Apr 22

New Release Blitz: Where Song Replaces Silence by Layla Dorine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Where Song Replaces Silence

Author: Layla Dorine

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 22, 2019

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 33300

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, abduction, anger, Brownies, faeries, gay, hurt/comfort, mythical creatures, nymphs

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Synopsis

Raze halts his midnight joy ride to give chase to twinkling lights that appear in the road before him and then lead him deep into a forest, where he falls into another world. There, magic is real, wishes are granted, and no one is considered odd or out of place.

Raze has never fit in anywhere in his own world and uses his angry attitude to keep others at bay and mask his anxieties and fears in this new place. A dangerous combination in Loas, where rudeness is frowned upon and foul language can land him in a dungeon.

Rurin, an inhabitant of Loas, tries to teach Raze about their world, its magic and its residents, but he faces Raze’s stubborn resistance at every turn. Bitter about his past, pessimistic about his future, Raze sees what could be, but he struggles to accept it. In the meantime, his encounters with the Fae range from hostile sarcasm to potential danger. While he attempts to keep the promises he’s made to Rurin and follow the rules laid out for him, Raze grows more and more curious about the place where he’s landed. It’s too bad he keeps making poor choices.

As the connection between them grows, Rurin works to keep Raze from being banished, but Raze may be cast out of the Loas before he has the opportunity to discover the true reason he was led there in the first place.

Excerpt

Where Song Replaces Silence
Layla Dorine © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Heavy, the steady thud, thud, thud of the base rocked the back windows, and poured from the open driver’s side where the scent of rain flowed freely, mist lightly splashing on Raze’s face. “Four Rusted Horses” blared from a radio cranked so high the rain-covered glass vibrated with the force of the speakers’ efforts.

Thud, thud, thud, “forbidden…” Raze growled along, more snarl than song. Thud, thud, thud, “heaven…” Every word committed to memory. Thud, thud, thud, “useless…” Despite the slickness of the road, he drove with just two fingers, his free hand tapping out a beat on the shifter. Thud, thud, thud, “hell…” Glowing red numbers on the dash flipped from 2:59 to 3:00, the witching hour, the night so dark the headlights struggled to pierce the dim and fog.

The old Charger’s purr was a gospel choir of spark plugs and gears. His steel and chrome baby was the only thing in life Raze worked hard to care for. Some might even say he worshipped her power and speed, stroked her like a lover, and spent more than one night curled against the supple leather of her seats. He called her Rhea, after Saturn’s second largest moon. As a kid, he’d had a collection of beautiful photos of the ringed planet.

For most, this might have been motivation to aim high, study astrophysics or astronomy, anything that might put them closer to the cosmos. Not Raze. If he was behind the wheel, space and time were irrelevant; the world shrank, melted, and faded away. The song reached its crescendo, and he drummed along, eyes half closed as he pressed harder on the gas, felt the wind snarl and tug at his hair—sharp, like cold teeth. Tensing, he belted out the final verse, barely keeping Rhea on the road.

Exhilaration warred with exhaustion, the miles piling up for hours. A quick glance at the dash showed the gas tank was drifting below a fourth, dangerous territory when he had no clue where to find the nearest station. Common sense said he should have stopped at the last place he saw, but the rebel flags in the window made him wary. He’d always had a tough time understanding how people could hate someone so absolutely over something as simple as the color of their skin.

His own varied, based on how much time he spent in the sun. Most days, his skin glowed like the beach at sunrise, the sand shimmering a glowing golden hue. In the summer, though, his skin grew three shades darker, and if he wasn’t careful, a crop of freckles would appear splattered across his nose. He hated them as much as he hated the odd, three-toned hues of his hair, and how, no matter how many times he dyed the messy mane, he could never quite get his locks to turn out one color.

The long strands needed another treatment, the rich reds were like blood and rubies, or at least, that’s how a multitude of people had described the color over the years. A few, being kind, had likened the shade to fall leaves or a sunset, but kindness hadn’t been a common occurrence growing up. His so-called oddities had always made others uncomfortable. Funny, but ever since he’d learned the meaning of normal the idea had freaked the hell outta him. One of the many reasons he was still drifting.

Shit!

Slamming on the brakes, he jerked the wheel, sending Rhea spinning through the dancing green-gold figure appearing out of nowhere, swathed in a halo of lights. Somehow, despite the rows of waving trees, he got Rhea stopped without clipping one. His throat hurt, and his chest was pounding, lungs heaving as he sucked in air. Breathing and trying to relax the death grip on the wheel at the same time was a struggle. His fingers ached. Stiff and cramping, they refused to cooperate, no matter how hard he focused. Shaking, he collapsed against the wheel, the weight of his body sounding the horn, the echo a forlorn cry above the howling wind.

Shit shit shit shit shit

The only word he could formulate, shit, a mantra, running through his brain. There hadn’t been a thud. He hadn’t felt one, hadn’t heard one, meaning he’d missed them, right?

He didn’t want to look, but he knew he had to. Maybe they’d tripped, fallen, dived out of the way, rolled. They could be hurt, but not as bad as if he’d struck them with nearly two tons of metal. Swallowing, he told himself to man up, jerked his fingers free of their grip on the wheel, and sucked in a deep breath as he fumbled in the darkness for his phone. Three bars. Good, he could get them help if they needed it.

He fumbled with the door, got it open on the second try, and practically fell getting out, his body rebelling with every movement. For a moment, he stood in darkness, disoriented as he tried to figure out which direction he’d been coming from. When he spotted the twinkling green lights over the road, he blinked and stumble staggered toward the glowing apparition, watching the fragments of gold swirl and take shape, hovering, the form human, but not.

The fuck?

About fifty feet away, he could hear laughter, a mocking, teasing jangle of bell-like notes.

“You missed me, you missed me.”

Huh?

Squinting, he struggled to assess the situation, even as the words continued.

“Now you gotta kiss me.”

Oh, hell no. Either he was hallucinating, or he’d smacked his head on something. Either way, he was gonna wake up in a few minutes to darkness, a whining engine, and a pounding headache even the best painkillers wouldn’t cure.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pressed his fingertips against his temples, counting to ten, but the laughter and singsong words continued.

“You think this is funny!” he roared, hands dropping to his sides, fingers curling into fists. He took a step forward and then another. “You could have gotten me killed; you could have fucked up my car; how fuckin’ stupid do you have to be, playing games out here in the middle of nowhere! Do you get off on fucking with people, huh? I swear to god, if there is a fuckin’ piston outta place in Rhea, you’re gonna pay to have her fixed.”

The laughter grew, even as he stalked the light. Only when he was within grasping range did it turn and flee toward the forest, glancing back every now and again to taunt him more.

“You can run, run, run, but when you’re done, you will never catch me.”

“Oh, you better believe Imma catch you, and when I do, Imma beat the sparkle offa you!” he screamed, crashing through the underbrush after it. It occurred to him, as he slipped and floundered, like as not, he was chasing swamp gas or some fucked-up idea of a joke involving holograms and projectors. They were probably sitting in a tree laughing at his stupidity. Didn’t stop him from continuing to give chase.

Tripping, he landed facedown in prickly brambles.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Yowling, he carefully tried to detangle himself while the laughter continued to grate on his nerves.

“Clumsy, aren’t we? My, my, my, that’s a very fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Me? You’re the one who led me into this crap.”

“If you’d been faster, or smarter, perhaps you’d have used your wings, instead of stumbling around like a blind Alp-luachra searching for its next joint.”

“Wish I was sitting somewhere warm and dry smokin’ a joint right about now,” he grumbled beneath his breath, even as the sparkling flake of glittery light continued to cackle, twinkling like a firefly with every high-pitched note.

“Ah, but your wishes matter little to me. I lack the ability to grant them, and even if I could, I wouldn’t, until we’ve finished our game, though you are a poor, poor chaser. Perhaps you would be a better seeker. Shall I hide and see if you can find me?”

“Please don’t; actually, no, wait; please do. Yeah, that’s brilliant. You go hide, and I’ll come find you…in a century or two.”

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Meet the Author

Layla Dorine lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, cooking, and dabbling with several artistic mediums. In addition, she loves to travel and visit museums, historic, and haunted places.

Layla got hooked on writing as a child, starting with poetry and then branching out, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found

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Apr 22

New Release Blitz: SIO by C.A. Blocke (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: SIO

Author: C.A. Blocke

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 22, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 6360

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, humor, space pirates, scavengers, scientist, tech nerd, hurt-comfort, disabilities, abduction, captivity, tech nerd

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Synopsis

Set in a near-future environment, mega-corporations have taken over the most habitable of planets, creating domed utopias for their devoted employees. Everyone else has been shunted off to a multitude of mostly habitable planets and moons where they scrape by as farmers and tradesfolk, miners and merchants, bounty hunters and scavengers.

James Marks and his crew of scav trash operate their ship, SIO, on a mission to obtain a mysterious piece of new tech. It changes everything and leaves him stranded somewhere he doesn’t recognize with a cute, if not a bit annoying, tech scientist. James doesn’t know, when he first meets Michael, but his life is about to change in a very surprising way.

Excerpt

SIO
C.A. Blocke © 2019
All Rights Reserved

One: The Job
“You’re really going in alone?” Edge asked, leaning heavily against the console as James plugged in the coordinates. “I thought you promised Lyra you weren’t doing jobs alone anymore after that last big fuckup.”

James rolled his eyes and sighed. “What Lyra don’t know won’t hurt her. You and your sister are wanted on every planet in Corporate Space, and I’m not about to lose the only good pilot we’ve got by taking Corin along for the ride. Besides, I’m fluent in bullshit. I’ll be fine.”

Edge laughed and drew his oversized ElectroPistol before shoving it toward James’s chest. “You’re gonna need this. They set up scanners every few kilometers to catch travelers with old-school bullets.”

“You know I’ve got one.” James smirked, opening his dark-brown duster to show off his special design. “And mine’s overclocked.”

“Show-off.”

Edge and his sister, Razor, had been on the ship’s crew since day one, and far too many crew members had been lost one way or another since. To be fair, James knew Edge had a point. The duster was a bit of a showpiece, but even in Corporate Space, they could appreciate fine leatherwork.

Quietly, Razor added, “Careful where you’re scanning with that eye, boss. Peach detection is sensitive to all TechEyes.”

James blinked several times, self-conscious at the reminder of his less-than-human status. After fifteen years on the outer ring, he was starting to feel less man than machine. An eye, a leg, and a full neural interface later, who really could say he wasn’t? “Yes, mother.” James sighed, offering another fond roll of the eyes. “Believe me, I’m in and out. The last place I want to hang out is a Peach Corp research and development office.”

“Eye on the prize.” Edge nodded, clapping a meaty hand on James’s back. “Corin’ll leave the engines running for ya.”

Getting in wasn’t hard; a flash of the badge the client had provided and a few sideways glances at James’s generally unkempt appearance, and he was walking the halls toward the mark’s office. Thankfully, R&D didn’t have half the security protocol most Corporate offices had, and as far as they cared, the dark-haired man in a duster and pressed shirt was Mr. Marquis Benton, in the flesh. However, the short middle manager staring him down didn’t exactly seem convinced.

“So, Mr. Benton, is it?” he asked, stroking his fingers through professionally cropped blond hair before taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “And you are here for?”

“I was told the communique was sent days ago,” James bluffed, crossing his arms and giving the manager, Michael, a critical look. “The Rose prototype. It’s being called up for Corporate preview.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to have one less piece of useless technology to deal with, it’s not ready. I never received this…communique…you’re talking about.” Michael’s brow furrowed as he slipped his glasses back on; the frustration apparent on his face was adorable at the very least.

“Fine. Fine.” James leaned in, glancing over the man’s badge to grab a name, only to feel his TechEye activate to read it through the soft fold of his worn blazer. “It’s all right, Michael. I’ll deal with your supervisor.”

“I am the supervisor at this facility.” Michael frowned, shaking his head. “And if that crappy old TechEye wasn’t such a piece of outdated shit running firmware from ten years ago, you would have been able to pull up my personnel file and would know that.”

It wasn’t quite the same as being caught red-handed, and security wasn’t swarming the office yet, so there was that much hope. “Hey, you know how crappy the pay is for runners. I haven’t exactly been able to keep up on the latest and greatest.” James shrugged, and then stepped closer, ready to make a move, if justified. “Besides, I don’t like all that clutter in my HUD. All I need is to get this prototype to my boss.” It was a fair enough statement; the heads-up display on the older chip software was much less cluttered with information of various levels of situational importance. In the long run, it made it difficult to parse the large amount of information that wasn’t actually in front of his eyes but tended to render him at least distracted when it came up.

Michael stood, one hand on his black leather belt and the other casually planted against his desk. “The new heads-up display is actually quite streamlined by comparison, especially if you have the visual upgrade.” He shifted on his feet and, after a moment’s pause, dropped his gaze down to the litter of papers and scraps on his desk. “Look, okay… I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but contrary to popular belief, just because I’m in R&D, I’m not a fucking idiot. The Rose is classified, and you’ve done absolutely nothing to make me believe you should even be here.”

James had been in worse situations, which really said quite a lot about his chosen profession. He put on his best smile and leaned across Michael’s desk, drawing eyes back up to him. “I’ll level with you, Michael. There was no communique, okay? I know I’m sort of jumping the gun here, but bringing back the Rose and blowing the bigwigs’ minds with it pretty much guarantees a promotion that…uh…well, I need. And I know you’ve got zero reason to believe a word I’m saying, but I can definitely put in a good word for the new head of R&D.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed behind his thin spectacles, and James felt his heart rate raise enough to hear the blood pounding in his ears. Lying was no big thing, but pulling shit in a Peach facility was a damn bold move for someone not looking to end up in a prison colony for the rest of their short, crappy life. Finally, Michael said, “Head of R&D? You have that kind of power? I thought you said you were a runner.”

“A runner for someone with more power than both of us combined. With the right offering, I could do quite a lot”—James whispered, licking his lower lip for dramatic effect, if not sheer nerves—“with a little help from a certain smart and handsome developer.”

A long moment passed, and James realized exactly how that statement had come off. Fortunately, Michael seemed to buy it, and James wasn’t really lying—for everything his bookish appearance gave off, Michael was handsome in a sort of cute tech-nerd kind of way. Michael sighed and shook his head, drawing back. “You’ve got a silver tongue, Marquis. And, I guess I’m just sick of looking at the stupid thing,” he muttered under his breath, heading toward the door James had come in. “I have to get it from the lab; they’re working on it today.”

“Of course, of course.” James feigned a laugh while following him back into the corridor and through the honeycomb of hallways and nondescript rooms toward the lab.

Michael scanned his card and then turned back to face him. “Wait here.”

There was a delicate dance—James couldn’t wait too long out in the open without being checked by security, who would likely figure out his papers were fake, within a few seconds, but he also had to offer Michael the benefit of the doubt, lest his true intention be made even clearer. He nodded and casually folded his arms over his chest, gently patting the pistol concealed within his coat. Beyond the door, he couldn’t see much more than several bodies in white suits with blank faces moving quietly around, and then he was alone in the corridor.

Ten minutes and one close call with security passed, and James couldn’t stop himself from attempting to listen at the door, to no avail. Daring the chance of getting caught, he fumbled out the jack in his coat pocket, connecting it to the keypad first and then directly to the port behind his left ear. Hacking was dangerous in the best possible circumstances. Getting caught was almost a certainty, but the cybernetic jack made it a little simpler to do something as innocuous as jimmying a lock—hell, James had practically grown up forcing locks with or without technological assistance. Unfortunately, Razor wasn’t wrong about Peach Corp being on top of outside tech in their systems. The lock gave, after only a few moments of forcing the code, the door opened, and the first thing James saw after pulling the jack free at both ends in one yank was security coming right for him.

“What are you doing in here?” Michael shouted as James rushed into the room, slamming the door behind him. A steel case was open on a large table, a small purple rose made of circuits and glass seated in a holding point fixed inside the case.

“Okay, so here’s the thing…” James stammered, letting the words come as his most useful form of self-preservation. “There are at least three guys with ElectroPistols on the other side of that door, and I really need to leave with this prototype, so if you could close that case, I’ll be heading out now.”

“It’s not ready!” Michael answered, lifting the safety goggles from around his glasses and tossing them on the floor with an angry sigh. “Do you even know anything about the Rose? You have got to be the most ignorant—”

James cut him off for lack of time more than anything, snapping the case closed. “I may have to use you as a human shield…no worries; ElectroPistols don’t hurt nearly as bad as the real thing.” He was well aware it sounded bad, but to the best of his knowledge, as long as the person being shot didn’t have too many cybernetic parts, the blasts weren’t usually deadly. James grabbed Michael’s elbow, thankful he was a little lighter and a good deal shorter than most.

They made it two steps to the door, and when James touched the latch, a loud popping noise was accompanied by a rush of heat, and everything went black.

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Meet the Author

C.A. Blocke is a thirty-something writer who’s been captivated by the magic of how people relate to each other for as long as she can remember. Far more than overarching drawn-out plots, she prefers to focus heavily on relationships in various situations that feel like real life—even when at its most surreal. Real Life, she feels, is messy and complicated, and that shines through in her fiction where the road to a happy ending frequently isn’t just a straight line. A long-time reader and writer of fluffy character-driven pieces, her style tends to highlight small slices of life that come together to form a whole picture of the plot.

She is a gender nonconforming, demisexual-identified female who feels most comfortable writing unconventional relationships involving non-heterosexual couplings. Sexual identity often colors her works and features heavily in finding the comfortable place where identities can collide with minimal friction. She enjoys exploring different takes on ‘acceptable’ sexuality and blurring the lines between what is expected and what really happens.

A small-town Arizona native, the Southwest and its rural communities fascinate her—particularly the rigid-identity politics and the ramifications of breaking the social norm. Of course, that’s not to say that she doesn’t also enjoy writing about urban life and the various challenges present in the big city. While most at home writing contemporary romance with a warm little erotica twist, she’s very prone to following her muse down the dark alleys and open valleys it drags her through—making it nearly impossible to know just what genre will take her interest next.

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Apr 22

New Release Blitz: Fruits of the Gods by William C. Tracy (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Fruits of the Gods

Author: William C. Tracy

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 22, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 110200

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, Fantasy, other-world, family-drama, magic users, elements, slave, lesbian, trans, sisters, ghosts, spirits

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Synopsis

Sisters Kisare and Belili uproot an ancient box in their owner’s orchard and find a miracle inside: a fifth godfruit in a society that knows only four. It is punishable by death for non-nobles to eat godfruit, so the sisters hide the discovery and plot to escape servitude for good. With the power represented in the box, they could live as nobles themselves.

But Kisare finds her new freedom more difficult than she imagined, and Belili has many secrets she strives to keep hidden. With the help of a people slowly losing their culture and technology to the powerful nobles, the sisters lead an infiltration of the highest levels of noble society.

While Kisare finds she cares for the captured leader of the people helping them, Belili comes to love her noble suitor’s guard—a fierce woman with a similar past to her own. In the end, the fifth godfruit may bring harmony to the world, but the sisters’ only hope of succeeding lies in deciphering ancient mythologies surrounding the gods’ original plan for their people.

Excerpt

Fruits of the Gods
William C. Tracy © 2019
All Rights Reserved

The gods made mortals as their servants but freed them when they became troublesome to keep. When, against all odds, the mortals prospered on their own, the gods thought to bribe them with gifts to gain their worship.

It was the mistress’s third miscarriage. Kisare knelt beside Bel, both sisters digging the hole to accept the little bundle. The solitary malus tree above them would take the grim fertilizer for its magical harvest.

She could feel the master’s eyes on her back, and Shuma’s, the guard captain. The mistress in her litter, two guards, and three slaves holding torches filled out their party. The flickering glow guttered over the little hole.

The ground resisted Kisare’s chipped spade, and her breath misted as she dug. Moonlight shone on her and Bel through new leaves of the malus tree, standing alone between rows of grapevines. She brushed back long hair, bleached somewhere between silver and white, taking only a second to eye the bundle at the mistress’s feet. The noble blood the child would add to the malus’s harvest did nothing to offset Aricaba-Ata’s frustration. The master doted on his new young wife.

Bel’s spade landed with a hollow thunk. Curious, Kisare dug next to her sister. Something was buried here. She could see no detail in the dark but knew better than to alert their master. It might be valuable. Kisare saw Bel’s eyes locked on the dark corner of the grave. Her spade stabbed underneath, prying the thing up.

Kisare knocked her sister’s arm away, then dug at the opposite end of the hole. Bel took the hint and, frowning, plunged her spade in with too much force. It bounced off a rock, throwing dirt in Kisare’s face. She spit out grit tasting of iron and fertilizer.

Aricaba-Ata, next to his grieving wife, pointed one finger. Torchlight highlighted the parted lock of red in his white-blond hair. Shuma stepped forward at the gesture. The freeman guard captain was a natural blond, no streaks of magical color in his tight curls. Nor was his hair bleached, as Kisare’s and Bel’s was.

“What was that sound? What did you hit?” Shuma towered above them, the biggest man Kisare had ever seen, rumored to be the disowned son of a neighboring noble.

“It was nothing,” Kisare answered, thinking furiously.

“It was something, blond,” he answered, unlimbering the whip at his side.

Kisare’s back tensed, her shirt scratching against the raised scars. She had to answer. Mortal hands had buried something here. What could she get from offering up the prize? Not as much as keeping the knowledge from the master.

Bel was watching her face, spade poised. “It was a wood—”

“Root,” Kisare finished for her. She pointed at her last mistake, rather than the treasure. It would give meaning to her hesitation.

“See,” she said. “I nicked a root.” It was visible as a glistening wet spot in the moonlight.

The master came forward and peered into the small hole. It wouldn’t harm the tree in the long run, but it was still a slave’s error.

Kisare kept the scream in as the whip drew a line of fire across her back.

“Keep digging,” Aricaba-Ata said. “Do not injure my tree further. It is worth far more than your life, blond. I do not need added trouble.” He stepped back to his wife in her litter, his face blending into shadow.

Kisare put her head down and dug, her back burning. Cold air washed down her spine through a rent in her thin shirt, stark against the hot wetness. Bel followed, digging deliberately. Kisare shifted to a more comfortable position, hoping to keep her shirt from touching the bleeding wound. She didn’t wish her sister to feel the whip but wondered if Aricaba-Ata would have punished Bel the same way. Her sister’s gift for pruning godfruit trees excused her from all but the worst transgressions. Almost all. Kisare glanced down to Bel’s incomplete left hand, resting by the grave.

They finished the hole well enough to please the master, keeping away from where the object was buried. They placed the small bundle by the guard’s torchlight and filled in the dirt. Kisare took a moment to breathe—not long enough to bring Shuma’s whip down, but enough to pull a ragged shawl around her shoulders. She sucked in a breath as it brushed her wounded back. Bel could look at it later. Kisare shivered into the shawl, sweat from digging chilling her. The malus tree was past harvest, and the season was on the cusp of spring. It was the in-between time when even citrons were scarce, and everyone scrimped on godfruit.

Bel helped her to her feet, and Kisare and her sister placed the name-rail in the fence around the tree, under the master’s watchful eye. There were five other name-rails already inscribed, two from the previous miscarriages, and one from Aricaba-Ata’s first wife, Tiamai. The fever had taken her three years ago. Stumps of long-dead malus trees stood nearby, breaking rows of leafless grapevines with their own rotting name-rails. The grapes—normal fruit—were sold to market or made into wine.

“Girl,” Aricaba-Ata directed her, “clean the birthing room before you sleep.” He put an arm around his trembling wife in her litter and kissed her forehead. “Take her back,” he directed the three slaves holding the litter. The other guard left with them, leaving a torch with Shuma.

Aricaba-Ata came forward, taking a slightly wrinkled malus slice from his tunic. Kisare watched, slowly cleaning the dirt from her and Bel’s spades, making time. Aricaba-Ata pushed one red lock—magic gifted from the four gods of the seasons—behind his ear, as he popped the malus in his mouth. Kisare saw the shudder that took his body as he bit down, traces of lightning coursing down his arms, illuminating the darkness. She drank in the display.

Aricaba-Ata stepped close to the new-cut naming rail and lifted his right forefinger. Orange light bloomed in the night; a single pillar of flame. He drew a line of fire across the rail, charring in the name given his stillborn son: Aricaba-Tir. By the time he finished marking the rail, Kisare could see his jaw moving in the few last flickers of lightning as he tried to draw the last bit of juice from the godfruit’s flesh. This far up in the mountains, away from the capital city of Karduniash, and near the ring of devastation the nobles called the Blasted Lands, her master would waste none of the magical juice.

Kisare spun at her sister’s cough, but not fast enough. She had forgotten to clean the spade while watching.

Aricaba-Ata’s backhanded swipe caught her across the face and she fell to the ground, her head bouncing. “Be on your way, girl,” he huffed.

Kisare put a finger to her split lip and made the mistake of raising her eyes. This time the blow laid her flat out, darkening her vision.

She scrambled to her knees, slightly dizzy, but kept her gaze down. She probed a loose tooth with her tongue. What had he said? His blow had knocked the sense from her.

“I’ll—I’ll clean the birthing room now, by your leave, master.” Bel’s hand gripped her sleeve, supporting. Aricaba-Ata’s cold eyes were still on her, she knew.

“You can take Tashi’s place filling the latrines tomorrow before your other duties, to remind you not to get ideas above your place.”

She bolted, Bel close behind. The blood in her mouth and on her back were worth the secret buried under the malus tree.

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Meet the Author

William C. Tracy is a North Carolina native and a lifelong fan of science fiction and fantasy. He has a master’s in mechanical engineering, and has both designed and operated heavy construction machinery. He has also trained in Wado-Ryu karate since 2003, and runs his own dojo. He is an avid video and board gamer, a reader, and of course, a writer. In his spare time, he wrangles three cats. He and his wife enjoy putting their pets in cute little costumes and making them cosplay for the annual Christmas card.

He is the author of the Dissolutionverse, about a series of homeworlds connected by music-based magic instead of space flight.

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elements, family drama, Fantasy, ghosts, Lesbian, LGBT, magic users, other-world, sisters, Slave, spirits, Trans
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Apr 22

Book Blitz: A Summer’s Day: Shakespearean Anthology with a Twist by Various Authors (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: A Summer’s Day: Shakespearean Anthology with a Twist

Author: Various Authors

Publisher: Self – Published

Release Date: August 12, 2016

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 115 K (12 short stories)

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Young Adult

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Synopsis

We’re celebrating Shakespeare’s legacy with this collection of 12 stories based on his works and the way they are often woven into our lives. The twist is that all stories are MM. There are modern retellings of some plays, interpretations of others and one of the sonnets, and delightful referencing of anything Shakespeare.

There is gentle YA romance next to hot sexy stories and all kinds of relationships – first love, May/December, interracial, second chances, happy endings and even a tragic one.

We’re traveling from Ancient Rome through Renaissance England to modern day UK, Venice Beach and other places in USA, Vancouver and Havana.

There’s fun, drama, tears, angst, joy and, above all, lots of true love.

DEEPER THAN DID EVER PLUMMET SOUND
Rory Ni Coileain
Clarence Limont is a slowly fading star of the London stage; convinced his great performances are all behind him, he nevertheless agrees to play Prospero in an off-off-Broadway production of The Tempest helmed by an old friend.
Jaymes Stafford is the production’s starry-eyed Ariel, waking feelings Clarence had thought long dead and buried.
But the poisonous jealousy of other members of the cast may steal the stars from Jaymes’ eyes, and even put paid to Clarence’s illustrious career.
(“The Tempest”)

A FINE LINE BETWEEN
Louise Lyons
When Romeo runs into Julian on the beach, he’s the last person he wants to see as he’s grown up hating him due to his parents’ aversion to Julian’s dad.
Forced to rescue Julian from the sea, Romeo is surprised by his grudging attraction to the other young man.
When simple lust becomes something more, the pair ignore their parents’ anger, but family fights drive the lovers away from home – into a horrifying incident. Will it make the Montgomerys and the Caplins rethink their feud?
(“Romeo and Juliet”)

THE DEVIL AND THE LION
Asta Idonea
Caius Martius and Tullus Aufidius have long been enemies.
Then Martius arrives on Aufidius’ doorstep, seeking a military alliance. Aufidius accepts; however, he wishes their partnership to extend from the battlefield to the bedchamber.
His lust for Martius is one of the reasons he spares his life, but his jealousy will soon have terrible consequences.
(“Coriolanus”)

KISS ME, KADE
Nephy Heart
Kade is in trouble, negotiating a dangerous path between an authoritarian father and wayward sister.
Then Pete storms into his life and tries to take over.
It can only end in disaster.
(“Taming of The Shrew”)

IF MUSIC BE…
Charlie Cochrane
Rick Cowley finds himself taking up am-dram once more, thinking it’ll help him get over the death of his partner.
He’d never anticipated it would mean an encounter with an old flame and the sort of emotional complications the Bard would have reveled in.
Still, old Will had the right word for every situation, didn’t he?
(“Twelfth Night”)

TWO GUYS FROM VANCOUVER
Dianne Hartsock
Valentine has been watching Preston date man after man with never more than a brotherly hug for him.
Finally, despairing that Preston will ever love him in return, Val moves away to college, where he meets the glorious Silver, a man with problems of his own, who just might be his answer.
Torn between his attraction to Preston and his growing desire for Silver, Val wonders if he’ll ever find love or will his life become as tragic as any of the Shakespearean plays he loves so well.
(“The Two Gentlemen of Verona”)

WHEN I LOVE THEE NOT
Rian Durant
Desmond, the heir of a business owner is outed in the media after a hot night with his lover, Olvin, who also happens to be the company’s best negotiation expert.
This is only the first step in Ian’s plan to get back at Olvin for choosing Michel Caswell as a main assistant for the latest merger instead of him, a plan in which he’s moving everybody around like pawns on a chessboard, bending the rules.
Will Ian drive a wedge between Desmond and Olvin and get the position he wants or will he realize that there’s something more important that stops the world from turning into chaos?
(“Othello”)

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE BEACH
Kathy Griffith
Tony and Bartholomew have been friends for years, but his latest request is a little much.
Bart needs a loan to impress Porsche Keller, a personable billionaire, but the only cash available is from banker and raging homophobe Sherlock Palmer, who has a devious plan for them.
Will our heroes find love and get their happy ending?
(“The Merchant of Venice”)

A HERO’S LAST BATTLE
Phetra H Novak
Claudio is happy to be home after serving his country as a soldier for over fifteen years being stationed mostly abroad ready to settle down.
Hero is still living at home, together with his father, trying to do what is expected a young man his age is supposed to do, work and live every day like it is your last.
The two men meet at a family wedding, realizing they share a mutual dream of finding love and starting a family but evil lurks amongst them. Will these two lovers find a way to be together?
(“Much Ado About Nothing”)

NOTHING LIKE THE SUN
JL Merrow
Hollywood darling Jerome Winter always defined himself by his looks—until a fire destroyed them.
His oldest friend and still-loyal manager, Sam, has long carried a torch for him, but with his looks—and earning power—gone, what does Jerome have left to offer?
(Sonnet 130)

THE SUN OF TOMORROW
M. LeAnne Phoenix
When actor Koray Shepherd rescues writer Winter Sirois from the brutal hands of his supervisor, Winter never would have believed the beautiful Turk would share his love of The Bard.
When Koray asks Winter out on a date, Winter takes center stage in his very own tragedy, determined to end his play for today with a happily ever after.
Screwing his courage to the sticking place, Winter sets his sights on the future and Koray… but when the horrors of yesterday resurface, will he crest the waves of fear and despair, or will he be heard no more?
(“Macbeth”)

MUCH ADO ABOUT LADY MACBETH
Rebecca Cohen
Competition for roles is always high when the King’s Men put on a play, but David seems to come up against Jacob time and time again, no matter what part he is auditioning for.
But now they both want to be Lady Macbeth and it’s more than simple rivalry that causes the sparks to fly.
(Shakespeare’s Theatre)

And as all the world’s a stage we do hope that one day very soon all the world will be a place for everybody to love whomever they want to love and feel safe.

All proceeds of this collection go to the It Gets Better Project. By reading this book you become part of the hope for a better future of the LGBT youth.

Purchase at Amazon

Excerpts

A Fine Line Between by Louise Lyons

“I’m sorry.” I never thought I’d say such a thing to him, but as I listened to him, I wondered why we’d despised each other so much on the strength of something our parents did. We’d been little kids, just starting school, conditioned to loathe each other because of our families’ hatred.

“Not your fault, is it?” Julian’s voice shook and he moved away, initially heading toward Laura and Steve, but then changing direction.

“Hey!” I hurried after him. I caught up to him and gestured to mine and Steve’s towels. “I meant I’m sorry for being a dick. You’re right. It was never anything to do with us. I suppose listening to my dad go on about it made me feel the same. I don’t know why my parents even stayed together. They’re sort of friends, but that’s all. I think Mum just likes the security of Dad’s money. I know for a fact they’ve seen other people on and off. They don’t even try to hide it from me. Sit down.”

“Just like that? Suddenly you want to be friends?” His expression was wary.

“Hardly.” My lips twitched. “But since I saved your life, I suppose I can’t hate you that much.”

“Saved my life, bollocks. I’d have been all right.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” I grinned and sat down, surprised by my sudden change in attitude. Glancing at him, I noticed for the first time how attractive he was with his reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes. Tanned skin glistened with droplets of water and a light dusting of golden hair spread across his chest. I hadn’t seen him since high school and he’d been skinny, pimply, and ginger then.

When I Love Thee Not by Rian Durant

“Hey, was that Michael talking to Des in the garden?”

Ian had managed to take Olvin right on time to a spot where he could see the two talking, but it seemed Michael had seen them as well and promptly took his leave. Which, of course, made him look even more guilty.

“Yes, I think it was but why would he steal away like that?

“Hm!”

The sound made the Cuban turn around and stare at him.

“What was that about?”

He paused dramatically, and gazed again at Desmond who had taken his book and looked as innocent as new fallen snow.

“Tell me, did Michael know you had an affair with Des before the… you know, before everybody found out?”

Clearly, the man didn’t like being reminded of this and winced before replying.

“Yes, he knew. I even asked Michael to give him a present and chocolates from me once or twice as he lives closer to their house and could see him more often while we were hiding.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Why?”

He looked at the Cuban who seemed utterly confused. He’d never seen him like this with the meanest experts in negotiations, with those who were capable of convincing you to sell yourself by the small print in their contracts and make you tie a ribbon around your head for their pleasure. He was swift and efficient in curbing their desires to trick him, but now he was lost.

“Why, think for a minute.”

Two Guys from Vancouver by Dianne Hartsock

VAL TOOK A long drink from the thermos, enjoying the cool bite of lemon and vodka on his tongue, the alcohol content exactly enough to send a pleasant tingle along limbs already lethargic from hours in the sun and sea air.

“Hey, share.”

“Sure.” Val handed over the bottle, his gaze lingering on his best friend, his heart rushing. Preston’s skin was bronzed from months in the summer sun, his board shorts hugging muscular thighs and the large cock Val knew lay hidden under the bright fabric. He wanted to lick a path down Preston’s glistening chest, knowing he’d taste of sweat and sea salt.

Preston swallowed a mouthful of the Lemon Drop and sputtered, laughing as he licked the stray drops from his lips. “Shit! That stuff’s potent.”

A shiver ran through Val. If he moved only a few inches he could be kissing the mouth that had been driving him wild all summer. And by the gleam in Preston’s brown eyes, he wouldn’t object, either. A shout on the still air shattered Val’s dream and he pulled away, scowling at the bottle Preston handed back to him. Julian approached them up the beach; Preston’s latest boyfriend, lithesome, lightly tanned, with gorgeous blond hair cascading to his shoulders.

Val hated him. Problem was, Julian was great, always laughing, genuinely kind. If it wasn’t for the fact he was fucking Preston, they would most likely be good friends. Julian plopped down beside Preston and Val sighed. Probably for the best he was moving from Vancouver to Portland in the morning. The two cities were only nine miles apart, but it would take him out of Preston’s orbit.

Much Ado About Lady Macbeth by Rebecca Cohen

SURELY DAVID WAS not the only one who could see Jacob’s complete lack of talent. Jacob might be pretty enough to pass as Juliet, in the right light and squinting, but the minute the petulant popinjay opened his mouth his ineptitude had to be clear to all. How Jacob had ever become a player in the King’s Men was beyond David’s comprehension. He seethed quietly to himself as he watched Jacob prance from one side of the stage to the other, supposedly a sprightly fairy but looking more like he was suffering from ague. David clicked his tongue in annoyance as Jacob fumbled his words.

A soft sigh to his right made him turn to see his friend Gwilliam shake his head. “What?” David demanded.

“You grind your teeth so loudly I thought it was a carpenter at work. Yet, the reason for it is so absurd you cannot see the ridiculousness from where you are, deep in your cave of wilful denial.”

“Denial? What gibberish knots your tongue?”

Gwilliam tutted and returned to reading the pamphlet he was holding. “Your animosity for Jacob is no more real than the fairy he is currently playing.”

David spluttered, almost swallowing his tongue at the implication of Gwilliam’s words. A “shush” from the stage prevented him from answering and he sank lower in his seat, his gaze fixed on the annoying Jacob and his annoyingly perfect bottom. David couldn’t grumble about the importance of his role, but thought he should be playing Titania, not the dull-witted Helena. A pining maiden was no match for the queen of the fairies.

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Apr 22

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

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Destructive Forces

Series: The Galactic Captains, Book Four

Author: Harry F. Rey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 22, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 70400

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

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Synopsis

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

Destructive Forces
Harry F. Rey © 2019
All Rights Reserved

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go,” said another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go.”

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

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

“Hurl her inside. That’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is my son?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

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Meet the Author

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

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

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

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Starting From Zero

Series: Starting From Series, Book 1

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Original Release Date: April 15

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Narrator: Michael Pauley

Length: 7 hrs and 8 mins

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

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Synopsis

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s no such thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

“I…I’m not sure. Is this okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Meet the Author

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

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Bookbub

Meet the Narrator

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

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

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

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Apr 15

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

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: New Girl

Series: Collegiate Curves Series

Author: A. Fae

Publisher: A. Fae

Release Date: 4/15/19

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23k

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

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Synopsis

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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Meet the Author

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

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Apr 15

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

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: I Knew Him

Author: Abigail de Niverville

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 15, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69600

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

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Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

I Knew Him
Abigail de Niverville © 2019
All Rights Reserved

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

8:00 PM: I’m sorry.

9:17 PM: I know you’re awake.

9:20 PM: Please answer my calls.

10:00 PM: At least check your voicemail.

10:47 PM: Julian?

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

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

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

I still love you.

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” I said warily.

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

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

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

“I have a girlfriend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are you??

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

Get over here. We got school.

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

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

Straight.

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

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

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

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

“Jules!”

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

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

I shrugged. “Thinking.”

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

I nodded and didn’t elaborate.

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t want to.”

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

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

Happiness didn’t seem to be an option.

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

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

“Okay. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

“To school? Why?”

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

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

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

And then, he was out.

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

No one could.

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Meet the Author

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

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

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

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Playing Around

Series: Rough Play, Book One

Author: Suzanne Clay

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 15, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84600

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

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Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

Playing Around
Suzanne Clay © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Logan

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

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

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

“Lazy ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, go ahead, spell it out.”

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

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

“I’ll be stealing your girl first.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

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

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

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

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

“Then you sit your ass on the floor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couch,” Christian said with a certain smugness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Christian stared at him for a few seconds.

They both started to snicker.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

“I won,” Christian said with a smirk.

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

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

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

“Weenie.”

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daiki?” Christian asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going home after this was going to feel fucking weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Finally.”

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

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

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

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Title: Moonstruck

Author: Aleksandr Voinov & LA Witt

Publisher: 44 Raccoons

Release Date: 12 April 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 95,000

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

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Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

I need to know the face behind this book.

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

Anthony opened his email and quickly wrote out a message.

SirM,

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

Ulf

Before he could think twice, he hit Send.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how’s the book going?” she asked.

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

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

“Have you eaten yet?”

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

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

“I’m too wired. I’ll make tea?”

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

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

“So, planning a long night?”

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

“You getting anywhere with that book?”

Anthony groaned.

Chas laughed. “Still?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“I …”

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Bullshit it is.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

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

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

Chas blinked. “Intimidated? Why?”

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

“And how likely do you think that is?”

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

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

“Don’t even say it.”

“Say what?”

He glared, and she smothered a laugh.

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

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

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

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

SirMarrok.

Holding his breath, he tapped the message.

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

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

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

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

“It is not a date.”

“Why not?”

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

She snorted. “Or maybe twice your age?”

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

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

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

Chas studied him. “You get lonely sometimes.”

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

She waved a hand. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No competition from the lone pomegranate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Meet the Author

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

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

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

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

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

Public Contact Email: vashtan@gmail.com
Website: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aleksandr.voinov.12
Twitter: https://twitter.com/vashtan
Goodreads Author Profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3074905.Aleksandr_Voinov
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Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/aleksandrvoinov
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And as all the world’s a stage we do hope that one day very soon all the world will be a place for everybody to love whomever they want to love and feel safe.

All proceeds of this collection go to the It Gets Better Project. By reading this book you become part of the hope for a better future of the LGBT youth.

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