadth of the hallway to the narrower corridor across the other side. General Morvas staggered past, helped by two soldiers. His soft, gray hair and distinguished features were dripping in blood from an open wound across his skull, his robes torn and wrapped around an arm as a makeshift bandage. The volley of fire from the soldiers turned into a crescendo of noise and smoke. Most likely no one was firing back from either side, but they kept the rate up as the half-crouched general crossed the hallway like a child being rescued from a fire.

Councilor Nexia came along next, her frail elderly body slung over the back of a soldier as if she were won as a prize of war.

“Sallah,” the Trades Council leader cried out. “Come with us, now. The Union are starting a war.”

Sallah pushed against her captor’s arm with all her power. “No! I must find Turo. I must—”

“We have him. He’s on the ship.” Nexia said. The soldier carrying her didn’t stop running. “Get her back to the fleet,” Nexia yelled over the rage of battle toward Sallah’s captor. She was a prize they couldn’t lose.

Powerful armored hands grabbed her from behind, squeezing her sides so hard she felt the pain through the adrenaline rush. There was no way to break free. Turo, Ales—she had to find them. Sallah struggled against her captor, legs flying back in a wild storm of trying to find any weak point in the armor and land a kick to skin.

“Let me go.”

He’d had enough. He didn’t think twice. Like Nexia in front of her, the soldier hoisted her body across his shoulder and ran after the others, darting through the protective enclosure. It was terrifying. The world had turned upside down. All she could see was the smoke from the far end of the great hallway rising up to the glass convex ceiling, here and there blocking out the hazy orange above. Yet through the glass, she saw the flashes of war and the trails of missiles and strike ships painting their destructive pattern. The Ingvar invasion had begun.

The bouncing became rhythmic, and she lost all sense of thinking beyond the next few minutes. Get to the ship, get to Turo. She’d beat that man to a pulp to find out where her son was. She’d swear to the Ingvar to never conduct another experiment again if they did not help her track down Ales. She’d gouge the secrets of galinium and STAR drives from her brain and cast them into the black void of nothingness unless the entirety of the fleet of the Ingvar Empire cast every ion toward finding her son. She’d rip apart the Outer Verge to find…

“Hurl her inside. That’s it.”

Sallah was flung upward, then caught by firm hands and dragged into the confines of a compact shuttle. Nexia and Morvas were stretched out alongside her, being tended to by soldiers with their visors up. The women and men in Ingvar uniform and their faces consumed in the rapid swirl of action. They had no time to think, only do.

“That’s all; time to go,” a voice said. She turned her head to the left through a sharp edge of pain to the two pilots in the narrow cockpit. One was gesturing to get the soldiers out of the shuttle.

“Wait,” Sallah screamed. “I need my son. I need Turo.” She pulled herself to her feet, ready to boot everyone else out of the shuttle and fly around the city-world herself to find him.

“No time,” the pilot yelled back, looking ready to meet her fists. “I’m taking you back to the fleet now. Strap in.”

Out of options, Sallah briefly contemplated jumping on one of the soldiers currently assisting the bruised-looking Nexia and Morvas into their shuttle seats against the narrow walls. Something caught her eye at the back of the shuttle, a soldier she now realized had been standing over someone. He moved out of the way, ready to exit the ship, and then she saw him, strapped in against his will and hands frozen in electromagnetic cuffs.

“You piece of flank,” Sallah yelled at Turo in the crowded confines of the ship. The rest of the soldiers ducked outside to the increasingly loud sounds of weapons fire.

“Strap in!” The pilot yelled from behind her as the shuttle door snapped closed.

“I’ll fucking kill you right now unless you tell me where my son is.” Turo’s green eyes looked up at her, his face smoky and bloodied from the fight, but his eyes alive, and a thin, narrow smile across his lips. The look of a man who, even in defeat, would prefer to watch everything he’d worked for go up in noxious flames than surrender. She launched her fist straight down into his stomach, the straps holding him back keeping him from bending over in reaction to the blow as the ship rumbled into action.

He spat out a gob of phlegm and blood onto the polished floor and returned only a smile. She cocked another fist.

“Sallah, stop,” Morvas called from behind, as the ship jerked up from the ground. She grabbed a metal bar above her head as the shuttle rumbled into the hazy sky. The sight through the windows dissolved her anger into terrified wonder. Targuline had descended into full-on war. Fighters dipped and dived behind the great trunks of Shards; missiles from space streaked across the orange sky as billows of black smoke infected the world.

Sallah turned her attention back to Turo. She held on above as the shuttle bounced around the atmosphere, worried it would drop from the sky at any moment—or perhaps be torn in two from heavy weapons fire. Neither was acceptable. She slammed her free hand into Turo’s throat, squeezing the sinews hard.

“Where is my son?”

Spluttered nothings fell from his mouth. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be choked. As he raised a cuffed arm, where his wrist-tech sat, she released him from her deathly grip.

“I have him,” he coughed. “Tracked, here.”

Sallah twisted the arm with the wrist-tech, causing him to writhe in pain. Arms were not designed to twist in such a way, but she took comfort in his obvious agony.

“Find him.” Her eyes flashed with the power of a supernova. One primed for explosion

“Locate Ales,” he said into the device. The screen built a rudimentary map of the area with a clear green dot showing him less than fifty kilometers away. “Look, he’s still close by.” Sallah tried to make sense of the map, but the shaking shuttle and the moving blocks of images on the wrist-tech made it almost impossible to follow. She kept her eye solely on the distance counter, which steadily ticked upward as the shuttle flew up into the atmosphere toward the void of space.

“He’s on a ship, look.” Turo twisted his wrist-tech farther around, with an edge of humanity in his voice, which took her by surprise. The view of the outside moved around Morvas and Nexia from the hazy, orange battle-scarred sky to the cool blackness of space. Shards poked through the stratosphere, but the normally bustling routes in and out of the planet and its space stations were frozen by the invasion.

She stared past Nexia at the Ingvar fleet assembled in battle formation. She’d flown with them from Aldegar in the odd position she held as both a prisoner and most-valued individual, across their emerging empire. She knew this was every ship the Ingvar had. Battle Cruisers and troop transports, command vessels and fighter carriers; an entire fleet constructed from the scraps of the Crejan occupation force the young star-state liberated themselves from.

They had gambled their empire on this force, throwing everything they had against the Outer Verge, the only power in the galaxy weaker than themselves, in order to seize the STAR drive and power into the unknown universe beyond. Now, with their fifty-ship fleet amassed around the Targulian atmosphere and the Verge descending into civil war, they needed to get their hands on the raw galinium mined in the far edge of the Outer Verge.

Sallah reminded herself she didn’t care for whom she provided the prototypes of the STAR drives or which empire seized on her research. The Union, the Seven Suns, the Ingvar—she cared not for any of them. She had cared only for herself and the chance it may give her to rebuild the world she had lost. Sallah’s hands clasped her stomach as if it was about to explode.

“What’s that?” Nexia called out behind her, pointing to the window and the Ingvar fleet beyond. A single ship with a strange greenish glow around it was racing up from the orange haze toward the mass of ships. Sallah had only ever considered that glow in the theory of her work. It can’t be.

“It’s Ales,” Turo said, shifting his wrist-tech toward her line of sight stuck on the window, staring at the fleet the shuttle jiggered toward. Her throat flicked closed, a lifetime’s worth of tears held back by nothing but a single hope that soon she may be reunited with the son she’d thought lost.

“Tell them to bring him in,” she screamed at the pilot. He looked back with a gasp of worry. Morvas quickly nodded his approval.

“Fleet command, there’s an unidentified small vessel headed right to you from the planet. It’s friendly. Repeat, friendly. High-value cargo,” the pilot said into the comms.

Sallah left Turo in his strapped-down position and pressed her face against the clear window. His ship was getting closer to the fleet, like a single drop edging ever closer to a waiting beast. But the greenish glow around him grew ever bolder. She pressed her hand against the glass as Morvas, and then Nexia, unclipped from their seats and joined her.

“What is it?” Morvas demanded. “Is that a weapon? Is this an attack?”

She couldn’t even whisper a No. Sallah felt as if her mind had been severed from her body. It may as well float in the empty void of nothing. Her mind, her soul, unable to comprehend the things she was seeing. Who had built such a thing? Everything had been theoretical, only experiments. How could her research, her life’s work, sever her son from her once again?

The glow became stronger and ever brighter as the STAR drive ignited its galinium core. The space around his ship warped and swirled in a cloud of green as the horizon point broke free from the ship’s engine, the greenish bubble growing wide enough to encompass the entire Ingvar fleet.

“No. It’s too much. It’s too powerful.” The beat of her heart burst into her skull as the horizon point from Ales’ ship reached its zenith.

“What?” Morvas demanded. “What is? Tell me now.”

The flash forced Nexia and Morvas to turn away. But Sallah did not. Her eyes burned and ached for the briefest moment, but then the darkness returned. The black, blank darkness of space above the hazy orange orb. Now empty except for a long, glowing white streak of nothing where Ales and the entire Ingvar fleet had just been. Whoever had created that STAR drive had grossly miscalculated the proportions of weaponized galinium required.

“Sallah, he’s gone,” Turo said in quiet shock, a note of fear in his voice Sallah would never have thought a man such as he would have.

“Where’s my fleet?” Morvas shrieked. “For infinity’s sake, where is my fleet?”

Sallah said nothing. Her eyes focused on her own reflection as she watched a single tear drip down her cheek. It was too painful to look at the empty space where her son and all the ships of the Ingvar empire had been, now lost in some unknown galaxy.

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Meet the Author

Harry F. Rey is an author and lover of gay themed stories with a powerful punch with influences ranging from Alan Hollinghurst to Isaac Asimov to George R.R. Martin. He loves all things sci-fi and supernatural, and always with a gay twist. Harry is originally from the UK but lives in Jerusalem, Israel with his husband.

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Futuristic, Gay, Lesbian, LGBT, Military, royalty, Sci-Fi, space, war, war of worlds
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Apr 19

Audio Book Blitz: Starting From Zero by Lane Hayes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Starting From Zero

Series: Starting From Series, Book 1

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Original Release Date: April 15

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Narrator: Michael Pauley

Length: 7 hrs and 8 mins

Genre: Romance, Rock star, May/December romance, Bisexual, LA, Humor, New beginning

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Synopsis

Justin Cuevas is going through a rough patch. A broken relationship, a scandal, and the demise of his band have shaken the aspiring rock star’s confidence. Working two jobs and sleeping on his friend’s sofa isn’t ideal, but Justin isn’t ready to give up yet. With a little luck, he’s hoping to re-launch his music career in LA with his new band, Zero. The key is to stay focused, and not get distracted by his past…or the sexy songwriter he can’t get out of his head.

Gray Robertson has written dozens of hits and worked with some of the biggest names in the industry. But he’s never met anyone like Justin. The younger man is fiery, passionate, and smart. A powerful voice for a new generation. Other than an unforgettable one-night stand and a passion for music, the two men have nothing in common. Or do they? Justin knows the out-of-the-blue challenge to write a quintessential love song is a huge opportunity. And it’s the ultimate test for someone who’s doesn’t believe in happily ever after. When sparks fly, Justin and Gray realize they have a shot something special if they start from zero together. Maybe even love.

Excerpt

Justin turned to me with a fiery expression and gestured toward the glittering lights below. “Everyone here wants more than what they have. And I guess I’m the same. I don’t need recognition and I sure as fuck don’t want love, but I wouldn’t say no to a few bucks,” he commented with a laugh. “What about you?”

I did a double take. I was two steps behind, struggling to keep up, and if possible, memorize every word he’d said. I hadn’t been around anyone so raw or so honest in a long time. He made rules and broke them with at whim, letting me in and then shutting me out. He had a way of revealing himself that made me feel as though he was holding a mirror to me, daring me to acknowledge my broken pieces too. He was either slightly insane or incredibly gifted. I suspected it was the latter. The cadence of his speech lured me in…and made me want more. I’d tell him anything he wanted to know, just to be near him and this intense spark of…newness, creativity, and wonder.

“What about me?” I asked in a low raspy voice.

“What do you want to accomplish before you leave the planet?”

“I want to write the perfect song,” I replied unthinking.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But it would be nice to leave something that felt special.”

Justin held my gaze then inclined his head in agreement. “Yeah. I want that too.”

We stared at each other. Whispers of conversation floated from the far corners of the rooftop deck. We weren’t alone, but we might as well be. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so intimately connected to someone I’d never really touched. It was puzzling and enchanting at the same time.

He shivered when the breeze kicked up. I took it as a sign from above and pulled him against me. I had to feel him. I studied the sexy indentation in his bottom lip before giving into impulse and resting my hands on his hip. Justin gave me a funny look but he didn’t push me away.

“You shouldn’t be anonymous. You have too much to share. Too much to say,” I said.

“What are you doing?”

“I…I’m not sure. Is this okay?”

“Yeah. It’s good.” Justin nodded and snaked his arms around my waist.

We were still for a while. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips. The lingering quiet was deceptive. A casual observer might have mistaken us for old lovers engaged in a tender moment. Or maybe they’d guess we were tentative strangers anxious to make the right moves. Not too fast, not too slow. Neither was correct. There was no quiet here. An electric current sizzled and hissed between us. Intense sexual awareness and something more. Something fiery and passionate. He was wild and rough with jagged edges and a sharp mind. Instinctively, I knew I should proceed with caution because walking away wasn’t an option.

“I want to kiss you,” I whispered, inching closer so our noses brushed.

Justin gave me a crooked smile and tugged at my belt loop. “Then do it.”

I tilted my chin slightly and pressed my lips to his. He was deceptively tender at first. He closed his eyes and hummed into the connection. When I licked at the corner of his mouth, he let me in without hesitation. I couldn’t get enough. He tasted like gin and nicotine with a hint of peppermint. All the things I apparently couldn’t do without.

I pulled him closer, cupping the back of his neck to kiss him harder and deeper. Our tongues twisted in a growing frenzy until everything and everyone around us dissolved into white noise. Justin lulled me into complacency and let me think I was in control. I pushed him back slightly and wrapped my fingers around his neck to keep him in place when he leaned forward to nip my bottom lip. He grinned like a madman and then lowered his eyelashes in a show of faux subservience. I didn’t trust him to stay still or obey for a second. Justin was wild and headstrong. He wasn’t going to do anything that wasn’t either his idea or a bad idea.

I should have known then that I’d met my match.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes is finally doing what she loves best. Writing! An avid reader from an early age, Lane has always been drawn to romance novels. She truly believes there is nothing more inspiring than a well-told love story with beautifully written characters. Lane discovered the M/M genre a fews ago and was instantly hooked. She is the bestselling author of the Better Than, Right and Wrong, A Kind of Stories and Leaning Into Series and the Out in College series. Lane’s novels placed first in the 2016 and 2017 Rainbow Awards. She loves travel, chocolate, and wine (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in an empty nest.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Bookbub

Meet the Narrator

Michael has well over 50 audio book titles currently available for purchase on Audible.com. He is versed in multiple styles and genres including fiction (novels and short stories) ranging from romance to science fiction to crime dramas to thrillers; business strategy books; health and wellness books; and even an occasional children’s book.

Fans of Michael’s narration are welcome to follow him on social media including Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, and SoundCloud.

If you are interested in working with Michael to produce your next audio book, you can contact him directly at voice@michaelpauley.info

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Apr 15

Book Blitz: New Girl by A. Fae (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: New Girl

Series: Collegiate Curves Series

Author: A. Fae

Publisher: A. Fae

Release Date: 4/15/19

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23k

Genre: Romance, New Adult, college, f/f, curvy girls. HFN, roommates

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Synopsis

Meg is excited to start her junior year at a new college in a small town. She’s heard plenty from other people about the Sweet Spot, a local bookstore and café, and quickly learns the Spot is indeed the “it Spot” in her new home away from home. Everything about her move seems promising save for being stuck in the transitional dorms until she can find a room to rent.

Lys is a senior art student, who spends most of her day working in the student art studio on campus. But when she’s free, she can be found hanging at the Spot or at her place in the small apartment complex, The Palms, home to many other Spot patrons and employees. As luck would have it, she is in need of a roommate and when she receives a promising phone call, she thinks she might have found the one.

The Sweet Spot is not only the “it Spot” for townies and college students alike, but it also happens to be the place where the lesbians (and gays) come to hang out a couple of times of the week. On one such night, when the sounds of karaoke fill the air, Meg and Lys have a chance meeting that goes beyond steamy fairly quickly. But little do they know their next encounter has already been made; set up by the two of them before either knew who the other was.

Will Meg find her home away from campus? Can Lys find the perfect roommate among the women in town, one who promises no partying or overnight guests? The first in the five-book Collegiate Curves novella series by A. Fae, New Girl answers these questions and more while telling the story of two women who start hot and heavy as strangers and end as much more than either ever bargained for.

Excerpt

I casually lifted my aviator glasses from over my eyes, using them as a headband to push back my long, stringy hair that, despite my oftentimes-heroic efforts each morning to straighten or curl it, was in desperate need of a trim and highlight. I hadn’t come to do more than check out the place, but I felt an interesting energy or vibe within the four walls of Sweet Spot—and quite a few sexy coeds to boot—so I figured I’d stick around for a bit.

I’m from a big city, and the laid-back feel of the town of Lakeshore was a refreshing change. I’d been anxious to transfer here since I was a senior in high school because their journalism program at the small, private liberal arts college was widely known to be one of the best in the country.

The only child to a single mother, my mother insisted I start with the community college close to home before moving over a thousand miles away. Now that I’m here. I’m not sure I’ll ever leave. I might even pursue my master’s when I complete my undergraduate degree.

Despite the entrance I’d made when I walked into Sweet Spot, I wasn’t necessarily an outgoing person. Confident, yes. An extrovert, no. However, I was far from reserved or shy. I didn’t mind the occasional spotlight. Considering how often we moved around when I was a kid—Mom liked to partner hop—on top of my struggling with being a size sixteen in a size zero world, fitting in wasn’t always easy. I was judged before folks got to know me.

Eventually, I learned to embrace my size, adapt quickly to new surroundings, and make friends easily. I had high hopes this transfer wouldn’t be any different. So, as I nodded absentmindedly and looked about the nifty gathering spot I’d found, I decided if I were going to find new friends anywhere, this would probably be the place to find them.

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Meet the Author

As a native Texan, Ashley dreams of cool fall days where she can sit with her laptop outside and soak in the autumn sun while the breeze blows through her hair. She can often be found settling disputes between her two chihuahuas over whose turn it is in her lap–especially when she is attempting to bring her stories to life. When she’s not avidly reading or watching movies, she’s crafting worlds on paper. Growing up she could never find people like her in the books she read and decided if she couldn’t find them in other people’s work, she would make them up on her own.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | eMail | Instagram

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Apr 15

New Release Blitz: I Knew Him by Abigail de Niverville (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: I Knew Him

Author: Abigail de Niverville

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 15, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69600

Genre: Contemporary YA, LGBT, contemporary, Canada, YA, high school, theater, angst, bisexual, coming-of-age, coming out, interracial, slow burn, alcohol use, family drama

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Synopsis

In his senior year of high school, Julian has one goal: be invisible. All he wants is to study hard, play basketball, and pretend he’s straight for one more year. Then, he can run away to university and finally tell the world he’s bisexual. And by “the world,” he means everyone but his mom and best friend. That’s two conversations he never wants to have.

When he’s talked into auditioning for the school’s production of Hamlet, Julian fears that veering off course will lead to assumptions he’s not ready to face. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a connection to this play. His absent father haunts him like a ghost, his ex is being difficult, and he’s overthinking everything. It’s driving him crazy.

The decision to audition leads Julian on an entirely different path. He’s cast as Hamlet, and the boy playing Horatio is unlike anyone Julian has met before. Mysterious and flirtatious, Sky draws Julian in, even though he fears his feelings at the same time. As the two grow closer, Julian begins to let out the secrets he’s never told—the ones that have paralyzed him for years. But what will he do if Sky feels the same way?

Excerpt

I Knew Him
Abigail de Niverville © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
7:35 PM: We need to talk.

8:00 PM: I’m sorry.

9:17 PM: I know you’re awake.

9:20 PM: Please answer my calls.

10:00 PM: At least check your voicemail.

10:47 PM: Julian?

“Shut up Lucy,” I muttered, fingering the phone in my hands. I placed it on top of my chest and watched it rise and fall as I breathed. The glow-in-the-dark stars on Will’s bedroom ceiling had faded through the years, but they were still visible. I repeated the constellations in my head as I found them: Orion, Aquarius, Cassiopeia.

Will was already sound asleep in his bed, but I’d never been more awake. Everything I’d said replayed in my mind, every mistake I’d ever made flashing like a movie.

My phone vibrated again, and I jolted upright, the mattress groaning underneath. The message flashed on my screen as I glanced down at my hand.

I still love you.

“Shit.”

I didn’t want Lucy to want me anymore. I wanted her to leave me alone, let me self-destruct in peace. She didn’t need my bullshit anymore. I was trying to spare her.

Before my phone went off again, I rolled off the mattress onto the floor and crept out of the room. Will barely stirred through all the commotion. I grabbed his set of keys from the desk and slipped out of his room.

Outside, the air was cool and damp. We’d started the second week of school and everything was still kind of green, but the smell of partially decaying leaves surrounded me. I sighed heavily, the breeze stinging my face. I probably should’ve put on a sweater before I stepped out, but I didn’t want to turn back now.

I ran out into the street and jogged a couple blocks, unsure of my plan, besides getting the fuck away from everything and everyone. Just being silent with the night and forgetting I was a bad boyfriend and an even worse friend. It was kind of cloudy, but some of the stars shone through. I craned my neck and walked in a tight circle, spotting the North Star and part of Orion’s Belt. Too cloudy for much else.

The sound of tires on the patched pavement snapped my attention to ground level. I stepped out of the way of an SUV and watched it inch down the road. The driver had the window rolled down, and he poked his head out as he passed me. His blond hair was slicked back, and his lips were full. He reminded me of a model.

He squinted his eyes at me, like he was trying to place where he’d seen me before. I just knew I’d never seen him before. Or had I?

“Salut,” he said, his accent thick. He must’ve been a student at one of the French schools. What was he doing in Riverview, somewhere totally anglophone? Anyone who went to the French schools and lived in Riverview was an anglophone who was good at French.

“Hi,” I said warily.

“I remember you,” he said, mouth quirking into a smile. “Last summer. Austin’s party.”

“You remember that?” I tried to place him in my memory, but I’d been drunk for a good part of last summer. Lucy had broken up with me, and I was devastated. That time, I’d really wanted things to work out.

“How could I forget you?” he drawled, smiling again. It would’ve been sweet if I wasn’t so on edge. And also incredibly sober. Drunk me always wanted everything sober me never took. Sober me was never what he remembered.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

He licked his lips thoughtfully, parted them slightly. “Let me help you remember.”

I shook my head, though part of me kind of wanted to remember. He had lips that were perfect for kissing. And the pieces were falling together in my head. An empty basement room, the air thick from smoke and humid heat. And a blond boy with messy hair with his hands on my waist. He kissed me.

“I have a girlfriend.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I’m straight.” He laughed softly and shook his head. When he regained his composure, he glanced down at me again. “Take care, you mess of a boy.”

He rolled away from me, and his car crept down the street and turned the corner. I waited until the sounds of his engine died away into the night before I dared move.

Letting out a sigh of relief, I pushed the hair back from my forehead. My whole body shook. I never expected the worlds of drunk and sober me to meet. Not this way. Not this year. We only had two more semesters of school. This wasn’t the time to change everything. It was all about surviving and moving on.

I needed to be what people thought I was. People here would never understand. Better to go away and let them find out much later. That was the way it had to be.

I breathed deeply again, trying to regain my composure. It had only been a moment, and he wasn’t a boy who went to my school. He was just a boy. Less faceless than before, but still anonymous. And people like him didn’t belong to someone like me. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for the world to see me.

My phone vibrated again. This time, it wasn’t Lucy texting. Will’s name flashed on the screen.

Where are you??

Had to get some air. I wrote. Can’t sleep.

Get over here. We got school.

I let out a grim laugh. School was the last thing on my mind right then. Lucy and boys danced in my head. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know how. The two were linked somehow. Lucy and my failure to love her—and the boys I kissed every time we ended things.

She deserved better than me. She deserved someone who wasn’t afraid, who told her about the storm overtaking him. Who wouldn’t let her assume he was on drugs or cheating because he was too afraid to admit he wasn’t…

Straight.

I hated that word. I hated the alternatives. Hell, maybe I hated everything.

I craned my neck to look to the sky again and stared at the clouds passing over the horizon. When the wind picked up again, the frozen cold on my cheek made me aware I’d been crying.

“Shit,” I muttered, wiping at my cheek. I had to keep myself together.

This place had closed me in. I needed to survive one more year, and then I’d escape forever.

“Jules!”

I wiped at my cheeks again as Will’s yells grew closer. He was wearing his pyjamas and jean jacket, carrying my hoodie. His flip-flops slapped on the pavement, echoing in the quiet street.

“Fuck, Jules!” he panted when he reached me. “What are you doing?”

I shrugged. “Thinking.”

He furrowed his brow. In the orange lamplight, his red hair was almost brown, and the freckles on his face were dark pinpricks. “About Lucy?”

I nodded and didn’t elaborate.

“You realize you don’t have to break up with her?” he suggested with a small laugh.

I pulled the hoodie over my head. “No, I should. We keep fighting.”

“My parents fight all the time,” he offered. “And they’re fine.”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I just think she’s miserable with me. I need to…let her go.”

“She doesn’t want to.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I do,” I shot at him.

Will raised his hands and took a step away. “Well, whatever. Whatever will make you happy.”

Happiness didn’t seem to be an option.

He squinted, as if he were trying to break me apart and analyze me, the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find the right question. “But you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He’d meant to ask me something else, but I wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted to hear.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

I followed Will to his house with heavy steps. What had only been hours seemed like a lifetime since I’d told Lucy we needed to break up. Since she’d cried and screamed about how much she loved me. Since I’d been too upset to go home to an empty apartment while my mom worked the night shift.

I slumped down on the mattress Will had laid out on the floor next to his bed. Remembering I held the spare keys in one hand, I threw them on the desk.

“I’m going early,” Will said once we’d settled under our covers.

“To school? Why?”

“Gotta practice for this group project. You wanna drive me?”

“No,” I scoffed, pulling the blanket to my chin. “Nice try.”

He laughed softly and rolled over so his back faced me. “Try to sleep, Jules.”

And then, he was out.

But sleep wasn’t easy for me. I kept thinking about Lucy and boys. And how Will was too good a friend to me. He’d let me come and go whenever I needed to. He didn’t question it anymore. Sometimes, he tried to ask the hard questions, but he didn’t push when I was in a bad way. I wished I could tell him everything. But I couldn’t. He’d assume what he wanted to assume. He wouldn’t understand.

No one could.

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Meet the Author

Abigail de Niverville is an author and composer based in Toronto, Canada. Born on the East Coast of Canada, Abigail draws inspiration from her experiences growing up there. When she’s not writing frantically, she also composes music and holds an M.Mus from the University of Toronto.

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alcohol use, angst, bisexual, Canada, Coming of Age, coming out, Contemporary, family drama, high school, Interracial, LGBT, slow burn, theater, YA
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Apr 15

New Release Blitz: Playing Around by Suzanne Clay (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Playing Around

Series: Rough Play, Book One

Author: Suzanne Clay

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 15, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84600

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, contemporary, college, new adult, bisexual, friends to lovers, coming out, group sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, ethical nonmonogamy, family issues, biphobia, family drama, athlete

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Synopsis

Logan and Christian have been best friends since kindergarten. After spending their entire childhoods together, it makes sense they would go to the same college: the first step toward making their futures intertwine forever as blood brothers.

But being away from home means discovering freedom Logan and Christian have never had before, and their journey of finding who they really want to be—and how they want to fit into each other’s lives—is a messy one.

When a double date with their girlfriends turns into a new, erotic experience, both Logan and Christian are shaken by it. Suddenly, they can’t continue to see each other in a platonic light. Exploring their curiosity feels dangerous even when their girlfriends aren’t an issue, but ignoring their changing feelings is impossible.

Excerpt

Playing Around
Suzanne Clay © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Logan

For years, Logan resented how his parents had made him into a workhorse. Whether the boxes of supplies were for the funeral home or the drug store, they were heavy and unwieldy, and no matter how much he protested, his parents never tucked an extra dollar into his pocket for his trouble. There was no choice—just required labor without a word of gratitude.

Moving his belongings into his college dorm was the first time he welcomed the labor. No parents telling him how to set things up. No last-minute delivery showing up right as he finished. No demands or expectations. Just welcome quiet.

He set the last of the boxes on the floor with a grunt and rubbed his arms as he studied the small room. The tight quarters weren’t much—barely the size of his bedroom at home and stuffed with twice as much furniture to accommodate two men—but he wasn’t going to complain. Not even about the bunk bed. He’d heard from his RA, Aavai, they could be broken down into two beds, and he’d get Christian to help him do so later.

“Lazy ass.”

Speak of the devil. Logan glanced over his shoulder with a smirk as Christian came in with both hands full of bags, as many as seven hanging from each hand.

“At least I know how to pack a box,” Logan said. “I can’t believe your parents let you bring all your shit in grocery bags.”

“Not all of it,” Christian fired back. He set the bags down on top of their mountain of stuff in the corner. “Shut up. You’re still lazy. You’re standing there, not even starting to unpack…”

“Why the hell am I gonna unpack when we need to work through logistics?” Logan gestured around the room. “Look at this. Two beds. Two desks. Two dressers. C’mon, we’ve gotta do some rearranging. This place looks like shit.”

“I don’t give a damn how it looks.” Christian leaned forward and launched himself face-first on the bed. Unsurprisingly, his feet hung off the edge. “Perfect.” The word was muffled, but he already sounded half-asleep.

Logan walked over. “Now, who’s the lazy ass?” He spanked him and darted away with a laugh when Christian turned on him like a wounded animal. “Get up, man! Want you to help me break this bed down.”

Christian scoffed. “Weren’t you the one who just said we’ve got too much shit in here? And now you wanna move the bed? No way.”

“If you like the bunks so much, you can sleep on top.”

Christian shot him a frown. “Me? On the top bunk? Are you kidding me?”

“You’re over six feet tall. How are you afraid of heights?”

Christian shrugged and rolled onto his side, the wall protecting his ass from another slap.

Logan rolled his eyes. “All right. Are you gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“Yeah, go ahead, spell it out.”

Of course. “If you think I’m gonna meet some girls who’re chill with crawling up a ladder to get some alone time, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The grin Christian shot him spoke multitudes. “Your ugly ass couldn’t get a girl in the first place.”

“I’ll be stealing your girl first.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Logan laughed as he turned away. He took in the placement of the furniture and tried to visualize the best place for everything—once he moved things, he was unlikely to do it again. “Listen, just help me break apart the bed, and we can put it by the wall.”

The mattress creaked when Christian sat up. That was definitely going to put a damper on trying to be quiet when they had company over. “Nah. I wanna get a couch and put it there.”

Logan glanced over his shoulder. “We’ve got a couch in the living room. The whole point of a suite is to have another room to put our shit in instead of clogging up the bedroom.”

Christian shrugged. “So? The couch can only fit three of us anyway. What if I wanna sit down somewhere and you and our suitemates are taking up all the cushions?”

“Then you sit your ass on the floor.”

Christian stood, his eyes sparking with a familiar competitiveness. A fire lit up in Logan’s chest as Christian faced him. Logan squared his shoulders, head tipped back to look him in the eye. Christian didn’t seem the least bit intimidated when he replied, “I’m getting a couch. And I’m putting it there.”

Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’m taking apart the bed and putting it there instead.”

Christian took two dangerous steps forward. Already, his hands dangled by his side, open and ready for grabbing. Logan planted his feet and held his gaze. “Winner chooses?” Christian asked.

Logan bit his bottom lip through his smile. “Bring it on, motherfucker.”

Christian barreled toward him like a bull, grabbed hold of Logan, and they began their dance.

Like any two guys who had known each other since kindergarten, they’d always done their fair share of horsing around. They’d thrown each other in the dirt on the playground when they were seven, much to the panic of their teachers, and Logan’s mom had blunted the end of a broom with the number of times she’d banged it against the ceiling when they wrestled too loudly.

They knew each other’s moves by heart at this point. Though Christian had the stronger body from years of soccer, Logan played dirty.

Christian’s hand wrapped around the back of Logan’s neck, and Logan batted his arm away before going for Christian’s waist. An early takedown might not be the best strategy, but the more unpredictable he could be, the best chance he had.

Unpredictable didn’t work. Christian spun with his tackle, and all the breath knocked out of Logan when he landed on his back on the cold tile floor, Christian’s weight on top of him.

“Couch,” Christian said with a certain smugness.

Logan lay limp for only a second to catch his breath before he exploded with energy, lashing out legs and grabbing at Christian’s shirt to get some leverage. “No deal! I didn’t give yet!”

“You’re gonna!” Christian was never out of breath this early. He sounded as calm as he’d been a few seconds ago. He caught Logan’s wrists, then pinned them to the floor over his head, his bright white teeth shining against his dark skin. “We’re getting a fucking couch.”

“No way!” Logan squeezed his thighs around Christian’s hips and twisted, trying to roll him over, but Christian pressed a hand against his stomach and held him there, as if it was easy. The full weight of Christian—most of it bearing down on his wrists, the rest coming down on his hips—was too much to shake off.

Maybe if I just tire him out… Logan didn’t stop thrashing around, his teeth gritting with the effort, and Christian laughed, the only sign of his exertion the slight tremor of his tone.

Christian bore down on him, one of his muscular legs tangling up with Logan’s to pin it down too. Their bedroom door opened just then, and they both whipped their heads to see the mortified man backing away with wide eyes.

“Oh, fuck, sorry!” And then the door slammed shut.

Silence. Christian stared at him for a few seconds.

They both started to snicker.

Christian sat on his knees, letting Logan pull away and rub his back. “Oh my God, you don’t think he—”

“I absolutely think he thought that,” Logan said through his laugh. “Holy shit. Should we go tell him?”

“Nah.” Christian’s eyes gleamed as he stood and offered Logan a hand to tug him to his feet. “He’ll figure it out when he sees all my girlfriends I’m bringing back.”

“Right.” Logan rolled his eyes, elbowing him as he walked past. “C’mon, we might as well go introduce ourselves or whatever.”

Christian got to the door first—competitive to the end—and opened it for him. “And then we go couch shopping.”

“Fuck you.”

“I won,” Christian said with a smirk.

“That wasn’t a win!” Logan led him into the living area of their dorm’s suite. “We got interrupted! That wasn’t even close to a win!”

“We don’t have technicalities in the rulebook.”

“I’ll put it in tonight.” Logan rolled his eyes. “If we’re getting a couch, you’re fucking paying my medical bills after I go to the hospital for my broken back.”

“Weenie.”

“Shut up.”

After a moment of searching the empty living room and their kitchen nook, they peered in the second bedroom and found the man who’d walked in on them.

“Hey.” Logan knocked gently on the half-open door. “Sorry, you, uh, caught us at a bad time.”

The guy threw his hands up as if he’d been stopped by police. “I’m so sorry—”

“Dude, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” Christian leaned against the doorframe as if his head wasn’t almost brushing the top. “Just taking care of some unfinished business.”

“Shut up,” Logan threw over his shoulder and held out a hand. “I’m Logan. This is Christian. Guess we’re gonna be your suitemates?”

“Yeah, guess so!” The guy smiled as he shook Logan’s hand, though his eyes still flitted between them as if he were watching a tennis match. “My name’s Daiki. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Daiki?” Christian asked.

“Daiki.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything more. “Have you guys met my roommate yet?”

“Nah. We just got here, but Aavai said we were the first ones in.” Logan shrugged. “We left last night, got a hotel room, got some breakfast this morning…guess we were ready to get here.”

Ready was an understatement. After twelve years of being in the same tiny town and barely able to remember where he’d first lived, the change of scenery was what Logan had been desperate for. It didn’t matter that Fulton State University was in the same state—tuition was cheaper for his parents, and the view outside Daiki’s window showed him something different.

A city, for example, that wasn’t too far away, barely visible over the roofs of their college buildings. He didn’t know what was down there besides a Waffle House, a hotel, and a gas station that carried an incredible array of candy for late-night snacking, but he looked forward to learning the lay of the land.

“I guess he’ll be here later.” Daiki rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you guys think I can go ahead and claim a bunk and start unpacking, or…”

“Tell your roommate to go fuck himself if he doesn’t like the bunk you picked.” Christian was succinct as always.

Logan laughed and shoved Christian out of the doorway. “Don’t pay him any attention. He doesn’t think much. Sports scholarship, you see.”

“At least I got a full ride.” Christian lifted his chin and smirked. “Don’t see my parents having to rob a bank just to pay for the damn place.”

“Mm-hmm. Yep, and you’re gonna be a big soccer star, and we’re all gonna say we knew you when. Uh-huh.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“I, uh, I guess you guys know each other…pretty well?” Daiki asked. “Have you been…together long?”

“I’ve known this idiot since he was trying to eat crayons, if that’s what you mean,” Logan drawled. “But that’s about it.”

Daiki’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Really? You’re not dating? But I thought—”

“We’re straight. Sorry to disappoint.” Christian turned on his heel and headed into the living room. “Logan, I’m hungry! Buy me a burger!”

“Buy your own burger!” Logan called and glanced at Daiki. The expression on Daiki’s face made Logan hesitate. “Hey. Sorry if you’re…” How do I phrase this? He’d heard it put a number of ways back home, and all of them had made his mom’s lips thin. He’d learned what the wrong words were only after she washed his mouth out with soap. “…he doesn’t mean anything bad. Promise.”

Daiki stared at him hard. “I hope he doesn’t, or he’s going to have an awful time at this school.”

Logan chuckled. They’d already walked past several couples holding hands around the busy campus as they found their way to the parking lot—most of them a guy and a girl, but a couple of girls and a couple of guys together too. The open display of affection would take some getting used to. “It’s fine. Seriously, no problem. It’s just not something we saw very often at home.”

Daiki leaned against his desk and glanced down at his feet, and Logan took the opportunity to size him up. The gay couples weren’t the only thing he’d have to get used to. Though Daiki didn’t appear mixed like Logan was, he still wasn’t white. As he’d carried his boxes in, Logan had seen more people of color than in his entire life just in the lobby. Their floor RA was Indian and Sikh. The girl checking them in downstairs was white, but she was being helped out by someone with dark brown skin.

FSU was a different world, one appearing as though the campus had come out of some movie that was really making a point out of being diverse. As though it had been intentionally done. As though some guy was gonna point the diversity out in his review as being unrealistic.

But here he was, standing in a room with someone who wasn’t white and who wasn’t like his best friend Christian either.

Logan spent the past twelve years thinking the white, heterosexual climate of Greenbarrow was normal. But the other students didn’t seem as surprised by their surroundings as Logan—and he wasn’t sure what he thought of that yet.

Going home after this was going to feel fucking weird.

“I guess you guys are both from down here, then,” Daiki finally said.

“Around Georgia? Yeah.” Logan shrugged. “Greenbarrow’s a couple hours south of here. Why, is my accent that bad?”

Daiki chuckled. “It’s pretty thick, but that’s not bad, I mean—”

“I got you.” Logan grinned. “You always apologize this much? What, are you Canadian?”

“No! No, I just…” He trailed off. “I guess I don’t want my roommates to hate me immediately. Especially if you two are some united front that could make my life pretty terrible.”

Daiki wasn’t a tiny guy, but he carried himself with the air of someone who was ready to be pushed around right now. Logan wasn’t a bully, and with the school’s star jock as his best friend, he’d been pretty immune to targeted violence by his classmates. But he’d never exactly stepped in and stopped anyone from being an asshole either. This is a sign. I’ve got some penance to do here. Logan was pretty sure his social calendar was going to be filled with nothing but Christian for the next four years, but he could try to do better.

“I’ll only make your life terrible if you eat whatever food I put in the fridge,” Logan said dryly, and Daiki laughed. “I’d better go catch up with Christian, or I’m not gonna get any lunch, but it was nice meeting you. Maybe we can hang out before classes start.”

Daiki stood tall, as though he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment. “Yeah! I-I mean, that’d probably be cool or whatever.”

“Cool.” Logan backed out of the room, putting his hands in his pockets. “And, uh, hey, listen, if your roommate’s an asshole, let me know. I’ll make sure he doesn’t mess with you.”

Daiki gaped at him. “Y-yeah, I’ll do that. I’m sure things’ll be fine, but…”

Penance. Logan shrugged. “Just saying. I’ll see you later.”

When he popped into his bedroom, Christian was shoving clothes haphazardly in the drawers of one of the chests. “You’re an idiot,” Logan said, huffing. “I wanted to move stuff around before we started unpacking.”

“And I wanted to get these bags out of our fucking way.” Christian scowled at him. “What? Your noodly-ass arms can’t move furniture when it’s full of boxers?”

“Fuck you.” Logan grabbed Christian’s sleeve and started walking backward, dragging him along. “Let’s go get burgers. I’ll pay if you drive my car.”

“Finally.”

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Meet the Author

Suzanne is an asexual woman with a great love for writing erotica and enjoys spending her time confusing people with that fact. She believes there is a need for heightened diversity in erotic fiction and strives to write enough stories so that everyone can see themselves mirrored in a protagonist. She lives with her husband and cat, and, when not writing, Suzanne enjoys reading, playing video games poorly, and refusing to interact outdoors with other human beings.

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athlete, biphobia, bisexual, college, coming out, Contemporary, dirty talk, ethical nonmonogamy, family drama, family issues, friends-to-lovers, group sex, LGBT, New Adult, voyeurism
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Apr 12

Book Blitz: Moonstruck by Aleksandr Voinov & LA Witt (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Moonstruck

Author: Aleksandr Voinov & LA Witt

Publisher: 44 Raccoons

Release Date: 12 April 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 95,000

Genre: Romance, contemporary, friends to lovers, may/December

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Synopsis

Anthony Rawson is screwed. Fans, producers, and his agent are all chomping at the bit for the next book in his wildly popular Triple Moon series, but he’s got epic writer’s block and is way behind deadline. Then he reads Axis Mundi, a fanfic novel by his online friend “SirMarrok.” It isn’t just a great story—it’s exactly what the series needs.

Samir Daoud is thrilled when “Ulfhedinn” wants to meet up after reading Axis Mundi. When Ulfhedinn turns out to be Anthony Rawson himself, Samir is starstruck. When Anthony tells him he wants to add Axis Mundi to the Triple Moon series, Samir is sure he’s being pranked. And when their online chemistry carries over—big-time—into real life, Samir is convinced it’s all too good to be true.

The problem is … it might be. The book deal, the sex, the money—everything is amazing. But fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and Samir is left wondering if Anthony really loves him, or just loves his book.

Excerpt

Grimacing, he stood and went back into the kitchen to plug in his phone. While it charged, he poured himself a cup of reheated half-day-old coffee, and as he drank it, he stared at his darkened phone. Axis Mundi was amazing. No two ways about it. He wondered what SirMarrok would think if he knew who he’d sent it to. He was probably shy and socially awkward—what writer wasn’t?—and thought he was sending this book to some other Triple Moon fan. Not the author himself.

I need to know the face behind this book.

Anthony tapped his fingers on the counter beside his phone. The two of them had chatted and emailed, even flirted a bit—okay, a lot—but they’d never exchanged photos or real names. According to SirMarrok’s administrator profile, he lived in a suburb of Seattle, so just a few hours away.

Anthony opened his email and quickly wrote out a message.

SirM,

This book is fucking amazing. Would you be interested in discussing it over coffee?

Ulf

Before he could think twice, he hit Send.

Even though he reloaded the page a few times, SirMarrok didn’t respond immediately.

His stomach grumbled again, and he opened the fridge to check for edibles, but nothing appealed to him. There was one lone pomegranate in the crisper, but that didn’t count for a full meal, especially after Ryan had warned him about not eating enough protein right after training. Nobody delivered pizza out here, and he might have been able to throw something together based on the two vine tomatoes, the half jar of pesto, and the red onion he’d spotted, but what he really wanted to do was sit down and read the rest of the story, even though he should probably do his fucking job and at least go up to the office to bang his head against the half novel that was mocking him from the twenty-four inch screen.

Just then, the intercom buzzed—one long, two short. Thank God, it was Chastity. He padded to the door and opened it. She held a pile of letters and a cookie tin. “Hey, do you have time?”

Code for, “You’re not writing, are you?”

“Come on in.” He stood aside and waved her into the house. “You know you don’t have to buzz me, right?”

“I know, but God forbid I let myself in while you’re in the zone.”

“Much appreciated. Fortunately, I’m not.” He started toward the kitchen. “I was reading. Checking something in the chronology.”

“So how’s the book going?” she asked.

“It’s not really going, but I’m working on it.” He resisted checking whether SirMarrok had responded. He knew stalkers and obsessives, and he wouldn’t turn into either of those. “How’re you?”

“Jesse’s off to his grandparents, so …” She shrugged. “Kind of bored, I guess.” Between being Anthony’s bodyguard, part-time PA, and the mom of a very active eight-year-old, Chas had the patience of a Swiss glacier. Bored or not, she deserved a break.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I have. And I brought you muffins, in case you’re interested.” She put the tin down. “Jesse didn’t manage to eat all of them, though he gave it a good try.”

“Thank you, St. Jesse, patron saint of starving artists.” He opened the tin and found one of the banana-and-chocolate ones that he loved. Beat cooking for one person while feeling guilty about not writing. “Coffee?”

“I’m too wired. I’ll make tea?”

“Sure.” He offered her the kitchen with a sweeping gesture, “Mi casa es su casa.”

She gave him an ironic glance, considering she lived on the property as part of her package (and because her last house had been torched by her crazy ex). While she went through the cupboards to assemble a teapot and hot water, Anthony demolished the muffin in a few bites, and then set up the coffee machine again.

“So, planning a long night?”

“There’s a full moon. I absolutely plan on a long night.” He had the most amazing view from the office, and he could happily spend a few hours gazing at the moon if the novel didn’t budge. The whole werewolf thing had started because some of his Army buddies had teased him about being a secret werewolf: nocturnal, “dark brooding charm,” a penchant for taking solo night hikes during full moons—all of that. And look where it had taken him.

“You getting anywhere with that book?”

Anthony groaned.

Chas laughed. “Still?”

“Still.” His eyes darted toward his phone. “Of course, then one of my fans manages to figure out exactly where the story needs to go.”

“You’re letting fans beta read for you now?”

“No, no. I told you about SirMarrok, right?”

“Sir—” Her eyes lost focus. “Oh, right. From that fan site.”

“Yeah. He finished his book. And it’s …” Anthony sighed and threw up his hands. “It’s amazing.”

“So what are you going to do? Ask him if you can use it?”

Anthony straightened. “I’m not going to take his work.”

“No, but if it’s really that good for the series …”

“I don’t know. Leanne will probably blow a gasket if she even finds out I’ve been reading fanfic, never mind wanting to incorporate some of it into the series.”

“If the alternative is waiting another year for the eighth book, she might be flexible.”

Anthony laughed dryly. “Good point. Well, I emailed him to see if he wants to meet and talk about it.” His stomach clenched. Had that been too forward? Didn’t SirMarrok like meeting people in real life? Might think—

“Oh, Anthony.” Chas snickered. “You’re so adorable when you’re flustered.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “The second you mentioned meeting him, you got all tense and pink.” She gestured at her cheeks, and Anthony could suddenly feel the heat in his own.

“I’m just a little nervous. He has no idea who I am.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is that the only reason you’re nervous? Because he’ll find out his biggest fan is Anthony Michael Rawson?”

“I …”

Chas laughed again and patted his arm. “So adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that any way to talk to the woman who keeps the stalkers away at cons?”

He groaned theatrically. “Fine. Sorry. And yes, it is the only reason I’m nervous about meeting him.”

“Bullshit it is.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

She ticked the points off on her fingers. “You blush whenever you mention him. You’re clearly more nervous about meeting him than you were about being on a panel with a bunch of your literary idols at Comic-Con. You actually think I’m going to believe for a second you’re nervous about meeting another writer who’s—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. But you’re still wrong. I’m just, okay, maybe a little intimidated by this kid.”

Chas blinked. “Intimidated? Why?”

He waved a hand at his phone. “Because he can write fucking circles around me with my own goddamned characters! What the hell am I supposed to say to him, anyway? ‘You clearly know my own world better than I do, so how much do you charge to save my ass?’” He shook his head. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have emailed him. It isn’t like I can use his book, and for all I know, he completely botches the ending anyway.”

“And how likely do you think that is?”

Anthony met her gaze, then sighed. “About as likely as me finishing book eight by tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like he might save your ass, then.” She smirked and started to speak, but he gestured sharply at her.

“Don’t even say it.”

“Say what?”

He glared, and she smothered a laugh.

“All right, I won’t say it. But has he responded to your email yet?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the phone again, eyeing it like it had morphed into a spider that was about to bite his hand. “I haven’t checked.”

“Well.” She nodded toward the spider-phone. “Check it.”

He hesitated, but figured there was no point in arguing with her—there never was—and picked up the phone. He refreshed his inbox, revealing several new emails. Most were notifications about posts on threads he’d been following on the fan site, but there it was:

SirMarrok.

Holding his breath, he tapped the message.

Are you serious? Coffee? That’d be great. When/where? — SM

Anthony was almost certain that if Chas hadn’t been standing there, he’d have made a very undignified sound. Only her presence and playful scrutiny saved him.

“He wants to meet.” And Anthony couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. Probably blushing again, if the heat in his cheeks was any indication.

“Aww.” Chas grinned. “So it’s a date?”

“It is not a date.”

“Why not?”

“Besides the fact that he’s probably half my age?”

She snorted. “Or maybe twice your age?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Point being, I want to meet him because I want to talk writing. Maybe I can hook him up with Leanne, get his career going.” Unless, of course, he was already a seasoned writer who’d been impersonating a newbie to get his kicks. But no. No. SirMarrok had seemed really fucking genuine about everything. Anthony didn’t know that much about him in real life—they’d mostly talked writing and wolves and fan stuff. He’d kept his own life under wraps so he could be himself. Which was ironic. This whole fame thing locked him into behaviors and reputation and expectations.

“Anthony.” She folded her arms and arched her eyebrow. “It is okay to get involved with someone. You know, if you click.”

“And it’s okay not to get involved with people.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ve done just fine this long.”

Chas studied him. “You get lonely sometimes.”

He shrugged. “Happily married people feel crowded sometimes. Doesn’t mean they want the other person to leave. In my case, yeah, I get lonely once in a while.” Another shrug. “Doesn’t mean I want someone else in my space.” They’d had this discussion before, and the thought of going through the whole thing again exhausted him, so before she could answer, he held up his phone. “You mind if I send him a quick reply?”

She waved a hand. “Sure.”

He typed out, You’re in the Seattle area? What about Saturday, around lunch? You choose the location. He knew SirMarrok was working in IT—he sometimes referred to a “job” and a “boss.” And if they hit it off, he wanted the option of spending a few hours rather than being constrained by schedules and such. Damn that need for a day job for most writers. A talent like SirMarrok should be raking it in and choosing his own hours.

“So what’re you going to wear, Casanova?”

“Uh. I was planning to go kind of low-key.” Thank God he’d only given in to that author photo-related pressure after the publisher had agreed that it didn’t necessarily have to resemble him; some atmospheric black-and-white shoots and Photoshop had made sure he didn’t really look like the guy on the jacket. However, if SirMarrok was the überfan he appeared to be, he’d have seen Anthony at conventions, or on Tumblr and YouTube. “Won’t be fooling him I guess. Damn.”

“Ah, the burden of fame.” Chas put a hand on her heart.

“Well, I could use a little break. Head out to Seattle on Friday, watch a movie or something, and come back on Sunday? You want to come along?”

“Movie sounds great.” She opened his fridge and made a face. “I have a nice ratatouille bake at the house.”

“No competition from the lone pomegranate.”

“I thought so. And while I go get that …” She pointed at the pile of letters. “A few nice ones this time.”

“That’s because you burn the nasty ones.” He finished off his coffee. “How bad were the bad ones?”

“Mostly threats over the next book not coming out.”

“Christ, every time I read one of those I want to kill a character.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. George R. R. Martin, we know.” She laughed. “I’ll go get that ratatouille.”

She left the kitchen, and Anthony’s gaze went back to his phone. So that was that. In a few days, he’d meet the guy who apparently knew his own stories better than he did. And much like the unfinished book upstairs, he had no idea how this weekend was going to play out.

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Meet the Author

Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he works as an financial editor, writing coach, and complementary therapist. At 43 years of age, Voinov has written more than two dozen novels and published five novels with German publishers. After many years working in the horror, science fiction, cyberpunk and fantasy genres, Voinov is now primarily writing queer fiction.

Described as a “workaholic speed-writing freak” by fellow writers, a “creative writing class drill sergeant” by his writing ‘padawans’, Voinov is a self-confessed geek and has enlarged his days by 12 secret hours in return for the sacrifice of ten albino virgin pygmy hippos.

Voinov’s style has been called “dynamic to the point of breathlessness” and “disturbingly poetic” by publishers and literary agents. A recurring theme in his fiction is “the triumph of the human spirit” or an individual rising to challenge the status quo in a world gone bad.

Intellectually, he is drawn to the dark side of human nature and history. As a trained historian, he is fascinated by wars, religion and the conflict between the individual and society.

Interests at the moment include WWII, medieval siege warfare, William Marshall, the Golden Age of Piracy, and whale-hunting. These interests are subject to change from one day to the other, and Voinov single-handedly sustains two bookshops in London.

Public Contact Email: vashtan@gmail.com
Website: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aleksandr.voinov.12
Twitter: https://twitter.com/vashtan
Goodreads Author Profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3074905.Aleksandr_Voinov
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Apr 08

New Release Blitz: Unbroken by Brooklyn Ray (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Unbroken

Series: Port Lewis Witches

Author: Brooklyn Ray

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 8, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 58500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, Contemporary, paranormal, demons, witches, blood bound, roommate, drugs

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Synopsis

Despite the rumors about Port Lewis, Michael Gates doesn’t expect the house he rents with his sister on Foxglove Lane to be haunted. An eerie meeting with Victor Lewellyn, the resident witch-turned-demon who is bound to the property by dark magic, changes his mind.

Michael isn’t looking to start a relationship with anyone, let alone someone like Victor, but the intense attraction between them can’t be ignored. As he dives into the world of magical drug rings, demons, witches, and necromancers, Michael also grapples with the complicated past he left behind in Arizona.

A relationship might not be what he wants, but it sparks something in him he didn’t realize he needs—the chance to heal.

Excerpt

Part One: Haunted Places
Michael Gates curled his hand over the old fence surrounding his new home. Splinters nipped at his palm. Bitter wind snapped restlessly at his cheeks. He wasn’t used to cold like this, the kind that stuck to his skin and seeped through his clothes. This was coastal cold. Northern Cold. Port Lewis cold.

“I bet you’re missin’ Arizona right about now, huh?” Janice tossed a grin over her shoulder as she wobbled inside, carrying one end of a mustard yellow couch. She was a broad girl, tall like their father, with candy-apple red hair that came from a box. “Mom probably hasn’t converted your room into a yoga studio yet. There’s still time!”

Michael snorted. Denying the truth would only lead to more teasing, and he wasn’t in the mood to bicker with his sister. Not after a long-ass drive. Not when he still wasn’t sure about any of this—college, this town, this house.

It was almost charming, he thought. Windows jutted from sharp-edged sills and the attic skewered the sky like a steeple, stretched tall over the porch above a round window on the second floor. The paint had been yellow once, but the sun turned the walls white and the shingles gray. Vines crawled over the empty garden boxes attached to the porch, a burst of green in a colorless place. It was Victorian and strange, and as Michael looked from the creaky steps to the unkempt lawn, he remembered the word their landlord had used during an awkward Skype interview two weeks ago.

History, she’d said, like it was a curse.

“Hey, asshole.” Janice stood in the doorway with her hands perched on her hips, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “Movers are heading out. You gonna help me drag these mattresses upstairs before Corey gets here or not?”

There wasn’t anything wrong with the house. The windows weren’t broken, the kitchen was stocked with upgraded appliances, and the fire alarms had recently been replaced. But wrongness still lingered, somehow.

His fingers slipped off the fence and dove into his coat pocket, thumbing the corner of a cigarette pack. “I didn’t even get a chance to smoke.”

“Too bad. Those’ll kill you anyway, c’mon.”

Michael rolled his eyes but reluctantly walked inside. The word kept repeating, whispered like a secret—history history history—and he couldn’t stop wondering about what a place had to go through to earn it. The floorboards flexed and whined under his boots. Above him, cobwebs dripped from a metal chandelier, and light beamed through the window onto a steep, carpeted staircase. He might’ve imagined it, must have imagined it, but he swore the air shifted, as if the house had sensed his aching lungs and insisted he take a breath.

“This place is weird,” Michael blurted because he had no other way to explain it. “Creepy weird, like I bet someone was murdered here weird.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Janice said. She tilted a mattress off the wall and pushed it toward the staircase. Her jaw clenched as they ambled up the stairs, freckled cheeks hollowed and shoulders rounded. They shared many things, like most siblings did. Dark eyes and wide mouths, long fingers and small chins. But where Janice’s fine lines and prominent bones made her look strong, Michael’s only made him look delicate. He was littered with scars because of it, badges to prove he wasn’t breakable.

After three trips up and down the stairs, they flopped the final mattress on the ground in the second-to-last bedroom, and Janice heaved a relieved sigh.

“Michael, c’mon.” She nudged him with her elbow, pulling his attention from the boxes scattered on the floor. “This place is just old, you know? Look, you’ve got a balcony”—she pointed to the French doors, then set her hands on his shoulders and steered him toward the hall—“and your own bathroom, and I mean, this is a fresh start for us. Port Lewis is small, but we start classes next week, and there’s a movie theater downtown and some really good breweries…”

Michael’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “The Pacific Northwest is known for its beer.”

“Exactly!” Janice gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Speaking of libations, how about you start unpacking and I’ll run out for Thai and a case of IPA, sound good?”

“Fine, sure, whatever,” he said, biting back a laugh. “Green curry for me. You should probably text Corey and ask if he wants anything.”

Janice swatted the bedroom door on her way out. Her keys jingled, sneakers thudded the stairs, and before Michael could shout—don’t forget the chili paste—the door slammed and she was gone.

Silence snaked through the house, disrupted by wind pressing on the windows, and the unmistakable inkling that he was being watched. Michael pushed his fingers through his hair, short auburn locks smoothed by product he’d found in his sister’s makeup bag, and heaved a sigh.

Janice was right, he told himself. The house was old. It creaked and howled and carried secrets from past owners. But it was just a house, and Michael had seen too many horror movies to let a little unease get the best of him. He rummaged through two boxes until he found a portable speaker.

“There we go,” he said, pulse quickening when his own voice echoed through the empty house. He set his phone on the dock and turned on a Pop Punk playlist. Music boomed through his new room, loud and fast, a sore reminder of the home down south and all the memories left behind there. His mother had allowed him to take a gap year after high school, where he spent twelve months abroad, bouncing from Ireland to London, Amsterdam to Italy, but when another year went by and Michael skipped registration at the junior college he’d promised to attend, his family’s patience thinned.

There’s no time left to squander, his mother had said. Go with your sister, take botany for all I care, but do something.

So, he’d followed Janice to Port Lewis, a town built on rumors, whispers about magic and witches, and ended up here, sliding the mattress into a black bed frame, listening to songs he’d fallen in love with during senior year, and watching a shadow cross the floor in the reflection on his balcony window.

Michael froze, mouth set and shoulders pulled tight. He held the edge of the mattress, gaze pinned to the reflection in the window, afraid the image would disappear if he moved, and more afraid to turn around. Because there, looking back at him, was a pair of eyes and a curious smile attached to a distorted shape standing in the doorway. His throat cinched and his mouth dried, and all the bravery, all the fight, all the resolve, fell out from under him. He blinked once, twice, a third time, and then it was gone.

Impossible. He turned on his heels, expecting an ah-hah! An I got you! A moment when he’d catch something—someone—hiding in the hallway. But the doorway was empty, and when he peeked into the hall, it was empty too.

“Janice?” He pushed open each bedroom door and looked inside. Nothing. He did the same with the two bathrooms, the linen closet, the cabinets. Nothing. “Corey?”

A sound he faintly recognized came from behind him, far enough away to seem distant, close enough to make his breath quake. Metal on metal. The drag and click of a lock being unfastened.

It was right then he noticed the stagnant air, the heavy quiet. His music was no longer playing.

Michael felt it like he thought all people usually did—a wrongness that settled deep inside him—coupled with the urge to leave, the need to run. But he didn’t. He turned slowly this time, reining in his runaway heart, and trailed his gaze up the narrow steps at the end of the hall to the attic door, unlocked, and ajar.

One moment the shadow was there, and a second later it simply wasn’t.

“Who are you?” Michael called. He clung to the only bravery he had left. Defiance. The reckless confidence responsible for many of his scars.

The attic door swung open on rusty hinges.

Adrenaline cautioned, but curiosity encouraged, and Michael found each step easier to take as he climbed the stairs. The banister was smooth under his palm, the air alight with danger and magic and something unknown.

Something dark, he thought. Something tarnished.

Don’t, his heart said. Run. Go. Now. Now. Now.

Michael swallowed hard and stepped into the room. Sunlight illuminated moth-eaten curtains in front of the window. A bed was pushed against the wall, sheets tucked, white comforter smoothed. There was a lamp on a black nightstand, unlit candles on a six-drawered dresser, and a bookshelf against the far wall. He crossed the room, trailing his fingers along the edge of the bed, the windowsill, then the shelves, tracing letters on thick leather spines. Magic & Purpose. Ceremonial Preparation. Incantations. He plucked a paperback from the middle shelf—Demonology—and opened it. The pages were sallow, stained in some places and ripped in others. Sprawling notes in black ink filled the margins. He turned the book over in his hands and found a name written on the inside of the back cover.

“Victor Lewellyn,” Michael whispered.

The floorboards whined. Breath hit the back of his neck. A low, smooth voice said, “Michael Gates.”

Dread filled the pit of his stomach. He snapped the book shut by the spine, attempted to summon any semblance of the bravery he’d found before, and came away with none. His breath fluttered from him in trembling gusts, and when a warm palm cradled his elbow, a sob caught in his throat.

“Don’t be scared,” the stranger purred. His hand slid along the underside of Michael’s forearm and curled over his wrist. “You say my name like a prayer.”

Michael shut his mouth with an audible click and watched Victor Llewellyn’s fingers, tipped with black claws, slide over his knuckles and grasp the book. Reality tilted, shifting from a nightmare into something worse. History suddenly seemed like a hollow explanation for what this house had seen.

Victor’s lips grazed his pulse, breath steady, touch confident. His voice was strained between his teeth, deep and inhuman and obscurely intimate, pressed to Michael’s throat like the clasp on a collar. “Fuck, you smell like honey.”

“What…” Michael’s lips parted. He rehearsed what he was about to say, repeating it again and again, but the question never materialized. What are you? He wanted to ask, he wanted to know, but his voice malfunctioned with Victor’s teeth so close to his skin.

Ghosts were real, he believed in that much. Spirits and poltergeists and an in-between that gave the lost a home. But Victor Lewellyn was not a ghost.

Michael’s heart drummed, blood coursing fast through his veins. His knees wobbled, his eyes wide and hungry, desperate for a glance. For a memory. For proof. He inhaled deeply and turned until they were chest to chest.

Victor’s mouth formed an easy grin, face sculpted by shadows where the light didn’t touch and smoothed like polished copper where it did. He looked like a painting, rich and haunted, a canvas that turned beauty into a monstrous thing.

Humans did not have cheekbones as carved as his. They did not have eyes like lit candles, or black horns curling from their temples. They did not have claws that came to rest on the hinge of Michael’s jaw, or breath tinged with ash and blood. Humans were familiar. They were simple and safe. Victor was not.

“What are you?” Michael asked, breathless.

Victor tilted his head. A strand of dark hair fell over his brow. His smile softened as he slid the book back where it belonged, tipping Michael’s chin toward him with one hand, and effortlessly caging him against the shelf with the other. They stayed like that, watching each other, until the sound of the front door opening broke the silence, and Janice’s voice rang through the house.

“Look who I found in the driveway,” she hollered. Keys jingled, plastic bags rustled.

Michael glanced at the door, and when he looked back, Victor was gone.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Brooklyn Ray is a tea connoisseur and an occult junkie. She writes queer speculative fiction layered with magic, rituals and found families.

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blood bound, Contemporary, demons, drugs, LGBT, Paranormal, roommate, witches
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Apr 08

New Release Blitz: Royal Rescue by A. Alex Logan (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Royal Rescue

Author: A. Alex Logan

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 8, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance, Male/Male

Length: 111500

Genre: New Adult Fantasy, LGBT, asexual, high fantasy, dragons, royalty, magic, young adult, gay, family drama, hurt/comfort

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Synopsis

At age eighteen, when they become marriageable, all royal children in the Thousand Kingdoms must either go questing to rescue another royal or be hidden away to await rescue themselves. Some go the traditional route of princes rescuing princesses, but not all princes want to be rescuers…and some would rather rescue other princes.

Then there’s Prince Gerald, who has no interest in getting married at all. When he refuses to choose a role as either rescuer or rescuee, his royal parents choose for him and have him magicked away to a distant tower to await a spouse.

Gerald, however, is having none of it. He recruits his guardian dragon and a would-be rescuer and soon the trio is dashing to all corners of the united kingdoms on a quest to overturn the entire system.

Excerpt

Gerald followed the steward to the study wearing an expression that would have been more appropriate if he were being led to the dungeon. The steward rapped on the door twice before opening it and stepping aside for Gerald. She gave the young man an encouraging wink, but he was too intent on bracing himself for the upcoming confrontation to notice.

He took a deep breath, visibly set his shoulders and stepped through the doorway. The steward closed the door behind him, and Gerald fought back the feeling of being trapped.

“Don’t lurk in the doorway,” an imposing voice scolded. “Come in where I can see you.”

Gerald did as he was told, stopping and giving a shallow bow when the woman came into view. She nodded, acknowledging the courtesy, which caused the sunlight streaming in through the window to catch and reflect off her golden crown.

Gerald resisted the urge to reach up and touch his own circlet—silver—which he too late realized was probably once again askew.

“Well?” the Queen asked. “Have you made your decision?”

Another deep breath, another forceful straightening of his shoulders, and Gerald said, a hint of defiance in his tone, “I have.”

The Queen’s harsh expression broke into a smile. “Oh, Gerald, thank goodness. Your mum and I were about at our wits’ end! There’s barely enough time left to make all the arrangements. So, what will it be? Rescuer or rescuee?”

“Neither.”

The smile melted off the Queen’s face. “Neither! Don’t be ridiculous, Gerald. You said you had made your decision.”

“I have,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve decided not to participate.”

“That is not an option,” she said coldly, the warmth in her voice gone the same way as the smile. “As you are well aware.”

“I don’t wish to marry,” Gerald replied, trying to match her tone but not quite managing it. “As you are well aware.”

The Queen waved her hand dismissively. “This is merely the first step. It may take a year or even two for you to rescue—or be rescued by—someone who appeals. Then there’s the courtship, the inter-kingdom negotiations, planning the festivities…why, unless it’s True Love and you two want to rush things, I doubt the wedding will happen before you turn twenty-one.”

“I didn’t say ‘I don’t wish to marry in the next three years’,” Gerald said, forcing himself to keep his voice level even as he balled his hands into fists. “I said, ‘I don’t wish to marry.’ As in, ever.”

But the Queen was no longer listening.

“I really don’t know where we went wrong with you,” she said. “We never had this sort of problem with your older siblings or even your twinling…”

“Don’t call her that,” Gerald snapped. “You know how much I hate that—we’re not twins, we’re not even sort-of twins. We’re half-siblings at best and maybe not even related at all.”

The Queen looked up at the ceiling as if imploring it to give her strength. “Now you’re being deliberately obtuse,” she snapped back. “You know very well that the term ‘twinling’ has been in use for at least a century throughout every single one of the Thousand Kingdoms, and it’s a perfectly apt word. You’re acting like your mum and I made it up to irritate you. You’re acting like a child, Gerald.”

“Isn’t the point of all this that I am a child?” he responded. “Isn’t the entire purpose of this whole charade of rescue and marriage to make me into an adult?”

“It’s hardly a charade. It’s—”

“—a well-respected, long-established tradition to encourage young royals to broaden their horizons, explore more of the Thousand Kingdoms, find love, and forge stronger connections among the Kingdoms, yes, yes, I know,” Gerald interrupted. “I still say it’s a charade. It’s perfectly possible to accomplish all of those goals without forcing every royal into a ridiculous marriage quest the moment they turn eighteen.”

“You seem to be forgetting something very important here, Gerald,” the Queen said calmly.

“What’s that?”

“This isn’t optional.”

“You can’t force me to choose,” Gerald said. “Why can’t you leave me be and let Lila broaden her horizons, explore the Kingdoms, forge alliances, and all that rot? She wants to.”

“You have ten days,” the Queen continued, as if Gerald hadn’t spoken. She turned away without even bothering to dismiss him.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Alex Logan is an asexual, agender librarian from New York state. Always an avid reader, Alex has branched out from reading books to writing them. Alex’s other main interest is soccer, which they enjoy watching, playing, and (of course) reading about.

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asexual, Dragons, family drama, Gay, high fantasy, hurt-comfort, LGBT, magic, royalty, young adult
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Apr 08

New Release Blitz: Hunter by Dez Schwartz (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Hunter

Series: Roam, Book Two

Author: Dez Schwartz

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 8, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 50800

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, Vampires, other paranormal beings, sandman, Dream World, magic

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Synopsis

Dr. Grady Hunter has a vampire infestation on his hands in the town of Shady Pines, but he’s been deserted by those best suited to help. After enlisting Chris Reed, a techno-mage, they find the vampires might only be the tip of a deadly iceberg.

Returning home from his dream travels, Ethan Roam is eager to experiment with his newly discovered powers. But Ethan isn’t the only familiar arrival in Grady’s life. As more reminders of his dark past crop up, Grady and Ethan are swept up in a mystery of cosmic proportions.

Grady must fight to keep an ever-evolving Ethan on his side while being challenged by the ghosts of his past.

Excerpt

The old park in Shady Pines was the stuff of nightmares. Or so it would seem to anyone who happened upon the derelict area after the sun set. In actuality, it was simply a park. Located across from the oldest district in the small Texas city of Shady Pines and near the edge of a small forest encompassing the town, the park was extremely rundown and typically abandoned during the daytime. A snapshot of times past, the neglected playground had standard metal slides and jungle gyms, before modern worries of bruises, broken bones, and burns on hot afternoons. Like most cities, Shady Pines had since created newer and safer places for families to gather. And so, the old park had fallen to ruin but still remained hopeful its ghosts would return to play again.

As it happened, quite a few creatures loved to play there, but they were rarely of the human set. Part of what made the place so eerie was park’s location. Once sunset arrived, a thick fog would roll in from the marshes in the woods and overtake the area. If one were to stand there, as Dr. Grady Hunter was doing now, the murky haze would only rise to roughly one’s waist depending on their height. The moon would hang bright and looming overhead, as it also was now, to cast shadows all around. And a breeze would cause swings to sway, and the paint chipped merry-go-round to spin ever so slightly, as was also happening now. At least, one would hope the movement was due to the breeze. Unless, of course, the person was Dr. Grady Hunter and was hoping for something else.

“Any signs of movement? Blast this fog!” Grady, a semi-former monster hunter and more recently self-appointed alternative healer of supernaturals, whispered into the small microphone on the headset he was wearing. His British accent was always strongest when he was frustrated. The park wasn’t his first choice of venue to lure vampires, but any abandoned buildings or dark alleys would provide them too much of an advantage and surely seem like a setup. They would definitely be suspicious. He supposed they should be suspicious of a man in his late thirties strolling through the old park at night alone but, as the case happened, they appeared to find that behavior completely normal.

“Nada. And don’t worry about the fog. The visuals I’m pulling from my cameras penetrate right through it.” A casually confident, and extremely American in contrast, male voice replied back from the other side of the communication device between sounds of chewing.

“Are you eating right now? We’re working!” Grady admonished, still in a whisper as he slowly strolled through the park with his hand hovering by his waist. He had a number of weapons at the ready beneath his long brown coat in case he was successful in finding what he was looking for.

“Please, I’m the king of multitasking. Besides, it’s past my dinnertime and I can’t refuse a sushi place if I pass one,” the voice responded. Grady could tell the man on the other side, Chris Reed, was smiling. Then, he became urgent. “Ahab, you’ve got a white whale at ten o’clock.”

“That’s not my code name. We don’t have code names. Don’t make things up on the spot. It’s distracting,” Grady griped but whipped around to face whatever was heading his way.

“If we did, though, I think I’d want to be Zaphod,” Chris replied, obviously slurping a drink. “Your target is hovering by the slide. Not the loopy one. The tall straight one. I fell off a slide once when I was a kid. I was pretending to be Indiana Jones. Broke my wrist. Great summer.”

“Your lifelong aspiration to be fictional characters is both charming and annoying. Going silent now,” Grady replied as he stalked slowly in the direction of the slide. He reached inside his jacket for a stake. He saw a figure’s shadow wavering across the top of the fog. It definitely appeared human, which most likely meant it was a vampire. He tried to keep his weapon concealed beneath the haze and pretended he was simply walking in the same direction, unaware of the creature’s presence.

“Whip out the big boy! It’s an ambush from behind!” Chris shouted in his ear. Unable to keep from chuckling, he added, “That didn’t come out how I meant. But seriously, you’re under attack. “

Grady immediately switched to a revolving handheld crossbow, which was loaded with a round of stakes, should a situation such as this ever arise. He spun on his heel in time to see four vampires running full speed in his direction. He shot one down but then had to momentarily turn his attention back to the first vampire, who had taken the opportunity to pounce on him.

Grady wrestled free of his grip and knocked him onto the slide where he toppled over the edge and onto the ground.

“Yeah, pretty much how I broke my wrist,” Chris commented.

“Oh, do shut up!” Grady shouted back in the mic. The outburst caused some mild confusion for the vampires as none of them had been speaking, but it didn’t deter them from continuing their attack.

Two of the vampires lifted Grady and slammed him into the ground on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He felt a cracking pain he didn’t have time to assess, as one of the vampires straddled his chest and went fangs-first for his neck. He managed to pull the revolver up to the creature’s chest and let loose a stake right before he was torn into. He rolled free, still with three vampires to face and precisely three stakes left in his crossbow.

“This is exciting. You’re doing a great job, boss!” Chris complimented.

“Not! Helpful!” Grady panted as he attempted to catch his breath. He didn’t get much of a break as another vampire grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked his arm backward, trying to rip the crossbow from his grasp. Grady shouted in response to the wrenching pain.

“Keep him there!” Chris commanded. “I can get a shot in. He’s right in the line of fire.”

“I’m not the one in control at the moment, thank you!” Grady grieved between gritted teeth as he tried to maintain control of the weapon against the thrashing pull of the vampire. Thankfully, the vampire on the other side of the slide was only now running over to try to help his cohort, and the third had opted to watch the scene rather than participate.

A wild shot seemed to fly in out of nowhere. Grady knew the attack came from one of the cameras they had placed around the park for their mission. Attached to the bottom of each supernatural night vision camera was a small loaded device that would shoot a stake with bullet-like precision when activated. It was one of the many weapons they’d had to develop and utilize in the past few months as the vampire infestation in Shady Pines had progressively gotten worse and Grady found himself without much help in dealing with the problem.

Ethan Roam, his new partner in both work and life—who happened to be a sandman, was still away dream traveling. Benny, weredog and roommate, was living the high life as a spoiled Chihuahua fifty percent of the time, rendering him practically ineffective. Vivian Edwards, a highly skilled witch and his former secretary, refused to speak to him or respond to any of his messages. Ethan’s mother, Karen Roam, and their mutual friend, Dr. Arthur Ellis, were eager to help. However, while they were fine comrades in research, they were useless in the field. Grady had no choice but to call upon an old acquaintance to help with the crisis. Chris Reed, a rogue hunter and techno-mage. Thankfully, Chris was more than capable and equally enthusiastic at the prospect. He enjoyed inventing new ways to destroy and capture supernatural creatures, and he’d decided working with Grady was a fantastic way to demo his creations. Unfortunately, even with Chris’s handiwork and help, they hadn’t made much of a dent in the vampire population, which was rapidly growing and terrorizing the citizens (and other paranormals) who generally enjoyed a night out from time to time.

The shot hit the vampire perfectly, and Grady fell forward onto his knees, free of the monster’s grasp. This, however, caused the crossbow to fly free from the ended struggle and fall into the fog. Grady couldn’t see where the weapon landed and began swearing. Knowing he had only moments, he reached back into his jacket and produced two khukuri knives. He stood quickly, ready to face the vampire who had been standing by watching, but was surprised to find he’d disappeared.

“Bugger! One escaped. Did you see where he went?” Grady asked into the mic as he rounded on the last vampire, already furiously leaping toward him.

“Dammit! No. I’m sorry,” Chris replied. “I had my eye on my shot.”

Grady pulled up the khukuri knives on either side of the vampire’s throat as the creature attempted to attack him. The vampire’s eyes grew wide in surprise, realizing he was about to be beheaded. He met Grady’s gaze in a pleading manner. Grady hated when they did that. It made him think of Dacey Sinnett, the only vampire he’d ever call a friend, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Grady did his best to keep his resolve.

“Tell me who is leading you, or I will end you right now!” Grady demanded, his expression ferociously serious.

“You’ll do it anyway,” the vampire spat back.

Grady shoved his weight forward and slammed him up against the slide, blades tightly gripped around the vampire’s neck.

“Your cooperation may convince me otherwise. Now answer the question!” he commanded again.

“You’re great at playing bad cop, Grady,” Chris interjected in his ear. Once again, he practically heard him grinning. Grady wished he could rip his headset off but right now his hands were full.

“I don’t know his name,” the vampire played along. “He showed up out of nowhere a few months ago. Started making promises and threats; demanding that we help him.”

“Help him with what?” Grady seized the opportunity to gather much-needed information. “And is he a vampire? A human? Something else?”

“He wants us to tear this pathetic town to pieces until we find—” The vampire’s answer was forever halted as he was hit expertly with a stake.

“Dammit! Chris, was that you?” Grady yelled angrily.

“No!” Chris was defensive. Grady stood, with no vampire left to interrogate, and looked around. He saw the source at the same time Chris must have on the cameras.

“Guess he found your crossbow,” Chris sighed limply as the last vampire, the one who had gone missing, ran off into the night after killing their only chance at finding some answers.

Grady kicked the slide in frustration which caused a metallic gong to echo around the now empty park. They weren’t any closer to dealing with the problem or having any real answers.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, man,” Chris consoled.

“Same story, different night,” Grady sighed. He brushed off as much dirt and grass from his jacket and pants as possible and attempted to calm his frustrations.

“Don’t worry, tiger. We’ll get them one of these days.” Chris was already back to his upbeat self. “If it’s any consolation, you looked like a total badass. I have to admit, watching you fight has to be my second favorite thing about this gig.”

“Oh, really? And what’s the first?” Grady smirked. Chris didn’t let anyone feel down for too long.

“The inevitable moments where I get to save your ass, of course,” Chris chimed.

“Prat.” Grady rolled his eyes but smiled anyway as he headed back through the park toward his old Jaguar.

“Twat,” Chris responded without missing a beat. Grady chuckled. If nothing else, at least having Chris around kept up morale.

“Go ahead and take the rest of the night off,” Grady said, getting into his vehicle. He glanced back at the park once more, in case he missed something, but the area remained quiet and empty. “I suppose Benny already went home?”

“Yeah, he left a while back. He said watching would make him nervous. And to be honest, I’m not much of a fan of small yapping dogs,” Chris replied. Grady heard him shutting off various equipment in the background.

“All right. See you tomorrow, then.” Grady turned off the headset and tossed the device into the passenger seat. He leaned back into the headrest and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and slowly letting his breath back out.

“Find. What could they possibly want to find so badly in Shady Pines?” Grady asked himself aloud as he recalled what the vampire tried to tell him. The pit of his stomach tightened and his heart grew heavy because he had a pretty good idea of what, or whom, that might be.

He brought the car to life and drove straight home, feeling the need to be at Ethan’s sleeping side.

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Meet the Author

Vampire apologist and lifelong enthusiast of classic gothic horror, cryptids, and the occult; Dez Schwartz writes Dreampunk & Paranormal LGBTQ Fiction with a spellbinding balance of darkness and humor. When she’s not busy writing, she can most likely be found with a latte in hand, perusing antique shops for oddities and peculiar vintage books or wrangling her demonic (but adorable) cats.

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Apr 01

New Release Blitz: Hope, Tears, Steam, Gears by Gregory L. Norris (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Title: Hope, Tears, Steam, Gears

Author: Gregory L. Norris

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 1, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 10100

Genre: Science Fiction/Steampunk, LGBT, steampunk, romance, gay

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Synopsis

At the request of the Earl of Kensington, Donovan Tisdale attends a mind-expanding presentation by Richard Sandominus Flynn, the Minster of Steam-based Sciences. Flynn reveals the next step in steam-based power—flights to the moon and far beyond conducted by mechanical men.

The attraction between Donovan and Flynn ignites from the moment they meet and follows them through the dangerous political climate of Her Majesty’s jeweled city as dark powers seek to dismantle the clean-based power poised to send humanity to the stars.

Excerpt

I fell in love with him on that lost afternoon, a day that now seems part of another life and time. At the Earl of Kensington’s request, I headed to the planetarium to hear Richard Sandominus Flynn deliver a lecture to a full house of eager learners and free thinkers. Most of those assembled were students from university, steam workers, and members of Parliament. As the earl’s ward—a punishment for past petty crimes more than a chance at redemption, I was convinced—I sensed I didn’t belong and planned an early escape. Perhaps to the botanical gardens. I always loved it there.

But soon the lights dimmed, and I settled against the faded red velvet seat, and my life forever changed. Overhead, stunning images washed over the smooth curves of the mother-of-pearl ceiling. The moon was first, its familiar cratered face easy to recognize. Only I had never seen the Earth’s nearest neighbor presented in such detail. Other celestial bodies followed. One, rust-red with what I assumed were polar ice caps, could only be the planet named for the god of war. A comet, in stunning clarity. The planet Jupiter. A constellation of stars.

“What you are seeing,” said a man’s commanding voice that drew my eyes reluctantly down from the heavens and to the lectern on the small stage, “are photographic images of the universe that surrounds us.”

Equally as breathtaking as the voluptuously full moon above him was the man. Tall, with dark hair and a trim beard, his face was the handsomest I’d ever beheld. His gentleman’s shirt, coat, and trousers, even his boots, fit him in a manner that suggested his clothes loved his body. I understood their ardor. Choking down a heavy swallow, I realized my mouth had gone completely dry.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” the man continued, and how his voice matched the rest of his presentation in its majesty. “I am Richard Sandominus Flynn, Minister of Steam-based Research and Technology. The visual stills you are seeing are courtesy of Her Majesty’s Galactyscaphe, Britannia 2, a steam-powered platform presently in orbit around our fair world some one hundred and fifty miles above our heads.”

Gasps sounded around the planetarium. I listened, stunned like my fellow audience members. What the handsome man said challenged the mind.

Still, despite notions of spacecraft launched beyond the world of our origin, I couldn’t break focus with the man who’d sent Britannia 2 on her journey. He now stood beneath a representation of two suns and a fiery red sphere, which seemed to dance about the pair. His voice seduced me. An attraction so strong for him consumed my flesh. Deeper, in what I rarely thought of anymore as soul.

“Our understanding of the world around us—and the worlds beyond—grows daily. It is my belief that within a reasonable expectation of five years’ time we can land similar craft on our nearest neighbors—the moon at first, of course. But then Mars in one direction, Venus in the other. Initially, with exploration teams of mechanical men—robot workers who will pave the way for manned expeditions.”

More gasps followed. Flynn offered the barest of smiles, a measure of pride and one rightly earned. A strange emotion fluttered in my stomach. It could have been at the memory of the time I rode with the Earl of Kensington in Her Majesty’s jeweled airship, Trafalgar, from Heathrow Field to his family’s ancestral estate—the thought of traveling many times higher robbed me of breath and sent a shiver tumbling down my spine. Or it might have been Flynn himself, who seemed to have found me in the audience. His eyes, a vibrant green even given the distance that separated us, greeted mine. Suddenly, I felt as desirable as any of the planets or stars captured by Britannia 2’s cameras.

Flynn’s hairy throat knotted as he swallowed, and my pulse quickened. For the next second or so, our eyes remained locked. In that bottled gaze, I dreamed the minister desired of me a fraction of what I craved of him. Then Flynn blinked and resumed discussing the future of programs like the Britannia project, threatened by politics and enemies of the Steam Workers’ Union. The lightness inside me evaporated, replaced by a miserable weight. He was Richard Sandominus Flynn, who’d sent spacecraft into orbit and would one day launch mechanical men followed by human beings to the stars. I was Donovan Tisdale, a reformed petty criminal from the streets of London who’d once stolen in order to eat.

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Meet the Author

Raised on a healthy diet of creature double features and classic SF television, Gregory L. Norris is a full-time professional writer, with work appearing in numerous short story anthologies, national magazines, novels, the occasional TV episode, and, so far, one produced feature film (Brutal Colors, which debuted on Amazon Prime January 2016). A former feature writer and columnist at Sci Fi, the official magazine of the Sci Fi Channel (before all those ridiculous Ys invaded), he once worked as a screenwriter on two episodes of Paramount’s modern classic, Star Trek: Voyager. Two of his paranormal novels (written under my rom-de-plume, Jo Atkinson) were published by Home Shopping Network as part of their “Escape With Romance” line — the first time HSN has offered novels to their global customer base. He judged the 2012 Lambda Awards in the SF/F/H category. Three times now, his stories have notched Honorable Mentions in Ellen Datlow’s Best-of books. In May 2016, he traveled to Hollywood to accept HM in the Roswell Awards in Short SF Writing.His story “Drowning” appears in the Italian anthology THE BEAUTY OF DEATH 2, alongside tales by none other than Peter Straub and Clive Barker. Follow his literary adventures at www.gregorylnorris.blogspot.com.

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