Blog Tour: To Save His Prince, An Ice Dragon Tale by Hurri Cosmo (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  To Save His Prince, An Ice Dragon Tale

Series: Ice Dragon Tales #4

Author: Hurri Cosmo

Publisher:  Self-Published

Release Date: 9/21/18

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77,000

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, hurt/comfort, Prince/servant, MPreg, Magic

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Synopsis

Emory is a humble kitchen servant intent on working hard so he can continue to earn his daily crust of bread. It is a thankless, back-breaking job, but it is exactly where Emory wants to be. In the magnificent West Quay castle. Because that is where the incredibly handsome, extremely talented Crown Prince Riffyn lives. The beautiful, kind, and attentive man stole Emory’s heart years before when he rescued him and his mother from a band of thieves. Now Emory’s only wish is to be close, so he can simply admire and serve the man.

But a great evil walks the halls of the castle, and Emory stumbles on a heinous plot to not only kill the prince but a possible plan to overthrow the Kingdom. A wicked scheme that includes the use of magic. Of course, being a lowly servant, no one believes Emory when he tries to raise the alarm, including the prince, who has been commanded to choose a bride now, or one will be chosen for him. Even as Emory’s heart breaks for his prince, he has to find a way to save him. But how, when no one, not even the king, the prince’s own father, can be trusted?

Excerpt

Emory was surprised when he opened his eyes next. The room was bathed in bright sunlight. Sucking in a breath for sleeping so late into the day, he shot out of the bed and headed for the door he shared with the prince’s chambers. He grabbed the handle and pushed just enough to see what he could be facing upon entering the prince’s room.

Riffyn was up and sitting at his desk, a tray of what must be breakfast sat beside him. Emory could smell the coffee from where he stood, and he longed for just a taste. But then other fragrances assaulted him. There was bacon and fresh bread, possibly something cinnamon, all sitting on that tray.
“Thank you, Duncan,” the prince said.

Duncan?

Emory had totally missed the servant who had brought the tray in. Duncan moved around the prince, his attention on the man’s torso, which was bare and breathtaking. Evidently, Riffyn had only just woke as well. He sat, shuffling papers, as if searching for one in particular. Emory couldn’t help but stare at the prince. Oh, how he wanted to touch him, suck on those dark nipples.

“Let me pour your coffee, Your Highness,” Duncan breathed from behind the prince, far too close to the prince’s ear. But Riffyn gave no reaction at all. He seemed to be intent on the paper he now held in his hand.
Duncan poured the coffee and handed the mug to Riffyn. “Your Highness?”

“Ahh. Yes. Thank you.” Riffyn took the mug and sipped the steaming liquid as he gazed up at Duncan, who had come around the front again. “You have done well, Duncan.” The prince seemed to coo and then smiled at Duncan, who beamed back. Emory’s heart squeezed tight with jealousy, wishing it was him who the prince gave that smile. So much so, he wanted to cry. But then Emory must have made some sort of noise because the prince glanced over at him standing hiding in the doorway.

“Emory! You’re finally awake. Come out. Breakfast is served. There is plenty for the both of us.”
Emory stepped out from the doorway. He could do nothing else when the prince commanded him. But he did not relish the fact that Duncan startled at the sound of his name and swung around, eyes as big as the plates he had brought in.

“Emory? What are you doing in the prince’s chambers?”

His tone was accusatory, one of authority, gruff and hateful. In all other instances, Emory would have shrunk at its harshness, knowing he had to have committed a heinous crime. But that was not the case here. He had done nothing wrong. Still, his heart jumped painfully, and he did stop immediately, his stomach protesting, probably believing it was going to be starved of food again for possibly days as was the usual punishment. But then Emory’s gaze met Riffyn’s and he instantly calmed.

“Duncan,” the prince challenged quietly from behind him. “Do you believe I need to explain myself to you when I have a guest in my chambers? Is that your place?”

Duncan scowled at Emory before he turned back to Riffyn. “No, my prince. I apologize for my rudeness. Forgive me, Your Highness.” To Duncan’s credit, he did appear to be apologetic. He waited, hands behind his back, and Emory could tell his gaze was on the floor in front of him even though he was turned away from him. Riffyn glanced up to Emory, smiled, and winked, before he answered Duncan.

“You are forgiven. But it will never happen again, correct?”

“No, Your Highness. Never.”

“Good. You are excused.” Once again, Riffyn glanced toward Emory. “Come, Emory. Sit. I will pour you some coffee.” Riffyn picked up the decanter and poured the contents into an empty bowl. “I apologize I did not have two mugs brought up, but I think you should be able to manage.”

Emory hurried to the desk and took the offered bowl, wanting to remind the prince he was not supposed to be serving him, but due to the fact Duncan had yet to actually leave the room, he chose not to say anything. He hazarded a glance at Duncan and the daggers the man was shooting with his eyes made Emory shiver.
“Are you still chilled from last night? You should have brought a blanket with you.” Riffyn rose and walked to his own messy bed, grabbed the top cover, and pulled it off. It was then that Emory realized he had forgotten about his own state of dress, which was only a borrowed nightshirt, clearly too large for him. It was thankfully rather long, but his legs were still very bare, and he couldn’t even fathom how it must appear to Duncan. Riffyn walked to Emory, swept the blanket around his shoulders, and guided him, with his arm around him, to sit in the chair in front of his desk. “As you can see, we have your amazing fresh sweet rolls. You might actually be tired of them, being you work in the kitchen, but they are my favorite.”

“I’ve… never had them, Your Highness.”

“What? Are you serious? Oh yes. The incomparable Master Merrill. I will see to him today. In the meantime, I dare to say, Emory, you are in for a treat.”

Emory had his back to Duncan now, so he couldn’t see him, but he could feel the loathing pouring off him. Then, gratefully, the doors clicked shut, which told him Duncan had finally left and most likely gone running to tell the kitchen master about Emory’s horrible impropriety of being half naked in the crown prince’s chambers. It would be all over the castle before the next sunrise.

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Meet the Author

Hurri Cosmo lives in Minnesota where she holds tight to the idea that there, where it’s cold a good part of the year, she won’t age as fast. Yep, she avoids the truth as much as she avoids mirrors. But one of the reasons she loves writing is reality doesn’t always offer up a “happily ever after” and being able to take control of that is a powerful lure. Being a happy ending junkie, writing just makes them easier to find. Oh, she doesn’t mind “real life” and she does try to at least keep it in mind when she writes her stories, but she truly loves creating a wonderful couple, knowing they will fall in love and have their HEA. Every – single – time. And, of course, that is exactly the reason she loves reading this genre, too. Give her a glass of red wine, some dark chocolate, and her computer, whether she is reading or writing, and she will entertain herself for hours. The fact she actually gets paid to do it is Snickers bars on the frosting on the cake.

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Tour Schedule

10/15 Book Review Virignia Lee

10/15 MM Good Book Reviews

10/16 MM Midnight Cafe

10/17 The Blogger Girls

10/18 Dream, Love, Imagine

10/18 Happily Ever Chapter

10/19 Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

10/19 Stories That Make You Smile

10/19 Love Bytes

10/19 Bayou Book Junkie

10/25 Queer Sci Fi

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Book Blitz: Out in the End Zone by Lane Hayes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Out in the End Zone

Series: Out in College #2

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Release Date: October 10

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 44000

Genre: Romance, New Adult, Bisexual, College romance, Football, Coming out

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Synopsis

Evan di Angelo is an upbeat, good-natured goofball who loves his friends and family… and football. A traumatic accident may have ended his hopes of playing professionally, but he’s made the most of his four years on the field at a small Southern California college. He’s learned the hard way to embrace change, take chances and try things outside of his comfort zone…like agreeing to play fake boyfriends for someone else’s senior project.

Mitch Peterson knows that being his authentic self is the path to true happiness. He’s grown from a shy, quiet kid from a broken home to an out and proud budding internet sensation bound for grad school. An awesome senior project is the key. It’s unlikely anyone will believe the hunky, straight athlete is Mitch’s new lover, but it’s worth a shot. However, as their tentative friendship blossoms into unexpected attraction, the lines between reality and fiction blur for both men. Evan is forced to face old demons and decide if he has the courage to take the next step and come out in the end zone.

Excerpt

Mitch scoffed. “Cooperate, please. This is your intro. Maybe you should put your arm around me and kiss my cheek.”

“Now?”

“Yes. This is a rehearsal, so…go for it.”

I moved to his side, slipped my arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. His scruff threw me off stride. It wasn’t noticeable because his facial hair was blond, but I could feel it. He smelled and felt different from anyone I’d ever kissed before. Sure, I’d kissed male relatives. I was part Italian. No one in my family shied from physical contact. But a hug and kiss on each cheek from my Uncle Gianni was different from kissing an attractive man. I caressed his cheek impulsively and then leaned in to sniff him the way I’d wanted to since the party. “Mmm.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You smell good. I’ve never kissed a guy I wasn’t related to who had a five o’clock shadow.”

Mitch gave me a funny look. “You kissed me yesterday at lunch.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t shaved since this morning, right? The texture is like sandpaper but in a good way. I like it,” I assured him.

He looked flustered for a second but recovered quickly. “Well, that’ll make the real kiss easier then.”

“Right. When do we kiss, and what’s the intensity level supposed to be? G, PG, PG-13? Or are we going straight to the nasty?” I teased.

“Ha. G is peck on the cheek, which we just covered. PG is peck on the lips. So somewhere in between that and PG-13 works.”

“Got it. Maybe we should practice first,” I said.

“Um…sure.” Mitch turned around and gestured toward the bar stools at the island. “We can sit there, and I’ll set up the tripod a foot or so from where you’re standing now.”

“We don’t have to be in exact position. I just need to get used to touching you. It would be the same with anyone. Guy or girl.”

Okay, fine. I wanted to do it again. I’d thought about him nonstop since the party last weekend. And that throwaway kiss yesterday at the restaurant had opened a Pandora’s box. I was consumed now. I didn’t want to practice kissing him. I had to or I’d go crazy.

“Maybe you’re right. Um…okay. You can kiss me,” he said in a low voice.

“Well, you have to participate,” I chided as I stepped into his space.

“I’m…yes. Do you want to go first? Like…” Mitch set his hand on my hip and inched closer still. “This?”

I lifted my right hand and hovered it above his ear for a moment before threading my fingers through his hair. He suddenly looked nervous, which somehow worked in my favor. I held his gaze, then moved forward and gently pressed my lips to his. And fuck, it felt amazing to be here again. I tilted my head slightly, loving the intoxicating contrast of his soft lips and scratchy chin. Mitch closed his eyes and hooked his arms around my neck so we stood toe to toe and chest to chest. All the ways this felt different no longer applied. I knew what to do here. I was practically a fucking expert.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes is grateful to finally be doing what she loves best. Writing full-time! It’s no secret Lane loves a good romance novel. An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. These days she prefers the leading roles to both be men. Lane discovered the M/M genre a few years ago and was instantly hooked. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and won First Prize in the 2016 and 2017 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a newly empty nest.

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Release Blitz: Angel’s Intuition by Liz Borino (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Angel’s Intuition

Author: Liz Borino

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57100

Genre: Contemporary, Contemporary, romance, interracial, military, prisoner of war, Afghanistan, captivity, PTSD, conspiracy

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Synopsis

Without explanation, CIA officials pull Agent Aaron “Angel” Collins off a top-secret Afghanistan mission he’s spent months preparing for. Due to repeated deceptions, Aaron’s husband, Captain Jordan Collins, decides to retire after this deployment.

Major General Troy Hart inserts himself into Aaron’s life, somehow getting past his personal barriers and better judgment. When Troy, in his capacity as a high-ranking officer, delivers some devastating news about Jordan, he becomes the only one who supports Aaron’s search for the truth. Unbeknownst to Aaron, Jordan and Troy’s dark history taints everything about the present.

Jordan awakens in an Afghanistan prison, beaten, ill, and fighting for his life. To get home to his Angel he must put his trust in a woman he was taught to fear.

When the mystery of Jordan’s disappearance is solved, another surfaces. Jordan and Aaron’s unauthorized search for the truth calls into question everything they thought they knew, until all they trust is each other. But exposing the wrong people threatens to bring their worst nightmares to fruition.

Excerpt

Angel’s Intuition
Liz Borino © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
July 2013, Langley, Virginia

CIA Agent Aaron Collins pushed his shoulders together as he strode through the hallway to his supervisor Mick Keller’s office and rapped on the door. As if he’d been waiting for him, Keller swung it open. “Come in, Collins, come in. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Aaron replied, shifting in the hard, wooden chair. His boss wrung his hands as he circled his large desk. “Is everything all right?” Clearly not, he answered himself. Bosses tended not to call emergency meetings on Friday afternoons to discuss the company’s upcoming party.

Keller sat behind his desk and adjusted his glasses. “I need you to brief Foster on the POW situation in Afghanistan. The two of you are switching cases.”

Aaron blinked. “My team and I have been working with the military on that mission for months. We’re three weeks from deployment.”

“Yes, Foster will assume your leadership role.”

“Foster? He’s a paper pusher!”

“Collins.” Keller’s voice held a warning.

Yeah, God forbid the agency admits the truth about the competence of their employees. “Sir, he really is not qualified.”

“He will be once you brief him. We need you here, Collins,” Keller told him.

Aaron tilted his head to the side. “Why do you need a field agent here?”

“You’re one of our best.”

“And…you’re afraid to send me because you have reason to doubt safety?”

“It is a rather volatile situation,” Keller hedged.

Of course, it’s volatile! The fucking enemies have our men! “What aren’t you telling me?”

Keller shook his head. “It wasn’t my decision.”

“Well, whose decision was it? Have you thought of calling them an idiot?”

“Not all of us have your finesse.”

“I’m going there, or you need to give me a reason that I can’t, beyond the stuffed shirt above you said so,” Aaron said.

Keller removed his glasses and massaged his eyes. “No, that’s all the reason either one of us requires. Your job is here for the next three months.”

“I have the most information about this mission.” Even as Aaron spoke, he knew the battle was over.

“None of us know very much.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

So am I. “Can I still get updates?”

“You know we can’t.” Keller paused, then added, “He’ll be all right, Collins.”

They weren’t talking about Foster’s competence anymore. Now, Keller referred to Aaron’s husband, Jordan, an army captain also assigned to this mission. “Of course, he will. I only wish I could help.”

“You’ll help by training Foster,” Keller replied.

Right. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, you may go home.”

“Thank you.” Aaron stood, shook Keller’s hand, and walked out of the building after grabbing his messenger bag. He ducked into his car and leaned his head back on the seat. He dialed Jordan’s cell.

“Hey, Angel, you done already?” Jordan asked. The perkiness in his voice signaled he did not get the same news today.

And like magic, the sound of Jordan’s nickname for him eroded the edges of Aaron’s bad mood. “Yep, you?”

“Two beers in at home,” Jordan responded. “I’ve got dinner started.”

“See, now I think you’re vying to steal my nickname.” Aaron started the ignition and put his foot on the brake.

“Never happen. You okay?” Jordan asked.

“Uh…do we have anything stronger than beer, or should I stop?”

“Oh, boy.” Jordan’s tone grew serious. “We have whiskey, if that will do.”

Best you can get in the US. Aaron released a breath. “That’ll work. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Jordan ended the call, and Aaron began the twenty-minute trek home to Maryland.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Liz Borino has been telling stories of varying truthfulness since she was a child. As an adult, she keeps the fiction to the page. She writes stories of human connection and intimacy, in all their forms. Her books feature flawed men who often risk everything for their love.

When Liz isn’t writing, she’s waking up early to edit, travel, and explore historic prisons and insane asylums—not (usually) all in one day. Liz lives in Philadelphia with her two cats and her significant other. Send Liz an eMail.

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Release Blitz: Red Between the Lines by Parker Foye (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Red Between the Lines

Author: Parker Foye

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28200

Genre: Science Fiction, AI, androids, sci-fi, futuristic, action

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Synopsis

Wynfield, a washed-up former Corpsman with optical bioware and a healthy chip on his shoulder, is reluctantly drawn into a conspiracy to take down Nutrindustry, the company responsible for both his “upgrade” from human and the city’s food shortage.

Playing clinic doctor for the day, Yeven doesn’t expect the mouthy former pilot and their begrudging attraction—nor the fresh twist of shame for his part in Nutrindustry’s past. He needs Wynfield, though, and for more than his smart mouth. Feelings would just get in the way.

In a world where the line between man and metal is thin, there’s more happening behind the scenes than even Wynfield’s enhanced optics are able to see.

Excerpt

Red Between the Lines
Parker Foye © 2018
All Rights Reserved

The doctor was running late. To distract from the nervous shake of his leg and the sidelong looks from a woman with more metal than meat, Wynfield read about Nutrindustry’s latest attempt to address food shortages in the outer settlements. Two lies in, he lost patience and tossed the flyer aside. Propaganda wasn’t good for his blood pressure.

He chewed his nails, itching for a cigarette—for something to do with his hands. Desperate, he started drumming his fingers on his legs. The woman turned her glare up a notch and Wynfield stopped. He clenched his jaw. For all he wanted to quit the clinic and the woman’s stares, he needed to play nice. His eye had been glitching for weeks, and he’d never fly until it was fixed.

He’d resorted to reading the flyer again. Eventually a beep sounded from the drone at the desk, and the automated bolt unlatched from the consulting room door a beat later. Wynfield waited for someone to exit, but no one did. The drone beeped again, sounding as irritated as a fully artificial being could.

The impatient woman cleared her throat. “Are you going in or—?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Don’t short circuit.”

Wynfield rose to his feet, pausing when the change in altitude messed with his vision. When his eye didn’t recalibrate, he swore and covered it with his hand, navigating to the consulting room with his other hand outstretched so he didn’t fall on his ass. What a joke. If he tried to enlist now he’d be laughed out of the recruitment office; even with the bullshit about mods being superior to fleshware, and laws to prevent discrimination against people careless enough to lose their original parts, the Corps didn’t want cyborgs flying their ships. They’d been clear about that when Wynfield woke from his coma six months ago.

Now the life he’d managed to scrape together was threatened by hiccups in mods gained through flying the Corps’ tin buckets. The universe had a shitty sense of humor.

Letting the consulting room door slam shut, Wynfield headed for the worn seat at Dr. Razafindratsima’s desk. He glanced up to greet her as he did and stopped with one hand on the back of the chair, the other still over his eye.

“You’re not the doc.” Wynfield looked the guy behind the desk up and down, pausing at the top of his messy hair. “Not unless she’s grown ten inches.”

Dr. Razafindratsima was a squat woman with soft features and hard eyes, like she’d seen some shit. The lanky streak in her place had the same hard eyes but little of Dr. Razafindratsima’s softness, like he hadn’t come through the other side quite yet. It’d have to be close enough, since Wynfield’s insurance only got him service at one clinic, and he stood in it.

The guy smiled wide, but strangely uncertain, like he hadn’t a lot of practice. He gestured to the open seat. “Please, sit. I’m Yeven, and I’ll be covering for your regular doctor for the next month.” Yeven consulted his tablet, still smiling like Wynfield wouldn’t see through the glare if he cranked up the wattage. “You’re here about your upgrades?”

“Upgrades.” The guy had the right language at least, all sanctimonious hand-holding. Wynfield snorted and sat. He stretched out his legs to cross at the ankles and, reasonably sure the ground wouldn’t move on him, lowered his hand from his eye. His hair fell over his face in a tangle, and he shoved it behind his ear.

“You’re definitely a doctor, right?”

“Technically, I’m a bioworks interface engineer. And you’re Mr.—Mr. Wynfield?” Yeven’s smile dimmed, before turning conspiratorial. “You’re the interface, by the way.”

“I know.” Wynfield tilted his face so the doc could better see the mess he had to work with. “And this interface is fucked. Scans ain’t working, and my head feels like it’s on fire half the time. Can you fix this, or should I come back?”

He didn’t have time to come back. He needed fixing. Hell, Wynfield had needed his eye fixed for weeks, but it was only with his cash from Rawling’s retrieval job that he could cover the difference. But talk about your dirty money…

Whatever. It spent the same. And it would get Wynfield into the sky.

“Let me have a look.”

Yeven put down his tablet and leaned in with a small flashlight to inspect Wynfield’s eye. His breath was minty, and his hands warm when he cupped Wynfield’s face. Wynfield was self-conscious about his scars most days, with lines crawling out of his eye socket like a hand clawing from a grave, but Yeven simply hummed as he pressed at Wynfield’s brow and cheek in firm motions.

And there was another difference between this guy and the doc; Wynfield’s dick had never chubbed up when Dr. Razafindratsima took his vitals. He didn’t shift in his seat, because he was a grown-ass man and could control himself, but it was a relief all the same when Yeven returned to his side of the desk and picked up his tablet.

The smile was gone. Wynfield kind of missed it.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Yeven didn’t look away from the tablet. “Swelling around the socket is impinging the setting. Caused, I suspect, by someone punching you in that pretty face.”

Comedian. Wynfield grunted. A woman with a devil of a roundhouse kick had left her boot print on his face when they clashed on Rawling’s retrieval job. Wasn’t outside the realm of possibility Yeven knew about identifying injuries, “interface engineer” or otherwise.

His sense of aesthetics was shot, though. Pretty face, my ass.

Yeven huffed out a breath and glanced at Wynfield. “I can’t do anything about the scanning function without a full work-up, and I’d need to schedule a session—”

“Shit.”

Yeven continued like Wynfield hadn’t interrupted. “In the meantime, I can give you something to reduce the swelling, but you should return for an appointment to examine the damage. Too long without a proper tune-up and you risk vertigo becoming a major problem, in addition to the loss of functionality.”

He’d had a tune-up a month ago, as part of his phased rehab arrangement with the Corps. Wynfield bit back his first reply since it wasn’t Yeven’s fault Wynfield was defective. He made himself nod.

“I’ll take the fix and call back for the scans. How much?” It always came down to how much.

Yeven looked at Wynfield in surprise, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. Must be nice being some fancy fucking doctor.

“It’s covered by your Corps insurance.” Yeven scribbled something with the stylus before replacing the tablet on his desk. “You can confirm the prescription and your next appointment at the front desk.”

Wynfield could smell shady shit when it fermented under his nose. His insurance barely covered minimum tweaks when everything ticked by as usual; no way would it cover extraneous damage. Dr. Razafindratsima was always real nice about it, but she ran a tight ship and Yeven was going to put her in the red. Something was messed up.

Keeping his expression neutral, Wynfield got to his feet and shook Yeven’s hand. Yeven’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Wynfield tried not to think about those long nights in his ship toward the end, when he’d been avoiding his own reflection; he’d felt, then, how Yeven looked. He just thanked the man and got the hell out of the room.

On the way out Wynfield showed his ID to the drone at the front desk, confirming his prescription. He didn’t bother making a follow-up appointment. He didn’t trust anyone apart from Dr. Razafindratsima when it came to his eye.

Wynfield stepped outside and glanced at the sky. Habit. He couldn’t see the winking lights of the satellite settlements during the day but knew they were there. Sudden pain spiked at his temple, making him flinch, but his hands were steady when he looked down to light his cigarette. Those years steadying the wheel against gravity had to count for something. Else what was the point?

Wynfield blew out a spiral of smoke. Ain’t that the goddamn question.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Parker Foye writes speculative-flavored romance under the QUILTBAG umbrella and believes in happily ever after, although sometimes their characters make achieving this difficult.

An education in Classics has nurtured a love of literature, swords, monsters, and beautiful people doing stupid things while wearing only scraps of leather. You’ll find those things in various guises in Parker’s stories, along with kissing (very important) and explosions (very messy). And more shifters than you can shake a stick at.

Originally from the UK and currently based in Canada, Parker travels on a regular basis via planes, trains, an ever-growing library.

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Release Blitz: A Dance of Water and Air by Antonia Aquilante (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A Dance of Water and Air

Series: Elemental Magicae, Book One

Author: Antonia Aquilante

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 83600

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, fantasy, trans, magic, elements, court intrigue, arranged marriage, friends to lovers

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Synopsis

Edmund is heir to the throne of Thalassa and a wielder of Water magic. Devoted to his kingdom and his duty to it, Edmund can do nothing but acquiesce to an arranged marriage with the queen of a neighboring kingdom. The marriage and the child it is required to produce will seal an alliance between Thalassa and Aither that is vital to Thalassa’s safety, and far more important than Edmund’s personal misgivings.

Arden is the younger brother of Aither’s queen and a wielder of Air magic. Raised in the politics of the court to support his sister’s rule, he understands the alliance is important to Aither, even as he worries about his sister marrying someone she’s never met. When Edmund arrives in Aither to prepare for the wedding, Arden is tasked with helping him settle in at court. As they spend more time together, Edmund and Arden develop a close friendship, then stronger feelings, but with Edmund’s wedding approaching, they must hide their feelings, even from themselves.

When someone tries to assassinate the queen, Edmund is blamed, and Arden rescues him before he can be executed for a crime he didn’t commit. To prevent a war between their kingdoms and protect them from a dangerous enemy, Edmund and Arden will have to discover who wants to pit Aither and Thalassa against each other and mend relations between the two kingdoms as they evade those searching for them—all while finding a way to be together.

Excerpt

The Dance of Water and Air
Antonia Aquilante © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Edmund swam, long limbs slicing through the clear, warm water. His mind quieted in the repetitive motion, in the weightlessness and the comfort of being surrounded by his Element. Everything washed away, leaving him calm and relaxed, the only time he ever was lately.

If only he could stay there.

He imagined it for a moment. Spending his life swimming and sailing. All his time in the soothing embrace of the water, or at the shore or bank, feeling Water’s power, learning to use its magic. It was a lovely dream. A lovely, impossible dream. With that thought, tension—the tension his morning swim had briefly dispelled—came flooding back. He stopped swimming and flipped onto his back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before letting it out in a long sigh.

The sigh had barely left him when he heard the scrape of a shoe against stone. He bit back another sigh and flipped over again to straighten and tread water in the center of the large pool. His secretary stood on the tiled terrace. Peregrine knew better than anyone that this time was Edmund’s and wouldn’t disturb him unless it was urgent. Disaster or grave injury were top of the list.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Highness.” Peregrine would never call him by name when someone else might hear, and Edmund would never try to convince him otherwise. Edmund was far too aware of the dictates of his own position. And far too grateful to have found a friend in Peregrine to quibble overly about how they had to behave in public. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir, but the king has called for you.”

A summons from Father certainly counted as a valid reason to disturb him, especially with the rising tensions between Thalassa and their neighbor, Tycen. It seemed Edmund would be cutting his swim short this morning. He struck out for the terrace where Peregrine waited, swimming with steady but unhurried strokes. He wouldn’t dawdle, but if there had been reason to rush, Peregrine would have said.

Soon enough, he reached the terrace and pulled himself up to sit on the edge. Peregrine handed him a towel. He wiped his face first and stood to strip off his soaking wet swim pants and dry the rest of him. Peregrine wouldn’t care about Edmund’s nudity, and he didn’t worry that someone else would come upon them. The pool he chose for his swims wasn’t the largest of the many on the palace grounds, but it was the most private. The terrace they stood on was the only one that connected to the palace, and it was shaded from view. The rest of the area was screened with trees and shrubbery. The smaller terraces on the side opposite them were even more secluded. He’d spent much time in the pool, which was fed by the same underground spring as the rest of the palace waterways, and on the terraces over the years.

Once Edmund was dry, Peregrine handed him the robe he’d left hanging over the back of a chair when he’d arrived. He’d also left a book there—he’d been far too optimistic about his time when he came down here, apparently. He thanked Peregrine and shrugged into the blue-green silk. It was new, something he hadn’t really needed, but he liked the color against his brown skin and the feel of the smooth, cool silk.

“Any idea what my father needs?” Edmund stepped into his sandals and picked up his book from the table.

“None.”

He raised his eyebrow at Peregrine in surprise. Edmund could always rely on Peregrine for more information than seemed possible about everyone from the maids to the king. He’d long since gotten over any misgivings about Peregrine’s seeming omniscience and begun to rely on it. For Peregrine not to have an inkling of what was brewing… Odd. And slightly disturbing.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Not immediately, of course. A summons through official channels called for more formality. Edmund couldn’t appear in the king’s presence in nothing but a thin robe and sandals. Peregrine kept pace as Edmund walked to his rooms, informing him of other court news and gossip that he might find interesting or useful as they walked.

Edmund’s rooms were a floor up from the garden pool. A guard stationed near the door jumped to open it for Edmund as he approached. He nodded but didn’t slow as he sailed through the door, Peregrine at his heels. His sandals made soft tapping sounds on the green and white tile of the entryway. His sitting room opened up in front of him, curtains fluttering in the breeze blowing in off the ocean below. He had no time to relax there or even to eat the breakfast that was sure to be laid out in the dining room. Instead, he turned left, taking the short hallway leading to his bedchamber, dressing room, and bathing room.

He went directly to the bathing room. Wide windows let in sunlight over the large tub, empty because he usually bathed after breakfast. There was no time to fill it, let alone soak. He settled for rinsing the salt from his skin with water from the basin and briskly rubbed a towel over his shoulder-length hair. Having it drip all over his clothing while he met with Father just wouldn’t do. When he’d squeezed as much of the water from it as he could, he left the towel and went to the dressing room.

Peregrine was there, laying out clothes.

“That isn’t your job,” Edmund said.

“I’m aware.”

“I can select my own clothing.”

“I’m aware of that as well. Put them on anyway.”

Edmund laughed and did as he was told. Peregrine was only saving him time and knew what would be appropriate for him to wear, considering the meeting with Father and the day ahead. He pulled on undergarments and slim gray pants and dropped a sleeveless white shirt over his head. Peregrine held out a dark teal jacket for him, helping him shrug into the embroidered silk. Edmund murmured his thanks and fastened the jacket over his chest, fingers working quickly over the row of little silver buttons. When he was finished, he stepped into shoes and fastened the silver and aquamarine drop earrings Peregrine had just pulled from their box into his ears. It was the only jewelry Peregrine had chosen, and as he looked in the mirror, Edmund had to admit he was probably right in that. The clothing didn’t need more.

“Thank you,” Edmund said.

“My pleasure, Edmund.”

“Perhaps I should have you dress me every day. You have an eye for it. Much better than anyone else. Do you think you’d prefer it to being my secretary?”

Peregrine sent a stern frown at Edmund. “Funny.”

It was, for any number of reasons. Only one being that Peregrine was frighteningly efficient in his present position and far too good at it to do anything else. In fact, he was far too skilled to be anything except a royal secretary, and it was Edmund’s good fortune to have him.

“Shall we?” Peregrine didn’t mention that Edmund shouldn’t keep Father waiting, but he didn’t have to.

“Yes. Catch me up on any changes to my schedule as we walk.”

Peregrine did so, barely consulting his notebook. Edmund listened carefully as they left his rooms and strode through the palace corridors. His own wing, reserved for the rooms of the royal children, was quiet as it was only occupied by him and Kerenza. His sister would still be abed—she preferred to rise late when she had the opportunity—and he had no appointments that might bring anyone to his office until later in the day. When they passed out of the wing, the entrance marked by a three-tiered fountain decorated in mosaics of blue and green tiles, the corridors became more populated. But everyone gave way for the prince and his secretary, bowing as Edmund passed them.

Father’s office was near the council chambers and other administrative offices in the main block of the palace. He worked sometimes in the small private library attached to his rooms, but all his official meetings took place here. If Edmund had any doubt that today’s summons was serious and formal, it would have been dispelled by the location of the meeting.

Peregrine knocked when they arrived, and a moment later, the door was opened by Father’s secretary, who bowed and stepped aside. Edmund bowed slightly as soon as he entered the room, then walked closer to Father’s desk. Peregrine remained back near the closed door. Father looked up from the papers he was examining to study Edmund with a keen eye. Edmund was sure Father was cataloging every detail of his appearance from his attire to his still damp hair.

Father was dressed formally, as Edmund would expect. His jacket was green, heavily embroidered in gold and white, the color vivid against his dark skin. The circlet of his rank sat on his head amid black curls now streaked with gray. Edmund had not worn his own circlet, deeming it unnecessary for the day he had planned; he hoped he wouldn’t regret that decision. The set of Father’s features caused Edmund’s stomach to churn unpleasantly.

“You called for me, Father?”

“Yes. Come sit down. I need to speak with you.” The seriousness of his tone did nothing to alleviate Edmund’s sudden concern.

Edmund took the chair across from Father’s desk, hoping he properly concealed his anxiety. He’d been trained all his life to mask every emotion, so he’d best be able to. He looked at Father and waited for him to speak.

“As you know, we’ve been pursuing an alliance with Aither,” Father said.

And, of course, Edmund did know, though he hadn’t been involved in the negotiations. Aither sat at their western border. Theirs was generally a friendly border to begin with, trade flowing freely between the two countries, but Father and his council had hoped that the looming threat of Tycen’s aggression might worry Aither’s young queen as much as it had them and would tempt her into an alliance. Edmund hadn’t been informed about the state of the negotiations in some time. Had they gone horribly wrong?

“We’ve come to an agreement with Queen Hollis.”

“You—” Edmund stopped. He’d been so sure Father was going to say just the opposite that he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “That’s wonderful, Father. Did the final agreement go as you’d hoped?”

“We got what we needed from it.”

“Good.” And yet the relief Edmund should’ve been feeling didn’t come. Father didn’t look as if he’d just concluded a successful negotiation, didn’t look as if he was pleased by the outcome. Or…no, not as if he was displeased, but too serious. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. However, the promises of increased trade and mutual protection were not enough on their own to secure the alliance we needed.”

Edmund wasn’t surprised, though he hadn’t been privy to the particulars of what Father wanted, aside from Aither standing with them should Tycen press their aggression. “What did they ask for?”

“Queen Hollis and her advisors required more assurance of our compliance, and truth be told, I wasn’t upset to have more of theirs. They’re Air wielders, so they’re different from us, but Water and Air are compatible. Even if I would have preferred an alliance with no deeper entanglements.”

“Father?” A rush of cold spread through Edmund’s veins.

“You and Queen Hollis will wed with the expectation of a child being born within two years. The alliance will be secured by blood and all the stronger for it.”

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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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10/8 –  Mirrigold Mutterings and Musings

10/9 –  Love Bytes

10/10 –  Bayou Book Junkie

10/10 –  Divine Magazine

10/11 – Boy Meets Boy Reviews

10/12 –  Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

10/12 – AL Boyd

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Release Blitz: Listener’s Remains by L. Julia (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Listener’s Remains

Author: L. Julia

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 89200

Genre: Contemporary Thriller, Contemporary, Speculative Fiction, Paranormal, Crime, Suspense, Gay, Coming Out, Criminals, Mental Illness, Mind Reading, Psychic Ability, Revenge, Road Trip

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Synopsis

Gillen Lynch has a complicated relationship with his brother-in-law, Eduardo Sanchez. Gillen hasn’t mentioned his attraction to Eduardo; Eduardo hasn’t mentioned he’s a mind reader. Betrayed by the deception and mortified by his attraction to his sister’s spouse, Gillen decides to take it out on Eduardo by killing him.

Murdering a mind reader is no easy task, but this isn’t the first time Gillen has killed. His other victims didn’t mean anything to him, and they definitely didn’t use their dying breaths to copy their minds into Gillen’s head. Now, with no barriers between them, Gillen can’t stop Eduardo from digging up the secrets he’d hoped to take to his grave. He’s scared, powerless, and unprepared to face the fallout of his actions as he flees from both the cops and a group of mysterious pursuers who are as connected to Eduardo as he is.

With his pursuers closing in on him and Eduardo threatening to tear him apart from the inside, Gillen must overcome his self-hatred and take back his mind. If he can’t, he’ll be at the mercy of the man who has every right to want him dead.

Excerpt

Listener’s Remains
L. Julia © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Gillen shaved his face with care, knowing it would be the last face his friend would ever see.

Therese snaked her arms around his shoulders and smiled at him in the mirror. She had an ugly smile, as usual. Her smile matched her soul.

“You look wonderful,” she murmured into his ear. The warm metal of her wedding band pressed against his collarbone as she pulled him in close.

He forced his lips into a grin. “So do you.”

“I always look wonderful,” she said. “But I’m not the one changing our lives tonight.”

His fingers twitched as he envisioned how they’d look wrapped around her throat. She had pale skin, the kind that would turn bright pink from a throttling. Twenty seconds and her cheeks would be the same shade of crimson as her lipstick. Thirty seconds and he’d never have to hear her poisoned voice again.

Before his dark musings could consume him, Gillen took a deep breath and visualized a flickering candle flame. Focusing on the fire helped to clear his head, making space for the benign thoughts he needed instead. He rehearsed one of his many lists of empty topics as practice for the night ahead. What do I need to pick up at the grocery store? Eggs, bread, milk. Emptying his mind helped to calm him down; it also helped him to survive. If he kept himself focused on eggs and milk, nobody who peered into his head would know what was actually inside.

He flicked off his razor and set it on the countertop. He’d done a good job cleaning himself up, but he’d never had much hair to take off. In his youth, he’d appreciated the simplicity his smooth cheeks gave to his morning routine, but he resented it now because it denied him the cover of a beard. Once his picture hit the news, a baby face like his would stick out. A beard wouldn’t transform him completely, but it would go a long way toward giving him the anonymity he would need to escape.

Therese slid out of the bathroom and reclined on their sprawling bed. To call it ‘theirs’ was a bit of a misnomer, since they hadn’t slept in the same room in years, but he didn’t care to interrupt the charade. As long as she left him alone at night and didn’t look on his computer, she could claim all the furniture she wanted. Losing a few chairs and couches bothered him a lot less than the inevitable line of questioning that would come if she saw the sort of things he looked at “after hours.” He didn’t give a damn what she thought of him or his browsing history, but he also didn’t want to listen to her baseless assumptions about his sexual preferences. Those videos were just that: videos. They didn’t know him any better than she did.

Therese’s dark hair brushed the tops of her shoulders as she made circles on the comforter with her hand. “Do you want to go over things one more time?”

He checked the mirror to make sure she couldn’t see the hatred on his face. His reflection beamed back at him, all sunshine and red hair. “I’ve got it under control, Therese.”

“I’m not sure you do.”

His fingers tensed again. He clenched his fists below the counter and glanced at her. “All right, how about you tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

A better woman would have taken umbrage with his remark, but Therese had been happy to tell him what to do for years. He’d swear she got off on it, except she never cared if he was there when she got off. In fairness to her, he felt the same way.

“It’s about time you ask for my help,” she said. “If you’d been smart enough, you would have let me make all the decisions from the get-go.”

As Therese ran through her limited understanding of Gillen’s job—get in, kill Eduardo, get out—Gillen closed his eyes and worked his way through his actual plan in his mind. While Therese had the basics down, she didn’t know the key detail that guided every step he took.

Eduardo could read his mind.

For all Therese knew, killing Eduardo would be as simple as buying a new pair of shoes. Eduardo’s ability to read Gillen’s thoughts made the task much more difficult. Years of experience had taught Gillen that trying to keep a clear head made even the simplest task mind-bogglingly difficult. In spite of Therese’s cavalier attitude, killing someone was no simple task. That was another thing he knew from experience.

Gillen tuned back in to Therese’s lecture just as she was wrapping up. “—and by that point, your sister and I will have finished dinner, and we’ll share a cab back and I’ll get out first. Once I’m home, I’ll text her, saying something about how you were there when I arrived, and then she’ll get to her house and have a good cry over her husband’s body and you and I will have both safely returned home.” The red marks from Theresa’s earlier eyebrow wax flared up as she scrunched up her nose. “You think you can handle that?”

“Getting home at an appropriate hour? Yes, I think I can handle that.” He had no intention of coming home, but she didn’t need to know that. If she knew that, she’d probably kill him. Therese had never been the kind of woman to do her own dirty work before—not when cleaning ladies existed—but a betrayal like that would be enough motivation. He almost wanted to tell her, just so he could see the look on her face, but he had nothing to gain from gloating before Eduardo was dead.

Therese glanced at his waistband. “Do you have the gun?”

“Is that why you’re looking at my pants, or are you interested in what’s underneath?”

She curled her lip and he resisted the urge to smile at her. If she was going to treat him like a moron, she shouldn’t have been surprised by his moronic response.

“Yes, I have the gun.” He patted the empty space at the small of his back. With his shirt bunched up under his belt, it resembled a weapon at a glance. Therese would figure out he was lying if she decided to look closely, but Therese never looked below the surface of anything.

“Do you have the wine?” she said.

He gestured to the green bottle on the nightstand. Not only did the midrange merlot serve as a good excuse for a visit, but it also gave him the advantage of dealing with Eduardo while he was drunk. Gillen was no expert on mind readers, but he couldn’t imagine they functioned better under the influence.

Red lights reflected off the side of the wine bottle, drawing Gillen’s attention to the clock. The bright lines flashed in a pattern forming 6:15. If he didn’t get going, he was going to be late to his own crime.

“I’m ready to go,” he said. “Try not to tip your hand during your dinner with Narcy.” He cast Therese a sharp look out of the side of one eye as he snatched the bottle from the table. “You think you can handle that?”

“Don’t be smarmy,” she replied. “It doesn’t suit you.”

You don’t know what suits me, he wanted to shoot back, but then he realized he’d let his inner monologue take control again and that kind of mistake could get him killed.

He strode past her and into the hall. The scattered shadows of trees waited in front of the windows, obscuring what little of the Chicago skyline they could see from their Lakeview home. Therese had always wanted to cut down the trees to improve their view, but Gillen had no interest in destroying the one thing that made their sterile mansion feel like a home.

His autumn coat waited for him on the rack in the foyer, acting as a dark sentinel in front of the door. With the first signs of snow spreading over the sky, a winter coat would have served him better, but that kind of bulk would only weigh him down once he was on the run.

Therese’s sharp heels clicked against the tile floor. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?” she said behind him.

He closed his eyes and practiced his times tables. Three times two is six, three times three is nine, three times four is twelve. He’d been hoping to escape without ever seeing Therese’s face again, but he couldn’t risk upsetting her when he was so close to his goal.

“Goodbye, honey.” He turned around and opened his arms. Therese’s red lips formed a wicked crescent as she slid her hands around his waist and leaned against his chest. The sickening sweetness of her floral perfume wound through his nostrils, strangling him from within. Poison, the makers called it. Therese found the scent mysterious, but Gillen hated it with a passion. He couldn’t argue with the name, though. It might not have been as venomous as its wearer, but it still smelled like seven different kinds of death.

She leaned in and adjusted his collar. “Just think. Once all this is over, we’re finally going to be rich.” Her hollow voice bounced off the walls of their six-bedroom house, creating a false harmony with the clinking of their crystal chandeliers. “It’s everything we’ve been waiting for.”

He faked his brightest smile, knowing it would be the last of him she would ever see.

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Meet the Author

L. Julia has loved speculative fiction since she was old enough to lift hardback books. As a way of pursuing her passion for fiction, she earned a bachelors in English Writing from UPitt. She also earned an MBA at DePaul, as a way of pursuing her passion for paying the bills.

As of 2017, she’s the CFO at an extremely cool video game merchandise company. When she’s not staring at spreadsheets or working on her next novel, she enjoys playing with her two stubborn corgis and spending time with her husband in the Santa Clara sun.

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Release Blitz: Power Surge by Sara Codair (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Power Surge

Series: The Evanstar Chronicles, Book One

Author: Sara Codair

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 79700

Genre: Paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy, Demon hunters, Angels, Demons, Elves, mental illness, non-binary, pan, YA/NA

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Synopsis

Erin has just realized that for the entirety of their life, their family has lied to them. Their Sight has been masked for years, so Erin thought the Pixies and Mermaids were hallucinations. Not only are the supernatural creatures they see daily real, but their grandmother is an Elf, meaning Erin isn’t fully human. On top of that, the dreams Erin thought were nightmares are actually prophecies.

While dealing with the anger they have over all of the lies, they are getting used to their new boyfriend, their boyfriend’s bullying ex, and the fact that they come from a family of Demon Hunters. As Erin struggles through everything weighing on them, they uncover a Demon plot to take over the world.

Erin just wants some time to work through it all on their own terms, but that’s going to have to wait until after they help save the world.

Excerpt

Power Surge
Sara Codair © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“They don’t like the sunlight, but that doesn’t mean they won’t venture out in it. Demons aren’t like Stoker’s vampires or anything else you read about in civilian novels. Even the Bible isn’t accurate when describing the denizens of Heaven and Hell.”

-A letter from Gertrude Bearclaw to Genevieve Evanstar, 21 Jan 1921, archived in the Vault under St. Patrick’s Church in South Portland, Maine

The cold March air burned my lungs and my legs itched as I sprinted by boarded-up beach houses. Mel may have turned our warm-up into a race, but she was not going to win it. Grinning, I ran harder in an attempt to close the space between us. Despite my efforts, her footsteps grew softer and the ones behind me grew louder.

I glanced over my shoulder. The man behind me was closer. Steam rose from his pale nose as it peeked out from under the black hoodie. I shuddered. It wasn’t unusual to see another runner follow us around two turns, but this one had followed me around five.

I sucked in the icy air as I crossed a bridge. The metal grates groaned under our feet. Water rushed below, blanketing brown muck with blue, breathing color and life into the field of dead marsh grass. Mel was so far down the winding road I could barely make out her short, muscular form.

I glanced at my phone. It was dead. Mel was too far ahead to hear me yell, and there was no one else around. I wasn’t exactly defenseless, but I was tired and hadn’t been in a real fight in almost two years.

Still, a small deplorable part of me hoped the man would catch up and he’d want to hurt me. I imagined myself ducking as he reached out to grab me. I’d jam my elbow up into his stomach and crush his face with my knee. I almost heard his jawbone crack, saw the shock in his eyes, and felt the pure bliss of adrenaline coursing through my body. I’d win. He’d end up hospitalized or worse, in the morgue. The last time I was forced to defend myself against someone who wanted to hurt me, Mel had to pull me off his unconscious body. The ghost of the rage, the rush and the guilt made my stomach churn.

I was a monster.

I couldn’t let this man catch up to me. It was too dangerous for him.

My calves cramped. My side felt like a knife was jabbing into it. Mel vanished around a bend. I growled. She was shorter than me and worked out more, but she was my cousin—the daughter of my late father’s twin sister—not some kind of professional athlete. If she could go that fast, then so could I. A few seconds later, I rounded the same bend. Our finish line, the gate for Foster Park, came into sight.

Picking up more speed, I closed the distance between me and the run-down guard shack. Mel got to it first and jogged in place, facing me until I arrived. I glanced over my shoulder and didn’t see the man. Relieved, I nearly toppled over, gasping for air with my hands on my knees.

“Erin, you need to cool down before you stop.” Mel wasn’t even out of breath, and she had a smug smile on her perfect pink lips. I didn’t see a drop of sweat on her face. Her gray spandex was dry; mine had soaked through my base layer to my baggy T-shirt.

I stood up straight, filling my aching lungs with big gulps of air as I looked around again. An iridescent blackbird leaped from a leafless maple with its wings slowly flapping as it flew across the path in front of us, but the man was nowhere in sight. “What was our time?”

“I didn’t have my timer on.” Mel walked down the dirt road.

“I really want to know how fast I went.” Every part of my body throbbed as I moved. The bare birch branches around us were filled with warbling blackbirds; their screeches needled my eardrums.

“Not fast enough,” snapped Mel. Her voice hurt more than the birds.

“Seriously?”

“You can do better. How is school going?”

“Mel, I don’t think I have ever run that fast in my life.”

“How is school going?”

I glared at her.

“How is school going?” she asked for the third time.

Shivering, I scratched my neck. “My teachers are determined to dispel the myth that senior year is easy by piling on hours and hours of homework. It takes forever without ADHD meds.”

Mel frowned. “You thinking of going back on them?”

“We’ll see how I do on my English test tomorrow. I don’t want any of my college acceptances getting revoked.”

“What does your mom think?” Mel’s frown made deep crevices in her usually smooth forehead.

“Mom and the doctors want me to try a different kind. I think they forgot I took that in middle school and it made me equally sick.”

“Both drugs stop your dreams,” muttered Mel, staring at the gravel.

“And how is that a bad thing?”

Heavy silence hung between us as we approached our Jeeps. Hers was an orange Wrangler with a soft top, a spotless paint job, and a lift kit. My ancient Cherokee resembled the offspring of hers and a station wagon, pockmarked with battle scars from shopping carts and telephone poles. She opened her door, took out two water bottles, and handed one to me. “Are you still dreaming every night?”

“Yeah.” I drank half my bottle in one long gulp.

“Did you try my suggestion?”

The Thursday before, Mel had told me to try focusing on one thing before I went to bed, so instead of dreaming of burning cities, gory battles, and apocalyptic storms, I would only dream about that one—hopefully more pleasant—thing.

“Did it work?”

“Sort of. Did you bring the sabers?” The whole purpose of the meeting wasn’t so much the run but the subsequent sparring match. Since I hadn’t found a good Kendo dojo in Portland, Mel was my only sparring partner.

“Of course.” She pulled two bamboo practice swords out of her Jeep and handed one to me. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

“I focused on a person. The dreams stayed chaotic, but that person was in all of them.”

Mel smirked as we walked across the grassy hill leading down to the pebble beach. “Which boy did you focus on?”

“I didn’t say boy.”

Mel arched her eyebrows. “I’m pretty confident we can rule out all the girls at St. Pat’s. Who was it?”

“José.” My cheeks burned.

Mel barked out a laugh that was simultaneously musical and abrupt as she stepped onto the beach. “And what did you dream about the boy who you won’t admit you’re in love with?”

“We’re friends. I’m not in love with him.” I stopped walking, leaned my sword against a rock, and stretched.

“Tell me what you dreamed.”

I watched rippled waves roll onto the black and gray stones. Once wet, they glistened in the afternoon sun. Two cormorants floated around the jetty while seagulls perched on the rocks. Looking up, I stared toward the sun without blinking and imagined my eyes drinking in its warmth. It made them water, but my face relaxed.

When I couldn’t take the light anymore, I turned my attention to a splashing at the end of the jetty. Minnows leaped out of the water followed by the stripers that were trying to eat them. Suddenly, a humanoid head covered in Irish moss burst from the surface, devouring a striper in one bite. I stumbled backward. A green tail flickered where the head had been, spraying water at the gulls. The head leaped back up and lunged toward the cormorant, sinking its fangs into black feathers and pulling the bird below the water.

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Meet the Author

Sara Codair lives in a world of words, writing fiction in every free moment, teaching writing at a community college and binge-reading fantasy novels. When not lost in words, Sara can often be found hiking, swimming, or gardening. Find Sara’s words in Alternative Truths, Helios Quarterly, and Secrets of the Goat People, at https://saracodair.com/

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Release Blitz: Roam by Dez Schwartz (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Roam

Author: Dez Schwartz

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57800

Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, vampires, werewolves, ghosts

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Synopsis

Ethan Roam suffers from night terrors and vivid daydreams, which lead him to the doorstep of the eccentric Dr. Grady Hunter, who thrusts him into a world of supernatural misfits. Ethan quickly learns that there’s more reality to his dreams than he suspected.

As Ethan unravels the truth behind his nightmares and falls into his first experience with love, he also finds himself the target of a sinister plan.

Ethan’s trust in his new companions will be tested and he’ll have to decide who he can rely on and who he must defy in order to survive a fatal Halloween night.

Excerpt

Roam
Dez Schwartz © 2018
All Rights Reserved

One: Daydreams
“He’s here,” a voice whispered. Ethan Roam struggled to assess his surroundings, but his vision was blurry. All he could make out were a few trees around him. Only one thing was clear before him. The girl.

She was the same girl he had seen many times before in his dreams. She was slender and meek with fiery red hair and kind blue eyes. Subtle freckles accented her nose and her lips were the color of cherry blossoms. She wore strange clothes. Each time, they were different, which Ethan wondered if that was normal for a recurring dream. They were crafted from organic materials he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Hello?” she urged, as though trying to wake him; although, he wondered why since he was staring right at her. Her expression was dire, as though she was speaking at him instead of to him. She pursed her lips with a hint of anxiety and then tried again. “Hello? You have to hurry. He’s here!”

Ethan’s heart pounded. He wanted to greet her or ask who she was talking about. This was his fifth time to have the same dream. Each time, she tried to talk to him, and he could never say anything in response. He sluggishly tried to get the words to flow past his lips. He strained forward to be closer to her, and for a split second, her eyes widened as if she’d finally seen a reaction from him.

To his left, twigs snapped and a deep growl rumbled. He turned in time to see a massive wolf tearing toward them. He screamed as he moved to block the girl from the wolf, and then everything faded away…

Ethan sat up with a start, realizing he’d fallen asleep during Dr. Wallace’s history class. The professor, annoyed at having been interrupted during one of his favorite lectures, balled his hands into fists and placed them firmly on his hips as he stared disapprovingly at Ethan. The rest of the class was quick to stare, too, only they were less annoyed and more amused, much to Ethan’s embarrassment.

“So, yeah… Pretty sure I’m going to switch classes now. I can’t imagine going back there.” Ethan had finished recounting his literal and figurative nightmare to his good friend, Dr. Arthur Ellis.

Arthur let out a jolly laugh at the idea of Ethan screaming during Dr. Wallace’s lecture.

“I wish I could’ve seen the look on the old bulldog’s face.” He grinned, wiping a humored tear from his eye.

“Trust me, you don’t. I’m pretty sure he was imagining my gruesome demise since he was all hyped on Greek war talk. Nope, never going back there again.”

Arthur was an old friend of Ethan’s mother, Karen, and Ethan had known him for most of his life. Arthur, a portly and generally jovial man, was around so much Ethan thought of him like an unofficial uncle of sorts. Being a professor seemed to fit him perfectly as he had a studious look to him and felt the need to educate others on all matters he deemed himself an expert at, which was nearly everything. Ethan found his positivity both admirable and enviable. Talking to Arthur always seemed to help calm his nerves and so he found himself opening up to him constantly when he usually blocked the rest of the world out.

Recovering from the humor of the situation, Arthur scratched his graying beard as if asking it if he should pry. The beard seemed to concur, so he peered over his glasses and across his desk to where Ethan sat.

“Are your dreams becoming more frequent?”

Ethan sat up a little straighter as the tone of the conversation shifted. He glanced nervously at a dream catcher that was hanging near a bookcase cluttered with old tomes and artifacts. A feather appeared to flutter but then lay perfectly still against the wall.

Although an English professor, Dr. Arthur Ellis specialized in folklore. It was his favorite topic in the world and would talk about it at length, given the opportunity. His office was decorated appropriately. That is to say, he’d immersed himself in items his guests would find interesting, thus giving himself the opportunity to engage in discourse on the subject. And if his guests did not ask questions, then he would gladly inform them about the carefully curated decor anyway.

“Define more frequent,” Ethan answered coyly but then sighed and opened up. “You know I’ve always had dreams like that. Where I’m in strange places and being attacked by weird creatures. Nightmares, really.”

“The only dreams you ever have,” Arthur concurred.

Ethan tried to explain. For years, the girl with the fiery red hair had appeared in his dreams and nightmares as what he believed to be a symbol for something, but now that she was talking to him…it was kind of creeping him out. “You know the girl isn’t new. And…she’s interacting more with me now. She’s not just there, you know? She’s a character in my dream rather than a figure in the background.” Ethan tried to explain.

“And what about the wolf?”

“It was the same one.” Ethan stared into his palms as he tried to recall details. “Large, black fur, saliva dripping from his mouth…but when he ran at me, he ran standing up.” He frowned as he remembered the disgusting appearance of the creature.

Arthur cut in with enthusiasm. “Like a werewolf!”

“I guess…” Ethan considered the details more closely, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was for them to remain clear. “I’m not really sure. But here’s the thing, I’m dreaming during the day now. These all used to happen at night. Today during class wasn’t the first time it’s happened; just the first time anyone witnessed it. And I wasn’t even entirely asleep.”

Arthur seemed to listen with great interest, and when the last sentence rolled from Ethan’s lips, he leaned forward with a graceful and what appeared to be genuine curiosity only a well learned academic could pull off.

Ethan continued, “I remember everything Doctor Wallace was saying. It was like I was in two places at once. The dream overlapped onto reality until I woke up…screaming, apparently.”

Arthur provided the same considerate but serious suggestion he’d already offered a few times before. “Have you considered talking to anyone about this?”

“I’m talking to someone now,” Ethan quipped, but he knew what Arthur really meant. He’d been nudging Ethan to go to a doctor for years, but Ethan hated doctors. Especially, he hated the idea he might have some weird medical condition that would require him to go to a doctor.

“Someone more qualified than myself.” Arthur smiled patiently.

“Hey, you are Doctor Ellis.”

Arthur seemed to criticize him over his glasses with an impatient stare.

“I don’t like people,” Ethan retorted stubbornly, knowing he was losing the argument.

“Who does?” He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to Ethan.

“I’ve been holding on to this for a while. Until I felt the time was right,” he explained as Ethan read the business card. “He’s an old friend of mine. I really think you should go and talk to him. I have reason to believe he might have a unique perspective on these dreams of yours.”

Maybe Arthur was right. If his sleep problems were finally getting in the way of his daily activities, then maybe it was time to be proactive about them.

“Aren’t all your friends, like your collectibles, unique?” Ethan teased, as he slipped the card into his pocket.

“You know me.” Arthur nodded, relaxing into his chair now he’d won their battle of wills. “I love a good backstory. Oh, and don’t tell your mother,” Arthur added. “She hates it when I meddle.”

Ethan smiled and rolled his eyes as he left the office. “We all do.”

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Meet the Author

Dez Schwartz writes mostly LGBTQ Paranormal and Gothic Historical Fiction about dapper occultists, scheming supernaturals, and ghost hunters. She currently resides in a haunted Edwardian era home in Texas and enjoys coffee, art, and Oscar Wilde.

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Release Blitz: The Journalist and the Dancer by Liam Livings (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Journalist and the Dancer

Author: Liam Livings

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 49700{

Genre: Contemporary, Ibiza, contemporary, family drama, romance

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Synopsis

Christopher, a quiet, reserved, British journalist, reviews restaurants and night clubs in Ibiza. After a painful breakup and nervous breakdown in the UK, he aims to live a more spiritual possession-free life on the Mediterranean island.

Lucas flees an abusive ex in Madrid to live his dream of dancing in Ibiza’s large prestigious night clubs.

They meet at a night club and both feel an instant attraction which soon develops into an emotional connection neither of them feels ready for.

Sharing their painful pasts with each other brings them closer together, though neither of them planned on being in a proper relationship. But when a family crisis pulls Lucas back to Madrid and a painful encounter with his abusive ex, Christopher deals with painful experiences of his own.

Excerpt

The Journalist and the Dancer
Liam Livings © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“What are you drinking?” the barman asked. He wore a low v-neck sleeveless T-shirt and looked far too skimpily dressed for what was purporting to be another straight bar.

“Gin and tonic. Large.” Christopher winked—it was always worth a try wherever he was, and Ibiza’s bars were very mixed anyway. Straights and gays shared most drinking establishments happily. A relationship of equals, was that too much to want?

He checked the invite, scanning down for anything unusual. Among the rubbish about it being the new place to be seen on the island and where all the it people hung out, whoever they were—Christopher had lived on Ibiza for a year or so and had yet to meet these so-called it people—were pictures of men and women laughing and drinking together, so probably aiming for the straight crowd.

“Excuse me. We’ve run out of soda water. Can I get you something else?” The barman shook the hose contraption and shrugged.

“Surprise me.” Because nothing else here is surprising. The red walls were covered in likenesses of the island’s shape, with large white skulls painted on either end, and the dark corners of the club were filled with silver chairs and tables. The latest Eurotrash track boomed from the stage on the far side of the room. Christopher stifled a yawn. Somehow, this wasn’t quite what he’d imagined looking for a less materialistic life would be like.

But he still had to eat.

The barman slid a tall, multicoloured cocktail adorned with a blue umbrella and red cherry along the bar. “Surprise!”

Christopher took a sip and was pleasantly shocked that he enjoyed the bitter sweetness. “When is the actual opening happening?”

“Eight, eight thirty.” The barman talked enthusiastically about the cannons, which were going to spurt white foam over the revellers on the dance floor.

“Foam cannons? Really?” I think the year 2000 called and it wants its nightclub back. Christopher rolled his eyes behind the tall cocktail glass.

“It’s not a club here without one—apparently.” The barman shrugged and his biceps rippled in the light. “Mind you, have you seen the cages hanging above the dance floor?”

“Where?”

The barman pointed through an archway to the source of the pulsing noise that passed as music here.

Bit tacky. How can I say it’s a bit tacky without actually saying it’s a bit tacky? How about fanciful? Or maybe enthusiastic? Christopher pondered the right words for a few moments.

The barman left to serve another customer, tiny white shorts about two sizes too small encased his tight arse cheeks—definitely a good seven or an eight—wiggling as he walked.

Christopher contemplated what a waste that arse was on a straight man, then pulled a white wafer-thin laptop from his bag and began writing his Ibiza Discovered review for yet another nightclub opening. If I ask the barman a few more questions, that, and a few words about the ambiance—always deathly dull at these things—I’ll be done and home to chill out with the TV and Sally within the hour. Maybe that’s why I’m still single. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think I’ll ever find a man who’s equal to me…

“The VIP area is ready when you are.” A slight man in a black suit with sweat on his brow appeared at Christopher’s shoulder.

With a sinking feeling that his leaving within the hour plan was looking less likely now, he followed the man to an area with a red velvet rope and clipboard-checking woman who flicked her long brown hair more often than she checked the guest list.

Christopher gave his name, waited as the woman checked it and was then shown to a table with other people talking and toasting with champagne.

People. And they’re talking. They’re going to want to talk to me and want to know who I…Damn!

“Who are you reviewing for?” a man at the table asked.

“Ibiza Discovered.” Different people asking the same questions, probably going to suggest the same bloody drinking game as the evening progressed. Being this standoffish was definitely not improving his chances of finding a date any time soon, he realised.

After introductions around the table—a few local papers, a website mag, and a clubbing scene mag—Christopher gritted his teeth as the first man suggested they play a drinking game, based on how many times the manager said certain words in his welcome address.

He checked his watch. With no sign of the manager announcing the formal opening, and already half an hour late, his quiet evening plans were gradually disappearing, drink by drink.

One of the journalists was talking about the last club opening he’d been to, something about a fire alarm and how they’d all ended up in the… Christopher’s attention drifted from the man’s story to a gentlemen who skipped and floated across the dance floor. Nothing too unusual so far, but the fact that he was wearing only a pair of tight gold trunks with glitter over his athletic hairless chest made Christopher sit up, his shorts tighten, and his stomach flutter.

The man shouted, “Me cago en tu puta madre!” and turned to face Christopher, staring for what seemed like a minute, smiling and not breaking eye contact.

Christopher couldn’t take his eyes off this exotic passionate creature, staring so intensely and deeply it felt as if he were staring into his soul. He knew that no man dressing like that would take himself too seriously. He felt sure that a man like that would humour his partner, was comfortable with himself fully without censoring, wouldn’t mock every decision of other people like… Christopher stopped that particular avenue of memories.

Then, as suddenly as he’d arrived, the man shook his head, clapped twice, and ran through a door to the side of the stage.

That arse in those trunks was at least a nine, possibly a ten. Who is he? What’s the English equivalent to that sweary Spanish phrase? Where is he going? And why aren’t I talking to him instead of this group of idiots?

Purchase

NineStar Press, LLC | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Liam Livings lives where east London ends and becomes Essex. He shares his house with his boyfriend and cat. He enjoys baking, cooking, classic cars and socializing with friends. He has a sweet tooth for food and entertainment: loving to escape from real life with a romantic book; enjoying a good cry at a sad, funny and camp film; and listening to musical cheesy pop from the eighties to now. He tirelessly watches an awful lot of Gilmore Girls in the name of writing ‘research’.

Published since 2013 by a variety of British and American presses, his gay romance and gay fiction focuses on friendships, British humour, romance with plenty of sparkle. He’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and the Chartered Institute of Marketing. With a masters in creative writing from Kingston University, he teaches writing workshops with his partner in sarcasm and humour, Virginia Heath as www.realpeoplewritebooks.com and has also ghost written a client’s 5 Star reviewed autobiography.

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Book Blitz: Turbo charged by karen Botha (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Turbo charged

Series: Commitment Series, #5

Author: Karen Botha

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: 1st Oct

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 190 pages

Genre: Romance, mm romance

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Synopsis

Can we ever fully experience the good if you don’t suffer the evil?

Elliott and Kyle stand to lose everything. A treacherous traitor inside Judd Racing is leaking sensitive information that threatens both their personal and professional lives. The race car driver and the mechanic must find and expose the mole while they also convince their investors to take a leap of faith and trust in their business savvy to help make their dream a reality.

Will their goals be realized or will they go up in flames along with their hard earned cash?

Excerpt

My heart skips, bouncing around the space in my chest, performing a little dance of anticipation. The denim loosens as he peels down my zipper, the draft of the open air caressing my rapidly expanding length as the broad daylight casts over my exposed skin. Without warning, my gorgeous, depraved man lowers his hot lips down, encasing me in the dark, wet cavern of his mouth. The base of my spine zings with life as he sucks his cheeks hollow sending messages which curl my toes, tilt my head and send my heart rate into spasmodic convulsions.

The chance of being caught pushes us to speed up the process and he doesn’t let up the intensity of his mouth as his tongue whips over my swollen head, sweeping up the taste of my delicious excitement. He works fast and hard, not ceasing until the pressure builds in a rapid explosion of firepower which launches down the back of his throat. The force leaves me my vision blurred and my body limp, and I spend a moment trying to calm the manic beating in my chest.

“Consider that your starter,” he says flicking a finger over the corner of his mouth as I sigh and switch the car into drive.

“If that was the starter, I can’t wait to find out what the main course is.” I squeeze his hand as I pull down the winding drive and back onto the main highway.

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Meet the Author

Karen Botha was born in Lincolnshire England where her father was in the royal air force. As a young girl she always had a passion for reading and writing. Working most of her adult life in digital marketing didn’t leave her much time to pursue her passion for stories. at the age of 36 She retrained for a reflexologist and started working for herself. This helped her free up more than enough time to enjoy a re-found passion for writing.

Her first novel was inspired by true life experiences and tales from clients. But don’t believe everything you read.

She enjoys traveling rugby and motor sport, this gives her inspiration and ideas for her books.
The first in the new lgbt series is a mm romance novel about a racecar driver and his mechanic.
She currently lives in London with her Husband and rescue dog called Shadow.

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