Jun 11

Release Blitz: Ghost’s Sight by Morwen Navarre (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Ghost’s Sight

Series: Witch’s Apprentice, Book One

Author: Morwen Navarre

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 11, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 27000

Genre: Paranormal, alt universe, witches, magic, kidnapping, virgin/first time

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Synopsis

Years ago, a bond was forged when a little boy, plagued by dreams and visions he could not explain, became the Witch’s new apprentice healer.

Gerry, a rugged and headstrong hunter, is brought to the Witch for healing, and Ghost is forced to reveal the mark beneath his snowy hair that sets him apart from other men.

But Gerry does not reject Ghost as an outcast. He finds Ghost beguiling and mysterious and declares his intent to claim Ghost as his own. When Ghost is kidnapped by a rogue ranger, Gerry will need to hunt a lethal and unpredictable prey, and Ghost will need to use all his skill to survive until Gerry can find him.

Excerpt

Ghost’s Sight
Morwen Navarre © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“Fuck, Conn, pay attention,” Gerry growled, low and irritated. He ran a hand through his hair, narrowing his eyes as he glared at his younger companion. “We’re not hunting runners today. Mother’s got us after sind, and you’re spotter, so spot, you little shit.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Conn retorted, his shaggy brown hair flopping into one dark-blue eye. “You’re a dependent, same as me, so don’t pull the fucking alpha shit. Only Mother tells me what to do and he’s not here. And I am spotting, you stupid fucker.” There was berry juice on his lips, and his fingers were stained with it, belying his words.

The hunter frowned, watching the lithe young man turn away, poking the ground at random and with little enthusiasm. Gerry fought the urge to reach out to cuff Conn, to see the pout leave the little shit’s face. Still, if he was going to be an alpha one day himself, he needed to master his temper. The world was evidence enough of what could happen when those who led lost sight of what mattered most.

When everything had gone to shit, well back before anyone living could remember, there was nothing left of most families. The cities were burning or ravaged by looters. Anyone with any sense had fled for the open places. At first, it was tents or rough camps where strangers gathered and tried to make sense of what had happened. Those were hungry days marked by illnesses thought eradicated.

The godsmen called it a just punishment and burned the books that might have held answers. What had been a minor cult was now the only faith, and the godsmen took every opportunity to shape the new world emerging from the ruins. They made sure no one would make the mistakes of the past by eradicating all traces of it, other than the knowledge preserved by the witches who ignored the godsmen and their edicts.

The witches used bits and pieces of ancient relics, scavenging them from the ruins of the cities themselves or trading with the rangers who haunted the ruins and lived outside the godsmen’s laws. The witches could not heal everything, but fewer people died when a village had a witch, despite what the godsmen said. The godsmen compromised by declaring witches followed the Seeker and the witches pretended to agree.

Those few who survived the aftermath were determined to prevail. They built houses, rough at first, but increasingly sturdy as their skills were honed by failure. Random strangers began to form themselves into families. The people most comfortable leading became known as alphas. Alphas took on dependents, mostly children who were on their own or the elderly left with no one to care for them. They learned what could be eaten by tasting every root and found familiar fruits hanging from trees or growing on bushes and vines. The factories that produced most other foods were as lost as the cities, so they had to teach themselves to hunt and fish. Runners, graceful and long-legged herd beasts, were not afraid of men back then and their meat was curiously satisfying.

The motley collections of houses turned into villages, and once the rivers had settled into their new courses, there were fish and there was trade. People adapted. Crops were sowed, and hunger ceased to be the most pressing concern. That left room for the godsmen to speak up and remind the people they were all under the eyes of the Eight. Life went on.

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Meet the Author

Morwen has been writing since she could first hold a pencil, and by all accounts she didn’t limit myself to paper. Walls, tablecloths and the occasional sibling were all fair game, and it shouldn’t be surprising to learn that markers were banned in her home with all due haste. Although she now contents herself with inconveniencing electrons, the desire to bring the stories in her mind to life hasn’t waned.

In her spare time, she reads, putters in the kitchen, and relaxes on her terrace or at the lake, weather permitting, with her corgi who strives to be part muse, part food disposal. She’s also addicted to coffee and has a close relationship with her Keurig.

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Jun 11

Release Blitz: Blood-Bound by Kaelan Rhywiol (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Blood-Bound

Series: Ace Assassin, Book One

Author: Kaelan Rhywiol

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 11, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male

Length: 90900

Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, vampire, assassin, demisexual

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Synopsis

Rhian is content in her life. As a pwca, a Welsh shapeshifter, she is bound to the Dark God Arawn as an assassin. So when he assigns her as ambassador to oversee Ontario for him, it’s a shock.

Her new job? To find out who murdered her predecessor and bring them to justice, as well as to oversee the otherkin and clean up their messes before the humans find them—all to preserve the illusion that magic and supernatural creatures do not exist.

The problem? One of the otherkin she’s supposed to oversee is her estranged husband, Kai, the only person Rhian never regretted having sex with, and the only one she can’t forgive.

Excerpt

Blood-Bound
Kaelan Rhywiol © 2018
All Rights Reserved

One: Remember Your Vows

RHIAN

“This is a story of vengeance, magic, lust, what it means to love, and what you’ll pay to have it. It’s not a pretty story, but it’s mine, and it’s real. Oh, and I swear a lot. Fair warning.”

Everything ached. I lay back in the hot water lapping around the curves of my breasts and inhaled the intoxicating aromas of jasmine, rose otto, and sandalwood. I needed to restock my essential oils next time I went Earth-side, or maybe just pay someone to go for me. I didn’t really like going to Earth anymore; it brought back too many bad memories. So many things I’d rather forget.

I lifted my foot and tried to let the cascade of drops from my toes distract me.

It didn’t work.

My heart burned like molten lead in my chest and my eyes stung with unshed tears. It’d been three hundred years since I’d fled our small, garret apartment. I’d carried nothing but my clothes and my beloved husband’s guitar.

My family had welcomed me with open arms, and I’d started training in their arts the next day. I rubbed my fingers together over the flat roughness of my bow-string calluses. I’m not sure I would’ve come if I’d known they were assassins. Not even with my father’s threat.

I dropped my head back against the curve of my pool and let the scalding heat of the water soak into my bones. I couldn’t age, but my years weighed heavy as the depths of the sea god Manawydan’s dark home tonight.

I opened my eyes to find dusk had stalked in on cat paws as I soaked. The coronas from my candles gleamed sparkling gold through the steam rising in drifting curlicues on the evening air.

My bath sat in the middle of my backyard, surrounded by riotous dark-green yew hedges. Eldritch hot tubs were so much better than the kinds on Earth. Or so I tried to convince myself. I leaned forward to refill my glass, then settled in to rest against the curved and polished bottom of the pool to sip my wine.

Hoping it would ease the ache of repressed tears as well as numb the pain in my arm.

I finished my drink, and the glass clicked against the polished stone lip of the pool. I needed my solitude, especially tonight. With a glance, I took in the wild pixies zipping over my garden and then listened with closed eyes to the buzz of their wings. All underscored by the mournful howls of the spirit-hounds as they cried their grief.

I’d caused that.

I nibbled a piece of cheese—also imported—a rich, double-cream Brie. Expensive as all get out, but what good was being a god’s assassin if I didn’t use my murder-gotten gains as I wished?

The hellish fire of strained muscles painted my shoulders from grappling my opponent, and I winced as I extended a leg. I think I’d pulled a glute too. Gave new meaning to the concept of pain in the ass.

Which this contract had been, and then some. My prey had taken me all over—this side of the veil—before I’d found and finished her. She’d made me slew through bogs, avoiding the water-leapers, so they didn’t try to eat me. The bat-winged, frog-like, carnivores called llamhigyn y dwr usually left we hunters alone, but avoidance equaled wisdom with something that could make me its dinner.

I lifted my left arm out of the water. Searing claws still raked up the nerves, but I sat watching the wound close that would’ve left a human in surgery for months. It had finally stopped bleeding and healed over.

I poked at it and winced. “Gormless nimrod.” My muttered exclamation hushed the pixies’ quiet murmurs for a moment, but then they went about their business.

The arm was still incredibly tender, and the skin stretched thin and silk smooth over the gouges and punctures. The rogue cwn annwvyn had been evil in the worst definition of the word, and canny with it. The spirit-hunting, red-eared, white hound had marked me well before I’d taken her down.

She’d betrayed our Lord and Master Arawn. She’d taken numerous children in a disgusting pact made with one of the Dark God’s banned scions. But she’d been my friend, and my heart ached with the memory of her blood spraying in searing arterial jets—the same brilliant red as her ears—across my face. My gut twisted at the recollection of how her eyes had glazed over as her life fled. I’d known Halley all my life—or most of it—for all the years since I’d run away from Earth, anyway.

I hadn’t wanted to kill her. The cries of her kin on the wind tortured my already broken heart.

I smiled through my heartache, a battle rictus more like, reaching for some joy to alleviate the grief. At least, I’d been able to restore a child to its family and recalling the sight of the mother’s face filled me with gladness. I only wished I could return all of the stolen bairns. I’d never wanted kids of my own, but seeing the mother’s weak-kneed joy had warmed my heart from the death-born chill of murder. For a while.

A buzzing whir akin to the sound of a hummingbird’s wings came from the darkened maw of the open doors of my home. The jet-black six-inch form of one of my servants—also known as nagging busybodies—zipped through the opening, her eyes blazing gold.

“Tsk. I wish you’d be more careful, mistress.” One of my few servants, Carys, was a burly pixie female dressed in nothing but her saffron yellow hair. She lifted the clay pitcher of wine to fill my glass. “You heal well, but I don’t like seeing you injured. You may be a big, bad hunter for our god, but you’re still my charge.”

Pixies, like most of us otherkin, took their vows seriously.

“Don’t fuss, Carys. Please. I’m absolutely knackered.”

“Yes. Well. I’ll worry if I want to.” She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed at me. With a sad look on her face, she said, “A messenger has just come and brought this for you, mistress.”

Carys’s great-granddaughter, Aderyn—one of the other pixies belonging to the small clan that made its home with me—flew into the back garden. She dodged curls of steam, carrying a gold-flecked green-black scroll case. I dried my hands on a plush teal towel before I reached for the elaborately carved item.

Only one being would send me something like that. The value of it on Earth-side would be enough to feed a small country given the price of kin-stone. The gemstone created from the crystallized blood of my people was rare, tightly regulated, and difficult to work with.

My guardian pixies waited like attendant cats while I uncapped the case, pulled out and unrolled the high-linen-fiber paper from its kin-stone spool. I read the words written in old Welsh three times before I believed them, and then rage boiled like bile in my gut, threatening to overwhelm me.

“No.” My voice echoed a broken note against the enshrouding hedges and standing stones of my garden as my present life crashed into the wreckage of my past.

“What is it, mistress?”

For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. Then I didn’t as I closed my eyes, concentrating, reaching within myself for the blood-bond with My Lord and Master. A bond born of loyalty and arcane blood ritual. ‘Why?’

He answered immediately. ‘As you have had a trying day, I will explain. This time. You are the only available hunter I have with the appropriate skill sets. You are deserving of the boon. You have served me well as a hunter for two centuries. It is more than time I honored you with a promotion and lands of your own. You are beautiful, which will be of aid to you as my ambassador. You have contacts in many layers of society, and you are currently off mission. It behooves me to send you there. Your abilities and attributes are ideal for the assignment and… you have avoided it long enough, my hunter.’

‘No, I don’t want it. No.’

‘Yes.’ His tone made it clear He’d accept no argument. That to Him, an immutable decision had already been made. ‘You have crossed the veil several times over the centuries, and you have never seen him. Never dealt with it. Aside from that, your predecessor has been murdered, and you are the only one with enough skill on the otherside in the twenty-first century to be able to solve the mystery. You are the only one of my hunters who I can send. It is immaterial that it is to London.’

‘He’s there.’

‘Yes. I expect you to find amelioration with him and remember your vows.’

‘I won’t—’

‘Do you love and trust me, my hunter? Do you have faith in me to know what is best for you, and to look out for your well-being?’

I did love Him, and I trusted Him, but this asked too much. I reluctantly answered, ‘Yes, My Lord.’

‘Congratulations on your promotion, my pwca.’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

He cut off the contact, and I sat in my bath, my arms wrapped around my waist. Tears leaked down my face in a scalding rain as my pixies looked on in worry.

“Which bloody vows?” My voice echoed forlornly in my garden, sounding as lost as my soul felt.

I liked the life I’d forged here in Annwvyn. I loved my home. I glanced up at its graceful, silvery branches swaying above my head. I adored my place among the other hunters, free of burdens other than the contracts given us by our Lord. I held no title and wanted none. I had the honor of being part of Arawn’s court with none of the responsibilities and the freedom to avoid most of my nasty family.

As His warrior, His messenger, His enforcer and assassin, He paid me well, and I got to exercise my bloodlust within acceptable boundaries. This? This boon of His? It tore me from everything I loved about my life, taking with it every ounce of peace I’d managed to find to fill the void in my heart.

“Fuck.” I reached for my wineglass and guzzled it.

Carys silently refilled it. “My lady?”

“He’s promoted me. The rat-bastard is sending me to the otherside to hold Ontario for Him.”

“But…isn’t that where—”

“Yes, of course. He knows that too.”

“Oh, my lady, I’m so very sorry.”

I laughed, harsh and bitter. “Me too, Carys. Me too.” I swallowed through a tight throat full of sandpaper. It hurt to force words out. “Pack my bags. I’ll need to cross over soon. His Lordship hasn’t ever been known for patience.”

“Yes, mi’lady.” The two pixies, jet-black bodies and brilliant hair flashing, disappeared into a tree the size of a skyscraper, my home, to pack my things.

I stayed in the tub, drinking wine like water and silently raging at my Master.

The hounds of Annwvyn continued to mourn.

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Meet the Author

Kaelan was born and raised in upstate NY, in the Adirondack mountains.

Xie started writing when xie turned 11 and hasn’t ever stopped as evidenced by the massive amount of notebooks and digital files of xyr writing xie has hanging around.

Kaelan holds a B.Sc in bioanthropology/forensic chemistry and an MST in education/world history. Xie loved university, so holds minors in English, Creative Writing, Linguistics, Graphic Design, and Modern Dance.

Xyr hobbies include reading, spinning wool with a spinning wheel, cooking, knitting, sewing, and making jewelry.

Xie currently lives in Southern Ontario, Canada with xyr husband of 19 years, their two kids, a foot fetishist of a cat, two crazy kittens, and a grumpy chinchilla.

The best place to connect with Kaelan is on twitter, where xie spends way too much time.

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Jun 04

Release Blitz: Ardulum: Third Don by J.S. Fields (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Title: Ardulum: Third Don

Series: Ardulum, Book Three

Author: J.S. Fields

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 4, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 106100

Genre: Science Fiction, action, aliens, bonded, captivity, coming of age, criminals, futuristic, pilot, religion, science, slow burn, smugglers, space, space opera, spaceships, telekinesis, telepathy

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Synopsis

The planet wakes.

Atalant is torn between two worlds. In uncharted space, head of a sentient planet, the new eld of Ardulum now leads the religion she once rejected. Emn is by her side but the Mmnnuggl war brewing in the Charted Systems, threatening her homeworld of Neek, cannot be ignored. Atalant must return to the planet that exiled her in order to lead the resistance. She must return home a god, a hypocrite, a liar in gold robes, and decide whether to thrust her unwilling people into the truth of Ardulum, or play the role she has been handed and never see her family, or her world, again.

Excerpt

Ardulum: Third Don
J.S. Fields © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
January 12th, 2061 CE

“I’ve just lost my last engine! We’re making repairs, but if we can’t dodge another hit—” The audio cut off. A small, blue light on Ekimet’s console went dark.

Inside the Neek’s main temple to Ardulum, Ekimet laid zir head in zir hands and, not for the first time, tried to will the light to come back on. It didn’t work. It never worked. All the power of Ardulum, and Ekimet couldn’t save even one Ardulan life.

The andal bench upon which zie sat lacked cushioning, and the wood was warm through Ekimet’s gold robes. Zir tailbone hurt from sitting and waiting—and zir heart hurt from watching and trying to coordinate a battle zie had no skills for. No one in the room did. The Eld had ensured that.

Ekimet brought zir head back up. Next to zir, Miketh tapped on the andal table, a thin sheet of bioplastic just beyond her reach. Her black hair had lost its red highlights. Ekimet hadn’t noticed until now, and zie didn’t have time to consider what it meant aside from neither of them having gone outside in a month.

The High Priest of Neek was on the other side of the wooden table. He was supposed to be helping, inasmuch as he could as a subspecies Neek amongst Ardulans. Right now, however, he sat, eyes unfocused, wringing his robes as he whispered, “Seven. Seven Ardulan cutters and fourteen skiffs lost.”

“Central, copy? Copy, please!” The Neek accent was clear over the transmission and startled Ekimet. It was a settee pilot, one of the Heaven Guard.

“We hear you, guard,” Miketh answered. Her hand shook as she reached for the bioplastic sheet. It was just far enough on the other side of the table that the high priest had to push it towards her. “Report?”

“The Mmnnuggl pods in orbit, both big and small, are now guarded by at least four of the oval ships the Ardulans can’t seem to hit. There are Risalian cutters out here too, and a bunch of ships I don’t recognize. No matter how much interference we run for the Ardulans, it isn’t making any difference. Nothing is making a difference. The Mmnnuggls are picking off the cutters one by one.”

“Is your squadron still intact?” Miketh asked. “No Neek casualties?”

The voice came back confused. “No, no casualties to report on our side. The Mmnnuggls only seem interested in…” On the computer console in front of Ekimet, another pale blue light went dark.

“We lost another skiff,” Ekimet reported in a monotone. “Only four remain, along with two cutters.”

“One cutter,” the guard reported hesitantly. A red light went out on Ekimet’s console. “A group of four pods just disintegrated the largest one.”

Ekimet squeezed zir eyes shut. There were over forty Ardulans on each cutter and two per skiff. It had been less than an hour since the Mmnnuggls had engaged the Ardulan fleet. What was happening? That the Ardulans and Neek would lose had never been in question, but they weren’t meant to lose like this.

Ekimet leaned towards Miketh and the speaker. “Tell the remaining cutter to—”

One of the skiff pilots cut into the feed. “We just lost our last cutter!” The last red light on Ekimet’s dash went out. “Ekimet, we have to land. We haven’t got a chance with the—” The line went dead. The final three blue lights died in quick succession.

There was silence for a long moment, followed by the uncomfortable shuffling of feet. The Ardulans were dead. Every ship the Eld had sent, every Ardulan onboard, was now scattered in fragments across Neek space. Ekimet and Miketh were…they were stranded. Again. They, and the Neek planet, had no protection.

“My lords?” The settee pilot was back. “The Mmnnuggl forces are leaving the engagement zone. Their allies are following. The Heaven Guard are still in orbit. Would you like us to follow instead of simply watching and reporting?”

“No!” Miketh said quickly before Ekimet could answer. “You have no weapons. Don’t make a threat you can’t carry through. Just…just come back.” She looked at Ekimet, moisture beading in her eyes. She hastily wiped at it with the back of her hand. “Just come home, okay?”

Relief flooded the pilot’s voice. “As you say. I’ll tell the rest of the Heaven Guard.”

The transmission ended. Miketh sniffed, and Ekimet did the same, although zie was far too well trained to let tears form.

“Is it over?” The high priest pushed his chair back from the dark andal table, his eyes on Ekimet’s chin, never higher. “Will they leave? What do they want?”

We are about to find out. Miketh pointed at the yellow line streaking across the dash. Call for you, Eki. We both know how this ends.

Indeed. They’d been sent here to die, the same as the fleet. Sent to appease the Mmnnuggls. Sent to keep Ardulum safe. Ekimet slid zir finger across the yellow line, and an audio feed beeped. Zie could have turned on the Neek’s archaic hologram projector, but…zie couldn’t look at a Mmnnuggl. Not right now. Not with so many dead bodies floating above zir.

“You have lost,” a monotone voice said over the comm.

“We understand that. Only two Ardulans remain, and we are prepared to surrender. We…we thank you for not harming the Neek forces.”

A low trill resounded before it changed to words. “Only Ardulans harm unarmed civilians. Only Ardulans would use a seeded planet of primitive sentients as a sacrifice.” The Mmnnuggl screeched. “Do you think we do not see a ruse when we see one? We have no hands and no feet, so therefore we have no minds?”

Ekimet tried to cut in. “We never meant—”

“You are of no concern to us. Two Ardulans mean nothing.” There was a whirring in the background, and then a new voice came on.

It didn’t have the usual clicking undertones of a Mmnnuggl accent. This voice, although deep and throaty, carried Common with ease. “Call your planet,” it said. “Call your planet and tell them to send the Eld of Ardulum and the flare named Emn. You have one week to comply.”

“One week!” Miketh said, her voice unusually high. “The Neek operate on stable wormhole technology. The time frame is unmanageable. Beyond that, if you aren’t bargaining with Neek lives, what is your collateral? The Neek planet is self-sustaining. They don’t care to travel. If you think Ekimet and I will get frustrated enough to call the Eld here so you can slaughter them, you’re as dumb as we thought!”

Laughter, biped laughter, came from the other end. “Underestimating the Nugels is a really, really stupid thing to do. One week, Ardulans. I suggest you start moving the Neek people to the cities. In one week, if we don’t have the Eld and the flare in-system, then we are coming down to the planet. Well, the smaller pods are, anyway. They’ll come down in the middle of the night when all the little Neek children are tucked snugly in bed, and they will set your forests on fire.”

“You will destroy the Systems if you destroy the andal of Neek!” Miketh exclaimed. “Their entire cellulose infrastructure is rooted in this planet. What happened to not harming the defenseless?”

Chittering rose up from the feed before the male voice drowned it out. “The whole of the Charted Systems is behind this decision. They understand the threat Ardulum poses. Physically, the Risalians are here, along with Minorans, the Oori, and more than a dozen other species from the Systems and the Alliance. A week is plenty of time to move the forest-dwelling Neek out of harm’s way. The Nugels are going to have their vengeance, Ardulans, and we will find the altered Ardulan woman. You just have to decide how much of your planet you want burned.”

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Meet the Author

J.S. Fields is a scientist who has perhaps spent too much time around organic solvents. She enjoys roller derby, woodturning, making chain mail by hand, and cultivating fungi in the backs of minivans. Nonbinary, but prefers female pronouns. Always up for a Twitter chat.

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Action, Aliens, bonded, captivity, Coming of Age, criminals, Futuristic, pilot, religion, science, slow burn, smugglers, space, space opera, spaceships, telekinesis, telepathy
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Jun 04

Release Blitz: Good Boys by Keelan Ellis (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Good Boys

Series: The Solomon Mysteries, Book One

Author: Keelan Ellis

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 4, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 66100

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, crime, law enforcement, mystery

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Synopsis

Having risen through the ranks of the Baltimore City Police Department to the elite Homicide unit as an out gay man, Paul Solomon has always prided himself on his integrity and self-reliance. As the last vestiges of his failed eight-year-long relationship fall away, Paul finds himself adrift, forced to rely on others to help him find his footing again.

When Paul and his partner, Tim Cullen, are called to the scene of a double murder of two high school students on the city’s west side, Paul finds the lives and deaths of the two boys hitting closer to home than he’d expected. With his personal life in upheaval, he struggles with the perspective needed to untangle the web of secrets and lies that led to their demise.

While working his way through the complicated case, Paul starts getting his life back together. After a date with an enigmatic young man takes a dark turn, he reaches out to an old flame who brings some much-needed lightness to his life. But Paul finds that relationships, like murder investigations, are never as simple as he’d like.

Excerpt

Good Boys
Keelan Ellis © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Before he even opened his eyes, Paul knew something was wrong. He could feel the heat of the morning sun on his face in a way that never happened in his west-facing bedroom, but for a few seconds, he couldn’t figure out why it was wrong. The bed felt familiar enough and smelled familiar too.

Oh, shit.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face and pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead as if that might somehow hold back the monster headache pushing its way into the backs of his eyes. His stomach lurched as he carefully swung his feet onto the floor, and he took a few calming breaths until it passed. He made his way to the bathroom, at one point losing his balance slightly and bumping into the wall.

In the shower, he leaned up against the slick tiles and angled the showerhead so the water hit him. He tried closing his eyes, but little pinpricks of light blossomed behind his lids. When dizziness set in, he opened them again. Bits and pieces of the night before crept into his consciousness, and he sincerely wished he could block them out for a little while longer. No such luck. The stack of flattened boxes waiting for him in the entryway—and the expression on Andy’s face as he told him he needed to move out—started the whole thing. They’d fought. There were tears, followed by wine and then scotch. Paul was pretty sure what happened next wouldn’t surprise a single goddamn person in the entire world. The worst part was it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and he’d been no less regretful any of the other times. One might think he’d learn his lesson eventually.

Paul stayed in the shower until the hot water was gone, swallowed three Advil, and stared at himself in the mirror. At thirty-eight, he still had his dark curls, but his beard was starting to come in gray where he used to have some copper strands. That morning, he could see the future in his face. He looked ten years older, at a minimum. He picked up his razor and shaved carefully, still managing to nick his jawline with his unsteady hand.

Oh well, maybe I’ll actually resemble a real cop today. Too bad I don’t have any short-sleeved dress shirts. Not that his work wardrobe was any great shakes, but Andy had started buying him ties back when he first joined the homicide squad, and he had excellent taste. In their better days, he’d sometimes tie them for Paul before he headed out the door for his commute to the city. But that was years ago.

Ten minutes later, he was downstairs in the kitchen hunting for his stainless-steel travel mug. He wasn’t late, but he didn’t want to hang around the house and was hoping to make it out the door without a conversation. He poured himself coffee, dumped in some cream, and was just congratulating himself on his success when he walked right past Andy on the way to the door.

“Good morning,” Andy said, sounding much more like a co-worker than a boyfriend of nearly eight years.

Paul couldn’t detect any anger or even regret about the previous evening, but there was no warmth in Andy’s voice at all. He looked at the man sitting on the living room sofa, seeing him more clearly than he had in a while. It was impossible to tell that he was hungover, even though he’d had at least as much to drink as Paul. He was wearing a beautiful wool-silk blend sweater with a pair of slim, dark jeans that had surely cost more than Paul’s entire suit. No tie today, so he must be working from home. His blond hair, just now starting to be touched with silver, shone in the sun coming in through the window. At forty-four, he was in amazing shape and still as gorgeous as the day they’d met. Paul wondered, as he often did, why he couldn’t make himself feel the way he once had about him.

“Hey,” Paul said, “I’ve got a lot of shit to catch up on at work, so I should get going.”

Andy rolled his eyes, winced slightly, and touched his temple. “Don’t worry. I’m not up for a conversation this morning. I wanted to make sure you understand that nothing changes just because we fucked, okay? That was goodbye sex. You still have to move out.”

Anger flared in Paul’s chest. As if he didn’t know that already. Despite his desire to get out the door, he found himself warming to an argument. “Yeah? No shit. Did you think I thought we were getting back together or something? Jesus, we broke up six months ago. If that was an option, it would have happened before now. Did you imagine I was hoping the third time was a charm?”

“Paul,” he said, softening a little, “I can’t do this right now. I get that you’re pissed and you don’t want to deal with it, but I can’t move on with you in my house. It’s too confusing.”

My house. Andy had bought the house in northwest Baltimore County less than a month after they’d started dating. Paul had been promoted to detective a year earlier. Six months later he’d moved in. Two years after that, he’d made it to the homicide division. He’d become a murder police. That had been his goal since he’d joined the department. He enjoyed the job—found it satisfying—but the commute and the crazy hours of a Baltimore City detective were hard on a relationship. You could see the evidence of that everywhere. It had taken a toll on his relationship with Andy, but they both knew it couldn’t all be blamed on the job.

“Yeah, you said that last night. I’m on it, okay?”

“That’s what you said three months ago.” Andy sounded more tired than angry. “Please. I really need you to follow through this time.”

“I said I’m on it. Today. I promise.” Paul hesitated before reaching for the doorknob. “Should I say I’m sorry about last night?”

“Are you?” Andy asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Paul gave him a little smile and shook his head. “Not really.”

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Meet the Author

Keelan Ellis is an author of romance and detective fiction, who is always seeking to expand her literary horizons. She is a lover of music and food, and has an intense love/hate relationship with politics. Her stories reflect her passions.

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Jun 04

Release Blitz: Mercs! by Dorian Dawes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Mercs!

Author: Dorian Dawes

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: June 4, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 72100

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi, military, gay, trans, aliens, space

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Synopsis

Famous bounty hunter Talisha Artul is not having a good day. A hostile alien planet full of bandits and refugees, an entire group of mercenaries all told to kill her and take her armor, and it’s barely even noon. All she wanted was to earn a paycheck and make her mother proud. They’ve barely shared a kind word since she came out of the closet as trans and took her mother’s name.

Now she’s travelling with an android cowboy with split-personality issues and an eight-foot-tall warrior woman to beat a group of vengeful pirates and the galactic federation’s military forces to uncover an ancient alien temple. Talisha soon learns that despite her legal standing, there is little that separates her from these marginalized cutthroats and outcasts. They’re all victims here, all pawns in their shadowy employer’s game.

Excerpt

Mercs!
Dorian Dawes © 2018
All Rights Reserved

“Were these seriously the best mercs you could hire?” The cigarette moved in the corner of Madame Inspector’s mouth as she spoke. She flicked her fingers across the pile of folders strewn across her desk. “Absolute rubbish.”

A little man with lily-white skin stood fidgeting with his spectacles in the doorway, clutching a briefcase close to his chest. Madame Inspector scared the living hell out of him. She liked it that way and would have smiled at his discomfort if she thought it’d make him squirm just a little bit more.

He took a tentative step, but she held a palm up and he froze where he stood. Good dog.

“Madame Inspector, I assure you they are highly qualified.” The overhanging lamp cast a glare over his glasses. “I’ve assembled before you the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy.”

Madame Inspector scowled, spreading out the files and pictures of each motley outcast passing themself off as a mercenary. “These bozos are more danger to themselves than anyone else, Mr. Snidely. Crooks and ruffians.”

“That’s why they’re perfect for the position,” Snidely said. He mustered up the courage to give her a wicked smile. “They’re completely disposable. Should be easy to turn them on one another when we’re done.”

Madame Inspector leaned back in her seat. She tapped the ashes of her cigarette into the tray and stared at him until his smile melted into open-mouthed fear. She said nothing, waiting for him to wither before the cold deadlights of her eyes.

“Mr. Snidely,” she said, a voice like gravel. “Not once have I witnessed one with as much audacity…or initiative. Good work. You’re dismissed.”

Snidely bowed his head and ducked hurriedly out of her office. She frowned as he left. The kid had gumption, ambition. They could be useful qualities in the right doses. She’d have to test him.

Archimedes IV, a war-torn rock populated by refugees and outlaws. It’d been deemed unfit for life by the Council of Thirteen following a resource war that’d decimated the planet and irrevocably altered the landscape. Some forests remained, having evolved to meet the harsh environmental conditions. The trees had become predators themselves, feeding off unwary travelers.

With its constant dangers and inhospitable environment, Archimedes IV had been abandoned by the Intergalactic Peacekeeping Federation, which made it the ideal location for all sorts of criminal scum to stash their ill-gotten gains. So long as they hid away in backwater filth, the law paid them no mind. It was out of their jurisdiction.

Talisha Artul had no jurisdiction. If the job told her to go, she’d go. The IGF had found her as reliable a resource as her mother. Abandoned science station deemed too dangerous to send in a full squad? Talisha was there with her arm cannon and jet pack.

Becoming a space-faring licensed bounty hunter had a few perks. The pay was decent—a huge bonus considering over half her funds were split between expensive hormone treatments and helping support her mother’s orphanage. Being able to traverse the galaxy and visit other worlds definitely ranked high on the list. Getting shot at on a daily basis was a minor drawback in comparison.

Reservations about this latest assignment scratched at the back of her mind as she sorted through the information provided to her on her tablet. An anonymous corporate employer had contacted her, leaving the legality of the assignment in question. She’d have to make a call to the appropriate channels to make sure her licensing fees had been taken care of. New information presented itself that she’d be assigned to a task force after previous assurances that she’d be working alone.

She threw the tablet against the ship console. “Shit!”

Talisha preferred working alone for multiple reasons. Silence kept her head clear and victory assured in any firefight. Other people introduced far more variables than she was comfortable with.

Maybe Mom would know what to do.

Talisha grabbed the headset from a compartment just above her and slipped it over her head. She made a sour expression at the tablet as she slumped back into her seat. A few moments later, her mother’s voice crackled into her feed.

“Talisha? Thought you’d be on-world by now,” Ms. Artul said.

“Mom, when is it okay to back out of an assignment?”

“Uh-oh. What happened?”

Talisha filled her in on the particulars of the assignment, making notes of the new last-minute information.

Her mother thought about that one for a while. “Your reputation is pretty strong right now. You could probably afford to back out.”

“What about you?” Talisha asked. “How’s the orphanage doing?”

“Expensive. Feels like there’s new orphans every day. People keep dying and leaving behind their little ones. This planet’s in need.”

“Do you have enough to make it through the month?” Talisha propped her elbows against the console and scratched the back of her neck with one hand.

Ms. Artul muttered under her breath in Swahili, then spat out, “Don’t you dare. If you don’t feel good about this mission, don’t take it.”

“You can’t order me around, Mom. I’m just being stubborn and paranoid…like you.”

“I wish you hadn’t called then.” There was a lengthy pause. “Fucking hell, kid.”

Talisha’s eyes watered. These were the types of conversations that drove people to drink. She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips, fingers shaking.

“I’m taking the job,” Talisha said, then threw the headset against the console.

Bluebird had seen her fair share of overcrowded dung heaps in her time—claustrophobic messes violating every single fire safety law in the galaxy; easy places to get stabbed and looted before you even had a chance to know what had happened. Folks in a hurry could trample your corpse without even noticing. By contrast, the spaceport on Archimedes IV was practically empty. A dumpster left at the back end of the long passage looked like it’d been overflowing for years. Shit and graffiti marred the walls, and it was nearly impossible to see through the teller’s window for all the grime and filth covering it.

Bluebird sniffed. She might come to like it there. Smelled just like home.

The poor terminal worker did a double take at her through the glass. “P-p-passport.”

By this point, Bluebird had become well accustomed to most people’s reactions to her appearance. She was proud of the severe scarring that marred one side of her face, the mark of a fine battle. Bluebird also knew that most people had never seen a Karstotzkiyan in their lives and were unaccustomed to seeing eight-foot-tall women with striking blue hair and hardened jowls. It’s where she’d gotten the nickname Big Ugly Bluebird. She liked it.

“Identification provided!” She slammed a meaty hand against the counter and slid a thick wad of papers through the slot beneath the window.

He stared at the mess of documentation and sighed. There were official licensing documents in the scattered heap to be certain, but there were also receipts to fast food joints, hair salons, old concert tickets dating decades back, etc. Bluebird grimaced, feeling a twinge of guilt. It’d take this poor man hours to sift through it all. She rummaged around in her pockets from some additional cash and deposited it atop the mess of documentation.

He sighed. He gulped, staring at the blue veins bulging beneath her thick muscles and the giant satchel strapped to her back. She did her best to give him a reassuring smile but was certain she only came across as even more imposing. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped.

He put a stamp on top the chaotic mess of pages and handed them back to her. “You know what, this is fine. Have a lovely stay on Archimedes IV.”

“You are most efficient. Thank you!” She gave him a thumbs-up and snatched the documents beneath her arm. She sauntered out the spaceport with a satisfied smile.

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Meet the Author

Dorian Dawes is a self-described social justice witch and full-time gender disaster who never grew out of their goth phase. In addition to fiction, they have also written for tabletop rpgs and several published essays on feminism and LGBT issues. When not writing they can be found playing video games and plotting the revolution of the proletariat.

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May 28

Release Blitz: A Touch of Magic by Isabelle Adler (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: A Touch of Magic

Series: Fae-Touched, Book One

Author: Isabelle Adler

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: May 28, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28800

Genre: Paranormal, contemporary, paranormal, criminals/mafioso, gambling, abduction, abuse, magician/magic users, violence

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Synopsis

After returning to the straight and narrow, Cary Westfield hopes to rebuild his life as a stage magician. Only thing is, the success of his new show is entirely dependent on a strange medallion inherited from his late grandfather—an amulet that holds a rare and inexplicable power to captivate the wearer’s audience.

Ty prides himself on his ability to obtain any item of magical significance—for the right price. When a mysterious client hires him to steal a magical amulet from a neophyte illusionist, he’s sure it will be a quick and easy job, earning him a nice chunk of cash.

As it turns out, nothing is sure when greed and powerful magic are at play. When a mob boss with far-reaching aspirations beats Ty to the snatch, Cary and Ty form an unlikely partnership to get the amulet back. The unexpected spark of attraction between them is a welcome perk, but each man has his own plan for the prize.

All bets are off, however, when it is revealed the magical amulet holds a darker secret than either of them had bargained for.

Excerpt

A Touch of Magic
Isabelle Adler © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Cary Westfield wasn’t a terribly catchy name for a magician, so the playbill read The Incredible Mr. Mars.

Ty studied the vintage style poster near the theater’s entrance, which depicted said Mr. Mars pulling a bewildered-looking white rabbit out of a hat. Despite the old-fashioned font and style, the poster was brand new. Mr. Mars was a relative newcomer to the live entertainment scene and had only been performing at the Garland Magic Theater for two weeks, but the shows had been consistently sold out. Granted, this wasn’t the largest or the most prestigious venue in San Francisco; however, considering the act in question wasn’t at all original or shocking, consisting of run-of-the-mill stage illusions and a bit of mind reading, it was quite a feat.

The mass appeal would have been something of a mystery had Ty not known exactly what was behind it. That was too bad for poor Cary Westfield—sudden and unwarranted success tended to draw the wrong kind of attention.

Ty followed the line inside. The usher took a look at his ticket and directed him to the back row. Ty took the aisle seat and waited as the lights dimmed. The darkness sharpened the smell of dust coming from the old upholstery, the whispers of the spectators, and most annoyingly, the glare of their cell phone screens. It would seem even the promise of magic couldn’t tear some people away from their social media. The emcee announced the magician, and the show began.

Contrary to tradition, Mr. Mars didn’t have an assistant. His tricks weren’t all that complicated, but Ty had to give him credit for showmanship. He supplied a running commentary for the performance, which was both witty and charming and elicited laughter from the crowd. Smart. People always loved it when a show made them laugh, so they were more likely to forgive the lack of surprise and excitement. Not that Ty was in any way an expert on magic shows, but he was, in a manner of speaking, an expert on excitement.

The magician’s looks didn’t hurt either. His smooth tan skin and fine features made the gaudy stage costume appear elegant. Ty absently noted the lean figure and the fluid movements, but he wasn’t there to admire Westfield’s form.

As Mr. Mars struck another impressive pose, pretending to strain to recite the contents of some woman’s purse, Ty slipped quietly into the shadows, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, the small theater had an appropriately small staff, even on a busier Saturday night, and no one spotted him as he made his way to the backstage passage. There was only one dressing room, and the lock on it was a joke. He let himself inside and closed the door softly. The runes tattooed into his fingertips with invisible ink prevented him from leaving fingerprints, so he could rummage freely without being encumbered by gloves. That shit always came in handy—bad pun intended.

The small room was cramped, serving both as a makeup nook and a storage space for various costumes and stage props. There was a vanity with a large backlit mirror. Ty looked it over, but saw nothing of interest besides a kohl eyeliner and a few mini-sized bottles of flavored vodka scattered all over the tabletop. Either the Incredible Mr. Mars needed some liquid courage before facing the crowd, or Mr. Westfield had a bit of a drinking problem.

It was more force of habit than curiosity. Ty didn’t really expect to find anything of value lying around. He retreated to a far corner, where he spotted an oversized armchair under a pile of old sequined jackets, and settled there, taking out his SIG. The show was supposed to run for at least forty more minutes, but that was okay. He could wait.

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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.

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May 28

Release Blitz: Riding the Track by Kara Ripley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Riding the Track

Author: Kara Ripley

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: May 28, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 28600

Genre: Contemporary, Australia, bisexual, lesbian, outback, trail ride, vacation

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Synopsis

Herding cattle and drinking Australian beer aren’t pastimes that particularly appeal to an ‘indoor girl’ like Clara, but she’d be damned if she’d let her cheating ex-boyfriend have the vacation they were meant to share. So, to salvage some piece of her self-respect after a bad break-up, she finds herself riding a horse along the Oodnadatta Track for five days.

When Clara arrives, she can’t help but feel an intense attraction to Evelyn, the drover who guides their group through the immensely unique landscape between Coober Pedy and the Anna Creek Station. Clara’s never been one for a no-strings-attached fling, but cowgirl Evie becomes increasingly difficult to resist.

In combination with the exquisite outback, soulful horses, and overly cheerful tourists, Evie may just be exactly what Clara needs to escape her own pessimism.

Excerpt

Riding the Track
Kara Ripley © 2018
All Rights Reserved

A week traipsing around the ass-end of Australia was not my idea of a good time. As I exited the airplane, all I could think was: what the fuck am I doing here? Rather than at home in Sacramento, curled up with my sociopathic cat on my favorite sofa, drinking away my sorrows with my favorite wine, and obsessively rewatching my favorite episodes of Gilmore Girls. Instead, I was on my own—yes, traveling alone is a thing people do—waiting to be picked up by a tour guide who would probably smile too broadly, laugh too loudly, and abbreviate every other word to the point where I wouldn’t be able to understand a damn thing.

Regardless, it was still worth taking the trip, because it meant Austin (otherwise known as my idiot ex-boyfriend) had to stay home. Standing in line, another international zombie waiting to get my passport stamped, the thought made me smile.

“What brings you to the land down under?” The customs officer’s words might’ve suggested he was interested, but his monotone made it obvious he’d already asked at least fifty other people the same thing. But he was making an effort. I hadn’t realized how utterly terrifying the officials were in the airports back home. Contrast was sobering.

“Here for one of those outdoor adventure vacations,” I told him. I left out the part about taking the trip as a way to say “screw you” to my moronic, cheating ex-boyfriend, the one who’d actually wanted to go to South Australia. “It’s a cattle drive.” My voice was scratchy, my throat dry. I hadn’t actually spoken to anybody for hours. I didn’t have reason for complaint, though, since I managed to get an empty seat next to me and the flight attendant didn’t push too hard for conversation.

“Wonderful. Well—” He returned my passport. “—have a fantastic time, Clara Adler.” It always sounded strange to me when a stranger used my full name. I tucked the passport into my back pocket and nodded politely before moving on.

A few hours and two way-too-strong cappuccinos later, I was on yet another flight. This time, though, a small crowd of us were crammed into the world’s smallest cabin. The guy in the window seat next to me had serious need of some mouthwash or a mint. I had to keep my face turned away from him to avoid breathing in his noxious cigarette breath. It was a shame because, from what I saw through the window across the aisle, the landscape became increasingly orange as we put more distance between us and the capital city. It wasn’t quite the same color as the Nevada desert I’d visited with my parents. Nor did it seem as stagnant. Even with brief glances, the scorched land below us asserted itself as a living entity—a bear reaching the end of its hibernation period. Still and seemingly peaceful, yet hungry.

From the sky, the low-lying rectangular building in Coober Pedy reminded me of a roller-skating rink more than an airport, as though I could reach through the window and pick the whole thing up. When they finally opened the hatch and let us out, I wanted to guzzle the fresh air like a dehydrated alcoholic with their lips wrapped around a beer tap. I hadn’t been all that excited about the whole idea of being outdoors, but after such a suffocating trip, I wondered if there was something to be gained from this whole affair after all.

The tour guide waited on the tarmac, holding a sign that read “Clara, Louise, and Michael. Let’s round ’em up!” I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. To be fair, she was probably trying to be welcoming. Ordinarily, I might have even appreciated the effort. Reflecting on how hostile I’d been lately made me remember the-idiot-named-Austin again. It irritated me that my loser ex-boyfriend had made me so moody.

The woman holding the sign noticed me staring and waved, lifting up onto her toes, even though there wasn’t anyone between us. Her dark eyes widened beneath a charcoal-colored hat as she smiled at me, gesturing for me to join her. The hat fascinated me. It looked like something a cowboy would wear, except the crown didn’t reach so high, and the brim had a less severe curl than I would have expected. I suddenly remembered mention of them in a magazine I’d skimmed on the flight over. An Akubra.

I took a deep breath to prepare for extended social interaction and walked over. Two others fell into step with me. Louise and Michael?

“Welcome to Oz!” The shine of the sign-holder’s white teeth was intensified by the dark tones of her face. “I’m guessing you two are Louise and Michael,” she said, offering a handshake.

“You guess right! You maybe ought to be a fortune-teller,” Louise replied enthusiastically, her Southern accent asserting itself. It was clear that Louise was going to get under my skin for the next few days. She was too cheerful. It just wasn’t natural to be that excited to meet new people.

“G’day. Good to meet ya,” the Australian replied. “My name’s Evelyn. But you can call me Evie, yeah?” I’d always assumed films and television programs exaggerated the Aussie accent and vernacular. If the woman was any indication, the stereotypes were more than fair. My guess, though, was that she probably had to speak that way to appease the tourists. “That leaves Clara,” she said as she held out her hand. Her grip was strong as she gave my arm one quick up-and-down before releasing it. I wanted to rub the back of my hand like a child but decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to offend the one who’d be guiding us. I needed another coffee. Or maybe a cider. Was the early afternoon a reasonable time to start drinking in Australia?

“Right.” Evie clapped her hands together. “You lot are the last ones to arrive. A few hours and we’ll be at base camp. You can get some good bush tucker, have a few drinks, enjoy a few songs, meet your horses, and get a solid night’s sleep before the real adventure starts.”

Horses. Fuck. I was so busy avoiding Mr. Stink-Mouth on the plane that I’d forgotten the horses, even though it was one of the main reasons Austin had wanted to come on this vacation. The fifteen hours of travel before that probably hadn’t helped my memory either.

Five days wandering through the South Australian outback. Sure, I could handle that. Probably. But on a horse? Jesus H Christ. I hadn’t been atop a horse since the seventh grade. Summer camp. A ripped seam in my jeans. Jonas Egan laughing at me from his saddle. God, Jonas was such an asshole. I imagined him as an adult, living in some overcrowded apartment building with his eight illegitimate children and underage girlfriend, still scratching his balls when he thought no one was watching.

I was going to have to actually ride a horse. For five days. Shit. My crotch and thighs were practically aching already. Fuck you and your cowboy obsession, Austin. If I kept my bad track record up, I was going to need an asshole display cabinet for my growing collection.

As the four of us walked through the small building toward the baggage claim, I couldn’t help but notice the jeans Evelyn—Evie the Drover—was wearing. Dark blue. Bootleg. Tight. Did my eyes just linger on her butt? I had to admit, it was a damned impressive butt. I wanted to ask her if she had a regular routine of squats or if the muscle tone came from all the riding. Either way, I didn’t think too much of my little rear-end inspection at the time. It’s not as though it was the first time I’d checked out a woman, and there wasn’t anything else to see at the Coober Pedy airport.

The car was a well-traveled pickup truck, the kind with two rows of seats. It was probably white, but under all the orange dust, it was difficult to be sure.

“I’ll take that for ya,” Evie said as she made for my duffel bag. Her fingers grazed against mine as she wrapped her hand around the handle and gently pulled it out of my grip. Though we both had dark hair and eyes, my skin was pale against hers, almost sickly.

“Thanks.” I redirected my gaze to a rather exciting rock a few inches away from the rear tire. It was the safer option, given my brain seemed to want me to inspect the front of Evie the drover in much the same way I had the back.

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Meet the Author

Kara Ripley is the romance-writing alter ego of Australian sci-fi and fantasy author, Rebecca Langham. Even though she’s named after two iconic sci-fi characters, Kara reflects Rebecca’s inner romantic, that part of her secretly wanting to leave the aliens, magic, and spaceships behind every now and then.

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May 21

Release Blitz: A Cook’s Tale by J. Alan Veerkamp (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: A Cook’s Tale

Series: Centauri Survivors Second Chance Chronicles, Book Two

Author: J. Alan Veerkamp

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: May 21, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 56,900

Genre: Science Fiction, gay, space, cooks, illness, hurt/comfort, age gap

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Synopsis

After a breakup, Erron Murfin finds himself broken, homeless, and destitute. The chance to become the Santa Claus’s new cook is a beacon he can’t ignore.

The new position allows him to work under Gamin Rockwell, the man who helped raise him until he disappeared when Erron turned nineteen—well over a decade ago. While the two make up for lost time, Erron catches the eyes of many crewmen as well as James and Barrus, a married pair with real intentions who are determined to draw the cautious new arrival into their relationship.

Even as he stitches together his ability to see a future for himself, Gamin’s history and personal issues begin to surface. Secrets bubble out in ways Erron can’t ignore and he finds himself with a mystery he needs to solve.

Because there’s something about Gamin that goes far deeper than the fatherly role he once held in Erron’s life so long ago.

Excerpt

Erron looked down at the synthesized protein masquerading as eggs on his plate. How this diner justified serving this travesty was beyond him. Even the smell was wrong. It was nothing like the meal he had eaten during his interview yesterday. He picked at the unyielding rubber surface with his utensil and promptly set it down on the table. There was no way he was eating this. The triangle of toast was passable. At least they had real bread. It wasn’t helping to settle his stomach, though, because his nerves were so on edge.

This diner in the spaceport was close to the Santa Claus’s landing bay. It was really the only reason he had chosen it. It certainly wasn’t for the four-star cuisine. At least from his seat, the anti-grav pallet was visible, holding the crates with all his worldly possessions. Erron had packed as soon as he’d returned to his room the day before. When he’d realized he couldn’t sleep worth a damn, he had given up trying. Now he had time to burn before his appointment. He wasn’t sure if showing up too early was good or not. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

Captain Danverse had told him he’d meet with his security chief for his indoctrination. There was a ship tour, procedures to go over, and a work contract to sign. Two years off planet wasn’t really so long. From what he’d researched, most crew members extended their contracts multiple times, so the Santa Claus couldn’t be that bad. On the plus side, he’d be allowed to cook for others again. That might make up for most shortcomings. Erron was fairly confident he was doing the right thing. Fairly.

It wasn’t as if he had much choice. He needed the job. When the server brought the bill for his breakfast—rather than call it a travesty—he cringed when he pressed his finger to the DNA ID scanner. If there hadn’t been enough credits in his account, he would have been in trouble.

He didn’t know why he continued to sip at the bitter, burned coffee. It certainly wasn’t doing his stomach any favors. The diner was stocked with a fair number of customers. Apparently, being cheap overrode the food quality in this establishment. Erron mentally kicked himself. Being a food snob was one thing, but being an elitist ass was something else. These people probably hadn’t spent three months living in shitty hotels.

The patrons seemed mostly working class, enjoying their breakfasts. No doubt some were station regulars, who chatted with the servers and cook with a family-like familiarity. A warm camaraderie filled the place and that made Erron smaller somehow. What he wouldn’t give to belong somewhere. He’d lost that when Toby hadn’t even fought for him as he was fired and evicted.

It wasn’t fair. Erron thought he’d had everything: a loving partner, a job he excelled at, and a promising future. All of it scrubbed away without so much as an acknowledgement of regret on Toby’s part. A young man and woman walked into the diner and sat at the counter, holding hands the entire time. The ache in his chest twisted deeper. Fucking heteros.

The coffee had long since gone cold, but somehow it tasted better that way, so he waved off the server when she tried to refill the mug. Erron looked at the time glowing in amber numbers on the wall. An hour more, then he’d start his new life.

The door hissed open as an older woman in filthy, tattered clothes shuffled into the diner. The staff ignored her from the moment she stepped across the threshold. Perhaps they knew better than to engage her. Erron was about to follow their example when her gray stare suddenly bore down on him.

With a stern purpose, she strode over to his table. Erron startled when she clamped her dirty hand on his wrist. He pulled back slightly, but her grip was firmer than he expected.

“You’ve lost someone very close to you.” Her voice was raspy, and Erron couldn’t help but look into her glassy eyes.

“That’s a little vague.”

“You’re about to travel a great distance.” She continued to speak as if she was barely aware of his response.

Erron’s brow furrowed. “I am in a spaceport.”

“Someone will be on board that you thought you’d lost long ago.”

Surprise froze Erron in his seat. Gamin was on board. It had been years since they’d laid eyes on one another. Part of the gnawing at his gut was whether Gamin would be happy to see him or not. Erron had given up a long time ago asking his mother about what happened between them. She took the story to her grave. He loved his mother and missed her, but he’d never completely forgiven her for it either.

“You think you’ve lost the ability to love another, but you’ll find it on board once again.”

Words refused to form when Erron opened his mouth. A psi on this side of the galaxy? He’d never met one before. Para-humans were few and far between. What were the chances she was telling him his future? She stood silent as he pondered. It wasn’t so much that he believed her. Deep down, he just really wanted to.

“Do you see anything else?” Erron’s response was timid and quiet.

Her rough voice managed to coo. “Of course, child. It’ll cost you ten credits.”

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Meet the Author

While spending years more focused on visual arts, J. Alan Veerkamp never let go of his innate passion for storytelling, wanting to write and draw comic books when he grew up. Once he discovered M/M fiction, a whole new world opened filled with possibilities. Why couldn’t you have fantastic and dynamic sexy tales with an M/M cast? He started reading the online tales of authors like, Night Tempest, Rob Colton, and Alicia Nordwell, which only fueled his need to create. Eventually he found GayAuthors.org, and with a little coercive nudge, started sharing his tales with an unexpected level of positive response. The experience and support gave him the courage to cross his fingers and aim for the world of M/M publishing.

Born and raised in Michigan, J. Alan continues to type away, wishing it was practical to use an noisy, old fashioned keyboard that clacks with each strike, if just to annoy his loving partner and spoiled miniature dachshund.

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May 21

Release Blitz: First Sight by Jordan Taylor (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: First Sight

Series: Sight, Book One

Author: Jordan Taylor

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: May 21, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 54,300

Genre: Contemporary, romance, contemporary, honeymoon, disability, Amsterdam

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Synopsis

Despite misgivings, newlyweds Noah and Archer set out for a dream honeymoon in Amsterdam with a shoestring budget and negligible travel experience between them. All goes well until they leave home.

Noah, who once hoped to become a comic book or graphic novel illustrator, is completely blind due to a degenerative eye disease and has rarely left the Seattle area since his diagnosis. While Archer has never previously traveled for longer than a weekend with Noah along.

Reaching the Netherlands, they face a chaotic world better suited to a particularly alert cat than a young blind man and his novice guide. If the physical fear and stresses of public transportation and city streets are not bad enough, Noah and Archer find even their marriage threatened by the daily battle they wage without and within their own relationship.

Includes a bonus story! Go back to the beginning with the prequel and see how Noah and Archer first met and how their relationship evolved.

Excerpt

Chapter One
“Dr. Chamaeleo?” Archer jabbed my shoulder with two fingers. “Really? How many superheroes or villains already exist who have chameleon or camouflage or shapeshifter abilities and names?”

“Meaning it’s a classic,” I said. “Who gets tired of shifters?”

“I don’t know. You can do better, Noah. I thought you said you wanted to create a blind superhero. Where’s that guy?”

I didn’t answer for a minute, distracted by the plane’s engine, voices of passengers concealed by the roar, and an infant crying a dozen rows ahead of us.

Archer shifted beside me, probably looking out the window. We had a whole row of three to ourselves, having followed advice from my father about booking a window and aisle seat toward the tail of the plane. The middle seat never sold, leaving us room to roam.

Archer insisted he wanted an aisle. He liked to be able to move. Really, I was beginning to wonder if he was claustrophobic. I had never known that about him. Maybe that was the point of these trips? Getting to know everything you had missed about one another before the vows.

Not as if I could enjoy the view, so he had taken the window while he could still see the vanishing Cascade Mountains or ocean or British Columbia. I wasn’t even sure which direction the plane was taking. North or east?

I had badgered him to read the opening scene—first page, first draft—of my masterpiece in progress while we waited to board. We’d been interrupted by irksome matters like getting on the plane and settling in and taking off. After all the waiting, Archer had finally said something. Yet, now I had a funny feeling about the whereabouts of all that admiring praise I’d been expecting.

What if Archer did not appreciate how much work it had been, writing that first page?

“I did,” I said about the hero question. “I just… I’m not sure—” I shrugged. “No one wants to read about a blind superhero.”

“That’s your motivation now? ‘No one wants to read it’?” I could not hear Archer sigh over the noise of the plane, but I was sure he did. “I thought this was for fun. What difference does it make if nameless strangers want to read your comic book? One step at a time, Noah. Isn’t the point of the outline writing what you care about? Next, you’ll be telling me your hero isn’t even gay.”

“I just don’t think blind will work.” I felt into the now empty aisle seat to my right for my water bottle.

“That’s mine,” Archer said as I removed the cap.

“It is not. I tore the paper on mine so I could feel it.” I drank. “You’re such a dickhead sometimes.”

He chuckled.

“What would I do besides enhanced non-sight senses? Hence, a Daredevil ripoff?” I asked, carefully twisting the cap back in place. “It’s been done before. Anyway, don’t you think a gay, blind superhero is a bit much?”

“Maybe for the 1970s. You just said it: so much has been done before. It’s time for a blind gay superhero. Not to mention a few leading women who dress like normal people in safe, practical costumes. Not bras and shin guards to fight all the creatures of the underworld.”

“Your views are too radical for today’s fantasy audience—”

“First of all, that’s not even true.” Now he just sounded irritated. “There are a lot of smart people in the world who are fed up with panty heroines, and there are gay superheroes around already. Second, I told you to stop with the audience bit. If you’re not doing this outline for yourself, who, exactly, are you writing for?”

I sat in silence, leaned close to him at the window so we could hear one another.

Of course I couldn’t admit it, but that was a damn good question. When, and how, had I gotten it in my head that I wanted to develop my comic book idea with an artist and actually publish? I wasn’t sure, but…there it was.

I had somehow regressed over ten years to junior high when I had read everyone from Chris Claremont to Jim Lee, Frank Miller, and Tim Truman, then drew and wrote my own, filling sketchbook after sketchbook. A long, long time ago. Yet, apparently, not as long as I’d led myself to believe.

So was I interested in seriously writing a comic book? Even if I could no longer be my own artist? Even if I had to collaborate with someone else, whose work I would never see? It sounded like a horrible idea. So I felt surprised to discover that I was unsure of the answer.

I said none of this to Archer. I had told him I wanted to do an outline just for fun and I’d welcome his feedback, and for now, that was the story I was sticking to. Trouble was, Archer hadn’t given much feedback. Asking where the blind guy was and why I cared about a mythical audience? Not helping.

“Anything else?” I asked. “About the first page?”

“No.”

“Except?” I prompted. I knew that tone.

“Except…” Maybe a shrug? “You know.”

“No. That’s why I asked for your feedback. I’m just starting outlines and scenes and characters. Now’s the time.”

“Well.” Like a sentence. Like, No.

“Yes?”

“You know Whiteout is an office supply, right? No one is going to think of blizzards or anything if that’s what you’re going for.”

“I thought of blizzards.”

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Meet the Author

Author of fiction from short stories to epics, designer of award-winning book covers, lover of travel and ice cream, Jordan finds it easier to write a novel than remember to keep up a blog. She writes historical fiction (mostly World War One and steampunk), contemporary fiction from dog stories to thrillers, paranormal, occasional romance, and young adult titles. Her series include Lightfall, Great War Centennial, and the best-selling Angel Paws stories.

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May 21

Release Blitz: What It Seems by Sydney Blackburn (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: What It Seems

Author: Sydney Blackburn

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: May 21, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 19,700

Genre: Contemporary, ace, bisexual, romance, self-discovery

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Synopsis

Michael’s straight and infatuated with a woman he worked with one day, over a year ago. But when he finally sees her again, he’s astounded that the woman of his dreams is a man in drag.

Darcy is ace and not interested in dating anyone, so he and Michael just hang out. A lot. When he needs to do an on-screen kissing scene, Michael is the best person to ask for help.

Michael soon discovers he isn’t as straight as he thought he was, and Darcy likes kissing him a little too much for someone certain he never would. Those are a lot of changes to accept, but they just might be worth it.

Excerpt

Chapter One
Michael Eden did not believe in love at first sight—it was a completely ridiculous notion. First came attraction, or lust if one was to be blunt about it, then a discovery of shared interests and a passion for discussing opposite interests. And from that, an intimate history of shared experiences. There was a science to it, right down to the feeling. And that was cool; it was still a wonderful, magical thing, but it didn’t just happen instantly.

He believed that right up until the day he found himself on the closed set for a music video, dancing a complex choreography around the love of his life. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—she was slim to the point of being flat-chested, and her jaw was a little too square. But she had long dark-brown hair that hung in heavy waves around her shoulders, sexy legs, and her eyes, dear god, her eyes. Big and cinnamon brown, surrounded by long dark lashes. One look in those eyes and Michael Eden had lost his heart forever.

When filming ended, though, he couldn’t find her. All he knew was her first name. Darcy.

Over a year later, without ever finding her again, he still dreamed about her regularly. Dreamed of her eyes closing as her lips pressed to his, of her slender body against his. Dreamed her breasts barely apples in his hands, tiny, with perfect, rosy nipples. Sometimes his dreams were explicit enough to wake up covered in spunk, which was worse when he’d spent the night with a woman as much like his beloved Darcy as he’d been able to find.

They never satisfied him, not really, and he’d stopped picking up women for what was basically masturbation. Oh, he tried to make sure they got off, too, not because he wanted to please them so much as he felt guilty for pretending they were someone else. It wasn’t worth it.

His current gig was a production of Bite Me! at the Mermaid Theatre. He was assistant choreographer in addition to leading the chorus dancers, and while it wasn’t headline fame, it was satisfying. In fact, if he could just forget Darcy, his life would be close to perfect.

He shook his head briefly as he pedalled his bike home from the theatre. Maybe he should seek professional help. He grimaced, hating the very idea of a psychiatrist.

His phone chose that moment to chime. He knew it was Dave by the ringtone, and that it was a text by the vibration. Nothing he had to stop and answer.

He was sweating by the time he locked his bike into the sheltered rack behind his building and climbed the back stairs. It was a small three-story walk-up, built in the early fifties. His apartment still had a milk door outside the kitchen, although it had been long since blocked off and screwed shut. He couldn’t imagine someone carting crates of milk bottles up those stairs every morning to deliver to the apartments.

He flipped the air conditioner switch to suck out the July heat, put a pot of water on to boil for his mac and cheese, and took a quick shower before checking Dave’s text—it just read: Call me when u get a chance.

Michael finished his supper, supplementing the boxed meal with a small plastic clamshell of blackberries. His laptop was playing tunes in the background, and he left it on as he called Dave.

“Sup?”

“Michael! Hey, listen I need a favour.”

“Anything, buddy.”

“They’re going to be fumigating my place, so we all need to bug out for a couple of days. I was wondering if I could stay with you?”

Michael had a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and he knew he was lucky to be able to afford it. Most guys he knew had roommates or lived in apartments so small their kitchen was their bedroom. Dave could crash on his couch or sleep in his bed. Dave was gay and he was straight, but they’d been friends forever, and sleeping in the same bed was no big deal.

He and Dave had swapped hand jobs on occasion and once, while drunk, blowjobs. Dave had told Michael he was bisexual. Michael didn’t feel bisexual, though—more like an open-minded straight guy. Jerking another guy to relieve some horniness wasn’t the same as thinking guys were hot or wanting to date one.

“It’s not like we have sex,” he’d protested.

“Bro, even if your definition of sex is limited to dicks going into another person’s bodily orifice, blowjobs count.”

Michael had rolled his eyes and shook his head. “One time. It was one time. And alcohol was involved.”

“River in Egypt.”

He and Dave could sleep in the same bed with nothing remotely sexual too. They were friends, and once in a rare while, they shared special benefits and that was it.

Now he said, “How many days?”

“Two, three at the most. I guess ants are almost as hard to kill as roaches. That a problem? You finally got a real girlfriend?”

Michael laughed. “Nah. Still waiting to find the woman of my dreams.” He took a split second to think about it and said, “Of course you can stay.”

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Meet the Author

Sydney Blackburn is a binary star system. Always a voracious reader, she began to write when she couldn’t find the stories she wanted to read. She likes candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach… Oh wait, wrong profile. She’s a snarky introvert and admits to having a past full of casual sex and dubious hookups, which she uses for her stories.

She likes word play and puns and science-y things. And green curry.

Her dislikes include talking on the phone, people trying to talk to her before she’s had coffee, and filling out the “about me” fields in social media.

Besides writing, she also designs book covers for poor people.

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