Mar 16

New Release Blitz: Ge-Mi: Part One by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Ge-Mi: Part One

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 16, 2020

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 33900

Genre: paranormal fantasy, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, opposites attract, genetically modified humans, law enforcement, restaurant server, men with pets, cat rescue

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Synopsis

A hundred years ago, evil scientists spliced human genes with those of animals, creating a genetic mutation passed on through the generations. Hated because of their differences, these Ge-Mis live on the fringes of society where they scrounge and scrape to get by.

Nevada is half Ge-Mi and hides that fact behind baggy clothes and by keeping distance between himself and everyone around him. One day, his peaceful life is shattered by an explosion and the arrival of a pack of wolves to sniff out the culprit.

Wolves have excellent noses and as Alpha, Taylor can sniff out every one of Nevada’s secrets—and the harder Nevada tries to resist, the more difficult staying away from Taylor becomes.

Excerpt

Ge-Mi: Part One
Mell Eight © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
In the waiting room, people milled about restlessly. There weren’t any chairs provided for the supplicants, nor for the onlookers who were only there to enjoy the show. Handing over a bribe wasn’t supposed to be a comfortable experience, after all.

Nevada stood in a corner, the backpack containing the only thing he had that would suit as a bribe clutched carefully in his arms. Rosto stood next to Nevada, one shoulder pressed indolently against the wall. He was older than Nevada by at least twenty years, his hair grayed at the temples, but his back still strong and unbent. Rosto had done this before—brought a supplicant with his bribe—and he had a personal connection with the lord of the city. Rosto wasn’t worried, but Nevada was.

It had only been six months since Mom had died. They hadn’t had the money or the resources to get her proper health care, and her cold had turned deadly far too quickly for Nevada’s three part-time jobs to pay for a doctor’s bill. It wasn’t just that the doctor was expensive, but payoff money for his silence was too much. Nevada would have risked it for Mom’s sake, but Mom had put her shaking and weak foot down and the matter was settled.

After that, Nevada hadn’t been able to stay in that house or city. The hiding was a fact of life, but he hoped the melancholy could be alleviated with a new home and a new start. Nevada had arrived in Kensey three days ago and found an apartment whose owner didn’t mind pets. The down payment had sapped the last of his hastily scraped-together funds, so Nevada had gone job hunting.

Rosto’s café was quaint and in need of a full-time waiter. The pay was decent and the hours reasonable. But in Kensey, things worked differently than Nevada’s old home. The lord in Kensey wanted a direct bribe from every citizen; the previous lord didn’t pay any mind to peons like Nevada. Had Nevada known he had to meet with the lord directly and provide a bribe that, if accepted, was his ticket to having any sort of life in Kensey, he might have chosen to settle in a different city with a different lord.

The room fell silent quickly, almost suddenly, as a side door opened. The man who stepped into the room first was clearly a guard. He was wearing a light layer of armor, the bluish metal vibrant against his dark skin, and a large laser gun at his hip. His hard eyes surveyed the room once before he stepped aside. The second man who walked into the room looked like he was Rosto’s age, somewhere in his late fifties. His blond hair disguised whatever gray may have been present, but the crow’s feet around his blue eyes revealed his true age.

“Where is Taylor?” the lord asked his guard. They both walked to the front of the room where a very large desk built of thick, dark wood was positioned. It was intimidating, but that was probably the point.

“Off with his wolves,” the guard replied stiffly.

“That boy,” the lord grumbled. “All right, let’s get started.”

A third man stepped forward from where he had been standing off to the side of the desk. He was holding a datapad from which he read out the first name.

A woman and her two young children approached the foot of the desk. She needed help finding her layabout husband. He owed her back wages for childcare, and she wanted him to pay up. Her bribe was a gold necklace with a ruby in the center, which would have paid for the childcare handsomely.

“She’s after revenge,” Rosto explained under his breath. “Her husband was a cheat, and she wants what’s rightfully owed to her because she knows he’ll suffer for it. Lord Reyes prefers supplicants ask for something meaningful, instead of straight out asking for something purely selfish. He’s a good man.”

Nevada hoped so because he didn’t have anything nearly as nice as a ruby necklace in his bag.

For the next half hour, he watched as fancy watches, jewelry, and other expensive items were offered to Lord Reyes in return for favors. Some of them Lord Reyes agreed to, like the woman looking for childcare money, but others he denied. He didn’t return the bribes either way.

“Rosto Gregorio,” the steward called.

“That’s us,” Rosto grunted as he pushed off the wall. He strode forward, unconcerned, and Nevada hurried to follow.

They reached the desk and stopped a few feet away. Rosto bowed, and Nevada copied him a beat too late.

“How’s the café?” Lord Reyes asked, a smile on his face. It was the first smile Nevada had seen from him. He apparently was interested in what Rosto had to say.

“We’re expanding the kitchen at the moment,” Rosto immediately began to explain. “Putting in four ovens so we can sell fresh-baked goods as well. We’re also adding outside tables for the summer, which means I need additional waitstaff. I’m looking to hire Nevada here.”

Lord Reyes turned his attention to Nevada, and Nevada fought not to squirm. He needed the job, which meant Lord Reyes had to like him.

“New to the area, too, I believe,” Lord Reyes said. “Has all the appropriate paperwork been filed?”

“As of last night,” Rosto replied. “All it needs is your seal of approval.”

Lord Reyes nodded. “You’ll have to come over for dinner and tell me about your renovations,” he said to Rosto. His attention switched back to Nevada. “What have you brought to entice me to allow you to live and work in my city?”

Nevada gulped and reached into his bag. He knew what he looked like. He had a ragged bandana tied tightly over his head, his long-sleeve shirt was threadbare and unraveling at the cuffs, and his loose jeans had a darned hole in one knee. The clothes were baggy, too, but Nevada had to hide a pair of cat ears and a tail beneath his outfit. He looked poor, but hopefully that meant Lord Reyes wouldn’t look any deeper at what Nevada was hiding. Hopefully, it also meant he wasn’t expecting anything extravagant as Nevada’s bribe.

Nevada pulled the fluffiest, whitest cat he had ever fostered out of the bag and gently placed her on the desk.

“This is Princess Pea. She likes big houses and lots of attention. She’s also very particular about what blankets she sleeps on. I thought you might like to have her company.”

The waiting room had gone silent. It was even quieter than when Lord Reyes had first walked into the room. Yes, it wasn’t a ruby necklace, but surely a beautiful cat wasn’t so bad. Nevada fought to keep from turning to look around the room.

Lord Reyes’s eyes had frozen in a hard glare. “Is this a joke?” he snapped.

Nevada bit his lip, wondering how to answer that. Maybe live animals weren’t acceptable as a bribe? Before he could formulate an answer, Princess Pea took over. She sauntered across the desk toward Lord Reyes and hopped down into his lap where she promptly began to purr furiously. One of Lord Reyes’s hands involuntarily drifted to his lap where he began to pet her soft fur.

“Fine,” Lord Reyes snapped. “Six months’ probation. Rosto will come report to me then, and I’ll decide whether to accept you in my city. I’ll even make sure Princess here isn’t eaten,” he added cryptically.

Rosto bowed, one of his hands pushing on Nevada’s shoulder to force Nevada to bow also. Then that hand pushed Nevada toward the door.

“I can’t believe you got away with that!” Rosto breathed once they were out of the waiting room and headed toward the building exit.

“Got away with what?” Nevada asked, glad to be away from Lord Reyes.

Rosto laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “You gave Lord Reyes a cat. That’s practically the ultimate insult.”

“Oh,” Nevada mumbled, feeling his shoulders droop. He had six months, at least, which was enough time to save up before he had to move to another new city.

“Where did you find that cat anyway?” Rosto asked as they reached the main doors and headed out into the parking lot.

“I find cats everywhere,” Nevada replied with a shrug. “I have a beautiful tortoiseshell looking for a new home, if you’re interested.”

Rosto unlocked the car without answering. Nevada got in and buckled his seat belt. The engine whirred to life, and the hydraulics bounced them gently into the air. The car flew toward the city down the hill, Rosto guiding them along in silence. They stopped a few minutes later outside Nevada’s apartment building.

“No more cats where Lord Reyes is concerned, okay?” Rosto said. The car idled in the air for a few seconds as the hydraulics engaged and the car drifted to the ground. “You start on Monday, 9:00 a.m. sharp.”

Nevada got out of the car and stepped onto the curb. Rosto waved goodbye before sending the car streaking upward again.

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Meet the Author

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

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Mar 16

New Release Blitz: The Prince’s Consort by Antonia Aquilante (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Prince’s Consort

Series: Chronicles of Tournai, Book One

Author: Antonia Aquilante

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 16, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 103300

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, Romance, fantasy, paranormal, family-drama, gay, intersex, prince, arranged marriage, court intrigue, cat shifter, mpreg

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Synopsis

Legends tell of large cats defending the principality of Tournai, but such creatures are only myth.

Or are they?

Prince Philip inherited the throne of Tournai at a young age, and since then, his life has centered around ruling his country and resisting those pressuring him to do as they want both in matters of governance and those more personal. He’s become isolated and lonely. Amory is the second son of a wealthy merchant who has never approved of anything about him or had any use for him. Until now.

When kind-hearted Amory is offered to the prince in exchange for more time for Amory’s merchant father to complete a commission, both Philip and Amory are horrified. But Philip agrees to keep Amory at the palace, where they gradually become friends, then lovers. For the first time in his life, Philip is free to share not only his heart, but the magical shape-shifting ability that runs in the royal bloodline—something the royal family has kept secret from all but those closest to them for generations.

Neither Amory nor Philip imagined falling in love, and they certainly don’t expect what those who oppose their relationship will do to keep them apart—maybe even resorting to murder.

Excerpt

The Prince’s Consort
Antonia Aquilante © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Amory giggled as he and Tristan practically fell through the garden gate. He slapped a hand over his mouth, but Tristan must not have heard. If he had, he would have teased without mercy, as was his right as Amory’s closest friend. But Tristan tugged him along, barely giving him a chance to latch the gate behind them so the lock spell would reengage.

All morning, Tristan had been in high spirits—unusual as he was usually the more focused one in classes. But when Amory asked him what was going on, Tristan only shrugged. Maybe it was the weather. All of Jumelle seemed livelier since the warmth of spring had burst over the city.

He let Tristan pull him down the stone path to a secluded corner of the garden shaded by large trees. The walled garden was blooming, giving them plenty of dense foliage to duck behind. With a wicked grin, Tristan turned and pushed him back against a sturdy tree. Before Amory could say a word, Tristan sealed his mouth over Amory’s in a breath-stealing kiss.

The kiss wasn’t a surprise, not then. They had been kissing a lot over the past year or so. The first time had been a surprise, even for Tristan who’d seemed shocked at his own actions. Amory never thought his friend would want to kiss him. He hadn’t thought Tristan saw him in such a way, was attracted to men at all. Their first kiss had been tentative and awkward. They’d gotten better at it quickly.

Much better.

He moaned into the kiss and pulled Tristan closer, urging him to settle his weight against Amory and relishing the feel of Tristan’s firm body against his even as it pushed him into rough tree bark. But who cared about tree bark when Tristan was kissing him as if he wanted to consume him? Deep and passionate, with tongues tangling and teeth nipping. Yes, they had definitely gotten better with all the practice.

“Tris,” he gasped when Tristan pulled back. He wasn’t done with the kiss. But Tristan said nothing, just began kissing along the line of Amory’s jaw. The light little kisses made him shiver and stifle another moan. Though they were in a back corner, away from the house, they were still in his family’s garden, and he didn’t want anyone finding them. They should go somewhere else. A nip to his earlobe made him shudder, and a nuzzling kiss under his ear drove the thought right out of his head.

He grabbed the back of Tristan’s neck and pulled his lips back to Amory’s own for another kiss. Tristan’s slightly larger frame still pressed him into the tree, but Amory took control of the kiss, deepening it and exploring Tristan’s mouth with his tongue. He nearly laughed when Tristan whimpered, loving his ability to provoke such a reaction in the other man. Tristan pulled back with a gasp, and they leaned there together, panting.

“I love kissing you,” Tristan gasped.

Relief exploded in Amory’s chest. Tristan hadn’t said he loved Amory. Tristan was his best friend, but even with all the kissing, Amory wasn’t in love with him. “Me too.”

Tristan grinned and dropped a quick kiss on Amory’s lips. “I want to do more.”

“M-more?” His cheeks heated at the stutter.

Tristan grinned and kissed him again. “Yep. More.”

Amory’s nerves didn’t abate at the confirmation, though he wasn’t sure where they came from. In all the time since that first awkward moment, they hadn’t done anything but kiss. Oh, they touched a little, but never on bare skin and never below the waist. They’d never discussed the concept of “more” before.

The idea did intrigue him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like—he had. But imagining it and doing it were two separate things, and the idea of doing more with Tristan made him vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why. They were best friends, and they’d come this far. There was no reason not to go a little farther.

Tristan watched him, his blue eyes intense and a little quizzical. How long had Amory stood there, not saying anything? He smiled past his nerves. “Like what?”

Tristan grinned, slow and wicked, and reached out to unfasten Amory’s pants without a word. Before Amory could protest, before he could decide whether he wanted to protest, Tristan had his hand inside Amory’s pants. He gripped him and began a tight, slow stroke. The feel of another man’s hand on him for the first time stole Amory’s breath, and when he got it back, all he could do was moan.

Tristan’s grin widened at the sound, and his hand sped up, working Amory faster. After a few moments standing there, struggling to breathe, Amory realized he wasn’t doing anything for Tristan. He scrambled to unfasten Tristan’s pants with fumbling fingers as Tristan whispered encouragement. Finally, Amory wrapped his hand around Tristan’s hard member and began to stroke him in time with Tristan’s strokes. It felt awkward at first, different from touching himself yet not so different, but Tristan didn’t voice any objections.

“Yes, yes, yes. Amory,” Tristan gasped into Amory’s ear.

It didn’t last long. Amory might have been embarrassed at how quickly he found his release if Tristan didn’t finish just as fast, spilling over Amory’s hand, and collapsing against him. He was glad of the tree at his back, rough bark and all, because his wobbly knees didn’t have a chance of holding both of them up.

He didn’t know what to think about what they’d done. He’d enjoyed it, but the uncomfortable feeling still plagued him. Before he could begin to analyze it, Tristan was chuckling, low at first, quiet in Amory’s ear, his body shaking against Amory’s chest. Tristan pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes sparkled with happiness, and Amory’s laughter bubbled up to join his friend’s.

The laughter eased the way as they fumbled for handkerchiefs, cleaned themselves up, and neatened their clothes again. Then they leaned against each other and the tree, still laughing a little. It was Amory who moved for another kiss. Both of them were grinning when their lips met, and they couldn’t seem to stop laughing as they kissed, as they kept kissing. But the laughter was soft and light, like the kisses, and Amory relaxed into them, wrapping his arms around Tristan. Telling himself he would think about everything later.

“Good afternoon, brother.”

The unexpected voice and its snide tone had Amory jerking away from the kiss. The back of his head thunked into the tree trunk behind him. Tristan jumped back, separating them much more effectively. Amory almost wished he hadn’t. The short distance between them seemed like a vast gulf, and Amory felt very alone as he straightened away from the tree and turned to face his older brother.

Alban’s handsome face was twisted in a sneer even more disgusted than the one he habitually wore when looking at Amory. He studied Amory and Tristan in silence while Amory struggled not to squirm. No use saying anything to Alban, he knew from bitter experience.

“Now I know why you wanted no part of that pretty little maid last week.” Disdain dripped from Alban’s every word. “You’re more of a disappointment than I thought. Worthless. How are you even my brother?”

With a shake of his head, Alban turned and strode away, likely heading directly for the house. Amory remained frozen for a long moment, not even blinking.

“He’s going to tell your father.” Tristan’s voice was flat, so different from its usual exuberant, almost musical quality. The shock of it broke Amory’s paralysis, and Amory turned to face him. Tristan still stared at the spot where Alban had stood.

“Yes, he is.” Amory ran a shaking hand through his hair and slumped back against the tree. Alban hadn’t hit him, which was a pleasant surprise, but the consequences were still going to be bad. How would Father react? With disappointment, certainly, but that was nothing new. Most likely with anger as well. However disgusted Alban was, their father would be ten times more so.

“Do you think they’ll tell my father?” Tristan turned fear-filled blue eyes on Amory.

“Tris.” Amory reached out. He couldn’t bear seeing him so afraid, and though he couldn’t say much to reassure him, he couldn’t stand by while Tristan was upset either.

But he stepped out of Amory’s reach. “Do you?”

Amory tried to hold back a flinch. “I don’t know.”

Tristan groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “He can’t. I don’t know what my father will do if he finds out I prefer men. I’m his oldest son. I’m supposed to take over for him in the business, get married. Have sons to take over the family business after me.”

“You still can. All right, the children part would be difficult if you don’t marry someone who can carry them, but you can still take over the family business.” He didn’t bother mentioning that Tristan had four younger brothers and a younger sister. Surely at least one of them would have children someday who could inherit the family’s business if Tristan never had any of his own and his father insisted on an heir of their blood. But Tristan took his responsibilities as first son seriously. Too seriously. He wouldn’t want to hear that at the moment.

“Not if he disowns me.”

“Now you’re being dramatic. Preferring men is not illegal. It’s not wrong. Your father loves you. He’s proud of you, and you’ll be the same son he’s proud of after he finds out.”

“You don’t know that, Amory.”

No, he didn’t. But Tristan had a better chance of everything working out fine than Amory did. Tristan’s father was proud of his accomplishments, which was more than Amory could say.

“I may not, but I believe it will be all right. Don’t borrow trouble. My father and brother might be too busy killing me to remember to tell your father.”

Tristan huffed out a half laugh and whacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Who’s joking?” Amory smiled crookedly. “Seriously, though, I do think everything will be all right with your father.” He took Tristan’s hand and squeezed and then let go before Tristan could pull away.

“Maybe. I need to go.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.” Tristan slipped out of their little corner of the garden and was gone before Amory could get another word out. He tried not to think about how unsure Tristan’s parting words sounded. He didn’t want to lose Tristan. Not when he would likely need his friend more than ever.

He didn’t think Father would kill him, but he couldn’t rule out Father hitting him. It was partly why he was so surprised Alban hadn’t—his older brother was a perfect replica of their father in every way. But even without actual murder, Father could make Amory’s life miserable, and Amory wouldn’t be able to do anything until he came of age next week. A week seemed like a short time but was long enough for his father to…

He needed to think about his options. Father would never accept his preferences. Once his father knew, Amory’s time in his family’s house was limited. He hated to leave his younger siblings, especially Adeline, but he doubted he would have much of a choice. It might be best to leave before he was thrown out.

Sighing, he pushed himself away from the tree and started for the house. He hoped he could avoid Father long enough to spend a little time with Adeline and make some plans. And to get his hands to stop shaking.

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Meet the Author

Antonia Aquilante has been making up stories for as long as she can remember, and at the age of twelve, decided she would be a writer when she grew up. After many years and a few career detours, she has returned to that original plan. Her stories have changed over the years, but one thing has remained consistent—they all end in happily ever after.

She has a fondness for travel (and a long list of places she wants to visit and revisit), taking photos, family history, fabulous shoes, baking treats (which she shares with friends and family), and of course, reading. She usually has at least two books started at once and never goes anywhere without her Kindle. Though she is a convert to e-books, she still loves paper books the best, and there are a couple thousand of them residing in her home with her.

Born and raised in New Jersey, Antonia is living there again after years in Washington, DC and North Carolina for school and work. She enjoys being back in the Garden State but admits to being tempted every so often to run away from home and live in Italy.

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Mar 16

New Release Blitz: From the Dark We Came by J. Emery (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  From the Dark We Came

Series: Pointy Ears & Pointy Teeth, Book One

Author: J. Emery

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 16, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 50600

Genre: Paranormal, NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, Paranormal, fantasy, other-world, action/adventure, bisexual, cisgender, asexual, demisexual, vampire, vampire hunter, fae, magic/sorcery, dark, humorous, revenge

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Synopsis

Belar has made lying into an art form. His neighbors know him as a mild mannered music teacher, but to his fellow monster hunters he’s a senior agent with one of the best track records in the organization. Werewolves, malignant spirits, and other oddities—you name it, he can track it. And kill it if necessary.

But when a vampire shows up in Belar’s parlor, his two worlds crash into each other. The vampire is named Cassian, and if he had any sense of decency he would be dead since Belar has already tried to kill him. Twice. Luckily, Cassian isn’t interested in holding a grudge. He wants to hire the hunter. Someone in vampire society wants Cassian dead and they’ve been using Belar to do their dirty work. Finding the culprit will save them both.

Their search for answers takes them through a nighttime world of ancient vampires, demon tailors, and monsters of pure shadow. But Belar hasn’t been the only one lying, and enemies and allies are harder to tell apart in the dark.

Excerpt

From the Dark We Came
J. Emery © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Vibrant pink and amber dawn streaked the sky before Belar finally clambered down from his perch in a nearby tree. He moved with spidery grace. Heights had never bothered him, not when he had perfected the art of sneaking out of his bedroom window before the age of six. He had only gotten better since then. Nothing soothed like a narrow ledge beneath his fingers and a world of sky behind him, waiting to catch him if he fell. Granted, the fall would most likely kill him. But until then—pure ease.

He should have been born a bird instead of a man.

The abandoned house was silent. He had searched the area for days before he’d found the place, half swallowed by the encroaching forest. The perfect place for a vampire to hide, empty as it was, but not so distant from human society to make feeding difficult.

There had been a brief moment earlier when he had even worried his guess was wrong, and the house really was as empty as it appeared despite the feel in the air—blood possibly—that called to him. Then he’d gotten his first sighting as the vampire had come lurching back to his nest and removed any lingering doubt. Belar had gauged him as average height (for a vampire as they ran tall) and probably quite old based on the speed of his movements. He wasn’t graceful—exhaustion rendered him clumsy—but he was certainly fast. Belar had lost track of him for seconds at a time as the vampire zigzagged through the dense underbrush in the woods. But by now the vampire should be fast asleep, hidden away where the sun couldn’t disturb him or his rest.

Belar had waited an extra hour to be certain. Not that he was worried. Because he wasn’t.

Vines grew thick over the sides of the old house, its sagging roof full of patched holes, half the windows empty staring eyes, their glass long since shattered. Utterly abandoned. Dilapidated. Save for the curtains hanging in a lower room, a cheerful, if faded pattern of blue on white like the border on a fancy plate. They had no reason to be there. Not here in an empty house, in an empty town where all but the birds had moved on. Even the bones of those caught in the fire that had destroyed the village years ago were gone. The forest had reclaimed everything but a handful of houses, their crumbling walls marked by smudges of soot and a few scattered patches of paving stone that had once been the town square. The bridge arching over the nearby stream verged on collapse. The rest was mossy, green, and still.

His eyes strayed again to the curtains in the window. Something about them unsettled him.

“Or maybe you’re just losing your touch after the last time,” he muttered. In the stillness, his voice sounded loud as a shout, and he flinched despite himself. But anyone was liable to be a bit jumpy after his recent near miss, he reasoned.

His last hunt had begun as they typically did. Weeks of research and information gathering about the area before he successfully pinpointed the resting place of the vampire and felt safe making his move. He’d always been thorough. Usually it served him well. But despite his many precautions, despite waiting for the sun to rise high enough to assure his target was deeply asleep, Belar had found himself trapped in a tomb with a very angry and very awake vampire who was fully capable of fighting back. Belar had recovered from the blow that threw him into the wall just in time to see the dark figure of the vampire eclipsing the sun streaming in the open door. For one moment, as impossibly beautiful as a wrathful god to Belar’s dazed mind. Then he ran out into the daylight. Everyone knew what happened to vampires touched by the sun. No part was pleasant. No one seemed to have told this vampire though. There were no screams. No flames. Not even the slightest sizzle of searing flesh. Nothing but a rapidly retreating vampire.

Belar had been lucky to escape with nothing worse than a black eye, a sprained wrist, and enough cracked ribs to make breathing exciting for the next few weeks. In a lifetime of brushes with death, this had been the closest of all. By rights he really should be dead. Not that he was complaining on the last point.

And clearly he hadn’t learned his lesson well enough since here he was stalking yet another vampire. Other hunters might have taken the job if he’d wanted to give it up. The thought had never even occurred to him.

Belar slithered in through one of the gaping eyehole windows and landed softly atop a floor carpeted with moldy leaves and splintered wood that had once been a shutter. He took a moment to get his bearings. There wasn’t much to see. He’d surveyed the house from every imaginable angle outside, but hadn’t ventured inside. He hadn’t dared. The risk of spreading his scent around and alerting the vampire to his presence was too great. Now it wouldn’t matter. The sun was up and so was the vampire’s time.

The stairs leading to the cellar were almost completely broken away. What remained was as rotten as everything else in this place. A few jagged timbers and a yawning darkness below. He would have to be careful climbing back up so he didn’t end up full of splinters.

Belar checked his axe and the knives strapped to his wrists before he snugged the knot of the scarf tied over his face. Then he leaped down to kill himself a vampire.

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

Meet the Author

J. Emery is slowly writing their way through every fantasy trope imaginable. And if they can make it weirder and queerer while they do, that’s even better as far as they’re concerned.

They spend their free time gaming, working on their cosplay creating skills, and drinking large quantities of tea, occasionally all at the same time. They have also been known to document their ridiculous levels of terror while watching horror movies on twitter as @mixeduppainter. Sometimes they even discuss upcoming projects.

They have also written and self-published two queer short stories: An Offering of Plums and Help Wanted.

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Mar 14

Book Blitz: Thicker Than Water by Becca Seymour (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Thicker Than Water

Author: Becca Seymour

Publisher: Rainbow Tree Publishing

Release Date: March 14th 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65000

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, urban fantasy romance, shifter romance

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Outcast operative in the Supernatural Investigation & Crime Bureau (SICB) Callen Blackheath finds himself doing what he does best: defying orders and giving his boss a headache in the thick of an operation he shouldn’t be in. And there’s no way he’s walking away, not when the investigation has become deadly personal.

Needing to protect the only family member he has left, this wolf shifter will do whatever it takes to stop the blood farms and destroy the dangerous drugs the vampires will kill for. But he doesn’t expect Liam “Thatch” Thatcher, the head of a special task force team, to receive a bite that pulls him into the centre of Callen’s world.

Bonded by memories and blood, together they navigate the operation that has wider reaches than they could ever imagine. And when it comes to matters of the heart, Callen knows in order to win, he needs to risk it all.

Excerpt

Heat rippled over my skin. The singed scent of hair clogged my ability to track the way out, leaving me momentarily cursing my stubbornness for going this alone. My boss would never let me live it down if I got myself charred to a crisp or killed. At least the latter would mean I wouldn’t have to listen to his pompous spiel about following protocol. The dick had it out for me. He had since I’d joined this team three years ago, and despite my success rate on missions, he hadn’t taken kindly to the son of the Blackheath alpha joining the Supernatural Investigation & Crime Bureau.

Creaking beams followed by the crash of timber had me blinking hard against the blackening smoke. There had to be a way out. While Brent, my division leader, thought I was foolhardy—or perhaps simply a fool—I had studied the schematics of the lab prior to entering. What I hadn’t planned for was Jonas Cartwright to set the damn thing on fire with me in it.

Focussed on pushing my senses beyond the sound of the licking fire and groaning foundations, I closed my eyes, hoping for a ripple, something, anything that would get me out of this situation. Two beats, three, four… but nothing. I could either stay planted, hoping a miracle would happen, or I could act. Neither seemed like a smart move but staying put and being roasted was not an option. The raw heat travelling up my arms, removing my hairs along the way, cried out for my retreat.

Action it was.

In barely a split second, my eyes shifted. While the heightened sight wouldn’t help with the smoke, the electricity had been tripped by the fire, and I needed all the help I could get.

I cursed up a storm in my head as I raced the way I’d come. With a leap over a toppled cabinet, a swerve away from the licks of fire trailing along workstation dividers, I swore the whole time I would find Cartwright and put him to ground once and for all. The way ahead was blocked, and no barrelling through would solve that. I screeched to a stop. “Shit.” I looked left and right, thinking hard about the drawings I’d glanced at ten seconds before entering the lab. Screw Brent and his demands for being well-prepared. I had no doubt my name, Callen, was already a regular curse from him. This would simply give him more ammunition. It was better than him seething my surname, Blackheath, I supposed, but still, ten seconds of my eyes roaming over the layout was as good as studying in my world.

Before I could figure out my next move, a small scrape of metal to my left had me turning in that direction. I seriously hoped I wasn’t racing towards more flames, but the sound was distinctive, controlled.

On reaching a hallway I didn’t recognise, I stumbled. “What the hell?” At the end of the darkened hallway was a glass door. While smoke spiralled through the space, it wasn’t as black, the fire not yet having reached the area. I crouched low to avoid the white smoke, my eyes focussed on the hand scratching against the glass door. Blood smeared with every gentle swipe, the movement slowing down.

No one was supposed to be here. Ignoring the fact that Cartwright had blown my half-arsed recon out of the window and taken me by surprise, there seriously shouldn’t have been anyone else on site. An unfamiliar edge of panic flared to life in my chest. This was not good.

I charged towards the glass, stopping short of barrelling into it to try the handle. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d broken down a door unnecessarily. I didn’t want to crash through a glass door unless I had to. While I healed quickly, shards of glass cutting through my skin still hurt something fierce.

Testing the handle with one hand, I hit the glass lower down, trying to get the attention of the person attempting to get out. Their bloody hand peeking out a white lab coat twitched at the loud thud. “Shit,” I grumbled. The door was locked. “Hey.” I beat against the glass panel harder. It was partially misted for privacy, and visibility was unclear. Unable to tell who was on the other side or whether the smoke had breached the room from another direction, for once, I considered my options.

“Hey.” I tried again, my hand smacking the glass harder, not yet intending to break through. “Can you hear me?” Steadying my breath took concentration, but I needed to listen carefully.

“Code.” The voice was gravelly. “P-Panel.”

I searched quickly and found a panel off to my right. “I need the code.” Each word came out calm and clear. Panicking now could possibly get us both killed.

“Five.” A cough wracked through him, loud and sounding painful. I squinted, wondering what the hell this guy had been through. “Two. Seven. Seven. Four. Nine.”

I hit the numbers as he said them.

“Hash,” he finished, and the door clicked, swinging open when the guy fell against it. He landed on the floor.

Unconscious at my feet, the man was sprawled on his front. I tugged him to the side. With no idea where we were, I couldn’t simply throw the guy over my shoulder and start charging around, hitting dead ends and burning doors wherever we went. Decision made, I cast a quick glance at the man. Wet blood covered his rich black skin, but his moving chest indicated he was breathing. Barely. Christ, I hoped he didn’t die on me. After a final glance, I rushed into the unlocked room. Just because it had been sealed from the inside didn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to get through another exit.

A door on the opposite side of the room was my target. I headed straight there, spotting vials and another room off to my right. Before I reached the exit, the scent hit me. Blood, and it wasn’t from the unconscious lab tech in the hallway. I took a tentative step in the direction the scent came from, bile already churning in my gut.

No. It couldn’t be.

Another step forward, and I held my breath, not wanting to believe it could be true.

Wide-eyed, I gasped for breath, then regretted the action immediately. Metallic, familiar, and dead. The combination of the three threatened to buckle my knees. Unable to look away, I stared hard, hating every second. But I had to do this. Flesh, torn muscle, mutilated claws; the image seared itself into my mind. Once there, a shockwave of pain ripped through me.

No.

This time I let my knees go and landed on the floor, my knee finding the blood the same shade of my own. It was her. Hazel. My baby sister.

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Meet the Author

Becca Seymour lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.

Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.

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Mar 13

Cover Reveal: What He Really Needs by Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood

What He Really Needs by Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood

Cover created by Cherie Fox

RELEASE DATE: March 20, 2020

Available to Pre-Order at Amazon

Cayo Suárez, who is gay, and Ben Roth, an admitted Oblivious Straight Guy, were roommates in law school, but two years after graduating, they have lost touch. After an accidental meeting, Cayo invites Ben to stay with him while Ben looks for his own apartment. There’s only one complication, but it’s a big one—Cayo has been in love with Ben since they met.

What begins as a heartwarming reunion of old friends heats up quickly, and Ben starts to wonder if he’s as straight as he always thought he was. Cayo and Ben reconnect in a most unexpected way, but their jobs complicate things. Cayo works for low-income people at Legal Assistance, and Ben works for the man.

When Ben and Cayo become involved in a controversial case, powerful people with a lot to lose seize control of the situation. They want to bend the case’s outcome to their own nefarious ends, and they’ll destroy anyone who tries to stand up to them. Will Cayo and Ben find a way to save Ben’s career, and their budding relationship, before it’s too late?

What He Really Needs is an action-packed book full of warmth and humor, a first-time bisexual awakening, a healthy dose of suspense, steamy sexy times, and an extraordinarily happy ending.

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Mar 09

New Release Blitz: Jeopardy in Tights by K. Childs (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Jeopardy in Tights

Series: Men of the Pantheon, Book One

Author: K. Childs

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 9, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 42600

Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, sci-fi, alternate universe, super heroes, super powers, bodyguard, businessman, interracial, second chances

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Synopsis

Down on his luck ex-security meets CEO looking for special bodyguard. Fine print: hazardous working conditions.

Errol Mason got fired from his last job and put on a blacklist for a good reason. Now, scraping the bottom of the barrel and desperate for any job, he finally lands an interview with Stardust Global.

Errol’s interviewer, company CEO Nathan Parkes, has a secret, one that might get Errol killed. All Nate wants is a meatshield while he goes on a one-man crusade against a bunch of psycho cultists and tries to rescue his missing stepmother. Errol is the meatshield in this equation.

Things start pear-shaped and only get worse from there. Between military small-arms fire, freeway fisticuffs, and escaping the cult’s secret bases, the duo quickly forms a bond of trust and lust.

Excerpt

Jeopardy in Tights
K. Childs © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Errol Mason stood stark naked in front of about twenty people. His cheap suit, seams torn, had partially melted and unraveled like tissue paper around one of the exposed building support struts. The foyer of Stardust Global was a mess. Standing there nude, in the rubble and debris, he recalled a similar nightmare as a teen.

An hour ago, Errol worried that he’d look shabby for this job interview at Stardust Global. His breath smelled like chicken Cup Noodles—his only diet for weeks now—he needed a haircut, and his shaver had broken halfway down his left cheek, leaving him with a three-week shadow on one side. No water in the apartment, clothing smelling of sweat and mold. Going commando had seemed like a good idea to reduce the smell.

He needed this job.

He was broke: stealing spoons and sugar packets from fast food stores broke. Three months behind on rent broke.

“Did you see that?” Someone took a photo of Errol. Like they’d never seen a naked black man before.

He grabbed what was left of his pants, dusty with soot and partially melted. He didn’t have enough fabric here to cover himself. The scrap fell to pieces in his hands as he pulled out his thin wallet and phone. Wallet singed; old shitty phone, still working.

A lady bravely rushed from the crowd of spectators, holding out a floral yellow towel. Though damp and smelling like women’s body spray, it beat flashing his junk to a bunch of strangers. Errol wrapped the towel around his waist with a “Thanks.”

The obsidian dermis covering Errol’s body dried and cracked as he limped down from the wreckage of concrete and mangled van. His coal-black dermis transformed into flakes, revealing Errol’s dark-brown skin, chilled and covered in gooseflesh from adrenaline.

With the immediate danger over, people began to process, and phones came out. Plenty to see.

Errol hardly took the headline in the destruction of the foyer. That belonged to a skinny bald man in a pair of overalls, slumped over the crumpled hood of the totaled van now supported by a pillar of rubble with a very Errol-shaped hole in it.

The short, unimpressive series of events that had led to Errol’s nakedness were a confusing blur. Errol didn’t sit high on anyone’s list of friends, but he’d done nothing to deserve the lunatic who’d crashed through the glass doors and rammed right into him and the concrete pillars.

Errol had ended up crashing into and through the decorative wall behind the reception desk. The car hit Errol and the support pillar, halting its momentum, and the driver, a skinny bald man, had scrambled out, yelled something about inequality, and sprouted flames from his hands in impressive gouts.

Errol, being rather annoyed from getting hit by cars, picked himself up out of the rubble and marched right through the flame. It burned most of his clothing, but Errol’s dermis, a strange liquid metal coating his body under his clothing, was resistant to most midrange temperatures.

Errol had summarily cracked heads with the madman.

The lunatic now lay sprawled on the hood, dazed and probably concussed.

Errol did not feel the least bit sorry.

His last good shirt was nothing but ruined synthetic fabric rags.

The elevator dinged, and the lobby flooded with more of the well-to-do in their fancy unmelted clothing and uncharred shoes.

He was supposed to be interviewing for a security job. The first interview anyone had given him in eight months.

“Shit.”

Errol needed a drink.

“You must be Mr. Mason.”

The man who spoke wore a navy-blue suit and smelled faintly of new leather. He extended a hand for shaking. His nails were neat and manicured, and his palm, when Errol took it, was soft. A man who moisturized. The handshake was limp, gentle. Errol followed the arm up to a face. Smokey-green eyes and thin, pale lips schooled into a polite smile. The gentleman’s soft blond hair swept in a curly wave over one side. Clean-shaven, young; he looked like a model for a men’s fashion magazine.

“Hi.” Errol prided himself on being quick with words. He wasn’t eloquent, but then, he didn’t wear fancy suits or moisturize.

“Nice work taking out the trash.” It was a bit familiar of the gentleman, the way he said it.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met?” Errol would definitely have remembered this guy.

“Nathan Parkes. Stardust Global General Chief Executive.” There was a lot of title in that introduction.

Errol straightened up, clutching his towel. This was the guy who’d emailed him for the job interview. “Oh, hi. I mean, hello.” He looked down. “Sorry, I’m wearing a towel.”

“I asked my assistant to find you something to wear. Least I can do,” Parkes said. “Your résumé says you spent time working for Miltech?”

Errol brushed some of the dermis from his hair, feeling about as self-conscious as one might in a situation like this. “Yeah. I mean, yes. As an armored van escort.”

“And you served in the army during the war?”

Errol nodded. He didn’t like recounting the events or his service during the two-year war and alien invasion that had devastated the planet. He’d spent six months fighting aliens in what had once been Florida. “I was on troop transport.”

“So you’ve been through a few combat experiences? How about de-escalations?”

This felt like a job interview.

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Meet the Author

By day, Kristy works as an IT Project Coordinator. She wanted to be a fairy princess when she grew up but sadly discovered the job was no longer on the market. Instead, she embarked on a career to at least write about princesses in castles and grand adventures. She lives in Sydney, Australia, with an abundance of old comics and cute anime figurines.

By night, Kristy is a hippy and foodie, enjoying the life of a city-bred lady and trying all the latest restaurants and foodie crazes she can. She is most at home throwing money around in a handcrafts market, eating gourmet chocolate, discussing the various ramen recipes between restaurants, and browsing second-hand bookstores for undiscovered gems. She is a consummate spinster and lover of animals but has yet to receive a crazy cat lady starter kit.

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Mar 09

New Release Blitz: Raining Men by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Raining Men

Series: Chaser, Book Two

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 9, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 100416

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, sex addiction, therapy, friends to lovers, hurt-comfort, guilt, reparation, over 40

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Synopsis

The character you loved to hate in Chaser becomes the character you will simply love in Raining Men.

It’s been raining men for most of Bobby Nelson’s adult life. Normally, he wouldn’t have it any other way, but lately something’s missing. Now, he wants the deluge to slow to a single special drop. But is it even possible for Bobby to find “the one” after endless years of hooking up?

When Bobby’s father passes away, Bobby finally examines his rocky relationship with the man and how it might have contributed to his inability to find the love he yearns for. Guided by a sexy therapist, a Sex Addicts Anonymous group, a well-endowed Chihuahua named Johnny Wadd, and Bobby’s own cache of memories, Bobby takes a spiritual, sexual, and emotional journey to discover that life’s most satisfactory love connections lie in quality, not quantity. And when he’s ready to love not only himself but someone else, sex and love fit, at last, into one perfect package.

Excerpt

Raining Men
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Bobby sat on a leather chair in therapist Camille D’Amico’s office, took in his surroundings, and mused on why the therapist had arranged the office as she had.

He made certain assumptions. Camille had placed the seating to be comfortable, yet not confrontational. Bobby supposed she wanted her office to have the effect, the ambiance, of a living room—a safe, calm place where she and her charges could relax like two old friends, just gabbing, getting to the heart of their problems. The office was dimly lit—blinds drawn and a Pottery Barn ceramic lamp the only illumination, sixty watt—and for Bobby, it had what he imagined to be the desired effect: calming. From the small charging/speaker unit on Camille’s desk, the violin of Joshua Bell played softly, a warm background accompaniment.

Camille adjusted her halo of frizzy brown hair, running her fingers through it, and pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. She didn’t say anything, and Bobby supposed she was waiting for him to begin.

Bobby fidgeted with a button on his sport coat, not sure where to start. Camille eyed him up and down, and Bobby knew what she saw: a tall, lean man with above-average—well, way above if he were being honest—looks. And it wasn’t just his vanity that informed him. He had been told more times than he could count that he was gorgeous, hot, that he had the kind of virile beauty seldom seen outside of men’s fashion magazines. His clothes were expensive, tasteful—a soft navy blazer with a white, button-down, Egyptian cotton shirt crisp beneath it. His jeans were indigo blue, the kind that went for hundreds of dollars a pair. His red suede sneakers bore the subtle Prada logo beneath the laces. Bobby had thrown the look together to display a kind of casual elegance, and from the way the therapist was eyeing him, it succeeded in spades.

Even Bobby’s face spoke of good health and clean living. Skin so fine it almost appeared without pores. His auburn hair, close cropped, had just a touch of product to give it sheen, even here in this dimly lit warren. From him wafted the aroma of Hermès, sprayed in a cloud that Bobby had walked into, to ensure he got just the right amount on him.

In short, he knew he appeared to be a man who had everything—health, looks, money.

He imagined the therapist must be thinking: So what the hell is he doing here? And then, sadly, he guessed her next thought might be: And why is it impossible for him to erase that mask of sadness that seems to cling to his face, marring those perfect features?

I’ll wait for him to tell me.

Bobby knew how therapists operated, even if he had never been to one. He had read enough about them and seen enough of them in movies and TV shows to know their modus operandi. She would know, Bobby surmised, that silence was often the most powerful tool in a head doctor’s arsenal. Silence prodded, pushing for respite, for release. It was human nature, these days especially, to want to fill that quiet void with talk.

But Bobby, too, waited. A full two or three minutes had passed since Camille had made her initial small talk greetings. Yet Bobby still played with the pewter button on his blazer, seldom lifting his arresting gray eyes to meet her gaze.

Camille tapped the toe of her shoe on the bamboo flooring, and Bobby wondered if she was beginning to get impatient. She stopped tapping suddenly when Bobby moved his gaze from looking around the room to her foot. He finally spoke.

“Caden sent me.”

Camille nodded. The simple nod and the sudden light in Camille’s eyes told Bobby she remembered his old friend. He imagined what the pair must have once discussed, here, in this very room. She had probably helped Caden through love problems that most young men experience and issues with his mother’s battle with cancer. Camille smiled, and Bobby thought it was because she knew Caden was now in a good place, in love with a wonderful man. Bobby wondered if she had heard Caden was moving in with his boyfriend, Kevin. Bobby wanted to tell her that Caden’s mother was winning her battle with that hateful disease and that she was now recuperating at home, struggling through chemo treatments with grace and humor.

But he only knew these latter two things because he had heard them from a mutual friend one night at Roscoe’s along the Halsted strip known in Chicago as Boystown. He had not heard them from Caden.

He had not heard a word from Caden.

“Caden DeSarro?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s a good friend to have.”

“Was. Was a good friend.” Bobby realized Caden must have stopped coming to see her before Bobby had betrayed him, and the shame caused a rush of heat to rise to his face.

“Oh?”

“He and I kind of reached a parting of the ways, I guess you might say. I…” Bobby sighed and his voice trailed off. He stared down at the floor.

Camille said nothing.

“I kind of screwed up our friendship. I was an ass.”

Camille cocked her head, a subtle indication for him to continue.

“You want to know what I did, huh?”

“I want to know what you want to tell me, Bobby.”

“I tried to steal his boyfriend.”

Camille nodded.

“In my defense, I didn’t think Caden wanted him anymore.”

He guessed that the therapist’s first reaction to such news would be to recoil. Why not? Here before her was a man who had done a very bad thing, a reprehensible thing, and it seemed like he was sitting here wanting to blame the victim. He didn’t think Caden wanted him anymore? Seriously? What kind of defense was that? Even if that was the case, and it was, someone still didn’t go after a person their best friend had fallen in love with, no matter how sweet and sexy the man was.

But Camille, if she had any judgments, kept them to herself. Her face revealed nothing but a sincere desire to know more.

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Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed draws inspiration from the lives of gay men to craft stories that quicken the heartbeat, engage emotions, and keep the pages turning. Although he dabbles in horror, dark suspense, and comedy, his attention always returns to the power of love. He’s the award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction and is forever at work on yet another book. Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” You can find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his beloved husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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Mar 06

Blog Tour: Saving Rafe by Jocelynn Drake (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Saving Rafe

Series: Lords of Discord #2

Author: Jocelynn Drake

Publisher:  Indie

Release Date: March 6, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105000

Genre: Romance, paranormal romance

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Synopsis

Rafe Varik

The troublemaker. The risk taker. The sexy club owner full of wicked promises.

Rafe has devoted his immortal existence to pleasure and causing mischief.

The only ones who can depend on him are his brothers. Of course, that’s very much a Varik thing.

But when the leader of the Arsenault clan specifically requests Rafe’s help in tracking down a killer, he can’t say no.

Sure, Rafe claims he’s doing it for his family. They’ve attracted too many enemies and could use a few allies.

That’s not the whole truth, though.

There’s something about Philippe Arsenault that draws Rafe in. He wants more of Philippe. The vampire leaves him longing for another second in his presence, another taste of his lips, another caress of those perfect fingers.

Yet when it’s all over, what will become of Philippe and Rafe? Because Philippe will always be an Arsenault, and Rafe will always be a Varik.

Saving Rafe is the second book in an MM paranormal romance series that has vampires, betrayal, annoying brothers, music, heartbreak, hope, sexy times, and a pair of star-crossed lovers.

Excerpt

From their first meeting at The Gallery, Philippe found himself drawn to Rafe. Everything about the vampire whispered temptation. Philippe longed to pin Rafe to the nearest flat surface and make the most delicious moans rise from those lush parted lips. But more than feeding and fucking, Rafe whispered of escape and freedom. No more worry and responsibility beating him down. With Rafe, Philippe would be able to run free and laugh, enjoy the long life he’d been cursed with.

Jullien had warned him that Rafe didn’t seem to be appearing at his club as much as he had in the past, but Philippe wasn’t worried. Lola had spotted the Arsenault pair from where she was leaning against the bar. If she hadn’t called Rafe already to alert him that the clan leader was at his club, she would shortly.

No. There was no need. Rafe was already there.

The vampire was in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a throng of men and women as they moved to the pounding beat of the music. A slender blonde pressed tightly to his front, her long arms wrapped around Rafe’s neck, while a muscular man in a shirt that looked as if it was a second skin was pressed against Rafe’s back.

Reaching behind him, Rafe grabbed a handful of the dancer’s hair and held him in place as Rafe ravaged his mouth. Even through the writhing crowd of bodies, Philippe could see the man’s left hand tighten on the vampire.

Blood shot straight to Philippe’s dick as he regarded the blatant display of sex and power. His fangs ached to slide down, but Philippe couldn’t figure out if he wanted to join the sexy threesome or if he wished to shove both humans away so he could claim Rafe for himself. Neither of them was a healthy thought or would help his clan, so he shoved away the flicker of hunger.

As if he knew what was flitting through Philippe’s brain, Rafe released his companion and looked directly at Philippe, a wicked grin growing on his glistening lips. There was the faintest glow in his sharp blue eyes. It could be blamed on the flashing lights, but Philippe recognized it for what it was. Hunger. Sharp, sexual hunger.

Philippe’s breath caught in his throat and his fucking dick gave another begging throb, urging him to cross the damn club and grab Rafe, but he kept his feet planted as if they’d been bolted to the floor.

The look passed in just a second; then Rafe was turning to both people cuddled against him. He said something to each in their ears before extricating himself and making his way across the club toward Philippe.

“Oh, he’s here already,” Jullien murmured behind him as if he’d just spotted Rafe.

Philippe gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak yet. He wanted to reach down and adjust himself in his slacks, but he was afraid of Rafe catching the movement as he got closer. Philippe kept his eyes on Rafe as he smiled and laughed, kissing cheeks of familiar patrons while he slowly made his way through the crowd. Halfway to Philippe, a vampire he didn’t recognize whispered in Rafe’s ear while handing him a drink. Rafe’s smile shrank a millimeter as he accepted the glass.

And those electric-blue eyes were on Philippe as he sipped his dark drink, a wicked smile playing on his lips. God, Philippe was dying to kiss that smile off his lips.

When Rafe was standing in front of him, the club owner took a deep breath as if he was scenting the air. Philippe couldn’t guess what he smelled, but he carefully schooled his face, giving away nothing but mild amusement.

“You’ve finally made your way into my little den of sin,” Rafe said with a laugh.

“I’ve heard so much about it, Mr. Varik. I thought I should see it for myself.”

Rafe’s eyes sparkled with laughter, and he leaned close so he could speak directly into Philippe’s ear. Behind him, Jullien stepped forward, bumping Philippe’s shoulder. Philippe immediately reached back, pressing a restraining hand to Jullien’s stomach. Rafe wasn’t threatening him. No, the vampire was playing with him, and there was a part of Philippe dying to play with Rafe.

“Come now, Philippe. We’re going to be forming an alliance. We’re practically family. I think you can call me Rafe.”

For a second, Philippe closed his eyes at Rafe’s rough whisper. It was like the vampire was lightly raking his nails across all Philippe’s nerve endings, sending the most decadent shiver across his flesh. There was a whiff of blood and alcohol on Rafe’s breath, enflaming Philippe’s hunger. He had only to turn his head and he’d be able to capture Rafe’s sinful mouth in a scorching kiss.

But Philippe didn’t let himself move. Didn’t flinch a single muscle as he fought his own desires to get to the heart of what Rafe was telling him.

Philippe’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself drowning in Rafe’s all-too-perceptive blue eyes. “You’re going to help me find Piper?”

Something passed over Rafe’s face for a second, but Philippe couldn’t describe it. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, and Rafe was smiling his wicked grin again.

“The Variks are happy to help the Arsenaults,” Rafe said, and they were back to the diplomatic comments.

Philippe couldn’t quite stop his disappointment from showing. He liked the flirty, playful Rafe more. The one who liked to fan the flames. He didn’t seem the “watch the world burn” type, but he didn’t mind lighting a few small controlled fires to shake things up.

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Meet the Author

It started with a battered notebook. Jocelynn Drake wrote her first story when she was 12 years old. It was a retelling of Robin Hood that now included a kickass female who could keep up with all the boys and be more than just a sad little love interest. From there, she explored space, talked to dragons, and fell in love again and again and again.

This former Kentucky girl has moved up, down, and across the US with her patient husband. They’ve settled near the Rockies…for now. She spends the majority of her time lost in the strong embrace of a good book.

When she’s not hammering away at her keyboard or curled up with a book, she can usually be found cuddling with her cat Demona, walking her dog Ace, or flinging curses at the TV while playing a video game. Outside of books, furry babies, and video games, she is completely enamored of Bruce Wayne, Ezio Auditore, travel, tattoos, explosions, and fast cars.

She is the author of the urban fantasy series: The Dark Days series and the Asylum Tales. She also has a gay romantic suspense series called The Exit Strategy and has recently launched a new paranormal series called the Lords of Discord. She has also co-authored with Rinda Elliott the following series: Unbreakable Bonds, Ward Security, and Pineapple Grove. She can be found at www.JocelynnDrake.com.

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Mar 03

New Release Blitz: The Ball Boy by Lucas Guard (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Ball Boy

Author: Lucas Guard

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 2, 2020

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 20700

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, new adult, sports, family-drama, gay, trans, in the closet, baseball, drag queen

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Synopsis

Devastated by the death of his father, Gage, an artist with a secret life, struggles to find his way back to “normal”. When rising baseball star Caleb arrives at his door, an unlikely romance simmers between them, but a cowboy coach, with major league ambitions of his own, will stop at nothing to keep them apart. Tempers flare as their deepest secrets are unearthed and the two must choose between chasing their dreams or embracing their newfound love.

Excerpt

The Ball Boy
Lucas Guard © 2020
All Rights Reserved

After my dad died, packages showed up at our house for months afterward. Little trinkets he had ordered. Tools. Fishing gear. Lawn furniture. Things no one knew to cancel.

My days passed in a haze of depression and prescription drug abuse. The accident that killed my father nearly stole my right arm. After the surgeries, the pins, the clamps, and the needles, I persisted in a Percocet bubble with a cold-glaucoma glaze over the world. I spent most days just trying to prove to myself I was still alive, but then one of Dad’s packages would arrive.

New deliveries brought mixed feelings. Whenever a delivery man showed up at our door, it was like Dad was smiling down on me. I’d open a box to find something very Dad-like inside, and it made me feel he was still there with me. Inevitably, a hangover effect followed. Fishing poles I didn’t know how to string. Lawn furniture I couldn’t assemble. Hunting gear I’d never use. It all made me feel that Dad never had a real son, and he was somehow disappointed in me.

Did Dad know what a piece of shit I was? Had he known all along and merely lacked conviction to say it? Once guilt grabbed hold of me, I shoved Dad’s deliveries into a closet or the garage. I’d go back to my magazines or trying to teach myself to paint left-handed. I’d try to push thoughts of Dad far from my mind.

One afternoon in April, a motorcycle growled in front of the house. I waited for the rider to move on, but the motor idled and died. A kickstand scraped against the driveway. I raised my head, tearing myself away from my canvas of blobs and streaks. Waited and listened. Footsteps approached the house. The porch creaked.

I moved toward the window as the doorbell rang. Peeked through the curtains, and a ray of sun shone through the clouds.

“The hell?”

In the white glare of afternoon sunlight stood a guy about my age, a shade of nineteen. His shaggy blond hair danced on the breeze and his baseball shirt was unbuttoned to his navel. A duffel bag slung from one shoulder.

The artist in me saw the form and function in him right away. Hoisting man-sized shoulders above a boy’s narrow waist, his body was a lesson in geometry and geography all in one. Lines, edges, slope, the angle of a collarbone, the curvature of his pecs, gentle valleys, and stomach ridges.

If I had a type, he was it. He was the kind of guy who always made me do a double take when he passed; the kind of guy I secretly watched in my rearview mirror, and sometimes, when I was alone, I’d touch myself thinking about a guy like him. Of course, no one needed to come right out and tell me it was a fantasy. Guys like him didn’t go for sissies and drag queens. They went for—well, girls.

Despite his motorcycle parked in our driveway and his half-buttoned shirt, I couldn’t help thinking he was selling something. In my Percocet haze, it hadn’t occurred to me that no one makes sales calls in jeans tight enough for you to count the wrinkles in his cock.

I’m not sure how long I zoned out. Mouth gaped open. Heart thumping. My own cobra peeking its head up from slumber. He glanced up at the window and our eyes met. Dazzling blue marbles and one of those smiles they put on toothpaste boxes. He made a cowboy nod at me, like waving “hello” without using his hands.

“Shit” slipped out of my mouth. He had caught me in the act of mentally undressing him. I tore my hands from the curtains, and they fell shut in front of me. I shuffled toward the door, feeling obligated to at least acknowledge his visit.

His Stetson cologne drifted through the door as I opened it. I leaned out, and he cut me in half with a glance. Something about his dreamy eyes made me feel he could see into my soul. Could see all of my secrets. All of my guilt. All of my pain. But would he judge me for them?

I waited for him to speak, but he just stood there with a confused expression on his face.

“Uh…can I help you?” I finally asked.

“I’m Caleb Cardova.” I detected a slight drawl in his voice as he extended his left hand.

“Hi, I’m…Gage.” I took his hand, and the warmth of his skin overthrew any doubts I harbored. His strength seeped into me the way a cobra spits its venom on you before it strikes. My mind went to work with his touch right away. What his hand would feel like if it slid up my arm. If it cradled my neck. If it caressed my cheek…

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Meet the Author

Lucas Guard resides in New Mexico with his dog Isadora “Dora.” When he’s not writing, he likes to paint with acrylics and sings old folk ballads and show tunes. He’s known to perform open-mic nights in comedy clubs.

He enjoys traveling and hiking trails that lead nowhere. He has ridden a dogsled in the Arctic Circle and ice-fished with Eskimos.

He began writing romantic fiction in his teens as a means of escape and self-reflection. He’s currently working on his novel Bottle Opera.

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Mar 03

New Release Blitz: Half Light by Matt Doyle (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Half-Light

Series: The Cassie Tam Files, Book Five

Author: Matt Doyle

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: March 2, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 48300

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, genderfluid, interspecies, space opera, space travel, third gender

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Synopsis

With Angel Tanner, the android that runs California’s criminal underworld, pulling the strings, PI Cassie Tam finds herself thrust into a conflict with New Hopeland’s biggest and baddest. But working with the murderous AI may be the only way that Cassie can get to the bottom of her home’s greatest mystery: What is New Hopeland City?

As she struggles to balance her dealings with allies and enemies alike, Cassie is left with a difficult choice. She has always straddled the line between light and dark. Now, the time to decide which side she’s on is drawing close…if she can figure out which is which.

Excerpt

Half Light
Matt Doyle © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“Diu.”

I look to my right and find a free space to pull the car into. I have a couple of different ringtones on my cell phone, each assigned to give me a clear idea of whether I need—or want—to answer it. This generic-but-far-too-loud melody marks this call as coming from one particular number. Given what day it is, I’ve been expecting to hear from them. The last few days have been spent playing a game that’s essentially the adult equivalent of passing notes in class. I leave a note somewhere, I get another at home, I respond somewhere else. It’s been a pain, and it’s all been leading up to this. “It’s where it leads next I’m worried about.”

I steel myself and tap the screen to answer the call. A female voice comes through, dripping with an overacted panic. “Is…is that Cassandra Tam?”

I recognise the voice instantly. “It is. Cassie or Caz is fine.”

“My name is Anna Welch. I need help, Miss Tam.”

I sigh. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. Do you want to discuss this over the phone, or would you rather meet in person?”

“In person,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Somewhere neutral would be best. I’m rather paranoid, you see.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Where?”

“I’ll text you the location.”

She hangs up, and the text comes through almost immediately. Once I’ve finished reading it, I can’t help but smile. She wants to meet at an old abandoned warehouse. It’s one I’m familiar with. A few months back, I broke up a dog fight in the same building. During the case, I discovered there’s a secret entrance to the building via an underground network of hallways. That gives me a way to monitor her if I need to. Or a convenient escape route.

I hit the speed dial for Lori, and it goes straight to her answering service. After the beep, I say, “Hey, it’s Cassie. I guess you’re driving. Listen, I’ve just had a call from a potential client, and I’m gonna have to go meet with them. I’m still coming, but it may be worth checking what later times there are for the film, just in case this runs long. Anyway. Be with you soon.”

I throw my phone onto the passenger seat next to me and pull out into the light traffic of the New Hopeland afternoon.

*

By the time I reach the warehouse, I’ve already run through a number of different scenarios in my head. None of them ended well, so I’m putting my faith in reality right now. “No fear, Tam, this was a voluntary trip,” I remind myself, and push the main door open. Inside looks the same as it did the last time I was here, minus the boxed area. And people.

Frowning, I make my way towards the back of the building and start checking doors. Finally, I spot a far-too-tight black ponytail, illuminated by the screen of a computer. “Welch. Real cute using the surname of the woman you murdered,” I say, just loud enough to make sure she heard it.

Angel Tanner spins in her chair towards me and laughs, casually turning her monitor off as she does so. “Now, detective, you know full well Harold did that.”

“The way I understand it, it amounts to much the same thing, eh?” I walk into the room and she rises to meet me. When she offers a handshake, I take it on instinct.

“Actually, no. The core result is the same, but the point is it wasn’t me. That makes it a very different thing, at least in the eyes of the law. Still, I’m happy you reached out.”

“I almost didn’t,” I say and then shake my head. “No, that’s not true. I considered looking for a different way to contact you after I found out our mutual acquaintance was Gary Locke. You could have got in touch any time you wanted.”

“Yes, I could have. But I knew talking to Mister Locke would be hard for you after that whole unfortunate incident with your girlfriend and her brother.”

“Unfortunate incident?” I reply, my words dripping with a mix of anger and shock. “He tried to kill both of us. And he convinced her brother to take his own life for a cause that wasn’t even real.”

“Which is why I did it this way. I needed to know you were serious in your intention. Oh, and the cause was real, I’m certain of that. Or the part Locke cared about was anyway.”

I grunt and shake my head. “I didn’t come here to talk about conspiracy theories. You said I wanted to know what’s happening in New Hopeland, and you’re right. You want help to find out the same thing, so I came. Can we please get on with this? I have plans.”

She smiles her creepy smile and nods. “You and me both, detective. But that’s fine. Today was more about checking you’re on board than anything. So, this will be our base of operations for the time being. It’s out of the way, and it’s neither used nor monitored, so it’s fit for purpose.”

I shrug. “Seems okay. It’s easy enough to get to.”

“I should hope so. You’ll be spending a good amount of time here. Now, to business. What I said on the phone wasn’t entirely false; I really do need your help. As you can imagine, I can’t move freely right now, and my links in the city aren’t particularly well suited for certain jobs. Like the one I have for you to do tomorrow.”

“Which is?”

She pulls an envelope out of her pocket and hands it to me. “This contains a couple of photographs relating to Anna Welch’s case. You’re going to visit Mister Locke at the prison tomorrow morning and question him about them. They contain some gifts for him, a mild drug on one, and a special communicator on the other. You’ll find a corresponding communicator in there, too, along with instructions as to what to do with it. Make sure you read them somewhere cameras can’t see them clearly.”

“Great. You know, he wasn’t happy to see me the last time.”

“I don’t doubt it. Harold will make sure he plays nice though. I trust you can do the same?”

“For now.”

“Good enough.” She waves me away and heads back to her computer. “Now, go enjoy yourself. We’ll talk more soon.”

Play nicely. Follow orders until you know more. I leave without another word.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Matt Doyle is a speculative fiction author from the UK and identifies as pansexual and genderfluid. Matt has spent a great deal of time chasing dreams, a habit which has led to success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction.

These days, Matt can be found working on multiple novels and stories, blogging about pop culture, and plotting and planning far too many projects.

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