Mar 11

New Release Blitz: Hearts of Fire by Kay Doherty (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Hearts of Fire

Series: Chevalier, Book One

Author: Kay Doherty

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: March 11, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 40100

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, wolf shifters, dragon shifters, bonded mates, Elementals, businessmen

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Luca Duray has been quite happy living a solitary existence for decades. But when a steel trap around his leg catches him when he’s weak and hungry, his life is irrevocably changed. He knows the wolf shifter who offers him assistance is more than he appears and immediately makes plans to keep the pup close.

Disowned by his pack for being gay, Tanner McBane is forced to become a lone wolf. While on a hunt, he stumbles upon an injured dragon shifter and provides aid. It’s not easy surviving on his own and when money gets tight, he finds himself face-to-face with the dragon shifter once again during an interview. Tanner isn’t sure a wolf should be working for a dragon, but he accepts the job and unknowingly creates a bond to his new boss. Soon, Tanner learns Luca isn’t just his boss—he’s his mate.

The mating of a wolf and dragon shifter is uncharted territory for both Luca and Tanner, but they are determined to make it work despite widespread prejudice, death threats, and the untraditional pack Tanner finds himself leading. Tanner only hopes that the bond he forms with Luca will prove to be unbreakable.

Excerpt

Hearts of Fire
Kay Doherty © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
TANNER

Tanner McBane ran hard, expertly leaping over rocks and dodging trees as he pushed his body to maximum speed. His paws dug into the ground, kicking up the leaves and dirt of the forest floor behind him. He wasn’t on the hunt. He wasn’t trying to outrun an enemy. The demons chasing him were internal. Tanner was the McBane-pack-Alpha’s son, or at least he was until a week ago.

He had been raised to be the pack’s next leader. He had believed the pack would always be there for him; that they’d have his back. He’d certainly expected his mother to stand by him, but the good Alpha mate she was, she’d remained silent about everything as she stood at his father’s side. His mother’s docile nature annoyed him. Tanner was determined to find a mate who wasn’t afraid to speak up.

Pack bond, loyalty, and respect were solid as long as Tanner had remained exactly like them. As soon as he’d stood up to his father, told him he was gay, and he wanted a male to mate, he’d been disowned. The entire pack turned their backs on him. He was hurt, afraid, and pissed as hell. He was also very much alone with no one but himself to rely on. Tanner learned he liked that. He made his own rules, did his own thing, and he was happy. All he needed was someone to share his life with. Now that he was officially a lone wolf, he could search for the mate he truly wanted, not just settle for whomever his father chose.

Tanner’s need for a mate had been the catalyst for his disownment. He’d announced his sexuality so his father would stop choosing female shifters for him. His father had wanted to find him a mate the minute Tanner had turned eighteen, but Tanner managed to hold him off for a few years. Apparently, twenty-two years old was the limit his father tolerated. He’d been set up with a new female almost weekly until Tanner finally had enough and announced his homosexuality. He no longer needed to worry about his father’s erroneous choices.

A loud, resonating roar of pain ripped through the night. Tanner skidded to a halt, claws digging into the dirt, nose in the air, and ears pricked to the sky. Pinpointing where the scream originated from in the dense forest was tricky. The breeze carried only silence and the faintest scent of smoke and blood. Tanner followed the scent, picking his way silently over the undergrowth, careful not to disturb anything. Heavy breathing interrupted by a growl that rapidly escalated into a roar of frustration once again echoed through the night and led Tanner closer.

Tanner stopped and hunkered down when he came within sight of the scream’s owner. A man struggled on the ground with a large bear trap clamped around his calf. A few inches lower and the massive metal teeth might have severed the man’s foot at the ankle. The scent of blood was strong, but what was noticeably missing was the scent of fear. The man was angry. He was frustrated. But he wasn’t afraid, and that intrigued Tanner. He moved closer, keeping his attention locked on the stranger. His paw landed on a pile of dried leaves, and the man’s head swung to face him. Pain twisted the man’s handsome features, but his gaze was fierce as he stared at Tanner.

Tanner blinked but remained absolutely still. This man…he wasn’t human. He didn’t smell human, and he didn’t act human, but he was amazingly beautiful. Dark-blond hair hung limply over his tanned forehead and curled slightly at his ears. Dark-brown eyes zeroed in on Tanner and narrowed menacingly.

“Come here, pup,” the man growled through elongated fangs.

The man’s voice rumbled, coming from deep within his chest. Tanner took a step back. This man shouldn’t need his help. He was another shifter, and worse, he was a dragon shifter. From his disheveled, fatigued appearance and the fact the bear trap’s teeth were still snuggly buried in his leg, he was a substantially weakened dragon, but still dangerous. Knowing just because the dragon shifter had a steel trap on his leg didn’t mean he was helpless, Tanner backed away without breaking eye contact. The dragon slowly disappeared from view as Tanner moved deeper into the surrounding trees. Once out of sight, Tanner turned and ran.

“Come back and help me, or I will hunt you down and eat you for dinner, you pathetic dog,” the dragon yelled.

The insult was cut off by an agonized scream that filled the night. The shifter must have moved the wrong way and jarred the trap. Tanner wasn’t strong enough in human form to remove the trap, and as a wolf with paws, instead of fingers, he was useless. If the dragon was stronger, he would be able to free himself. Helping a dragon shifter regain his strength was a dangerous proposition. All paranormals knew dragons and wolves didn’t get along well. Tanner often wondered why and considered asking his father on several occasions, but he’d never followed through. Ethan McBane was not one who enjoyed being questioned.

Tanner located the herd of deer he’d been following and hunting over the past week. Dragons weren’t picky eaters, especially when in such a weakened state. Tanner wasn’t all that educated when it came to other shifters, but he vaguely remembered being told dragons preferred their prey be alive until they ate it. With that in mind, he took down a female deer that smelled sick, making sure the wound was debilitating, but not fatal, and dragged her back to the dragon.

Tanner tugged the heavy deer through the trees into the small clearing where the shifter lay. It had been more than an hour since he’d left to hunt for food for the man. The dragon appeared even more weakened by the time Tanner returned, no doubt from the continuous blood loss he was suffering. The man rolled his head toward Tanner and licked his lips as the scent of blood reached him. He pushed up onto his elbows, teeth elongating and eyes swirling gold, as Tanner pulled the still-struggling deer closer.

“You brought me dinner. Aren’t you a good pup,” the dragon shifter said.

He latched onto the deer’s leg with surprising force and pulled the animal closer to himself. Tanner growled, deep and low, baring his teeth as he backed away. Even in a weakened state, this dragon was powerful and dangerous. Plus, Tanner didn’t like being called pup. He was a young wolf shifter, twenty-two years old, but he was far from a puppy who needed protecting. The fact he was capable of sustaining himself and feeding an injured, bleeding dragon was proof enough.

The dragon wrapped a strong arm around the deer’s body while the other gripped the head. The animal struggled as the shifter sank his teeth into the neck, snapping it in a swift death blow, and then began to feast. Tanner backed away another few feet, well out of reach, and wondered if he should leave now or wait. He knew, once the dragon had fresh meat to strengthen him, he’d pry the metal trap from his leg on his own. Tanner wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere nearby when the man was free, especially after seeing him tear into the deer carcass as if it were paper. When most of the deer meat was gone, the dragon pulled away, blood dripping from his fangs and covering his chin and neck.

Tanner watched from his crouched position among the trees as the dragon closed his eyes, turned his face upward, and the blood soaked into his skin. When the shifter’s eyes found Tanner, they shined a brighter gold and not a drop of blood marred his perfect skin. The dragon pushed the remainder of the carcass away and turned his attention to his leg. Gripping the thick, saw-toothed edge of the trap, he forced it open as he let out a loud roar.

Tanner jumped to his feet, ready to run at a moment’s notice, as the man steadily pulled the sharp teeth from his skin and removed his leg from the iron. He threw the trap into the woods, and Tanner heard the thud as it landed dozens of feet away, testament to the dragon’s renewed power. Tanner’s gaze was glued to the dragon’s leg as the wounds knitted themselves back together. Tanner had an accelerated rate of healing as well, but the wounds the dragon had suffered would have taken Tanner days to heal, assuming he’d been able to free himself in the first place. Tanner lifted his gaze to the dragon’s face. His eyes had returned to their deep, rich brown, but his hair was damp with perspiration, the curl more pronounced, hanging wetly around his face. The man had incredible strength, but the effort of removing the trap had taken a toll.

Distant voices floated on the breeze and Tanner’s ears pricked. The dragon’s acute hearing picked them up as well. He rolled to his knees into a crouch, ready to pounce, his fangs once again elongating, preparing for a fight. Tanner flattened his ears to his head and tucked his tail, his lips curling up to reveal fangs of his own. He bent his knees, the muscles in his legs ready to launch him whichever direction was required. Three men burst through the foliage, rifles in hand.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Kay lives in Colorado with her husband and their animal children. Family is important to her so there are weekly visits to her parents and frequent text messages with her brothers. She has a severe addiction to coffee and Mexican food. She loves to read and write and can easily become consumed by it for hours, much to the dismay of the husband and dogs. On occasion, she can be convinced to venture out into world of the living.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Mar 09

Book Blitz: Forlorn by Elvira Bell (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Forlorn

Series: Wavesongs #2

Author: Elvira Bell

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: March 9, 2019

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 97300 words

Genre: Romance, age gap, historical, pirates, adventure, m/m romance, gay

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Nick Andrews is back in England. He is a broken man, living on the streets and trying to cope with everything he’s been through. Nick thinks that his life is over, but then Tom comes along. Tom, who is handsome and wealthy and intent on making his acquaintance.

Nick ends up as Tom’s valet, a position that brings him to the remote estate of Ravensleigh. At Ravensleigh, he soon realizes that Tom and his family have a past laden with shadows. Nick regrets coming there, but at the same time finds it harder and harder to resist Tom’s advances.

Then one night, a stranger arrives at Ravensleigh. And Nick’s world is turned upside down once more.

Warning: This book ends with a cliffhanger. The series as a whole will have a HEA ending.

Please note that the books in the Wavesongs series should be read in chronological order!

Excerpt

Two nights later, Arlington returns to the coffee house. He doesn’t show up until late—half an hour before closing he saunters in and sits himself down close to the fireplace. He takes a long look around the room, removing his hat and straightening the black ribbon holding the curls of his wig together at the neck. There’s only one other customer left, so Nick isn’t busy. He has no excuses.

“Just a little,” Arlington says as Nick starts pouring him coffee. “Too much of this late in the evenings and I get no sleep until morning.” He smiles. “How about you, Mr. Andrews? Is coffee to your taste?”

Nick looks down at his hands. “No.”

“How expected!” Arlington chuckles. His fingertips run over the brim of the cup, tracing the edge. “Have you tried it? Surely Mr. Goodall has offered you some?”

“Don’t want to,” Nick mutters, and hurries away. When he enters the back room with some dirty dishes Goodall is there, rummaging for something in a cupboard. The room is dim, and so small that there’s barely space for both of them.

“No good, that one,” Goodall says under his breath. As if Nick didn’t know already that Mr. Arlington is no good.

“Why?”

Goodall is quiet for a moment. “Oh, it’s rumors,” he says at last, getting to his feet. “Nothing for a young boy like you to hear.”

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

Elvira Bell lives in Sweden and spends most of her time writing, reading or watching movies. Her weaknesses include, but are not limited to: vintage jazz, musicals, kittens, oversized tea cups, men in suits, the 18th century, and anything sparkly.

Elvira writes m/m fiction with a touch of romance and has a penchant for historical settings. She adores all things gothic and will put her characters through hell from time to time because she just loves watching them suffer. It makes the happy endings so much sweeter, after all.

Website | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Leave comment

Mar 04

New Release Blitz: The Sun and Moon beneath the Stars by K. Parr (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: The Sun and Moon beneath the Stars

Author: K. Parr

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: March 4, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 82700

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy, LGBT, YA, Fantasy, F/F, Sweet Romance, Adventure, Sword and Sorcery

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

After being orphaned and forced to work as a palace slave, fifteen-year-old Rasha decides to end her life, but when she plunges a knife into her chest, she doesn’t die. Instead, a strange, icy power possesses her. The last time it took over, someone got hurt, and Rasha can’t let that happen again.

But she’s got bigger problems. Her twin brother is alive, yet held captive by Solaris, a powerful sorcerer. When Rasha runs into Adriana, the selfish princess she once served, they discover Solaris is a common enemy since he destroyed the palace and kidnapped Adriana’s parents.

Together, Rasha and Adriana set out on a rescue mission. Personalities clash and tempers flare, but other feelings surface as well, feelings neither girl could have predicted.

And with the help of a ragtag group of companions, they might just be able to succeed on their quest…until an ancient evil emerges to wreak vengeance on their world.

Excerpt

The Sun and Moon Beneath the Stars
K. Parr © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Rasha’s knife glinted in the moonlight, sending a reflective beam skittering across the waves. The Sea of Mishal crashed to shore and tugged at her skirts while her feet remained buried in the silt. She didn’t register the cold of the water, nor the grittiness of the sand, and though her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her focus remained on the knife quivering in her grasp.

Eight years ago to the day, Rasha had washed ashore on this very beach and begun her new life as an orphan, an outsider.

And now was the perfect time to end it.

A salty breeze tossed black hair into her eyes, and she blinked away the stinging strands. Her cloak and dress flapped, heavier at the hems where water soaked through. She tightened her hold on the knife, though the calluses on her hands prevented her from feeling the smooth ivory or polished silver. She’d spent most of her life washing utensils for the royal family, and it’d been easy to smuggle this one into the pocket of her servant’s uniform.

In the distance, Rasha imagined the twinkling lights of her homeland, the island of Kcharma. Even though her people had cast her out, she refused to waste her last breath among those who reviled her simply for being Numenarkan. Eight years of punishment was enough. She’d served her penance and would join her family in the afterlife. She prayed whatever gods existed would allow her that much, at least.

Rasha tilted the knife so the tip pressed beneath her sternum, angled up toward her heart. She inhaled a shaky breath and drew back the weapon, visualizing the arc from air to flesh. She couldn’t miss.

She closed her eyes. The waves crashed.

She plunged the knife into her chest.

For an instant, blinding, searing pain screamed through every nerve in her body.

And then…nothing.

Rasha opened her eyes. The hilt of the knife protruded from her chest, but no blood pooled, as if she’d stabbed a doll, only she couldn’t breathe.

An icy sensation started in her toes, and the tingling numbness spread up through her calves, then her thighs. The cold froze her pelvis and stomach and locked her arms to her sides. She trembled and fought the feeling, envisioning warmth, but it was too late. The ice darkened her vision, and she remembered.

When the ice first claimed her long ago, she and her family were banished.

Now, right before the cold wormed its way into her mind, her last thought was fear over who she would hurt this time.

Princess Adriana ven Kerrick slept fitfully. She tossed and turned on silken sheets but couldn’t get comfortable. Her nightgown bunched beneath her, and she smoothed it with a quick tug.

Tomorrow she turned sixteen, and her father would officially name her heir apparent. All her training prepared her for this, but doubt still rankled, not at her own performance, but at her father’s approval. Over the years, he’d displayed obvious disappointment over the miscarriages of her siblings, yet spared little more than a nod to his only living child. Did he not want Adriana to succeed him?

Queen Estelle, who had only a few hours ago plaited Adriana’s long, white-blonde hair into a loose braid, assured Adriana her fears were unfounded. King Romulet loved his daughter and was proud of all she had accomplished in her studies. She would make an excellent ruler.

Adriana shifted onto her back and let out a frustrated sigh.

Strange thunder crashed, causing her whole bedframe to quiver. Adriana shot up, wide awake. The palace rumbled and shook on its foundation. The candles the servant lit before bed flickered eerily against the stone walls of her room. The glass windowpanes rattled in their frames.

She shivered in the abruptly still air. The commotion was probably an earthquake, or perhaps an accident in the kitchens. Unless…

Adriana threw off the sheets and pulled on slippers. Just as she stood, her bedroom door flew open. Queen Estelle marched into the room, breathing hard. Her own white-blonde hair flew about her face, and she wore a thin robe over her nightclothes.

“Adriana, come. We must hurry.” The queen grabbed Adriana’s hand and dragged her into the corridors. Servants scrambled around in confusion, their voices low.

“What’s going on?” Adriana demanded as they darted through the halls.

“It’s Solaris. He’s finally attacked.”

Adriana gasped. Distantly, people screamed, and metal clanged. Smoke billowed in the corridors and lodged in her throat. She coughed at the burning sensation.

Queen Estelle pushed through the throngs of people toward the western wing, where the guest suites were located. They were empty now, as they had always been. The smoke thickened around them, black and roiling.

“Head down,” the queen said.

They ducked beneath the smoke, their footsteps muffled on the carpeted floors. Scuffles broke out far behind them, back near Adriana’s room, and shouts echoed.

Adriana trembled. Her eyes stung with smoke. The torches were sporadically lit, many having burned to the last nub from neglect. In the darkness, the walls closed in on her, and her gaze jumped from shadow to shadow, wary of attackers.

At another concussive explosion, Adriana fell forward into her mother, who steadied them both against the wall beneath a dying torch.

“What’s happening?” Adriana asked again.

Queen Estelle wound an arm around Adriana’s shoulders and squeezed. She spoke in a quiet yet firm voice. “Solaris is a mage.”

“But how? I thought the war eliminated them.”

The weak torchlight accentuated the hollows on the queen’s face. “Magic was lost, but not gone.”

“But Solaris—? The rumors are true?”

Was Solaris Numenarkan, then? No matter what Adriana’s people did, the Numenarkans would never lift their ancient grudge, and now they had a powerful mage on their side.

The queen shook her head. “We don’t know if he’s Numenarkan.”

“Then how do you know he’s the one attacking us?”

“Because he said he would.” Her jaw clenched. “Your father crumpled up the missive and threw it into the fire.”

“What does he want?”

Her mother’s eyes shone. She shook her head. “There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I was too afraid. And I wasn’t sure…” She inhaled a bracing breath. “It didn’t work on your siblings—they were born without life. I couldn’t give them what they’d never had.”

“What are you talking about?”

The queen gripped Adriana’s hands. “Magic runs in your veins, Adriana. Strong magic. But to use it, you will need to make a choice.” She paused. “And you’re not ready to do that yet.”

A shiver of fear lanced down Adriana’s back, even as confusion crowded her mind.

The queen said no more and turned on her heel. Adriana could do nothing but follow her down the dark, winding corridors. The booms increased until the whole palace quivered. The floor rolled like the ocean, and Adriana staggered on unsteady legs. At the far western corner, Queen Estelle pressed a tiny, diamond-shaped knob on the wall. A slab of stone shifted to reveal a secret staircase.

“You must go.” She pushed Adriana toward the opening. “The stairs will lead you to a tunnel you can take to Veltina Forest. When you get out, run.”

Adriana drew up short, feeling cold. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I need to protect your father. He doesn’t know about his gift, and Solaris will do anything to claim it.”

“What gift?” Adriana’s voice was faint, like it wasn’t her own. “No, please. Don’t go.”

The queen smiled tightly and stroked Adriana’s face. “You come from strong bloodlines on both sides.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to Adriana’s forehead. “I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“No!” Adriana fisted her mother’s robe in her hands, but the queen pried her fingers loose.

“We will meet again. I promise.”

They both tensed at the nearby clatter of metal.

“I love you. Now go!” Queen Estelle shoved her, and Adriana fell backward into the opening. She yelled just as the slab pressed closed, sealing her in absolute darkness.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

K. Parr earned her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in 2017. She currently works as a youth services librarian in Rhode Island, where she writes romances celebrating love in all shapes and forms.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

adventure, F/F, Fantasy, LGBT, Sweet Romance, Sword and Sorcery, YA
Leave comment

Mar 04

New Release Blitz: Horizon Points by Harry F. Rey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Horizon Points

Series: The Galactic Captains, Book Three

Author: Harry F. Rey

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: March 4, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 46400

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, sci-fi, futuristic, war, space, war of worlds

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

The problems of the Outer Verge are stacking up for Ales, now a commander of the Union fleet. From rebellious priests on Jansen to terrifying rips in space sucking matter out into the unknown, not to mention jealous lovers scattered across space, Ales is pulled in infinite directions. Disrupting the Galactic Balance isn’t so simple, and Admiral Turo is also a hard man to please.

While trying to secure a crucial trade deal on the heterosapien world of Nelu, Ales struggles to ignore the stark inequalities cutting through life in the galaxy. If he’s not fighting for a future free from the horrors that blighted his past, what’s the point of living?

With the Outer Verge bitterly divided and factions readying for war, the new horizons Ales dreamed of feel galaxies away.

Excerpt

Horizon Points
Harry F. Rey © 2019
All Rights Reserved

I woke with a stretch, trying to catch the fraying edges of a hot, summery dream about my lost home-world, Teva. Then the straining sensation of my cock pushing against its citanium cage kicked in, a daily reminder of my submission to Turo, and to the Union for which he stands. Swapping my freedom to save the frozen world of Jansen had made me an accomplice to Turo’s attempts to bend the galaxy’s Outer Verge to his green-eyed will.

The cage has some give; it flexes when I’m soft and relaxed, so much so that I can barely even feel it when walking around. But in the mornings, when the curse of male biology hits, I’m reminded of its presence. Turo might be on the other side of the Outer Verge, or the other side of the galaxy for all I know, but part of him is always with me. Reminding me, he’s in control.

Even when I’m not caged, I act as if I am; not touching the area, not sleeping on my front; imagining my own relief coming only from subservience to others. Admiral Turo constantly reminds me I’m nothing but a receptacle. A hole for his pleasure, a slave to his desires. Although when I’m not chained up in his private quarters on the ship, like today, I’m Commander Ales of the Union, tasked with difficult negotiations on the heterosapien world of Nelu. We need their minerals for our STAR drive, but their planet is still stubbornly aligned with the Trades Council. Simply being here could get me killed. Get us killed, as my security guard Yovnan kept reminding me.

“Commander, are you ready?” Came the sound of Captain Yovnan’s voice accompanied by a knock on the wooden door.

“One minute,” I called back; although it was hardly a door, he could probably see right over it if he stood on his tiptoes. See me lying here naked on the soft rugs piled on the wooden floor, a silvery metal cage around my cock, in contrast to my night-black skin, a still unusual sight in the cold worlds of the Verge. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if Yovnan saw me; in fact, I’d rather hoped to turn that stiff, professional, former-corporation-turned-Union officer into one of the small but growing number of men in Union-blue uniforms who were happy to use me. Although the time I had to turn him was quickly running out.

I reached over to the pile of clothes on the floor and grabbed my wrist-tech. The thin silvery metal melded to my wrist, coming alive with a flurry of updates and messages.

I checked the news bursts. Turo’s upcoming negotiations hadn’t even made the top story headlines.

Memorial service for Premier Forden planned on Matraenus Majora

Vexta Corporation considering abandoning moon base due to ongoing economic crisis

Trades Council and Union to open fresh round of talks aimed at resolving crisis

I tapped the third one.

The bitter dispute between the Trades Council and upstart Union that has crippled the Vergian economy is to be the focus of high-level discussions in the coming days. The Union of the Outer Verge, which previously provided security services for the Trades Council, seized control of the Jansen system a year ago. Since then, nearly half the systems in the Outer Verge have fallen under its orbit, precipitating the most serious political and economic crisis for the Outer Verge in living memory.

I closed the story, about all the Standard Galactic I could read at once. More messages from Franx:

Ales, he’s not come home in 2 days. What’s going on?

Ales, I’m worried. Can you answer me already? Why are you ignoring me???

Answer me!!

I swiped the messages away, pushing the problems on Targuline to the back of my mind. I eyed my black trousers and thin white T-shirt, more than enough for the sweltering Neluian heat. They were the clothes I used to wear, all that time ago before putting on the blue tunic. On this mission, though, we were incognito. Trades Council spies could be anywhere, and although the Vexans were allegedly interested in switching sides, the presence of two brazen Union officials on Nelu would shatter the uneasy truce between the Union and the Trades Council and most likely plunge the Outer Verge into all-out war.

Purchase

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

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.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Futuristic, LGBT, Sci-Fi, space, war, war of worlds
Leave comment

Mar 04

New Release Blitz: Abundance by Emmalynn Spark (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Abundance

Author: Emmalynn Spark

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: March 4, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 54900

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, Sci-fi, gay, bi, new world, grief, futuristic

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Alex is part of Earth’s last hope: a crew member on a ship sent out from a dying planet, wishing for a second chance. He wakes from his cryo pod to find destruction. Their mission has failed, he and his commander, Luke Belka, are the only ones to survive the journey.

Luke insists that help must be coming, that one of the other ships on the mission must also have reached this planet. Whether or not he’s right, they will need to survive on this lush alien planet. And maybe find happiness along the way.

Excerpt

Abundance
Emmalynn Spark © 2019
All Rights Reserved

I blinked awake groggily. Around me, there were urgent noises that I knew were important, but none of them quite caught my attention and, when I tried to twitch my arms and my legs, they weren’t moving right.

I drifted up two, three times. The last time, I was aware enough to know I was still in the pod. Still hooked up to the machine that breathed for me. Still drifting in fluid. There was an alarm. Someone should turn it off. Someone would be by shortly to let me out. I was probably low priority.

I drifted back to sleep.

I woke again.

Things were sharper this time. The alarm, for one. The mist in my brain that’d held it away was receding, and now its panicked shrieking was piercing right through. I wriggled a little, happy to find I could. My limbs were listening again, admittedly in a jerky way. I was cold, still. So cold.

Something was very, very wrong. I tried to parse it, but my brain was like cotton wool. Thoughts tripped over themselves, half started then drifted away as I tried to really bring them into focus, then danced about the corners of my mind. Something wasn’t right but it seemed distant. Surreal.

Then, slowly, one thing shifted into focus. Whatever the emergency, I shouldn’t have been left so long.

I shouldn’t have been waking up alone. The ship triggered all the pods to begin defrost when we made landfall on New Earth, but someone should have been up before me. Something should have been opening the pod for me, easing me into this new world. Command and medical were meant to be up first, then those with training to be first boots on the ground. The other science staff and I were way down the list of priorities.

Still, they’d planned for this kind of thing. I’d been trained for this. I jerked my hand out, unhappy at how erratically and clumsily it moved. Maybe it was just too soon. Maybe I should just stay in my pod.

But why the alarm? Why hadn’t anyone shut off the alarm?

Eventually, my numb and twisted fingers found the emergency release. It was a task to get them to curl around the handle, but I did, and I pulled.

There was a popping, a release, then a slightly raising of the lid above me. I reached up and shoved at it. It moved easily, sliding like it’d been closed yesterday. Of course it did, no air in space. No corrosion. But it also meant I couldn’t have been on the planet for long either, as our best guess was that New Earth had breathable air.

If it didn’t, we were all doomed anyway.

The fluid began to leak out of the cracks and I shoved at the lid again, opening it more. The movement sent jolts of pain through my limbs, the worst cramps I’d ever experienced. Of course, it did, since they hadn’t moved in a hundred years.

The liquid drained out, down. Far enough to expose my face. At least the air was warmer than the liquid. I lay still, trying to flex my hands, my feet to encourage movement back into disused muscle.

As soon as I felt I’d be able to do it without hurting myself, I reached up and grabbed the mask from my face and pulled it away. I’m not afraid to say, as much as I’m a gentleman, the first word out of my mouth was a swear word aimed at the weird stabbing pains throughout my body.

Once I’d moved the mask away and the tubes out of my nose, I sat up. This was another exercise in agony and it took far too long. It’ll be easy and painless, my ass. I knew we were being lied to all along.

When my airway was clean, I did the one thing I’d been longing to do since I woke. I screamed. Help, over and over again. Help. I’m not saying my poor, abused body screamed it loudly, but I screamed it nonetheless. Nobody came.

Somehow, I pulled myself out of the pod naked and dripping fluid. I grabbed the side of the pod and tried to force myself to my feet, but they fell out from under me, sending me crashing to the floor I tried again and didn’t even make it to my knees.

The pain was too much, and it was crowding in again making me dizzy and foggy.

The alarm was still sounding. I groaned, rolled onto my side. I could roll, at least. I curled my arms protectively around my head, pressed my hands over my eyes and gave myself the protection of darkness.

I was cold, trembling as I lay there on the floor. I was sure someone should have been by now. Someone else in the room should be awake, at least. Something was obviously very wrong. Maybe their pods had malfunctioned and right now they were all trying to get out. Maybe, by some twist of fate, I’d been the only one who’d been able to free myself.

I made myself think about that. I made myself think about people stuck in their pods, waiting for me to save them. I used the thought to push myself to my knees. The pain wasn’t as bad, but it was still there, bone-deep. The cryo should have perfectly preserved my muscle mass but I still felt wasted.

I crawled down to the bottom of the pod, using a hand on its side to guide me. When I got there, I stopped for a second and let myself breathe. It was hard to concentrate, with the alarm still yelling. I risked cracking an eyelid, but the light was almost instantly too much, my eyes too unused to any brightness. I flailed around the pod until my fingers closed on the soft cotton of my clothing, then I pulled it down onto me. A T-shirt, maybe? I draped it over my head and there, in the muted light, I managed to open my eyes.

I lay there for what felt like forever, aching and blinking against the light, but gradually my eyes adjusted. Eventually, I could lift the T-shirt out of my way and look around. Everything was still too much. My head was pounding, and my stomach was feeling more and more tender by the second.

From this angle, I could see that all the other pods were still sealed. Seven of them in this room.

I forced myself onto my knees, and my traitorous stomach did what I’d thought it might and left me heaving on the floor. Obviously, I hadn’t eaten anything, so I just spit up bile and ached, my muscles cramping with the effort of retching.

Honestly, at that point, I could have curled up on the floor and just stayed there. The last thing I wanted to do was to move. But the other pods were there right in my line of sight. Closed. Eileen, my best friend, was in her own pod in another room. She might have been trapped. Anything could have happened to her. It was glaringly obvious something was wrong, and I had to be the one to help.

I crawled across the floor to the first pod and pushed myself up to see the panel mounted on the front, the one monitoring vital signs. I hit the button to activate it.

It lit up, flashed for a second, then settled to show nothing. No heartbeat. No breathing. Nothing.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Emmalynn Spark enjoys writing, fairytales, reading, cakes and ice hockey, not necessarily in that order. She is currently studying for an MA in creative writing.

Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

bi, Futuristic, Gay, grief, LGBT, new world, Sci-Fi
Leave comment

Mar 04

New Release Blitz: Frost by Isabelle Adler (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Frost

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: March 4, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 27100

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, contemporary, post-apocalyptic, action

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

The end of the world as they knew it had come and gone, and the remnants of mankind struggle to survive in a barren landscape. Twenty-three-year-old Finn sets out on a desperate mission to scavenge for the much-needed medicine to help his sister. He knows better than to trust anyone, but when a total stranger saves him from a vicious gang, the unexpected act of kindness rekindles Finn’s lost faith in humanity.

The tentative friendship with his rescuer, Spencer, gradually turns into something more, and for the first time in years, Finn lets himself yearn for joy and hope in the dead of nuclear winter—right until Spencer goes missing.

They say love is the greatest power of all, but it seems it would take nothing short of a miracle to overcome the dangers that threaten to destroy Finn’s only chance for happiness and the lives of his loved ones.

Excerpt

Frost
Isabelle Adler © 2019
All Rights Reserved

The hospital was huge, which was both a curse and a blessing. It meant Finn had more ground to cover. But it also meant there was a bigger chance of finding anything left after the building had been raided repeatedly for drugs and equipment.

The emergency generators had long gone dead, of course. The permeating chill made refrigeration redundant, and the fact that none of it worked hardly affected the leftover medications. However, the permanent gloom made the search difficult, and Finn had to waste more batteries for the flashlight, which produced a feeble, creepy glow.

He walked down the dusty corridor, making sure to read the plaques next to the doors and entryways carefully. There, behind the next nurses’ station, was another storage room with rows upon rows of drawers with faded labels. It had clearly been looted at some point in the past—probably more than once. Most of the drawers were upturned and scattered on the floor, devoid of contents. A thick layer of dust and shattered glass from the cupboard doors covered everything, and gossamer cobwebs spanned the far corners of the room and the bare shelves.

Finn stepped inside, examining the labels by the light of his flashlight. Two years ago, he’d pilfered a few medical books from a deserted doctor’s office and had studied them religiously, so he had some basic understanding of what he needed. General stuff like analgesics were great too, but those were increasingly hard to find—not to mention the majority of the stuff he managed to score was long expired. As he’d learned from experience, the meds could still be used after their nominal expiration date, if he was careful. What would happen in a few more years was a different question, but the impetus for immediate survival rendered these questions moot. If he couldn’t scavenge what was necessary now, there might not be a future to think about.

As he’d feared, the storage room was completely ransacked. All he could find were some empty pillboxes and a few rolls of gauze that had fallen behind one of the cupboards. Finn stuffed them in his cross-body messenger bag. These always came in handy, especially the ones that were still in their sterile plastic wrappers.

As there was nothing else to be salvaged from the room, Finn continued on to the patient ward. The hospital rooms weren’t always as thoroughly searched as places designated for storage, and that meant there were still some things to be found there—personal items, medical supplies, and the occasional blister pack left behind by the bygone patients. Even things like shampoo and tubes of hand cream were useful, but he hoped to come across something more substantial.

Siobhan had been unwell these past two weeks, and that was the only reason he risked venturing out into the heart of the city where there’d been sightings of feral gangs. Nothing she’d taken so far had had any positive effect. He had to find something to make her better, to take away the awful coughing she’d been suffering from, or at least to alleviate her pain. Their own little stash of supplies had greatly diminished (they were out of Robitussin and down to their last box of ciprofloxacin), and he had to replenish that somehow before she took a turn for the worse.

The beam from his flashlight picked up upturned beds and smashed monitors. The mattresses were gone, but the utilitarian white nightstands were still there, and Finn rummaged through them, despite the sharp smell of urine and mold that seemed to have seeped into the walls. He stuffed all he could find into his bag—bottles of antiseptics, plastic tubing, boxes of Band-Aids—deciding to sort through his loot later, when he didn’t have to conserve battery life.

He recoiled as a swarm of cockroaches scampered from a lower drawer he’d opened without thinking. Must have been true what they said about the nasty buggers surviving a nuclear holocaust. The cockroaches and other critters certainly seemed to thrive where mammals were now failing. Finn shook his head ruefully at the thought and continued with his methodical search.

The window was tightly shuttered, but he could still hear the distant howling of the wind outside. The weather had grown progressively worse ever since he’d left home. He should probably head back before the storm hit or he’d be stranded here for God knew how long. Just a few more rooms, to make sure he hadn’t missed out on anything important.

As he straightened his bag and left the room, the sound of footsteps echoed somewhere farther down the hall. A few sets of them.

Finn froze. It was never a good sign. Abandoned hospitals and stores usually attracted marauders and other sorts of people he had no desire to meet with. He turned off his flashlight and edged down the corridor, away from the noise, keeping to the deeper shadows, but the footsteps were fast approaching. He ducked into the closest room, careful not to make any creaking sounds, and peered out cautiously, concealed by the partly closed door.

Three bulky silhouettes drew nearer. Geared up as they were, carrying large bags and wearing several layers of outerwear, it was hard to make out details since their lights were facing him. After a short muffled conversation, they split, going down the length of the corridor in both directions, entering and checking rooms, apparently with the same idea as Finn regarding potential pickings.

Finn cursed internally. Judging by the looks of their bags, there probably wouldn’t be anything left after they were done even if he managed to slip out unnoticed and come back again later, and there hadn’t been much to begin with. At any rate, this was definitely his cue to leave. He waited until all the looters were busy searching the rooms and tiptoed down the corridor as quietly and as fast as he could, looking for the emergency exit at the end of it.

The heavy metal door was there, beneath the smashed EXIT sign, but when he tried the handle, it clicked dryly and didn’t open. Finn cringed at the sound that was far too loud for such an empty hallway. Shit, shit, shit. He only hoped the others were too absorbed in their rummaging and making too much noise themselves to notice it.

He tried pushing the door open with his shoulder, but it didn’t budge. Maybe there was something obstructing it from the other side. After a few tries, he left the door alone and crept to the window in hopes of finding it open. The snow-covered rails of a fire escape were visible through the patterns of frost on the windowpane—a tantalizing view of a retreat route.

When he tried the opening mechanism, though, it didn’t even click. It was either frozen solid or corroded into place. Possibly both.

Oh, fuck. Finn looked around desperately, but there was no other way out that he could see. He couldn’t really hide in one of the rooms for fear of being discovered, so his only hope was to make his way back while the looters were still inside the rooms. It would be incredibly risky, but he had no other choice. He didn’t know who they were, and he preferred not to find out. He kept to the wall as he hurried along the darkened hallway back toward the nurses’ station.

It might have worked out if by some shitty luck the looters’ search of the next room wasn’t shorter than the previous ones.

“Nothing here at all,” said an annoyed voice, and then two of the three men shuffled out of the room. One of them pushed a dilapidated bed aside with a loud scrape, which diverted his attention, but the other chanced to look straight at Finn and stopped in his tracks.

“Hey!” The guy said, blinding him with the ray of his flashlight.

Finn threw his arm up to shield his eyes from the light. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, but he took advantage of their momentary surprise and bolted down the hall that led toward the ER entrance.

“Hey, you!” the same guy repeated, none too eloquently, and ran after him, joined by his two comrades. The beams of their flashlights picked random patches along the hallway ahead, dancing jerkily, but it was hardly enough to make out the way clearly. As he rounded a corner, Finn bumped into a gurney, sending it rolling on squeaking wheels and losing his footing with the impact. He went down hard, hitting his knee on the floor that was luckily clear of broken glass and other debris.

Finn hissed in pain and frustration and scrambled back to his feet, but he’d already lost precious seconds. The foremost of his pursuers grabbed Finn by the strap of his bag before he could take another step, pulling him roughly backward to face them. Finn squinted, blinded by the glaring light.

“What d’you have here?”

“Nothing. Let me go!” Finn tried to tear away from him, his heart pounding. That was one unfortunate turn of events, to put it mildly. With three against one, he had no real chance of fighting them off, even if they were unarmed, which he bet they weren’t. If he was lucky, they might take his stuff and let him go. If he wasn’t…

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Feb 25

New Release Blitz: Severed by Shona Husk (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz

Title: Severed

Series: Precinct One, Book 1

Author: Shona Husk

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 25, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male/Female (Male/Male interaction)

Length: 79600

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, alternate universe, drug use/addiction, law enforcement, dark, dystopia, doctors, wings, menage

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Halle Ish, one of Velli’s elite police Arrows, is shot down during a Precinct One riot. Wounded and unable to fly, she tries to hide and avoid capture, knowing that if she is found by the razor gangs or Clipper Sect they will sever her wings. She needs to get out of Precinct One.

Avin Lent was once a promising medical student, but he started sniffing Mumble to beat the stress and is now the doctor to one of the biggest gangs in Precinct One—while not part of the Clipper Sect, they are just as dangerous. He knows he is only as useful as his next surgery and they would have no qualms about killing him. Only Jarro is keeping him safe.

Jarro Coblic is deep under cover and has been for a year. Immersed in the gang, he suspects his hands will never be clean again. When he finds the wounded Arrow, he knows he can’t turn her over even though everyone is looking for her. With his lover’s help, they hide her and heal her wing. All the while, falling for her. He prays Avin will not crumble and reveal their secret as Jarro tries to figure out a way to get them all out of Precinct One before the Sect and the gangs bring the full wrath of Velli on Precinct One. Tearing the place down can’t come soon enough, but there will be blood before the slate can be washed clean.

Excerpt

Severed
Shona Husk © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
There was blood everywhere. Avin needed to clean the room and his instruments before the next person arrived. Real surgeons didn’t work like this. His hands shook as he scrubbed and sterilized. He was tempted to skip that step and let his patients die of infection. But if something happened, he’d start losing toes…another toe. Not his fingers though because he needed them. As long as he was useful, the Tower gang would let him live.

If this was living, this was his punishment.

He mopped the floor. No one else arrived. Perhaps the cops had moved on to a different gang territory. Ever since the Clippers and the Bridge-side gang had attacked the central courthouse in Velli, the cops had been putting the pressure on the gangs of Industrial 13. Which, in turn, put pressure on him. Spending a night sewing up arrow wounds wasn’t his idea of fun, yet it was better than the other job they’d once had him doing—cutting women’s wings so they couldn’t fly anymore. The mop slid out of his hand. His fingers struggled to grab the handle to pick it up.

He was just tired.

He’d skimped on the anesthetic for his patients and there were a couple of vials left over. He licked his lower lip, already imagining the slightly sweet tingle as he inhaled what was known as Mumble on the streets.

If the Tower boss knew he stashed it, Avin would be in trouble. But after tonight, he deserved a sniff.

Satisfied the room was clean, even though the scent of blood lingered beneath the cleaning product, Avin opened the fridge. Behind some bags of blood were two small green vials. He’d leave one for later.

He knocked over a bag of blood as he reached in. His hand shook more than usual. How long had it been since he’d last inhaled? A few days at most. The boss was careful to give him just enough to keep him hooked, but not enough to make him useless.

The vial was cold against his palm.

He shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t sleep tonight without it. He wanted to forget he was even here. If he could go back three years… He cracked the top and got his first scent of Mumble. While he couldn’t go back, he could at least numb himself to the reality.

He brought the vial to his nose, the cold plastic against his top lip. Jarro would be annoyed. He wouldn’t say anything, but there’d be that look of disappointment in his gray eyes and the clenching of his jaw. It was enough to make Avin hesitate, but only for a moment. Then he inhaled, and the first whiff of Mumble trickled up his nose and into his lungs.

A groan escaped.

He was no better than an addict. While he didn’t pay with money, he still paid in loyalty and blood. He closed his eyes and inhaled the rest of the vial.

With his eyes still closed he took a couple of deep breaths. The drug spread through his lungs, and he felt the exact moment it hit his bloodstream. A cold buzz that took the edge off reality. In a few minutes, he’d have the typical Mumble of a user and the inability to do much more than stumble along with the support of a wall.

He knew the signs and the side effects, and how to use it medically and recreationally. Four years of med school had taught him that. It had also given him the habit. Mumble had helped him sleep after long shifts at the hospital and long days studying.

Avin dropped the vial in the trash with the rest of the waste. Bloodied bandages, arrow tips and shafts, needles and empty tubes of surgical glue. Just another day in Industrial 13. He turned off the lights, his mouth starting to feel pleasantly numb and his muscles loose, and made his way slowly, leaning on the wall, up the stairs to his room.

If Jarro found the extra Mumble in their apartment, he’d go spare.

He’d be asleep before Jarro got home. No doubt Jarro had been busy killing cops. There was too much blood on both their hands. The city-state of Velli would be a better place if Avin let the gang members die on the table.

Maybe if enough died he’d be able to leave. Start again. Get clean. His lips couldn’t turn up in a smile, and the laugh that bubbled up sounded more like choking.

His legs gave way and he sat heavily.

This batch was strong; the real stuff, not the cheap shit the gang sold to users. Avin rested his head against the wall; the cracked surface was cool against his temple.

Eyes closed, he let go of reality, happy to float in the numb space caused by Mumble where thoughts drifted past but didn’t catch and hold and they had no effect. All the violence and death and blood—he could remember it and see it, but from here it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Footsteps made Avin open his eyes. The heavy tread of a man in boots. It took a couple of heartbeats for him to be able to focus on the black-clad man now standing a few steps below on the staircase and peering at him.

“You’ve been sniffing again.” Jarro frowned. A line of blood marked his cheek, and his dark hair was pulled back into a knot.

Avin tried to speak but his tongue was thick, and his lips didn’t obey. How long had Avin been sitting here? A breath, maybe two? From the stiffness of his back as Jarro hauled him up, Avin had been sitting for far longer than a few breaths even if he couldn’t reconcile the loss of time

He tripped up the stairs, but Jarro kept him upright so he didn’t land on his face or break anything. Mumble also caused stumble. It was funny, but he couldn’t laugh or share.

Jarro tugged at Avin’s clothes. “You smell like a chop shop.”

That’s what happens when you spend the best part of the night up to your elbows in blood and guts. Avin tried to help, but he was still too uncoordinated, and his hands got in the way.

“I know why you do it, but if you don’t stop, you will die here.” There was an edge in Jarro’s voice. What had he seen tonight?

Avin glanced up. Jarro made it sound as though there was another choice. There were no options once in the Industrial 13 precinct. No one got out unless as a corpse or sold. No one wanted to live here.

He didn’t want to live here, but drug debts weren’t easy to clear, apparently. And if he took off, they’d hunt him or his family down, and he had no desire to see his womb brother or his sisters and parents hurt because he screwed up. He’d done enough damage to his family.

Jarro grabbed Avin’s shirt and gave him a shake. “Are you listening to me? I don’t want to die here.”

Was he talking about leaving? Actually leaving.

Sounds bubbled past his lips but didn’t make words.

Jarro gave a cold laugh. “Can’t argue back when you’ve been sniffing.” He stripped off Avin’s shirt and undid his pants, Jarro’s touch lingered for a moment. The heat was almost enough to cut through the fog.

What had started as simple protection—pick the roughest, meanest bastard—had become something more. Yeah, Jarro could be cold and he kept more secrets than Avin had seen bodies, but he’d never once hurt him.

It was more than luck. Avin lifted his hand and touched Jarro’s cheek. The gesture was clumsy and not the soft touch that he’d intended.

Jarro took his hand and shook his head. “Not tonight. Not while you’re dreaming on that shit.” But he leaned in and pressed his lips to Avin’s cheek.

At that moment, he wished he hadn’t caved in to the hollow need of Mumble. What he wanted was Jarro, but he was already pulling away and drawing off his clothes.

“Get a shower, and then we can get to some sleep.” Jarro dropped his shirt on the floor. “I’ll make sure you don’t slip and crack your head open.”

Then Jarro guided him to what they called a bathroom. More of a wet room with hot, running water. There was no bath, and the mirror was rusted and cracked. Like everything else here, it was what it was, and no one expected more.

He glanced at Jarro. Except Jarro.

Jarro had crossed city-state borders after pissing off another gang. He’d ended up working for the Tower gang by luck and chance. Ended up in his bed after too much to drink.

But talking of fleeing, again?

That was dangerous.

Jarro needed to watch his mouth.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Shona Husk is the author of over forty books that range from sensual to scorching, and cover the contemporary, paranormal, fantasy and sci-fi romance genres. Her most recent series are Face the Music, Blood and Silver, and Annwyn. As well as writing romance she also writes sci-fi for the Takamo Universe game and urban fantasy under anther pen name.

She lives in Western Australia and when she isn’t writing or reading she loves to cook, cross stitch and research places she’d one day like to travel.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Alternate Universe, Dark, doctors, drug use/addiction, dystopia, law enforcement, LGBT, menage, wings
Leave comment

Feb 25

New Release Blitz: The Cost of Living by Emilie Lucadamo (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: The Cost of Living

Series: In the Darkness, Book Two

Author: Emilie Lucadamo

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 25, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 50800

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, paranormal, college, demons, magic, fantasy, ghosts, horror

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Once people die, they’re not meant to wake up.

For college student Beck Murray, this doesn’t quite sink in until he’s sitting in a stranger’s apartment, reading his own obituary. He has no memory of how he died or how he happened to wake up—all Beck knows is that he’s been dead for six months, and now, incredibly, is not.

He assumes his biggest challenge will be explaining himself to his family and friends. This proves not to be the case as, one by one, Beck and his friends become the target of something evil. A darkness hangs over Beck, following every footstep he takes in his new life. He cannot fight it because he does not understand it. Soon, it becomes clear that Beck isn’t the only person who’s returned to life, and far from the only person in danger.

With the help of a young witch and a mysterious bookshop owner, Beck must learn to overcome the evil plaguing him before it drags him back down to the grave… and takes everyone he cares about with him.

Excerpt

After his fourth failed attempt to pull himself to his feet, Beck gives up and collapses against the pavement once more.

It’s no use. He could have the willpower of Hercules, yet he wouldn’t be able to haul himself off of the ground. His body is too strung out; his limbs are exhausted. He feels drained from head to toe. Whatever happened to lead him here, it sure did a number on him.

Here—where is here? Beck has no clue. Naked, in the middle of an unfamiliar street, with a dizzying headache and no memory of where he is or how he came to be there. That’s where he is right now.

It’s far from the best situation to be in. Not to mention the fact that the world’s biggest storm cloud seems to be focusing all its wrath on him alone. Rain lashes his skin, chilling him, and the thunder booming overhead rattles in his bones. He tries to move once more, and a fiery pulse of pain shoots through his entire body.

Beck has had better nights.

He’s wound up in some pretty undignified places over years spent growing up with his best friends, but this has to take the cake. This is a lot worse than the time his best friend James dared him to sleep on the roof in his underwear. This is even worse than the time he and his brother, Dylan got locked out of the house during a snowstorm and had to spend the night huddling for warmth on the porch. At least in those situations, he knew where he was. He had some choice in the matter, (even if it was between Dylan’s bony elbow in his side or freezing to death). This—this is a whole new level of weird.

He tries to lift his head, and a pulse of pain sends it right back down again. Thunder crashes overhead, followed by a flash of lightning. Beck swallows past his parched throat, realizing for the first time what a dangerous situation he could be in.

“Oh man,” he rasps, realizing too late that these are the first words he’s said since waking up. This absurdity is not helped by the fact that he’s scrambling around on his back like a lethargic bug. It seems like a miracle he’s able to speak at all. “Mmm…c’mon, c’mon…”

It’s no use. He can’t pull himself to his feet. Defeated, Beck collapses back onto the pavement again and closes his eyes. He’s so tired… Maybe a few moments’ sleep will give him the energy he needs.

He’s just about to drift away, when a sudden interruption startles him from his haze.

“You look like you could use some help.”

The voice is deep, clear as a bell over the roaring storm around them. Beck jumps, eyes springing open. It would take more self-control than he possesses not to gape up at the shadowy figure towering above him, silhouetted against the distant glow of a streetlight.

He blinks up at the stranger in a daze, trying to make out any features past the rain and his blurry vision. The man looming above him is slender, not too tall and not too muscular. The fact that he seems unfazed at finding a naked guy in the middle of the street probably says the most about him. Being the naked guy in question, Beck’s not about to judge.

Beck weighs his options. Common sense tells him not to trust shadowy figures in dark alleyways. Common sense also tells him not to pass out in the middle of the street naked, and not to wake up in the middle of a street with gravel digging into his back. Common sense is failing him today.

He isn’t about to get up without assistance, anyway, so yeah, he probably could use some help. “Wow, you figured that out?” he croaks, and tries for a laugh. It comes out as a wheeze. Beck is left choking when he attempts to take in a breath. He collapses again onto the street, landing hard on his side. His chest convulses with each ragged cough. By the time he is able to breathe again, he’s quaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Hell, that’s just about what he is.

“Easy…” The figure is kneeling by his side now and has a hand on his back. He’s warm; subconsciously, Beck leans into the touch. The smooth hand runs along the curve of his spine, leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake. The pressure in Beck’s lungs slowly ebbs away, like water receding after high tide.

“Feels like you’ve got a pretty bad fever,” the man says, his strange, precise accent twisting the words until they sound more like a melody. “This rain can’t be helping. Wanna get out of it?”

“Yeah…” Beck nods hazily. “That’d be real great.”

Hands grip his biceps, helping him to his feet. Beck’s legs feel like noodles. He stands up, wavers, and would have fallen back down were it not for the grounding presence keeping him upright. He tries to straighten up, and his stomach does a perilous somersault. Hot bile rushes up his throat, and he only has time to double to the side before he’s heaving up acid.

By the time he straightens up again, he’s trembling from the exertion. He feels dizzy enough that he’s afraid to close his eyes, doubting his capability to open them again. When he tries to turn to his good Samaritan, he finds himself confronted with a sharp-featured face, dark eyes studying him and brows creased in concern.

“Sorry,” Beck tries to say. It comes out garbled. Fortunately, the guy doesn’t seem to care.

“Come on,” he urges, hooking an arm around Beck’s waist. “Let’s get you someplace warm and dry.”

Needless to say, Beck’s in no state to argue. Besides, he isn’t sure he wants to. The guy’s being nicer than he has any obligation to be, and it’s probably the fever talking, but his touch is the most soothing thing Beck can remember in a long time.

They don’t walk far. The stranger leads a stumbling Beck down the street, and they pass only a few shops before coming upon one with its windows piled high with books. A sign above the door reads Lehexe’s Books in spindly hand-painted lettering. The shop is dark enough that Beck can’t make out much through the window, but Beck’s new friend—Lehexe, presumably—doesn’t hesitate to open the door. He hustles them both inside and shuts out the storm behind them. No sooner are they standing in the middle of the shop floor than Beck finds rain pooling at his feet, soaking into the wooden floor. He sways in an effort to keep from dripping, and nearly overbalances again.

Lehexe—busy fumbling with a set of keys near a door behind the counter—casts a look over his shoulder and huffs. “Try to keep upright for two seconds. You can do that.”

Beck definitely can. He’s not an infant. (If he maybe has to grab hold of the counter to keep his balance, well, he thinks the other man is too preoccupied to notice.)

The right key finally slips into the lock, and Lehexe opens a door to a darkened hallway. He turns to look at Beck, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to him. Beck lets go of the counter, takes a step forward, and gets blindsided by a head rush that sends him falling on his face.

Being naked on the floor of some poor guy’s very nice bookshop is better than being naked on pavement in the middle of a storm…but only just. There’s a lot more indignity to his situation now that Beck is actually trying to keep himself upright. He can’t. It’s not just his legs refusing to cooperate with him. His entire body feels sluggish, achy and weighed down. His veins feel like they’ve been pumped full of lead. His skull is throbbing, stuffed with cotton and running with all the efficiency of a dying engine.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he manages to slur into the nice stranger’s woodwork. “’S not my day.”

“I figured,” Lehexe says as he helps peel Beck off the ground—and he is really being much nicer than Beck deserves. “I hope stuff like this don’t happen to you often.”

“It really doesn’t.” This is the weirdest thing Beck can remember happening to him in, well, ever. He’s not handling it well.

By some miracle, Lehexe manages to get him back on his feet again and leads him out of the shop. The hallway behind the door is small, narrow, with several doors lining the walls. One clearly reads Bathroom; the other, Beck suspects is a closet; as for the third, he doesn’t have a clue what could be behind it. (His half-delirious mind flashes back to the vintage game shows his grandma used to love, where shoulder-pad-flaunting contestants chose between Door One, Door Two, and Door Three for the chance to win “the prize of a lifetime!” Lehexe doesn’t make a good game show host, and Beck’s hairstyle isn’t nearly exciting enough for 80s television.)

There’s a final door at the end of the hallway, styled differently from the others. This one is great mahogany, with a firm frame, and another lock just beneath the knob. Lehexe turns to his set of keys yet again, and in seconds he has the door open to a set of stairs that tower over Beck’s head, making him feel dizzy.

His heart sinks. His stomach drops. He feels himself slump further to the floor, until Lehexe stubbornly hoists him back up again. Just looking up there makes his head spin, and the notion of dragging his noncooperative body up the stairs is nothing short of a pipe dream. There’s no way he can do it—just no chance.

“Yeahhh,” he groans. “Dude…don’t think that’s gonna happen…”

“You gotta try for me,” Lehexe says. “Can you do that?”

Beck considers this. “If I pass out, will you catch me?”

“I’ll try my best.”

Well, that’s good enough for him.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Emilie Lucadamo has too many stories, and not enough words to tell them. At eighteen years old, she has been writing for most of her life, and telling stories even longer. Her dream is to one day become a critically acclaimed author. When not writing, she’s probably reading, or spending quality time with her dog.

Twitter | Tumblr

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

college, demons, Fantasy, ghosts, Horror, LGBT, magic, Paranormal
Leave comment

Feb 25

New Release Blitz: We are the Catalyst by Tash McAdam (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: We are the Catalyst

Series: The Psionics, Book Two

Author: Tash McAdam

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 25, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 106900

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, cliffhanger, espionage, spies, military, young adult

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Kidnapped and imprisoned, telepathic children are forced to gather military intelligence. Repeatedly stripped of their memories, they live in ignorance of the world above. You can’t tell anyone a secret if you don’t remember it. It’s not child abuse if no one knows you exist.

Epsilon 17 appears to be just another mindless tool, empty of thought. But it’s a lie. The carefully constructed shell she hides behind protects her from their mind wipes. One day she will destroy the Institute. All she needs is a chance.

That chance could be Toby, if he doesn’t die first. He should never have left the safety of the suburbs, but cornered in an alley by a gang, he’s out of options. Of course, if he realized he had superpowers, he probably wouldn’t have been so worried. Unfortunately, they come at the cost of a finger, and his old life. Injured and panicked, he would have stayed on the dirty ground until the Institute came for him, if it wasn’t for Serena. Name-taking, ass-kicking Serena. She can punch through walls and practically fly, surely she can keep him safe…

But the Institute is sending Epsilon 17 to hunt him down, and she’s never lost a trail.

Can ARC, the mysterious group Serena works for, protect him? He has to get his powers in order, fast. It’s time for Toby to stand up for himself. An underground war is raging, and Toby’s just been drafted.

Join NineStar Press Authors Alex Harrow, L. A. Ashton, and Tash McAdam on FACEBOOK for a virtual launch party of their releases, EMPIRE OF LIGHT, ECHOES, and WE ARE THE CATALYST!

Find the party HERE. The event is February 25th from 8-10 PM CST, but feel free to drop by and stay as long as you wish!

For more info on each author and their books, visit:

EMPIRE OF LIGHT by Alex Harrow
ECHOES by L.A. Ashton
WE ARE THE CATALYST by Tash McAdam

Stop by for exclusive snippets, character takeovers, prizes, and swag!

Excerpt

E17

I’m floating, weightless, sensationless. The gel covers my body, every inch of my skin submerged and cushioned. The drowning sounds almost pleasant when I describe it this way, but my eyes are covered, liquid is pressing against my lips. It’s in my ears, filling my nose, dulling my senses. I’m drowning in breathable fluid, oxygenated goop. The sensation of lungs pleading for air lasts the short minutes I can hold my breath…then I have to inhale and my body is flooded.

I scream. The noise vibrates soundlessly in my throat, and then my body goes limp as my insides adjust, and my brain revels in the fresh oxygen. This isn’t new to me, I’ve been here before. I know how the gel works, giving me the oxygen my body requires at the cost of instinctive terror and panic that overrides all logic. It turns out there’s no getting used to suffocation. Even once the lungs realize they can drag oxygen from the fluid, it’s an emotional drowning.

You lose every sense of who you are like this, blurring at the edges until disappearing into nothingness, every sense of self fading as you drift out of your body, into a void. The sensor pads connected to my poor, bald head were itchy when they were applied, now they may as well not be there—except I know they’ll still be doing their jobs. The wireless connections to the computer equipment in the laboratory above me will continue to let the doctors know when I have disappeared, when I can’t think anymore.

It comes too fast. It always does. Without any variation in pressure or sound around me, my mind rebels and flails for anything to hold onto. It takes me hours, maybe. It could be minutes or weeks, I suppose, but I think it takes me hours to calm myself, to drag back the knowledge I have skin, I have a border, and I’m impenetrable and separate from what is around me.

This is the Tank.

In the Tank, there’s no gauge of time, nothing to touch or feel, no sensory hooks to hold onto. Insulated against life, I can’t do anything except hang there, helpless. There’s no one here for me to reach for, this time. Sometimes there will be others—different people, different ages. I reach out to them, feel for them with the telepathic powers that are both the reason I suffer and the only thing saving me from true madness. Even momentary connections with others remind me I’m not alone. I reach out, but they never feel me. They are truly alone, isolated from everything and everyone.

I’m the only one who survives the Tank. And I don’t know why. Of course, the scientists would never tell me anything. I’d be punished if I asked. I’m supposed to come out blank and empty and unknowing, like the others.

Thanks to the Tank, and the loneliness of my life, I spend a lot of time speculating why I’m different. I think it might be the dreams keeping me safe. I dream of a boy, a boy who runs in the sunshine and plays a sport with bats and balls. A boy who lives a blessedly unremarkable life. I think I made him up, to save me from the nothing. Could I have invented a place to go and hide in vibrant experiences and Technicolor feeling? Not like the Tank, where there’s nothing, nothing at all.

I’ve been in fourteen times as far as I remember. Other people have been dipped opposite me, or next to me, ten of those times. I feel their thoughts, their confusion and panic. I can’t see them. I can’t see anything at all except for vague shadows which pass my prison. Once a hand was pressed to my Tank, a black blur against the grey dark. The thoughts buzzing in the person were angry and desperate. They wanted to help me, but they couldn’t. I don’t know who it was.

Today, I’m alone. There’s no one else being wiped. Even if there were others, I can’t Project—send thoughts or feelings out of myself—so there’s no way for me to communicate. It seems to me if we connected, maybe they’d stay.

Instead, I talk to myself all the time, even under the draining numbness of the gel I drown in. It does something to me, to them, to us. As soon as I’m submerged, I can barely sense at all, the techs and other people mere scratching tickles at the surface of my consciousness, not like the normal swirling chaos of the thoughts always spinning around me, every fleeting miniscule flicker of awareness loud and seething for my attention. For the vast majority of my life, I have to block everything, block it all out so I don’t lose myself in the minds of others.

Not in the Tank, though. My powers are muted and tamped down by whatever is happening to me. And the others? Eventually their minds recoil at the endless nothing and they withdraw into the safety of white noise, the illusion of peace.

Then the wipe begins—a skull full of bees buzzing, crawling through memories and erasing the pathways making someone’s self. People fade away as I listen to their mental screams and pleas for mercy. They’re loud, then, as they beg for their memories, but the cries always dissolve into whispers and then nothing, nothing at all.

They cease to exist.

I don’t know why I alone remain “myself” in the Tank; perhaps I’m mad and there is no me. Maybe all I ever do is float here in the numbing absence of everything and tell myself stories. But I don’t believe so. I’m Epsilon 17, and I remember what that means. It is the name they gave me—not one I want, but it defines me, nonetheless. Epsilon is my class; I’m Epsilon Class, number seventeen. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon…there are mostly Beta class here—the lowest, the least gifted. Alpha talents are so low the Institute has no interest in taking them on as students. That is what the Shepherds call them…call us, when they speak to us. Alpha talents get to live their lives away from this.

We are “students,” as though they are our teachers, here to help and educate us. In their heads, they call us sheep. They have no idea I can hear them—hear everything they think. They are trained to hide themselves, as I have taught myself to do, and it never crosses their minds they aren’t as safe as they believe. Because they are wrong about me. They have no idea I can tuck myself into a secret space inside my head and resist the nothingness of the Tank. Maintain my sense of self. Protect my memories. They know I’m special, but they have no idea how strong I really am…and how much stronger I’ll be. Every time they leave me in the Tank, I come back to my memories faster, and I hate a little more.

Soon all there will be left of me is hate.

This is how I stay myself in the Tank. Instead of waiting for it to end and feeling my mind snap when I realize it never, ever will—I have been here forever and will stay here forever—I take all the scraps of me, all the pieces making up who I am, and tuck them away, out of sight, in a private bunker in my mind.

While I’m suspended, I disappear into my dreams, if I’m alone. When there are others, I always wait until they have gone, in case one day one of them stays with me. They never do.

Once I’ve hidden I don’t come out until I’m sure I’m safe. Until I feel a soft, scratchy sensation and smell the faint, fresh bleach of my sheets. The triggers my body remembers. When I’m tucked up in my bed, I come back to reality, I realize I am not the boy-who-runs. And I remember everything they tried to take from me.

The moments before it comes back are the only times I feel safe.

It wasn’t always this way. When I was a child, I didn’t remember at all. They cleaned me the same way they clean everyone, and I became a fresh slate, a new start. You can’t tell anyone a secret if you don’t remember it. It’s not child abuse if no one knows you exist. We are the perfect soldiers in a war most of us repeatedly forget. We are forced to participate and then erased as though we were never there, gifted in a way people don’t expect and can’t plan for.

Mindreaders. Telepaths. Psychics. There are many names, but here at the Institute, they like the scientific terms. We are the Psionics, and they use us without shame.

If you are powerful, The Institute is there, listening to your thoughts, guiding your hands when you are writing, perhaps sending you dreams. Even controlling your every move like a puppet. Assignments can last for years if the Government wants a consistent presence monitoring one individual. You get to know them when they’re your target. I’ve been in heads which haunt my dreams. It makes me wish I did forget, but never enough to let go.

Two years ago, I was assigned to a political leader in Muntgummery, near the East, for eight months. He was a bad man. He liked to hurt women, and I had to watch it so the Institute could blackmail him. The Government knew the city was going to drown in the ravenous coastal waters as they rose and wanted to control who was saved. At the end, I worked with a Projector, who used my knowledge of the target to get into his head and overtake him completely. The city was abandoned to the flooding shortly after. The top Test-scorers were evacuated, and then the tube tunnels were sealed, Citizens, slumdwellers, and refugees alike were left to drown. I remember them screaming as we flew over the rioting streets.

The list of secrets I know is long, and I have nowhere and no way to write it down, so I keep them in my mind. It’s safe there because, though the business we are in is to take secrets, nobody knows I have any, and so nobody even looks. I hide everything under a blank, unmarked surface, and their probes slide over me like I’m invisible, or empty like the others—an untouched piece of paper waiting to be filled with their knowledge and used to affect the course of the world.

I have been aware for five years, give or take. It’s possible I have remembered myself before but didn’t manage to hide it and was wiped so I really did forget again.

But I learned.

The first time I came back to myself, they tried to wipe me again and again. Three times they put me back in the Tank, until I thought I was lost, gone and mad. But then it happened. I found the way—the way to leave what they were doing behind with my body—and keep my mind safe inside another life. A better life.

I don’t know how many days passed after that dip, but when I came to, I was restrained on a cold, hard table. I felt a grasp at my thoughts, a touch against my mind. I knew what it meant—they would put me back in, drown me again to kill these memories. We’re not supposed to remember the Tank. We’re not supposed to remember who we are. I scampered away inside my head and drew myself into the smallest ball possible, shielding my thoughts. I was small and tight and tucked away in a corner, and I tried so hard to hide and make the man go away. I felt him grope around—a blind man fumbling through my head. He must have been satisfied, accepted the lack he found inside me. He thought I was empty, and they could start again.

This is my story, and I’m putting it away to keep it safe. That way when I disappear again, I can find all the thoughts I’ve had, see the feelings I stored here. I don’t know how it works, but it is enough for me that it does.

Because this is my mind, my secret self, the weapon with which I’ll one day destroy everyone who has a hand in this. I’m Epsilon 17, and I’m going to bring this regime down in flames.

The Tank fades away and I’m gone. The boy’s packing a bag, this time. I think he’s frightened. I wonder what he has to be scared of, this boy with parents who ruffle his hair and friends who shout with laughter.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Tash is a 30 year old teacher candidate at UBC in Canada, although they were born and raised in the hilly sheepland of Wales (and have lived in South Korea and Chile before settling down in Vancouver). Tash identifies as trans and queer and uses the neutral pronoun ‘they’. They’re also an English teacher and fully equipped to defend that grammar! They have a degree in computer science so their nerd chat makes sense, and a couple of black belts in karate which are very helpful when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Their novel writing endeavours began at the age of eight, and included passing floppy discs back and forth with a friend at swimming lessons. Since then, Tash has spent time falling in streams, out of trees, learning to juggle, dreaming about zombies, dancing, painting, learning and then teaching Karate, running away with the circus, and of course, writing.

They write fast-paced, plot-centric action adventure with diverse casts. They write the books that they wanted to read as a queer kid and young adult (and still do!)

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr | Pinterest

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

cliffhanger, Espionage, LGBT, Military, spies, young adult
Leave comment

Feb 25

New Release Blitz: Echoes by L.A. Ashton (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Echoes

Author: L.A. Ashton

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: February 25, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, Vampires, werewolves, paranormal, romance, friends to lovers, immortal, reunion, Viking

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

After one thousand years of listless eternity, Oskar is used to his particular brand of loneliness. But a long walk through Middle America and a few chance encounters will lead him straight to a man he’d known to be long since dead―his childhood best friend, Aranck.

Being undead hasn’t stopped Aran from living life to the fullest. He has all the money and power his charm and business savvy could earn him, and plenty of friends. Lately, though, something seems to be missing. After a millennium, perhaps the world’s shine has worn off—and that’s when Oskar stumbles back into his life, reminding him of who he used to be.

Together the two vampires remember what it felt like to live, all the while navigating a conflict with the local pack of werewolves. A lot has changed in a thousand years, and only time will tell if those changes will bring Oskar and Aranck closer together, or ensure they remain apart.

Join NineStar Press Authors Alex Harrow, L. A. Ashton, and Tash McAdam on FACEBOOK for a virtual launch party of their releases, EMPIRE OF LIGHT, ECHOES, and WE ARE THE CATALYST!

Find the party HERE. The event is February 25th from 8-10 PM CST, but feel free to drop by and stay as long as you wish!

For more info on each author and their books, visit:

EMPIRE OF LIGHT by Alex Harrow
ECHOES by L.A. Ashton
WE ARE THE CATALYST by Tash McAdam

Stop by for exclusive snippets, character takeovers, prizes, and swag!

Excerpt

Prologue
Ana’s eyes opened, unseeing. Her limbs were heavy, anchored to the floor by her own weakness and fatigue. And yet, she was alive.

That confused her.

The rough punctures of a bite burned at her neck. Blood dripped slowly from the wound, traveling the few short inches from her throat to the hardwood. Everything else felt fine; no broken limbs, no gashes or extraneous injuries. Her head rang, a high trill in the dark―perhaps a minor concussion sustained while collapsing.

The room smelled like blood, wolves, and a bit of spilled beer. But shapes were still hazy black masses in dim red lighting, and even with her superior sight, she couldn’t discern foreground and background, solid artifacts and darkness.

She closed her eyes. What would be more useful to grasp first, memory or sight? She could recall vague things: the laughter of her brother beside her as he beat them at another hand of poker, the limited light of the room, and the shuffle of cards against skin. Then there was…

She tipped her head, pressing her cheek against the coolness of the floor.

A vampire. A vampire had charged into the bar―their bar―and attacked.

After all the work she and Jackson had done, after all the effort they’d put into pack and vampire relations…

She opened her eyes again. There was movement, slow and deliberate as if the person wasn’t entirely coherent. She could barely see her packmates around her. Four of them were strewn about the floor, unmoving. They were alive, though, and that confused her as well. Their heartbeats and breaths filtered into her range of hearing as her mind cleared, and she could see the steady rise and fall of her brother’s chest.

Why would a vampire attack them? No―why would a vampire attack them and leave them alive?

She attempted to track the motion. There was a figure moving above them, heavy boots clomping against the floor. She looked toward their face and they paused, gazing down at her with a face swathed in shadow.

Her focus was bleary. She wouldn’t have been able to make out their features even if they’d looked at her full-on, dead in the eyes. They were all outlines… short or close-cropped hair… average height…

They had no heartbeat.

Her lips parted. She wanted to ask them why. Here lay five of her pack, drained to the point of immobility but not death. They would heal fast, as werewolves do, and they would track this assailant, as werewolves do. And then, without trial, they would kill them.

What kind of fool are you?

But she didn’t ask; her mouth was too dry and her body too slow, and by the time her mind had formed a proper question, the vampire was walking toward the entrance. The door opened up―a single rectangle of blue-black cut into the red-black of the bar―and bright stars shone quietly, like everything in the world was at peace.

The vampire sent one last look at her pack. Then they closed the door―softly, as if to not disturb. Ana stared at the doorway in sedated wonder.

Eventually she closed her eyes. The rest of their pack would find them, or their hearts would slowly beat them back to health, and the hunt for a vampire would begin.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

L.A. Ashton is an LGBT+ author writing LGBT+ fiction. They enjoy rock music, traveling, and anything else that adds color to their daydreams. They believe in the healing properties of art and of having a cat firmly stationed on one’s lap. Their official site can be found at www.LAAshton.com.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Tumblr

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

friends-to-lovers, immortal, LGBT, Paranormal, reunion, Romance, Vampires, Viking, Werewolves
Leave comment

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

Website | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Twitter | Tumblr

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr | Pinterest

Giveaway

Synopsis

Excerpt

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Tumblr

Giveaway

Please follow & like us :)

Email Us!

Search Our Site

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Tags

Categories

Grab A Tour Button!

Join Team IndiGo!

Grab A Logo!