Dec 10

New Release Blitz: Love Blooms by Stephanie Hoyt (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Love Blooms

Author: Stephanie Hoyt

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 10, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61800

Genre: Fantasy, Santa, elves, magic, holiday

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Synopsis

Nico Hamurişi is the one and only son of Santa Claus. All his life, Nico has known he’s expected to fall in love and find lifelong commitment by the Christmas of his thirtieth year—like every other heir before him. But knowing and accepting are vastly different things, and as the final countdown begins, Nico has yet to embrace his fate. His once great enthusiasm for eventually becoming Santa has been dimmed by uncertainty over how the Santa Line will be affected when he marries a man.

With only a year left, will Nico have time to find love and commitment all while learning how magic will transform the family line to accommodate who he is and who he loves?

Excerpt

Love Blooms
Stephanie Hoyt © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The sun hasn’t even begun to brighten the sky when Nico reaches the family estate. He shuts his car’s engine off in front of his childhood home and waits, staring at his watch as the seconds tick by. The hour hand strikes five and snow starts to fall. His father must have made his first delivery right on time. Nico sighs, relief washing over him at having successfully avoided the annual Christmas conversation for the next twenty-something hours. For the moment, no matter how fleeting, he can go inside without bracing himself for confrontation.

The snow falls soft and cold on his face as he walks to the door, and for an instant, Nico thinks it may have been worth coming home earlier to avoid the snowfall. He laughs, short and bitter, as last year’s predelivery family dinner flashes in his mind and he remembers what avoiding the snowfall entails. He’d much rather deal with this cold, wet mess than the disappointment in his father’s eyes at another year passing by without him fulfilling his obligations as heir apparent. If last year was bad, this year will be infinitely worse. His father had been disappointed then, but now with the deadline looming so close, Nico can imagine how his father’s mood will have shifted to something far worse than disappointment.

He wipes his feet on the welcome home mat and opens the door. He takes a deep breath as he steps inside and tries his best not to let this place get the better of him. It stopped being home years ago, but he can do this. He can. Except, the utter lack of even a shred of welcoming quality fills him with dread. This house has been the site of nearly every argument he’s ever had with his father and he knows he’s opened the door to yet another lecture on the expectations and obligations that come along with being the son of Kristoff Hamurişi.

This year won’t be any different, especially since the final year of the countdown begins at midnight. If he’s being realistic, which he hates to do, any discussion of his failings is going to be much more tense than they’ve ever been before. But for now, the lights inside are off, save for the Christmas tree, his father is out for more than a full day’s worth of deliveries, the rest of the house seems to be fast asleep, and Nico can slip upstairs to his childhood bedroom without being noticed.

At least, that’s what he was counting on.

Unfortunately for him, someone had different plans for his arrival. He opens his bedroom door to a lit room and a ball of limbs and hair curled up in the middle of his bed. He sets his suitcase down with a loud thud and the ball moves, revealing the face of Noelle, the youngest of his four older sisters.

“My dear little Santicholas,” she says, words and laughter both swallowed in a yawn. “I can’t believe you thought you could sneak in here unnoticed.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

She untangles herself and pushes up on the tips of her toes to wrap her arms around Nico in a big, tight hug. “It’s hard to believe you do when you’re smiling so big.”

Nico’s words get muffled by her hair and his own laughter. “Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too.”

She lets him go, shaking her head as he starts to yawn. “You should’ve come home at a decent hour if you wanted to be well rested.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “If it’s such an indecent hour then why are you up?”

Noelle lets out a short huff of air, annoyed. “I wanted you to see a friendly face before…”

Nico closes his eyes. Here it comes. He should have known better than to think he could avoid confrontation, even for a moment, even from his closest friend and sibling. When he opens his eyes again, Noelle’s sitting on the edge of the bed and her face has softened in a way that makes Nico feel worse.

He smiles but it does nothing to wipe the gentle expression off her face; she knows him too well, knows he wears it as a shield.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I know failing is what worries you.”

“Failure isn’t my concern here, Noelle.” Not entirely true. “I’m worried about what will happen if I don’t fail.” Unbearably true.

Noelle raises her eyebrow, confused, and Nico’s stomach clenches. Am I actually doing this? He plows on before she can interrupt and he loses his nerve. “And I’m angry! I’m so incredibly angry I even need to be concerned by all this shit in the first place. I don’t want to think of heirs and continuing a family legacy and everything else riding on me falling in love when I don’t even know how who I love will affect any of this.”

Noelle blinks, breathing out a barely audible “Oh.”

Nico’s heart skips, his pulse is erratic.

“I’m gay.”

Noelle blinks again, and again, and again, and then, after what feels like an eternity of his stomach turning over in knots, she smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

She motions for Nico to sit next to her, and he does, knocking his shoulder against hers. “I was expecting a little more than an okay, if I’m being honest.”

Noelle laughs, embarrassed. “I didn’t think I should start quizzing you on if you’re seeing anyone, so okay seemed, well…okay.”

Nico smiles, and this time it’s not a shield. He feels lighter and more at peace in this house than he has in years. It’s such a relief to have finally shared such an important part of himself with such an important person in his life.

“Who all knows?”

Nico doesn’t answer immediately, and Noelle asks, “Oh, am I the only one who knows?”

“No, it’s not exactly a secret. I mean, everyone I know who doesn’t know this family knows. So work and friends from college and yeah. I’m basically out to everyone except the family.”

Noelle appears confused and curious. “Not even Joy? She knows how—”

Nico cuts her off. “No, not even our dear lesbian sister knows. Only you.”

Noelle hums an acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything else for a long while—Nico can tell she’s working through what to say next.

He has an idea of what she might be thinking and supplies an answer, “I haven’t told Mom and Dad because, even though it wasn’t a thing when Joy came out, what if… I mean it’s got to be different when you don’t have to produce an heir.”

Nico can’t keep the disdain out of his voice. For as long as he can remember, the heir has been his biggest concern regarding his father and, in turn, his mother finding out his sexuality. “There’s all this added pressure surrounding me finding someone to love. I know they don’t have a problem with queer people, but what if they have a problem with me being gay. There’s a lot riding on my love life.”

“Okay,” Noelle nods. “Well, yeah. I can’t deny there is a lot of pressure put on you falling in love. But I’ve got your back here. No matter what happens, I’ll help you find out how this affects you being the heir apparent to the Crimson Sleigh.”

Nico bursts out in laughter. “God, shut up. Why do you insist on calling it that?”

Noelle smiles, pleased as can be. “Because it makes you laugh.”

Nico purses his lips, trying to stifle his laughter. “You’re ridiculous, you know?”

“Yes, obviously. But I am also wonderful and magical and dearly beloved by you.”

“I guess.” He draws the word out, teasing, and Noelle shoves him, laughing. “Though I wouldn’t consider magical one of your finer qualities since we all are.”

Noelle crinkles her nose. “If you got it, flaunt it.”

Nico sighs. He wishes he was pleased with the extra magic they have, but it’s different—like everything else—when the full extent of his own powers is contingent on falling in love. “I’d much rather have no magic at all, but that’s probably just me.”

“Yeah, it’s got to be just you.” She pauses, furrowing her brow in thought. “Is it even possible to have no magic, though? Everyone’s got some when it comes down to it, even the Immunes. Magic’s everywhere little bro; it’s a fact of life.”

“I’d gladly trade with anyone who doesn’t have a love stipulation placed on their magic.” He doesn’t mean to sound so wishful, but so much of his life since college has been spent wondering how his life would be if he didn’t have all this extra pressure resting on his shoulders. He’d much rather be gifted with any other sort of magic; no need for the frills of Santahood. “Besides, I’m not much more powerful than anyone but Dad as it is. Since love eludes me.”

Noelle’s eyes light up. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

Nico shakes his head, chuckling. He can always count on Noelle for poor segues and making him laugh. “Have you been waiting this whole time to ask me?”

“No, of course not; that’d be absurd. But since you’ve brought it back up…”

“I didn’t exactly bring it up.”

Noelle waves her hand, dismissing his words. “Yeah, yeah. But you gave me the perfect opportunity to ask, so.”

“So, what?” Nico knows what she means, but he wants to mess with her, make her work for the answer.

“So”—she draws the word out, her warm brown eyes twinkling with familiar mirth—“are you or are you not seeing anyone?”

“No, not at the moment.”

Noelle seems surprised, and Nico supplies an answer before she can ask, “It’s not necessarily a coincidence I pursued a career in something that affords me the opportunity to travel so much—I’m not entirely sure I want to settle down or fall in love.”

It’s the unfortunate truth of his life, but Noelle’s face falls. She isn’t pleased with the answer.

“Oh, Nico. You can’t deny yourself love because of the things expected of you. That’s not fair to yourself.”

Nico shrugs. He wishes it were that simple, but his obligations are always at the back of his mind, and it only gets worse when he meets a man who has the potential to be something more. Noelle smiles, soft and sympathetic. She gets up and ruffles his hair like she has since they were children; her fingers catch at the end where it’s starting to curl, and she clucks her tongue. It’s annoying and comforting all at the same time, as it always has been, and more of Nico’s tension slips away. Noelle’s always been such a good friend. “Mom will be up soon enough, and the rest of the house won’t be much longer after that.”

Nico yawns and Noelle continues, hand on the door, ready to leave, “The kids missed you last night so you might want to nap and get a story ready for why you didn’t arrive with everyone else because I’m sure they’ll pester you for one. Especially Timmy. Belle says he’s become quite the inquisitive little boy as of late.”

Nico motions for the door. “Will you stop fretting over me and go already. You said I need a nap. So let me nap.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” she says, but before she closes the door, she peeks her head back through and says, “I’m going to help you figure this all out, Nico. I promise.”

She shuts the door and Nico, for the first time in a long time, feels calm and relieved and a tad hopeful since he’s told Noelle. She’s right: he shouldn’t deny himself love. There might be a deadline and a world of responsibilities, obligations, and powers that come with being the heir apparent to the sleigh, but at the very least, he can’t let this change what he wants. He can’t let a part of his life he has never had a say in control his happiness.

He wants to fall in love; he wants to settle down; he wants to open his heart and build a life with someone else. And honestly, Nico thinks, as he starts to doze off, Santa be damned if being gay will change any of that.

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Meet the Author

Thematically, Stephanie likes magic and spies and magical spies. Aesthetically, she likes glitter and gold and pineapples. She wants to put more soft, sweet bi representation into the world so that people like her teen-self can see themselves in their favorite genres and know that who they are is nothing to be ashamed of.

She currently lives in the Great White North (Wisconsin) with her husband, daughter, and three dogs. The only thing getting her through these Midwest winters is the soothing sound of Tim Riggins saying “Texas forever” and the prospect of one day moving back there.

She loves a good astrology twitter but ultimately only believes in it when her husband calls her stubborn and then her response is: “Well, I am a Taurus.”

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Dec 10

New Release Blitz: The Island Angel by Alex Slorra (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Island Angel

Author: Alex Slorra

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 10, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 72900

Genre: Contemporary, Contemporary, thriller, fraud, conspiracy, framed, stranded, Lindisfarne, lesbian

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Synopsis

Jessica was a successful IT Director, but now she is on the run. Accused of fraud and orchestrating her company’s downfall, she travels as far as the island of Lindisfarne in Northumberland before breaking down.

There, an American, Anna Meyer, takes her in and offers kindness without questions. As they become closer, Jessica soon discovers Anna has her own much bigger problems and a past that comes knocking.

Excerpt

The Island Angel
Alex Slorra © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Anna’s eyes were shut tight. She held a coffee cup in both hands below her chin.

It had been a mistake, a huge rotten awful mistake, and now, as some additional sadistic punishment, Anna would have to pay. No, make that two mistakes. First, marrying him, and second, buying an overpriced dump she couldn’t afford to sell.

She remembered a third, signing the divorce papers without really understanding what they had owed on the farm. No, the last wasn’t a mistake. It was the only way out.

Forcing herself to lift her gaze above the rim of her cup, she focused on her mother across the table. Tourist season had not yet started, and they were the only people in the Crown Hotel.

“Honey, sell and come back to the States,” her mother pleaded.

“You know I’m not doing that!” Anna slammed down her cup, before noticing the shock on her mother’s weary face. “I’m sorry.”

Her mum had flown all the way from Michigan after hearing how distressed she’d been on her daily calls home. “Anna, how are you paying the mortgage at the moment?”

Anna leaned back in her seat. “In the divorce, John signed the house over to me with enough money for six months. So, right now, I only have four months left.”

“I don’t understand why you would agree when you don’t have any income. He’s a lawyer, you should’ve asked for a lot more.”

“Mom, I’d expected to get the business going, you know, I told you… And I wanted to see the back of him. But now, I couldn’t even sell up if I wanted to. When I had it valued, the farm was worth thousands less than what we paid for it. And then I found out what we owed. If I sell, after all the costs, there’d be nothing, and I’ll still owe what is on my cards.”

Anna rested her chin on her chest, and her blonde hair fell forward, concealing her eyes. She hated that her marriage had ended. Hated that all her plans to turn the old farm into a business were now broken. Her sanctuary had become a burden.

“Oh, darling, talk to John. Can’t he—?”

“Mom, I’m not talking to him.”

A moment passed before her mother continued. “Why not come back home and wait for prices to go up? They always do, you know.”

“I can’t. I feel safer here. Abbie is safer here.”

Her mother leaned forward. “Just come back. It would be all right. He won’t bother us, I’m sure.”

“He was released last month, you said. And he’s still in Michigan?”

“As far as I know… But enough about that. You know, you could just default on your house payments, and it’ll be repossessed. The banks won’t chase you.”

Anna had considered the idea of going back home, but she couldn’t face it. She knew the fear would return. Especially now he’d been released. She had to keep Abbie safe. But also, the thought of being a barista at twenty-nine, while listening to whispers about her British husband leaving her for a younger woman, made her stomach turn. She’d rather drown in the cold North Sea outside her kitchen window.

She put on a brave smile. “Well, I’ve got four months. Things will improve. Maybe I can make enough from pony trekking this summer.” She didn’t want to worry her mother more than she had, so she didn’t mention she only had one pony and the stable’s roof needed to be repaired. It was another thing she couldn’t afford.

“There you go.” Her mum squeezed her hand. “Darling, do you have a friend here to help you?”

“Yes, a few.” It was a blatant lie, but she couldn’t have her mother concerned that she was alone. The truth was the people here weren’t very friendly. They seemed to stick together in groups as if they might catch the Black Death from someone new. Being the American who had bought a croft on their holy island, she hadn’t been welcomed into the tight-knit community.

Anna reached into her pocket to retrieve her watch and check the time. The strap had broken earlier in the day, and it wasn’t as if she needed it. She had her phone, and there was always a clock somewhere. It was just, since she was sixteen, she’d always worn it. The thought reminded her of her older sister, Emma, and caused tears to well up in her eyes.

She blinked to clear them and forced herself to damp down her emotions before her mother noticed. “I’m sorry Abbie wasn’t here to say goodbye.”

“I understand. The timing wasn’t good,” her mum offered. “It was nice to see her on the weekend. It must cost a lot to have her go to boarding school?”

Anna shook her head. “It’s free. The council pays, it’s the local government. There’s no secondary school on the island and, because of the tides, it’s nearly impossible to cross and get back during a normal school day. So, kids older than ten have to go to the boarding school on the mainland. Right now, there’s only three students from the island who do it, though.”

“She’s happy there?”

“She never says she doesn’t want to go back and she’s picking up an English accent.”

“I noticed.” Her mum chuckled. “She’s becoming an English rose. Emma would be proud.”

Anna didn’t want to disagree. At fourteen, Abbie was more like a thistle than a rose, at least with her anyway. One minute they were fine and having fun, the next they would be at loggerheads. Perhaps, in the holidays, things will be better between us.

Anna remembered why she had looked at her watch and touched her mother’s arm. “It’s time for your bus.”

“I wish I could have stayed longer.” It was her mum’s turn to lie. Anna knew her mother thought England was too cold, as well as expensive and inconvenient.

Anna’s mother got up and took hold of the handle of her cabin bag. “I know you don’t want my help with money, but it’s there if you need it. And do come home. I worry about you and Abbie.”

“I know. But you don’t need to. We’re fine, really.”

Outside, they hugged goodbye. It was still pretty cold for mid-May, and the wind cut through the fibres of Anna’s burgundy all-weather coat. She buried her hands in her pockets and watched as her mother boarded the small bus that would cross the mile-long causeway back to the mainland before the tide covered it.

Anna’s hair was blowing into her eyes. She brushed the wavy strands aside, before bursting into tears and darting back in the direction of her home.

Hurrying through the small village with her head down, she soon left the few buildings of the hamlet behind.

The island was small, only a few miles in both directions. In the winter, no more than a few hundred people braved the North Sea storms. Spring was not much better, with high tides and cold easterly winds from Norway. It was a suffering romantic’s paradise. For Anna, only the suffering part seemed true now. She passed the ruins of the old monastery, said to be the birthplace of Christianity in Britain. Beyond it, waves crashed against the rocky coastline.

She tried to put her predicament into words, but all she could think of was a swimming lesson from her grandfather at his cabin in Michigan. As was the tradition, Grandpa Brent had the job of teaching the younger family members how to swim. Anna had begged her way out of swimming until, at eight years old, her mother insisted she must learn. It was apparently a necessary life skill. So, there she was standing in her newly purchased white-and-pink one-piece at the end of the dock with Grandpa Brent behind her. He was explaining how to move her arms and legs. Looking back, she should have questioned why the man was fully dressed. Next thing she knew, he’d picked her up by her waist and had thrown her off the end of the dock into the lake.

Anna would have drowned if it wasn’t for the end of a bamboo fishing rod the old idiot offered her when she managed to surface. She’d desperately grabbed the thin yellow pole and used it to get back to the dock. Sobbing and hunched over, having literally been fished out of the water, she looked at the person she had trusted and screamed at him before running back into the cabin where her mother and older sister were making lunch. She still hadn’t learned how to swim and, now, she felt like she was underwater again.

On the exposed barren land, she followed a single-track road that hugged the jagged coast until Lindisfarne Castle could be seen on the south-eastern corner of the island. It was perched on a pinnacle, half-hidden by sea mist. Anna found some solace in the old fortress, knowing it had been there for four hundred years, withstanding all that had been thrown at it. But more so, it comforted her knowing people had lived, worked, and survived in its walls. If they could, so could she. She turned down a narrow muddy lane and scampered towards the eighteenth-century farmhouse that was her home.

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Meet the Author

Alex is a lesbian fiction novelist based in the UK. She grew up in Canada and completed a BSc degree in Nova Scotia, before moving back to work in central London. Alex has also lived in the United States and France.

Since a young age, she has consumed a mixture of historical fiction, fantasy, and romance. Alex enjoys music creation, photography, painting, and the guitar, but most of all, things she doesn’t understand. For her, writing is a way to inspire virtues that should happen more often. Follow Alex on Twitter.

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Dec 10

New Release Blitz: A Very Vampire Christmas by Mark Lesney & Midnight Angel by Kevin Klehr (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Publisher:  NineStar Press
Release Date: December 10, 2018

Title:  A Very Vampire Christmas
Author: Mark Lesney
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 21600
Genre: Paranormal, vampire, romance writer, humor, Wild West, Christmas

Stuck for ideas on what to get his wealthy, blind, vampire lover for Christmas, Kevin comes up with the idea of recovering Danton’s long-lost but much-favored glass eyes from their home in a Wild West museum. But one touch of the eyes and Kevin is swept by his developing clairvoyant powers into a psychic nightmare of the old Wild West the eyes ‘witnessed’ while still in Danton’s head. The journey reveals a gunslinger Sheriff Danton, brings to light the lingering threat of Danton’s violent vampire ex-lover, and ultimately seals a new bond between Kevin and Danton in a Christmas to remember.

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Meet the Author

Mark Lesney is a single gay man of a certain age, living with the obligatory cat. His only fiction credential before “Interview with the Kevin” is a semi-comic steampunk M/M romance novelette, “The Golden Goose,” published in the “Steamed Up” anthology, sadly now out of print.

His non-fiction writing credits, however, are extensive. Currently, he is the managing editor of two medical newspapers, for which he also writes routinely. For over 6 years, his science and history articles appeared monthly in two newsmagazines, for which he was a writer/editor at the American Chemical Society. His credits also include science articles published in Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact. He has a PhD in plant pathology and a second PhD in the history of science.

He has worked as a research scientist and university professor. But his love has always been reading and writing fiction—with science fiction/fantasy, mystery, paranormal romance, and historicals all grappling for his affections. He is now determined to pursue that dream intensely.

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Title:  Midnight Angel
Author: Kevin Klehr
Heat Level: 1 – No Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 10500
Genre: Fantasy, angel, new year’s eve, holiday, contemporary

Dinner is overcooked. The guests haven’t arrived.

Luke is sitting alone at his dining table on New Year’s Eve. He was hoping to romance Nathan, one of the people he invited for this intimate evening meal.

As midnight draws closer, it seems an angel, who has magically appeared in Luke’s apartment, is the only person to drink champagne and watch the fireworks with.

But this angel has other ideas. He’s about to grant Luke the New Year’s Eve party he thought he wanted.

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Meet the Author

Kevin lives with his long-term partner, Warren, in their humble apartment (affectionately named Sabrina), in Australia’s own ‘Emerald City,’ Sydney.

From an early age, Kevin had a passion for writing, jotting down stories and plays until it came time to confront puberty. After dealing with pimple creams and facial hair, Kevin didn’t pick up a pen again until he was in his thirties. His handwritten manuscript was being committed to paper when his work commitments changed, giving him no time to write. Concerned, his partner, Warren, secretly passed the notebook to a friend who in turn came back and demanded Kevin finish his story. It wasn’t long before Kevin’s active imagination was let loose again.

His first novel spawned a secondary character named Guy, an insecure gay angel, but many readers argue that he is the star of the Actors and Angels book series. Guy’s popularity surprised the author.

So with his fictional guardian angel guiding him, Kevin hopes to bring more whimsical tales of love, life and friendship to his readers.

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Dec 03

New Release Blitz: Forbidden Pursuits by Harry F. Rey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Forbidden Pursuits

Series: The Galactic Captains, Book Two

Author: Harry F. Rey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 3, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 47700

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi, futuristic, war, space, multiple partners, royalty, romance

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Synopsis

When Daeron’s mother, Captain Sanya, is offered a risky but lucrative job, rescuing an experimental galinium scientist from Aldegar, the lost loves lurking in her past mean she must send Daeron away to the other end of the galaxy—to the father he’s never met on the Kyleri Empire’s capital, Jiwani.

On Jiwani, the heir to the galaxy’s most powerful empire, Prince Osvai, balances deference to rigid Kyleri customs with his desire to explore the forbidden secrets of the Royal Baths, and the dark pursuits no prince should have.

But when a mysterious stranger from the Outer Verge turns up to work with his ambitious Uncle Viscamon, Osvai’s temptations lead him into a web of intrigue that could change the Galactic Balance forever.

As Sanya, Daeron, and Osvai pursue their forbidden desires, they become entwined in a galactic power struggle stretching from the frozen tundra of Jansen to the searing memories of Captain Ales’s lost homeworld, Teva.

They’ll soon discover all love has consequence, and the more forbidden the desires, the more deadly the pursuits.

Excerpt

Forbidden Pursuit
Harry F. Rey © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
A trembling fear crept over Osvai as he wandered through crystal corridors, his destination no place for the heir to the Empire of a Million Suns. High-heeled shoes clicked against the glass floor while floating robes of crimson silk swished around his legs. Thankfully, the floor wasn’t translucent, but the walls were, and outside shone the brilliant view of a bright Jiwani day, the shimmering towers of the Crystal City set against the deep-green forested hills of Alsatan in the distance. The hills were oddly misshapen: lumps of raw clay dried out and taken over by vegetation. The ones in the distance appeared as ridges etched in shadow in the ocean-blue sky.

It would not be the end of the imperium if someone spotted Osvai here on his own. But questions would be asked. Serious ones. Most likely from his uncle Viscamon. Trips to the baths were affairs of state, not jaunts for pleasure.

He may only be nineteen, but Osvai knew, with a frail father entering his one hundred and fiftieth year and a ruthless uncle on the prowl, danger lurked around any wrong turn. Hence the pink silk scarf covering his smooth black hair and wrapped tightly around his face, so anyone he passed would only see dark-brown eyes set against sunset-colored skin.

Dressed like this, he’d pass for any other highborn Kyleri noble taking a pleasurable midafternoon stroll around the artisanal boutiques and raw fish delicatessens of the Crystal City. The jewel of the planet Jiwani, heart of the ancient and powerful Kyleri Empire. Alsata itself a shimmering city with towers of pure crystal and diamond that could blind a ship’s captain long before she even approached orbit. At certain points in the summer season, the sun reflecting off the Crystal City fired beams of light deep into space. A constant reminder to the souls existing in the orbital stations and surrounding moons of an imperium with the power of a star itself.

The Royal Baths of Alsata were carved into the very crust of Jiwani, far below the Crystal City. The flow of natural volcanic water channeled into a thousand different pools throughout the cavernous labyrinth frequented daily by Kyleri nobles. The Emperor’s Pool in the center by far the largest, surrounded by multiple viewing galleries carved into the rock above for courtiers to see and be seen.

Osvai instantly recalled his trips there with his father and the rest of the imperial court; the smell of the sulfurous rock and the incredible smoothness of his skin after every visit. He used to sit, bored to infinity, splashing at the warm water’s edge as thousands of naked men milled around, conducting their business in steam baths and hot springs as military men swam never-ending laps to show off their physical prowess. Meanwhile, the inner circle of Emperor Kantori would lounge upon silken beds on the raised royal dais next to the Emperor’s Pool, their bodies slathered with oil and their muscles massaged by young servants as they traded gossip and intrigue from across the Million Suns of the Empire.

Osvai had spent many long hours as a child simply staring at those servants’ bodies, watching sweat drip down chiseled chests as thick arms worked through the fat of the imperial court. The customs and etiquette of the Royal Baths were the last fragment to a measure of supposed equality in the Kyleri system of government. Affairs of the empire conducted in hundred-degree heat amid clouds of steam and hot bubbling water came without the trappings of office. Instant judgment by a snobbish courtier based on the quality of one’s silks or the value of jewels around one’s neck was suspended. While a man must be of certain pedigree to attend the baths, indeed even to live on Jiwani, in nakedness, all men at least appeared equal.

Osvai had become so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed he’d nearly arrived at the elevator which would take him straight down into the bowels of the planet. A door of clouded glass opened and a gaggle of laughing men emerged wrapped in soft silks and crystal heels. Their faces colored pink from the baths and their bright skin looking fresh, peeled and scraped in preparation for the upcoming Feast of the Thirteenth Star. For a split second, Osvai wondered why they didn’t gasp in awe at his presence and bow down to the floor, as is custom upon seeing a member of the imperium, but he quickly remembered his attempt at disguise and moved aside as the men passed by him without another look. Although who could even recognize him outside of royal garb and accompanying heavy makeup was anyone’s guess.

Osvai took long, deep breaths, trying to calm his fluttering stomach; but the hot air against the silk only made him warmer. No one would ever imagine these ancient baths, which held such exalted status in the imperial court, had such a dark and dirty secret hidden within. He still wasn’t completely sure the hidden gallery was real, having pieced together its existence from the whispered snippets of hushed chatter overheard from palace servants and pleasure slaves. To think all this had been going on right under the nose of his father’s moral crusade terrified him. The elevator descending hundreds of meters into the darkness underground caused him to tremble as a rock trapped in a stream, leaving nothing but a trickling fear rushing through his ears.

The elevator doors opened into the heat of the underground. Hundreds of robed men floated around the grand entranceway to the baths, the ceiling supported by columns of carved rock. The soft light of mini-pulsars beamed down as the sound of trickling water from inside the rock mingled with the din of polite conversation of a self-serving elite. Banners of crimson hung all around them, displaying the golden thirteen-pointed star, the sigil of the Kyleri Empire.

Being alone among a flock of groups, Osvai felt rather exposed. One came to the baths as part of a social group, or with those with whom one wished to do business. So Osvai walked with haste past huddles of men, from the young and ambitious to the aging and powerful. His robes fluttered behind him and diamond heels clipped the polished rock floor. But instead of going straight toward the wide archway of the main entrance, he veered to the right. Behind a column of intricately carved rock, displaying ancient scenes from the Kyleri past, the promised service entrance emerged. A group of half a dozen older men who appeared to be royal courtiers stood near the narrow opening in the rock wall, idly chatting. Osvai’s heart almost stopped when he recognized one of their faces. He would have to walk past them to get inside. They’d wonder where he was going. He would simply die if any one of them pointed out he was going the wrong way.

Osvai kept his head down and brought the silk scarf lower over his forehead. He kept walking; there was no other choice. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought one glanced at him strangely, but before long he’d made it around the rocky corner, now shielded from any penetrating gaze. Suddenly alone, he should’ve felt relief, but only more nerves came from worrying about what further obstacles might lie ahead.

Eventually, the narrow corridor cut into the rock ended at a bolted door of heavy wood. “Poor man’s entrance” had been scrawled across the top of the doorway. Osvai recoiled for a moment at the words. The conversations he’d eavesdropped on were right. Any self-respecting Jiwani noble would run to the end of the empire before going anywhere near a poor man’s entrance. Unless of course, one knew what lay behind.

Osvai’s heart pounded far louder than the light tap he gave the door. A growing part of him worried this was all a terrible mistake. He’d let his base desires run away with him. He’d snuck out of the imperial palace for this. To be caught now was nowhere near suffering the indignity of being seen out of royal dress or walking unescorted among the people. Those behaviors could, albeit with difficulty, be explained as youthful exploration. No, this was disobedience on a whole new level.

The shame it would bring to the very heart of the imperium. The legacy of his father left in tatters by the crudest actions imaginable of his only remaining son. Actions that went against everything Emperor Kantori had dedicated his life to. The scandal would envelop the court; even the empire itself. Fornication among men with the imperial heir in the sanctity of the royal baths. It would only confirm the subtle assertions Viscamon whispered around court that Osvai was unfit to inherit the largest and most powerful empire in the galaxy.

The light tapping had worked. The door opened. Osvai swallowed hard, not listening to the pounding in his ears, and stepped into the darkness. The door closed behind him. Now there was no turning back.

“Which side are you after?” A gruff voice said. An old man wearing nothing but a loincloth and a utility belt covered in keys and tools emerged from the darkness, illuminated by a candle in his bony hand. It seemed to be the entrance to maintenance, not the pathway to debauchery.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which side?” The maintenance man held up the candle and peered into Osvai’s eyes. “If you’re after the top side you’re in the wrong place. Their entrance is from inside the baths. This is bottom only, you understand?”

Osvai swallowed, his breath hot against the scarf again. Heat radiated from the rocks cramped around him. His heart felt close to bursting out of his chest. Sweat pricked all over his body. He had to breathe. Hoping the darkness would add extra cover, he pulled off the scarf, took in a deep breath, and nodded.

“You know the rules here?”

Osvai nodded again and bit down on his bottom lip, his face now exposed in the candlelight flickering in the hot shadow of danger. He didn’t know the rules but didn’t care to either. He knew what he might get here, and that was enough. Talking would lead to thinking, and thinking would cause him to run for his life. Right now, Osvai only wanted to feel the forbidden touch of men, countless hundreds of men the hidden gallery promised. The keys jingled on the man’s belt as he apparently finished his investigation, turned away, and began to walk down the cave, holding the candle high and beckoning Osvai to follow.

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Meet the Author

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

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Dec 03

New Release Blitz: Saved by Grace by Sita Bethel (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Saved by Grace

Author: Sita Bethel

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 3, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 56300

Genre: Paranormal, angels, demons, incubus, frottage, asexual, visual arts: photography

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Synopsis

Alel is a demon, and he is good at lying. The image he wears is a lie—no one can see his wings or barbed tail, nor can they see the horns peeking from a shag of hair salted with strands of white and pale gray. Half-starved, Alel is short and gangly and has lavender freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks. Lust created him along with all other incubi and succubae for one reason—to encourage humans to sin while feeding off of their sexual energy. Anything more than carnal acts is forbidden, but Alel yearns to be kissed, to bury his face in the crook of a lover’s neck and hold them until dawn.

When he meets a human named Jackson, who’s more interested in snuggling on the couch while watching movies and making out instead of one-night stands, Alel realizes dating Jackson would leave him famished, but he can’t resist the temptation.

As their relationship builds, Alel and Jackson explore the boundaries of both sexual and romantic intimacy. The more they’re together, the more they fall in love, but Alel knows if another demon ever catches him, he’ll be dragged back to hell for breaking taboo.

Excerpt

Saved by Grace
Sita Bethel © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Alel was a demon, and he was good at lying. The image he wore was a lie, a specific one called a glamour that allowed him to appear to others however he wanted. His favorite human persona was teak-skinned with olive eyes and braids like so many tiny garden snakes. To any passerby, he was tall and sculpted, confident and relaxed, dangerous and mysterious, and it was all a pretty lie.

No one could see the wings or the barbed tail, nor could anyone see the horns peeking from a shag of hair salted with strands of white and pale gray. He was short, and gangly, and had lavender freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks. No one would want him as his true self, but Alel was a demon, and he was good at lying.

He stood veiled in cigarette smoke. He didn’t drink; it was too hard to hold the glamour if he was drunk. Instead, Alel leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. He scanned the party crowd, searching for someone to take home for the night. Incubi were children of Lust; they fed off desire and satisfaction the way human infants survived off their mother’s milk—by suckling the nourishment straight from the flesh.

He saw Naberius walking out of the throng of people with a human slung around his arm. They stumbled, both drunk and laughing. Unlike Alel, Naberius loved to drink and eat. His glamour persona was a rugged, tanned gym fanatic, but in reality, he had quite the pooch in his belly from taking lovers three or four at a time, and by the gleam in his stark blue eyes, Alel could tell he was in no mood for a single lover that night.

“Lonely?” Naberius winked, licking his lips afterward.

“Never.” Alel snorted, although in truth, he was lonelier than he could bear, but no amount of one-night stands could fix the hollow space inside him.

“Well, my friend here is.” Naberius pinched the human’s ass. “Want to go back to my place, Al?”

Alel sized up the human. He wore thick-framed, bright-red glasses and looked candid. Alel was fond of virgins; they were bashful and responded nicely when he brushed his fingers against their skin. Alel cupped the man’s face and caressed his thumb across the human’s cheek.

“Do you want me to come?” Alel asked, his voice sultry and inviting because he was good at lying.

The human turned away. He blushed and nodded his head. Naberius gestured toward the door and Alel followed them. Naberius’s Ferrari Lusso sat double-parked in the handicapped zone. They climbed into the car and took off at whatever speed Naberius fancied.

Alel struggled not to roll his eyes. It was all so cliché he couldn’t stand it. Yet another demon with an expensive, red car—why always candy-apple red? It was like they were afraid driving a white car would somehow turn them into an angel. Yet another demon driving without any regard to the speed limit. Every demon Alel knew was the same, and he could never figure out why they thought speeding made them more evil. Speeding was illegal, but it wasn’t a sin. However, no matter how many times Alel explained this, his consorts always argued with him, saying it proved they were superior to humans because they didn’t have to follow human laws. They didn’t have to break them, either, if they were above them, but that was an unpopular opinion, and Alel seemed to be the only one afflicted with it.

They both escorted their human meal into Naberius’s apartment and straight to his bed. Without ceremony, they tugged off every scrap of clothing between the three of them and lay the human on black satin sheets—which was also cliché—why was it always red sports cars and black satin sheets? Alel wanted to scream.

“Do your thing.” Naberius grinned.

Alel gazed at the human. The man’s eyes were a warm hazel color. Alel caressed his cheek again. The incubus was awful at hunting and was half-starved because of it, but Alel had a strange talent for calming virgins, so Naberius often invited Alel to share meals to take advantage of his skill. It wasn’t hard to seduce a shy human. Alel relished the time it took, talking to them, touching them little by little, watching and listening for nonverbal queuing and giving them what they were too nervous to vocalize. The fun of a meal came from the anticipation of the first taste, and Alel enjoyed the mouthwatering moment before feeding more so than he ever enjoyed the main course.

Alel leaned down, almost brushing his lips against the drunk, hazel-eyed human. A wicked, imaginary tug pulled his lips close to his prey’s, but he never indulged the urge to kiss because kissing was an act of love and therefore forbidden to him. Teasing, on the other hand, was permitted, and teasing always made humans arch up and whimper, begging for what Alel held out of their grasp.

And they had to beg. The human had to want it. Desire was important. An incubus offered what a human already craved and guided them, gently and sweetly, away from God and toward anything else. Lust, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Avarice, Wrath, and Pride: those sins were the parents of every demon and who the demons answered to if they failed to create discord in the world.

“Are you nervous?” Alel ran the pad of his thumb across the human’s bottom lip instead of kissing him.

“A little,” the human gasped, already hitching up and trying to grind their bodies together.

“Don’t worry.” Alel palmed the human’s erection. “We’re going to make you feel amazing.”

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Meet the Author

Sita Bethel obtained a B.A. in Creative Writing at Arkansas Tech University; however, she learned how to write fiction on sites such as Archive Of Our Own and fanfiction.net. She keeps coloring books near her computer for when she’s “writing,” and owns an awful lot of dice for someone who’s never played a tabletop RPG. Sita Bethel currently lives in Arkansas, teaches Zumba Fitness and Salsaton classes at a local gym, and hopes to someday own a fortress of solitude staffed with incompetent henchmen.

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Dec 03

New Release Blitz: Family in a Snowstorm by Ava Kelly & Little X by Elna Holst (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Family in a Snowstorm
Series: A Snow Globes Romance
Author: Ava Kelly
Publisher:  NineStar Press
Release Date: December 3, 2018
Heat Level: 1 – No Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 11000
Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, holiday/Christmas, family drama, children, established couple, sweet, interracial/intercultural

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Synopsis

Last Christmas, Daniel Wu found a place to call home with Jeff and his adopted daughter Abby. A year later, they confirm his place in their family with a surprising and warm gift. However, when Abby’s biological father returns making demands, Daniel’s happiness is threatened.

With the worsening weather, a much more urgent problem arises when Abby goes missing. Will Daniel and Jeff be able to find her before the storm sets in, and will they manage to keep their small family intact?

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Meet the Author

Ava Kelly is an engineer with a deep passion for stories. Whether reading, watching, or writing them, Ava has always been surrounded by tales of all genres. Their goal is to bring more stories to life, especially those of friendship and compassion, those dedicated to trope subversion, those that give the void a voice, and those that spawn worlds of their own.

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Title:  Little x
Author: Elna Holst
Publisher:  NineStar Press
Release Date: December 3, 2018
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 12500
Genre: Contemporary, lesbian, Nonbinary, Christmas, holiday

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Synopsis

Malmö, Sweden, 1996

Sofie Andersson is a dyslectic born under the star sign Aries, who drives the local buses for a living. Her hobbies include knitting terrible hats and intermittent lesbianism. This December she is on the point of moving into her first flat of her own, figuring out her place in the world, when an instant attraction to a handsome stranger leads her to question everything she’s taken for granted.

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Meet the Author

Elna Holst writes lesbian erotic fiction, reads Tolstoy and plays contract bridge. A devoted fan of the short story form, her publications include bite-sized textual effusions in anthologies like the longstanding Best Lesbian Erotica series, The New Urge Reader 2 and Rule 34: Weird and Wonderful Fetish Erotica.

She is currently at work on a novel-length project.  Follow her on Instagram

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Dec 03

New Release Blitz: Paradise Lodge by Riina YT & Foxy Boxing Day by L.J. Hamlin (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Paradise Lodge
Author: Riina YT
Publisher:  NineStar Press
Release Date: December 3, 2018
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male|
Length: 26100
Genre: Contemporary, musicians, holidays, vacation, friends-to-lovers, new adult

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Synopsis

Azariah Bell is a nervous wreck. He isn’t prepared to spend the final week of the year with his best friend, Ky O’Sullivan, lead vocalist for their pop rock band, Moving Insignia—especially after the fight he caused before they parted ways two weeks ago.

Afraid of not being taken seriously by Ky, Azariah was concerned about what confessing his feelings would do to their friendship, or the band. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but instead, he exploded in anger over some petty issue, and now he’s potentially lost Ky forever.

Ky is looking forward to the band’s annual writing retreat for a week of songwriting and recording at a secluded mountain resort. Spending Christmas with his family gave Ky time to reflect on how he’d handled Azariah’s epic meltdown. It wasn’t good, and Ky is determined to uncover the true nature of Azariah’s unusual behavior. They didn’t keep secrets from each other, or so he believed.

Expecting to see the rest of the band when they arrive by helicopter, Ky and Azariah are shocked to learn they are alone at a deserted lodge. When they discover they’ve been set up by their bandmates so they can “sort it out,” their choices are few. But it’s critical for them to resolve their problems if they have any hope of enjoying the new year together, let alone make that new album happen.

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Meet the Author

Riina currently resides in Germany. She spent countless exciting days in the UK and US and lost her heart in Tokyo.

She would be thrilled if one day her stories could brighten someone’s day in the way those beautiful romances always lighten up her dull everyday life. Riina is looking forward to sharing many more stories with the world.

When she doesn’t daydream about boys in love, and isn’t glued to her Kindle, Riina loves to travel the world and explore the unknown.

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Title: Foxy Boxing Day
Author: L.J. Hamlin
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: December 3, 2018
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: FF
Length: 10100
Genre: Paranormal, lesbian, bisexual, romance, holiday, Boxing Day

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 Synopsis

After a sickness keeps a young werewolf ill through Christmas, she is excited to go to her Pack’s Boxing Day party.

With the party in full swing, she meets a punky fox shifter who pushes all of her buttons in just the right way, and the holidays become a lot more exciting.

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Meet the Author

LJ is a disabled queer writer in her late twenties, she loves writing all kinds of different books with a romance twist and has been writing all her life. Writing can often be hard due to pain but can also often be an escape from it and it’ll always be part of her life.

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Dec 01

New Release Blitz: Blood Echo by L.E. Royal (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Blood Echo

Author: L.E. Royal

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: December 3, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 85600

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, paranormal, vampire, captivity, lesbian, new adult, high school, bonded

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Synopsis

When her abusive father finally goes too far, shy seventeen-year-old Rayne Kennedy finds that her savior is far from an angel. Lost and alone she is completely enraptured by the beautiful but murderous, Scarlett. Taken on an adventure by the vampire’s well-intentioned sister, Rayne is drawn into Vires, a dark and dangerous vampire world, where humans are little more than natural resources to be exploited.

In a society that has been turned upside down while learning to live inside its constraints, Scarlett Pearce may not be much more than a slave to a power-hungry Government and the violent bloodlust that consumes her may be all her own. Before she loses herself in a world unlike anything she has ever known, Rayne needs to find Scarlett and the answers to those questions.

Excerpt

Blood Echo
L.E. Royal © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Blood. There was so much blood. It tasted metallic and sticky as it flooded my mouth. My back was uncomfortably warm, wet, and screaming in agony. A high-pitched sound filled the air, piercing, shaking me to the center of myself. My frantic blue eyes searched through spinning space, looking for him. My father was three steps up our staircase and wasted, drunk on his beloved infusion of cheap apple cider and vodka that smelled like drain cleaner on his breath.

The siren kept on wailing. I searched his eyes, so similar to my own, for any of the fear I felt, anything to signify that he too knew, this time, he really had gone too far. I saw none, and the panic settling over me was ice cold and heavy, crushing down on my chest.

Warm wetness was all around me. Only when the siren stopped, and I sucked in a deep and frantic breath that sent white-hot pain shooting through my torso, did I realize I had been screaming.

Lying there, my body strewn across the entryway of the house where I grew up, I considered that I’d never thought much about death. Bleeding at the bottom of the stairs, my ragingly drunk father staggering toward me to either save me or hurt me more, I wished I had.

At least I might see Mom. That’s what I told myself as the edges of my vision began to bleed, the colors mixing together and fading out. My father’s expressionless face swam into focus as he stared down at me. He almost looked sorry, then he ran the back of his hand across the midnight shadow on his chin and I was drifting away again as he started to shout.

“Stop looking at me that way, Marion! You left…”

The words drifted to my ears like I was hearing them from miles away, through a thick-fogged glass of space, time, and pain.

“You left me! You left us… You left us behind… So don’t you dare…”

I was dragged back to myself, back to the agonizing sting where the cool air hit the gashes in my skin as, with a wet thwack, a glob of my father’s spit landed on my cheek.

He’s going to kill me. The thought spun in my head, a carousel doomed to run endlessly. I tried to find the words to tell him I wasn’t my mother; she’d left us both when her long fight with cancer was finally lost.

This was how I would die, after six years of watching the man who had raised me sink further and further into an abyss of alcohol, emptiness, and violence. The occasional “accidents” had escalated to flat-out beatings, and tonight, I realized it would all come to an end. The minute he had thrown me down the stairs, sending me crashing through the glass door below, it was over.

“Rayne… Marion…” I heard low mumblings in the familiar voice that had come to foster a sick and unnatural fear in me. I told myself the lie I had lived by since my mother’s funeral—my father had died with her. I would remember him for who he was, not the grief-crazed murderer wearing his pajamas.

Tears flooded my eyes. I felt everything, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to sleep and to not hurt anymore, not like this.

Shouting woke me again. I listened to my father’s voice, the click of the front door closing, blowing cold air on the bare skin of my side. My shirt was still wrinkled around my middle from the fall. The words made no sense. The questions floating to me came from a voice I didn’t recognize. His replies were suddenly uncertain. The aggressor was gone, and I opened my eyes just in time to watch him become the victim.

I don’t know where she came from, how she found me, or how she knew the exact right time to walk into my life.

A woman stood in our entryway. Slender and petite, softly waved brunette hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and a form-fitting and deep crimson dress riding dangerously high up her thighs. A smooth leather jacket molded to her small form like a second skin.

I had no time to wonder who she was, but I knew from the minute she appeared like an omen in my darkest moment she was someone.

Dark eyes looked down at me, and I looked back, though I could not prevent my own closing. I shivered against an invisible cold and the action was exhausting. The warm pool I had been lying in was cooling and everything told me to close my eyes. It was curiosity that kept me alive, it was her, and those haunting dark eyes, searching mine, looking down at me so intensely, yet she was unreadable.

I was a captive audience, powerless to look away from her, and I saw it all.

Full lips parted, and I watched in awe and almost complete detachment. The way she moved was animalistic, fingers twisting roughly into my father’s hair—his head yanked right, while hers dipped left. When she turned back to me, letting his body fall to the floor with a heavy thud and pushing it away as if he was a wooden puppet, not a two-hundred-pound man, her lips were marred with blood.

She was beautiful and she was terrible, this killer, my angel of death. I wondered with the last of my strength if she had come to save me or just to take me away. By now, they were the same thing.

Her eyes as she crouched beside me were unforgettable, one brown, one green, though the irises seemed to be alive. The colors swirled, rich and bright, moving like flames, spinning into their own constellations. Suddenly, I was glad this beautiful killer would be the last thing I’d see.

Those strange eyes peered down at me, perfectly shaped eyebrows arched, and I stared back up at her. The only sound breaking the silence was my own rasping, rattling breaths.

This was it. It had all been for nothing, my father, my mother, me… This was the end of the Kennedy family, but somehow, I couldn’t feel sadness. Looking into those swirling eyes, light-headed, I couldn’t feel anything.

I sucked a gurgling breath through my bloodstained lips as I watched my father’s blood drip down her chin. Somehow, I forced out my last words.

“Thank you.”

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Meet the Author

L.E. Royal is a British born fiction writer, living in Texas. She enjoys dark but redeemable characters, and twisted themes. Though she is a fan of happy endings, she would describe most of her work as fractured romance. When she is not writing, she is pursuing her dreams with her multi-champion Arabian show horses, or hanging out with her wife at their small ranch/accidental cat sanctuary.

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Nov 26

New Release Blitz: The Evolution of Jeremy Warsh by Jess Moore (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Evolution of Jeremy Warsh

Author: Jess Moore

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 26, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance, Male/Male

Length: 86100

Genre: Contemporary YA, contemporary, YA, high school, coming-of-age, family issues, graphic artist/comics, pop-punk music

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Synopsis

Jeremy Warsh has been in off-mode ever since his grandpa’s death a couple years ago. He set aside their shared passion, comic art, and hasn’t looked back. As an introvert from the other side of town, he fully expects to spend his boring life bagging groceries until, maybe one day, he’s promoted to store manager.

Yet, his two best friends, Kasey and Stuart, are different. They’re not afraid to demand more out of everyone. When Kasey comes out, Jeremy’s inspired. He picks up his colored pencils and starts drawing comics again, creating a no-nonsense, truth-talking character named Penny Kind. Who speaks to him. Literally.

The friend-group sets in motion Stuart’s plans for a huge Homecoming prank, and if they can get Penny’s comic trending, they might be able to pull it off. Could this be a stepping-stone to a future Jeremy’s only dreamed of? And after he kisses a boy at a college party, will Jeremy finally face what he’s been hiding from?

Excerpt

The Evolution of Jeremy Warsh
Jess Moore © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Chilly in the underground basement, one of my best friends and I spent the final hours of summer’s freedom on opposite sides of the couch. Kasey’s head poked out from under an orange-and-black chevron afghan. Her arm snaked out from under the blanket as she reached for the bowl of potato chips between us. In fact, we had moved only for snack and/or bathroom breaks since setting up camp earlier in the day. The last of August’s to-do list was to listen to Nirvana’s entire library.

“Did you catch this live when it came out on MTV?” I asked, as the first few notes of “Lake of Fire” sounded. Cobain’s scratchy prophet-like lilt emanated from a set of waist-high speakers next to the fireplace.

“In middle school? I don’t know. They re-air it every now and then though.” She licked the BBQ-flavored spices from a potato chip.

“It wasn’t long after that he was gone, and we were all down here drinking our first beers in his honor.” I gave my can of Mountain Dew a little shake, empty.

“I remember.” Kasey leaned her head back against the pillow. “This is too depressing for words.” She popped the rest of the chip in her mouth and jumped up from the couch to switch off the stereo.

“Hey! I love that one!”

“Come on, Jeremy. You need to practice.” She grabbed my hand and tried to pull me from the couch.

“Seriously?”

“Yes! School starts tomorrow.” She gave up and walked toward her bedroom. Kasey’s basement was hardly that. Basically it was its own two-bedroom apartment with a TV room, kitchen, and dining space. The lower level of her house cut into the hill and opened to a brick patio overlooking a pool and woods beyond. She’d lived down there with her older brother until he left for college. Now, it was just Kasey; her parents lived upstairs.

“Fine!” I called after her. Our senior year was less than twenty-four hours away; she was probably right. My distorted reflection peered back at me from the TV’s black glass as I forced myself out of the sunken cushions.

Kasey’s bedroom walls were sponge-painted with textured splats in varying shades of flamingo pink. It was dizzying and the opposite of subtle, but the same went for her.

“Jeez, you’ve grown, like, a foot in the last month. You could’ve played football this year.” She reached for my shoulders and positioned me in front of her closet mirrors.

“That would mean more time around Russ. Plus, Mom would never let me.”

Kasey stepped back, assessing my reflection. “Now, say it.”

“Suck it, Russ.” The words rolled clumsily off my tongue. I rushed through the line because I hated every minute of it.

Russ Landry had been making my life miserable forever. Kasey was convinced if I stood up to him, he’d leave me alone. I figured it would likely get me punched. But ignoring the bastard, which I’d been trying to do for years, proved an unsuccessful strategy.

She shoved me forward and flopped onto her bed. “You’ll get nowhere if you say it like that. This needs flair, Jeremy. Again.”

I repeated the line with some sass that I would never replicate in real life.

“Grasshopper, you must deliver a blow of such magnitude that thine enemy is left stunned.” Kasey flipped through the latest issue of a teen fashion magazine. She hadn’t even seen my sashay.

“Is that why you tell people to suck your dick?” I cleared my throat, a little embarrassed.

“I only tell misogynists that, and yyyyep.” Kasey unwrapped a sucker and stuck it in her mouth. “Wah-wa?” she asked, her speech hindered by the candy.

“I’m good.” I sat next to her. The magazine contained musky perfume samples. Kasey found one and rubbed the paper on both her wrists and neck.

“Yuck, that smells awful,” I said.

“You’re crazy. Everyone loves CK One.” She flipped through the special back-to-school edition. “Wanna read your horoscope? Cancer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So obvious.”

She read my crab-shelled future.

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Meet the Author

Jess Moore geeks out over books and homemade pizza. Her past lives include careers in both teaching and social work. Currently, she resides in historic gold-mining California and writes YA novels in the very early morning while her family sometimes sleeps.

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Nov 26

New Release Blitz: The Bibliophile by Drew Marvin Frayne (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Bibliophile

Author: Drew Marvin Frayne

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 26, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60500

Genre: Historical, historical, romance, rancher, age gap, family drama, coming of age, hurt/comfort

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Synopsis

Nathanial Goldsmith is the only son of the richest man in the Idaho territory, Jessum Goldsmith, the Silver Baron of the Western Lands, as he is called in all the newspapers. But life in the late nineteenth-century American West weaves no magic spell for Nathanial, who longs for the academic worlds his father has forced him to leave behind.

To toughen him up, Nathanial’s father has indentured him to a ranchman, Cayuse Jem, a large, raw-boned, taciturn man Nathanial’s father believes will help teach his son to “become a man.” Cut off from his books and the life he has always known, Nathanial is not only forced to co-exist with Cayuse Jem, but to truly get to know him. In doing so, Nathanial discovers there is more to this silent horseman than meets the eye. And, in the process, Nathanial also learns a few things about life, about human nature, and about the differences in being a man and a boy…

Excerpt

The Bibliophile
Drew Marvin Frayne © 2018
All Rights Reserved

21 June 1888
I have not kept a journal since I was a boy. I last abandoned these pages during the inverse leg of this very journey, four years ago, when I left the territory to go to school. It is perhaps ironic I kept no written record of these last four years, for when I am withered and old I suspect my time in school is the period in my life I shall look back upon with the most fondness and longing.

Instead, errant fool that I am, I have only kept a record of my daily comings and goings when I am at home, mired in the tedium of life in the territory. It should be considered a tremendous irony that I have maintained records of my existence only during periods of my life when it was not worthy of record. This journal is nothing more than an exercise in keeping at bay the stultification and mental weariness I know will come upon me once I return to that world, to the territory, and to time spent with my father. My existence there—all that I shall experience—it is beyond languor, beyond ennui. Life at my father’s home represents nothing less than the atrophy of the mind itself.

Not that my father is a wicked man; I wish to impress this fact most sincerely, especially since it is probable that, in her “exploration” of my belongings, my grandmother is likely to uncover this diary and read these passages, and will hasten to share with my father any negative report she finds contained herein. No, my father is a good man, but a hard man, and a plain one—even Grandmomma must confess to that. The trappings of the world I hold most dear—those things that mean the world to me, those things that are my world, that define my world, that define me—they mean nothing to him. And even more painfully, my father has already determined the manner in which the arc of my life will bend, and I, his only son, must dutifully obey.

How I wish it were not so! After three years at preparatory school, I had completed but one year of my university studies. Yet I needed just one week—nay, one day, one hour—to know I truly belonged there, in Cambridge, in academe, in amongst those ancient tomes and dusty halls. Feldspar, my one friend at Harvard, used to josh me frequently and oft would say, “Goldsmith, you will lose yourself in the library someday, I guarantee!” And then he would laugh in that short-pitched bark of his, his laugh that always made the other fellows snigger as well. But I did not laugh. Rather, how I longed for what he said to come true. There, in the library, to read and study under the gas-lit lamps for as long as I wished, to be lost amongst the books… Yes, that is where my heart’s desire can be found, as the old poem starts.

But what good will it do me? My father has but one son, and when you are the son of Jessum Goldsmith, your lot in life is naught but to obey. “Time to give up the books,” he wrote me, his only letter in the four years I was away from his custody. I had not to read his words at all to know what his communication meant to convey, to know it was a summons, and not the heartfelt correspondence of father to son. “Time to come home. To learn the business. Time to be a man.” All my life I have longed for nothing more than books and words and worlds that unfurl one page at a time. I was meant for academe. I had hoped to complete my baccalaureate and continue straight on, for my post-graduate, for my master’s, and then—my most sincere wish—to teach. To be forever a part of those hallowed halls. What care I for business and industry? But no, I am son to Jessum Goldsmith, richest man in the territory, and I do not have the freedom others of my age and station possess. How I wish I were a second son, or third, a son of lesser value and importance. But Momma died giving birth to me, and since I stole Father’s past, I cannot steal his future as well.

“To be a man.” Those words have haunted my existence since I have existed. My father measures manhood in far different ways than the professors I idolized, the masters whose learning captivated me and whose lectures I would listen to in spent and utter rapture. A man of letters, an intellect, someone who wrestles with ideas—to me, that is a man—that defines a man. Milton is a man. Donne. And Jonson and Pope and so many more, and that is just amongst the English. But my father is not a book-learned man, and his idea of what a man should be neither begins nor ends in the printed pages of any text. He was born to the outdoors, and me to the indoors, but rather than simply acknowledge our differences, he only tolerated them until such time as I turned eighteen, when he summoned me home for his tutelage to begin, and for my real “education” to commence.

Father’s letter was accompanied by one from Grandmomma, a more faithful correspondent all these years, though, as ever, only a mouthpiece for my father. “You must come home, Nathanial,” she wrote to me. “It is time to plan for the future. It is time to give up your books. Your family needs you. You must come at once.” I could hear the gloat in every word. For so long I had begged to be sent East, to study, first in boarding school, and then at university. Father gave in, I believe, just to quiet me, and because, at such a young age, I held little use for him. But there, in Boston, I could live as I wished, with my books, and in my mind, alone and quite content to be so. I could be literate and educated and revel in such things as befits a learned man. But Grandmomma never saw the need for such lofty education and told me as such in almost every letter she sent. Yes, like the son she bore, she ever wrote in declarations, though that is the usual state of the world in her eye; every letter she sent to me reflected duty, honor, and obligation to my father and his ideals of masculinity, and, of course, to the vaunted Goldsmith name. Vaunted, indeed. I happen to know my Grandfather Goldsmith was a dry goods salesman from Michigan. It was my father, his son, who went into Idaho as a lad and made his fortune in the mines. Our name is no more hallowed than the tradesmen who gave it to us in the first place. A smith, after all, is one who works with precious metals, not one who possesses them. Our name should be a reminder of the humble beginnings of our family and the promise that a man may make his own way in this world. But no, to Grandmomma, to Father, we are the first family of the territory. We own the largest manor; we hold the most land; we possess the most wealth. It is all that matters to them.

I suppose I should find it ironic our name is Goldsmith; Father, after all, made his fortune in mining silver. “The Silver Baron of the Western Lands.” That is what they call him in the Eastern newspapers. How oft would I read of his latest coup. And then the other fellows would stand around me and ask, “Is that truly your father, Goldsmith?” As if they did not know. But most of them—Fulton, Hardwicke, Matthews, and the like—all they cared about was money, too. Only Feldspar understood how little it meant to me. Only Feldspar understood that what I cared about was the books, the words, and the ideas contained within. Those were the worlds that meant so much to me. Not money, not industry, and certainly not mining. Just the words. How I longed to be part of that world, to be part of the discourse of scholarship and books and ideas. It is in my disposition to be of that world.

It is who I was meant to be.

Or so I always believed.

But then again, of what consequence are my own beliefs and ideals?

I doubt I shall ever see Feldspar again. I had not thought of that until now. I suppose I should feel disconsolate over that but…truly, I feel nothing. Perhaps I am simply resigned to my fate. Perhaps I am incapable of such feelings, or feeling anything but for my books. I have never had many friends, and those I do are such friends of the sort one exchanges pleasantries with, and not the sort one shares one’s innermost confidences and expressions. Even Father, hard man that he is, has Abernathy, his lieutenant, with whom he plots and plans for the future, for the next mine or the next land grab or the next political power play. I have no one. Then again, perhaps I need no one. I fear I do not have any such innermost desires for companionship.

All I have ever truly cared about are my books.

Well, and, of course, Dora. My sister. Older by a year. A carefree child, though, I suppose, no longer a child. Her letters mean almost as much to me as my tomes. And while I am sure she did not care to receive my surely dull correspondences of what I had been reading and what I had been learning, she always paid attention and always asked her little brother to tell her more. And oh, how she loved to hear of Boston, of the Old North Church and the Quincy Market Hall and the teeming masses of people from all walks of life and corners of the nation—indeed, the world. Oh, she herself never expressed any desire to see it. That is not her way. But at Christmas I would send her etchings I purchased from the booksellers of the sights of the city, and she always wrote that she felt as if she had glimpsed it for herself. Yes, it will be good to see her again, to walk with her amongst the gardens and whisper conspiratorially about Father’s demanding ways. But that does not counterbalance the loss of school. And she will be wed soon, I would wager, and then she will be gone as well.

The train is stopping presently, as we are pulling into Chicago. Perhaps I will disembark and stretch my legs. Our family car affords me every luxury and every privacy, but the only other soul I have seen since leaving Boston is Cheevers, our man, and dull sort that he is, he has done nothing but sit in a corner and stare blankly afore, pausing infrequently in his ruminations to serve tea. I asked him, as we pulled out of Philadelphia, what he might be pondering so deeply, but the question seemed to puzzle him most earnestly, so much so that I gave up any hope of an answer. Yes, I think I shall disembark upon Chicago and perhaps converse with a fellow passenger or two, at least to exchange a pleasantry or any news of the journey. And possibly—one can hope—there will be a bookseller at the station. It will be three more days before we reach Boise. And two more after that to home, if the roads are good. Something new to read would gladden my heart indeed.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Drew Marvin Frayne is the pen name of a long-time author (Lambda Literary Award finalist) who is finally taking the opportunity to indulge his more sentimental and romantic side. When not writing the author lives with his husband of 20+ years and their dog of 10+ years in a brick home in the Northeast. Find out more about Drew on his Website.

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