Release Blitz: Legacy Strain by Taylor Brooke (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Legacy Strain

Series: Isolation, Book Three

Author: Taylor Brooke

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 15, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female

Length: 61100

Genre: Science Fiction, New adult, sci-fi, romance, menage, polyamory, captivity, super-soldiers, dystopia, PTSD, trauma, medical experimentation

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

War is on the horizon.

After fleeing the white-walled labyrinth where Brooklyn and her friends were caged, trained, tortured, and studied, the group of renegade Omens prepare for the fight of their lives. But an unexpected arrival from Kirin—the dangerous, secret project Juneau has kept locked away in Isolation’s main facility—complicates things.

Despite the rumors surrounding Kirin’s loyalties and capabilities, Brooklyn decides to make an alliance. Together they form a plan to rescue their friends and take down Isolation once and for all.

Julian Matsumoto is strung between two sides of his heart.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and freedom always has a cost. Julian doesn’t know if he has what it takes to pay the price, especially if that price is Kirin’s life. But the Legacy Strain is being weaponized and they don’t have time to waste.

This is their only chance to escape Juneau Malloy for good, and Brooklyn Harper has been fighting for too long to back down now. Armed with deadly skills and a hunger for vengeance, the Omen Operatives set out on a risky mission to eradicate Isolation, contain the volatile Legacy Strain, and earn the freedom they’ve been chasing since Camp Eleven.

Excerpt

Legacy Strain
Taylor Brooke © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
They buried Plum in the garden.

Rain had softened the ground. Nicoli threw seeds into the dirt with her and said a prayer. Brooklyn couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not the shovel she held or the blood on her hands or the pile of soldiers drenched in gasoline on the other side of the house. Cambria had stopped crying a few minutes ago. They put a bundle of flowers on the mossy mound that served as Plum’s grave. Nicoli didn’t ask for help burying Michelle, but Brooklyn shoveled with him anyway.

Smoke rose from the pile of soldiers they’d killed and Isolation had abandoned, scented like rubber and skin and hair. They had no identification. No phones or pictures or wallets. One wore a rosary, but that was all. Brooklyn and the others waited for a few hours, wondering if the sirens wailing in the distance would grow closer. They didn’t. No police. No other soldiers. No Surrogates. No one came.

Isolation had left them behind.

Brooklyn had no idea what the next move would be—Isolation’s or her own.

“I’m sorry,” Nicoli said. He sprinkled flower petals over Michelle’s grave. “You know that, right?”

Brooklyn didn’t say anything until he looked at her. “Are you talking to your sister or me?”

“You.”

She listened for chatter. There was none. She listened for doors slamming, plates shattering—for Dawson’s anger. But it was quiet. “Was it true what Kirin said? She would’ve killed us?”

“She would’ve tried to.” He didn’t have much left to lose, but his audacity still surprised her. “Michelle was as right as she was wrong a lot of the time. She didn’t think any of you were capable of having normal lives, doing normal things.”

“We did have normal lives,” she said, tempering the heat in her voice. “We did do normal things.”

“Yeah, you did. Then they took you, and they trained you, and now we’re burying my sister and my best friend, and we’re burning bodies in the backyard.” His gray eyes fixed on her. “What’s next, Brooklyn? How does this end?”

Would knowing make the situation easier? Probably not. She didn’t know if they would make it out of this alive, if they would get Porter back in one piece, if they would get him back at all. She didn’t know if they had what it took to take down Isolation. She didn’t know if Kirin was on their side or his own. Brooklyn didn’t know a damn thing.

“It ends when Juneau’s dead and we’re free,” Brooklyn said. She didn’t know if that was the truth, but she thought it had to be. “You should find somewhere safe for Cambria and Lance. They’ll keep hunting us, and people will probably die. I’d rather it not be you.”

“That’s not an option,” Nicoli said.

“It is now.”

Brooklyn walked away before Nicoli could argue with her. She couldn’t force him to go, but she wouldn’t be happy if he stayed. They had targets on their backs. Blood on their hands. There was no good way out of this, no peaceful resolution.

She found Dawson in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter with a bottle of bourbon tipped against his lips.

“You won’t find him at the bottom of that bottle, D,” she said.

His cobalt eyes met hers as he took another swig. He sucked in a sharp breath after he swallowed. His voice was liquor-rasped, low and scathing. “Won’t know ’til I get there, right?”

A heartbroken Dawson was the worst Dawson.

Brooklyn rolled her eyes. She hung her head back and stared at the ceiling. Blood speckled the walls. Remnants of the smoke bombs still lingered. She smelled burning skin, sour bodies, and the hard bite of the liquor on Dawson’s mouth.

Porter was gone.

Porter was gone.

Amber sat cross-legged on the couch beside Cambria. Rayce was outside with Gabriel and Lance, making sure the gasoline and the flames did their job. She had no idea where Julian had gone with Kirin—she didn’t care. Dawson kept drinking. Brooklyn kept breathing. Everything around her continued to fall apart, bit by bit.

She didn’t think they would ever be the hunters. Despite how powerful they were—because of how powerful they were—they would always be the hunted.

“Dawson,” Brooklyn said, barking his name. He didn’t bother looking at her this time, just tipped the bottle against his lips and walked away. His boots made hard sounds on the tile then the stairs. A bedroom door slammed seconds later.

“You should let him be, Bambi.” Amber sighed from the couch. Her leg was messed up, cut by debris and caked in dried blood. Cambria tended to her with a wet washcloth and a thick bandage. “We all know Dawson’s the cold and quiet type. Pushing him might not be the best idea right now.”

“If he doesn’t keep it together, who will?” The question was low under her breath. If Amber had heard her, she pretended not to. Brooklyn appreciated that. “Rest for a while, okay? We’ll figure out a plan tomorrow morning. We need to eat, sleep… Just… I don’t know, we need to breathe for a minute.”

Cambria cleared her throat. “I don’t know what we’ve got left in the pantry. The smoke probably contaminated the fresh stuff. I think there’s bread in the fridge, maybe some fruit. We’ve got canned veggies too.”

“Good,” Brooklyn said. “We’ll make do.”

She listened for sirens. For gunshots. For helicopter wings.

The property was quiet and forgotten. They’d buried their dead. Brooklyn glanced out of the shattered window over the sink. Gabriel stood in the middle of the backyard, staring at the sky. They’d come this far, and they now they had to go back. Brooklyn watched fractured light bounce off Gabriel’s shoulders and nose and chin and saw the dark remnants of blood on her knuckles.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Taylor Brooke (she/they) worked as a special effects makeup artist for many years before she wrote her first book. When she’s not writing, she’s exploring the Pacific Northwest, backpacking, or reading. She is the author of The Camellia Clock Cycle and writes #ownvoices Queer books about love, secrets and magic.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

Release Blitz: Faith by Archie Hellshire (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Faith

Series: Graphene, Book Two

Author: Archie Hellshire

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 15, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 30100

Genre: Contemporary, college, friends to lovers, scientist, athlete, political

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Tuck is switching dorms. He’s had enough of his roommate’s odd hours, strange behavior, and teasing from his football teammates, who think there’s something more between them. He’s just put the last pad into his duffel bag when the campus goes on lockdown and the police swarm in.

They say that Tuck’s roommate, Sam, is a wanted man, but Tuck knows better. Sam is no criminal; he won’t even let Tuck kill spiders. Tuck takes a risk and helps Sam escape from the clutches of the authorities, and together they try to make it off the campus. As they try to evade the search parties, it becomes clear that they’re after something more than Sam; a secret project Sam’s been working on that has billion-dollar implications.

Tuck’s not sure what’s going on. He’s not sure what the truth is or who to trust. He’s not sure they’re going to make it out of this. And as the night wears on, he’s not sure how he really feels about Sam anymore. Sam is always sure about Tuck, though, and Tuck isn’t going to let him down.

Excerpt

Faith
Archie Hellshire © 2018
All Rights Reserved

When humans lacked knowledge, they made do with having faith. Our ancestors ventured into the uncharted wilderness, armed only with pointed sticks and confidence that they could fight off anything with pointed teeth. Generations later, someone made a gamble that if a plant grew where it fell, then it should grow where it was planted and be just as edible, thus giving birth to agriculture. The age of exploration dawned when the first mariners set sail for the horizon, fairly certain it wasn’t a waterfall. As history progressed, people attempted more daring and complex endeavors, fueled by the belief that they would, at the very least, survive. Knowledge may be the substance of progress, but faith is the duct tape.

More than anything else, we have, as a species, progressed because of our faith in each other. Our ancestors hunted in packs to bring down larger prey, trusting that the guy they were hunting with wouldn’t kill them so they didn’t have to share. Legal systems were constructed on the premise that enough people would obey the law that sorting out the remainder wouldn’t be a problem. Civilization is built on the basic philosophy that people will be good to each other, people will help each other, and people won’t kill each other when it suits their interests, not usually at any rate.

Unfortunately, faith has a dark side. Wars have been started because one side believed they could win. The different religions of the world have been in an ongoing disagreement about who’s going to heaven and why; sometimes these disagreements have escalated to the point where they found out the hard way. People have murdered, pillaged, and swindled when they thought they could get away with it. Careless hearts have fallen in love with uncaring people.

Faith is a power that lends itself to good just as easily as it lends itself to bad.

It was in the early evening in one fair city, the power of faith was being abused to its breaking point as a group of UFO researchers was convening on the rooftop of a warehouse. On the spacious tar flats high above the city, with a few of the more ambitious stars already visible in the failing light of dusk, men and women set up a complex array of antennae and computers. The less technically minded among them set up a craft services table featuring on-theme menu items like Cattle-Mutilation-Sloppy-Joes and Little-Green-Men-Guacamole.

They were motivated by a bone-deep belief that if they set up their mobile receiving station at just the right time and listened carefully, they would win the electrodynamic lottery and hear a broadcast from an alien world. Tonight, their faith was rewarded by a brief jolt of excitement, followed by a slow stab of inevitable disappointment.

“Oh, lordy!” cried Calvin, looking at the monitor, where the interface displayed a wildly jiggling radio wave. “This is it! We’re receiving a signal!” He reached over to a different machine and flipped some switches with well-practiced speed.

“We’re recording!” he announced, pressing is face up against the screen to make absolutely sure he wasn’t missing anything. “Oh, lordy! This is incredible!”

Susie walked over, shaking her head in exasperation.

“Are you sure it’s extraterrestrial?” she asked, trying to get a view of the graph from around Calvin’s head.

“Of course, I’m sure!”

“It’s just that you were sure last month,” she said. “When you spent four hours recording a Finnish talk show.”

“This is different!” he protested.

“And the week before that, when you followed a UFO with your car.”

“This is completely different!”

“And you followed it to the state line before you realized it was a crack in your windshield,” she finished.

“This is…ow, ow, ow,” he cried, as an older, bulky man pulled gently but firmly on the tuft of hair on Calvin’s temple, prying his face away from the monitor.

The newcomer surveyed the image for a second before a look of disappointment settled on his grizzled face.

“Is it extraterrestrial, Moe?” Susie asked, a faint note of hope in her voice.

“Nah, that’s terrestrial,” Moe said finally. “I saw it before, when I was in the Air Force.”

“At Area 51?” asked Calvin.

“I keep telling you, I was stationed in Britain.”

“Well, that’s what you say…”

“It’s a frequency jamming signal,” Moe finished. “They broadcast noise over various bandwidths and try to block transmissions.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” asked Susie, eyeing the monitor suspiciously.

“Because they’re trying to cover something up!” declared Calvin.

“Or some jamoke is trying to keep people from using cell phones in his store,” said Moe. “But keep recording,” he added, before walking away. “This night won’t be a total loss if we can document a felony.”

But this story isn’t about them. It just occurs near them. This story is about faith. The faith one man had in another, what that faith led him to do, and how that faith changed the person it was bestowed upon.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Archie Hellshire is an author with aspirations of being able to write. He was born in the Caribbean where he developed a love of nature, the metric system, and high temperatures. In school, lacking any athletic or social ability, he became a very bookish person, indulging in the works of Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, JK Rowling, and Charles Dodgson. Despite being well read, he struggled with dyslexia and would forever remain horrible at spelling. The advent of Spell Checker reignited his dreams of becoming an author.

Archie grew up in a family and culture that was not tolerant of homosexuals, and he spent his entire young life in the closet, retreating into his books and a rich fantasy life. In the theater of his mind, the romances he read could be edited to be male couples. He dreamed of one day writing his own stories and living his own happy ending.  You can connect with Archie on Twitter.

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

Release Blitz: All the Dogs are Dancing by J.M. Goguen (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  All the Dogs are Dancing

Author: J.M. Goguen

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 15, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 85600

Genre: Paranormal, Romance, paranormal, gay, dystopian future, shifters, vampires, wolves, pack dynamic, AI

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Burner’s world revolved around three things: protecting the wolf pack of Maine, keeping an eye on his best friend Aaron, and helping prepare enough summer food to take on the long road to Quebec for the winter months. But in the ruins of an old shopping mall on a hot summer night, his world crashes.

Now Burner has to face monsters he thought were just stories told to scare pups, and he must traverse a world he’s only seen in old magazines. Meanwhile, his best friend Aaron is dealing with monsters of his own and Burner will do whatever it takes to keep them both safe, even if it means finally admitting how he really feels.

Excerpt

All the Dogs are Dancing
J.M. Goguen © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
East Coast of Maine, Summer, twenty years after the Darkness

Crickets chirped in the background of the campfire’s light. The aroma of hot, dry grass, charred fish, and wild dill filled the air. Five boys ranging in ages from four to eight sat huddled together, watching intently as scarred fingers expertly checked the skewered fish. It was a simple lesson; an easy cooking strategy when out in the wild. Eating raw fish could result in sickness, or worse, death. Teaching the boys early on how to cook would save them trouble later should they get separated or wander off.

It was one of the first things Fern taught me, and he was teaching the boys of the pack. Without burning his fingers, Fern squeezed the sides of the fish, and the boys shifted, glancing at each other. They were hungry, their stomachs grumbling loud enough that even I could hear them from my spot several feet away, but Fern needed them to focus before they ate, as sleep would come too easily with a full belly, and they needed to learn the dangers in the world.

“Do you know who the Deadwalkers are?” Fern’s voice rumbled up from deep in his chest. With his scarred face, straggly white hair, opalescent yellow eyes, and broken-fanged grin, Fern looked frightening, at least to the young pups. They just hadn’t seen him fight yet.

“They aren’t real,” Riley said. His gaze was fixed on the fish, and without looking, he shoved another boy who had crept closer to the fire away. Riley was a young pup, new to our pack this summer, and the first time away from his mother too.

A smile spread across Fern’s face, the sight of his fangs causing the boys to inch away. “Oh, but they are. You see, they live in the old cities, in buildings taller than the water tower in the Old Town, and they devour everything in their path…”

“Mom always told me they weren’t real,” Aaron whispered to me.

Aaron and I were several feet away from the boys to the side of the campfire. Close enough to see clearly, but far enough that the boys ignored us. We weren’t as nearly as interesting as Fern or the food, but we were to set an example to the boys on how to behave. At least, that’s what Fern had told me when I made the fire while Aaron cleared the area for us to sit.

I glanced at Aaron. He was curled in on himself, his knees drawn close to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His black hair was peppered with white streaks as the result of a sickness he’d had before he turned Wolf. “Mom told me they were stories to scare the new pups, to keep them from wandering off at night,” he murmured.

“You didn’t wander.” My fishing net was on my lap. I was trying to fix the large hole a lobster had made that morning with some cord I’d found in one of the nearby huts. It seemed like something was always breaking and needing repairing. Thankfully the moon was almost full, and the additional light helped me to see what I was doing.

“Burner, you always wandered,” Aaron said, and for the first time in two months since his mother passed, he chuckled. “Fern always had to go hunt you down, and then Den Mother would be pissed off at him for losing you.”

I tried not to smile because it was true. I’d wander off to the Old Town and when Fern would catch up to me, we would walk around the buildings and houses. He would tell me stories from his childhood, about the old world.

I always thought it sounded like a horrible, boring, dead world.

“Fern told me once that most of his scars came from Den Mother,” I joked. I twisted the cord and net together with practiced ease, tying them in a knot.

Aaron laughed, really laughed, the sound carrying into the sky and echoing amongst the silent trees. I was glad to see a part of my friend was still alive inside. It made me smile too.

“Do you two think Deadwalkers are a joke?” Fern demanded.

The young pups were watching us, their trance on the fish, and Fern, broken.

Aaron and I shared a look.

“No, Alpha, they are as real as you and me,” I said. There was no laughter in my voice. No humor, just the firm, unquestioning tone Fern expected me to have when we spoke of pack matters.

Satisfied, Fern nodded. He picked up one of the skewers, examining the fish closely. The pups returned their attention to Fern, or rather, how he was testing the fish. He started speaking again, and Aaron waited a few moments before he leaned closer to me, his breath tickling my ear. “Do you think they are real?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one, not even in the Old Town.” I ducked my head, pretending to pick at the net.

Aaron stared at the fire, falling into silence. I peeked sideways at him when he suddenly sniffed, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “I miss Mom,” he choked and buried his face in his crossed arms.

I looked hopelessly at Fern. When he saw Aaron, he motioned for us to go. Net in hand, I stood up and squeezed Aaron’s shoulder.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” I soothed.

“I don’t want to go home.” Aaron stood. His right hand was cupping his eyes, his lips downturned.

Wordlessly, I let go of his shoulder and took him by the hand. Together, we left the campfire and slipped into the dark of the night.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

J.M. Goguen is a pen name for a Canadian author. A graduate of Simon Fraser University, The Writer’s Studio, and a current MFA creative writing student, she is known to spend more time world building than writing. Growing up with a love of paranormal, horror, romance, and speculative fiction, she will happily chat about topics ranging from interstellar ark ships, werewolves, the zombie apocalypse, and the dangers of lightsabers and space lasers.

Her previous work has appeared in Micro Madness and Emerge 16, and she does manuscript consultations. She lives on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, Canada. In her free time, she plays video games, takes too many photos of her cats, and watches the local wildlife.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

Review Blog Tour: Blind Date by Kay Doherty

Title:  Blind Date

Series: Back in the Game Book 1

Author: Kay Doherty

Publisher:  Ninestar Press

Original Release Date: 8/29/2016

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 158 pages

Genre: Romance, Contemporary

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Dekker Callan is content with his life though he knows something is missing. Wanting the kind of love his friends share with their partners, Dekker is talked into taking part in a modeling and dating show as part of a fundraiser. He immediately falls in love with the anonymous, sexy voice on the other side of the wall, but fate has a surprise in store–his mystery man isn’t single.

Slade Gannon wasn’t supposed to take part in the dating show. That spot was for his roommate, Phil, who becomes ill and asks Slade to take his place. Slade has just recently gone through a breakup with his cheating boyfriend. Shocked and pleased when he wins the interest of handsome Dekker Callan, before he can go on the obligatory blind date, his ex asks for a second chance. Believing Dekker can’t possibly be as good on the inside as he looks on the outside, Slade gives George a second chance.

Dekker and Slade hit it off immediately, drawn to each other despite Slade being involved with someone else. They finally get their chance to be together when Slade finds out his boyfriend is still cheating, but just as they seem to discover the happiness they’ve been waiting for, George throws them one last hurdle—and this one may prove to be insurmountable.

Excerpt

If he’d known a week ago that Dekker was more than a handsome face and hot body and would turn his crank as hard as he did, Slade would have told George he’d lost his chance. Why he’d taken the cheating bastard back was beyond him at this moment. Slade would bet any amount of money that Dekker wasn’t like that. Dekker would be loyal and faithful and love the man in his life with everything he had. Dekker had already asked more about Slade’s life and business than George ever had. How sad was that?

Slade closed his eyes as the hand he was holding disengaged from his fingers to find his waist. Strong arms encircled him and a hot, hard body pressed against his back. He felt Dekker’s erection press against his ass as the man moved perfectly in time with Slade’s dancing. The song had a fast Latin beat, and Slade rolled his hips, loving the feel of Dekker’s body and prominent arousal pressed against him from behind. Slade placed one hand on top of Dekker’s at his waist, threading their fingers together, and reached his other hand behind him to pull Dekker’s head forward. Dekker lowered his head without argument and buried his face in Slade’s neck.

The song ended, and Dekker pulled away slightly, but still maintained his hold on Slade’s waist. The waiter found them on the dance floor, and Dekker took the beers while Slade pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it to the server. He accepted his beer from Dekker and took a long pull. Slade was in so much trouble right now. He wanted Dekker badly, but Dekker deserved to be the center of his lover’s attention, not just a piece of ass on the side.

Dekker drank his beer quickly, took Slade’s from him, and discarded the bottles on an empty table nearby before pulling Slade back into his arms. Slade slipped his arms around Dekker’s neck. Dekker led them in a slow dance despite the fast-paced music blaring around them. Each step caused their pelvises to grind against each other, moving their erections up and down and across one another. Slade pulled Dekker’s head forward so their foreheads touched. Damn, he liked being close to Dekker like this. Slade liked the fact that he was the only one Dekker had eyes for; that he was the only one Dekker was dancing with.

Dekker’s hands slid south over Slade’s butt and then one slipped back up under Slade’s shirt. Slade’s skin was on fire where Dekker’s palm massaged. Slade pushed his hips forward, seeking out more of Dekker’s hardness. The man was an addictive drug. The more of him Slade got, the more of him Slade wanted. Dekker gripped Slade’s ass and pulled him tighter against his body. Slade lifted his eyes to Dekker’s molten hazel gaze. He licked his lips, and Dekker’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Dekker groaned and kissed him, hard. Slade opened his mouth to Dekker’s assault, and the kiss deepened, tongues battling for dominance.

Both men came to their senses at the same time, and they pulled apart. Dekker kept his hands on Slade’s waist, and Slade held onto Dekker’s elbows. Both of them knew the line they had just crossed, but neither was willing to stop touching the other. Dekker pulled Slade back into his arms, and they started dancing again, though this time there was a distance present that had been missing before.

“Fuck,” Dekker said in his ear.

“Yeah,” Slade agreed. He had no words for what just happened between them, but “fuck” seemed to sum it up well.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

Website | Facebook | Twitter |Goodreads | eMail

Tour Schedule

10/17 Amy’s MM Romance Reviews

10/17 Two Chicks Obsessed

10/18 Slashsessed

10/19 Bayou Book Junkie

10/19 Megan’s Media Melange

10/19 MM Good Book Reviews

10/19 Southern Babes Book Blog

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  To Save His Prince, An Ice Dragon Tale

Series: Ice Dragon Tales #4

Author: Hurri Cosmo

Publisher:  Self-Published

Release Date: 9/21/18

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77,000

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

Duncan?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Your Highness. Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

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

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail

Tour Schedule

10/15 Book Review Virignia Lee

10/15 MM Good Book Reviews

10/16 MM Midnight Cafe

10/17 The Blogger Girls

10/18 Dream, Love, Imagine

10/18 Happily Ever Chapter

10/19 Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

10/19 Stories That Make You Smile

10/19 Love Bytes

10/19 Bayou Book Junkie

10/25 Queer Sci Fi

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  Out in the End Zone

Series: Out in College #2

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Release Date: October 10

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 44000

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

Excerpt

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

“Now?”

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

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

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  Angel’s Intuition

Author: Liz Borino

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57100

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

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

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

Excerpt

Angel’s Intuition
Liz Borino © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
July 2013, Langley, Virginia

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Foster will assume your leadership role.”

“Foster? He’s a paper pusher!”

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

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

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

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

“You’re one of our best.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not all of us have your finesse.”

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

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

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

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

So am I. “Can I still get updates?”

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

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

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

Right. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, you may go home.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Never happen. You okay?” Jordan asked.

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

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

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

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

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

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

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  Red Between the Lines

Author: Parker Foye

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28200

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

Red Between the Lines
Parker Foye © 2018
All Rights Reserved

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re definitely a doctor, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Let me have a look.”

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

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

The smile was gone. Wynfield kind of missed it.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

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

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

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  A Dance of Water and Air

Series: Elemental Magicae, Book One

Author: Antonia Aquilante

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 83600

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

If only he could stay there.

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

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

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

“None.”

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

“I guess we’ll find out.”

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

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

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

Peregrine was there, laying out clothes.

“That isn’t your job,” Edmund said.

“I’m aware.”

“I can select my own clothing.”

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

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

“Thank you,” Edmund said.

“My pleasure, Edmund.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You called for me, Father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We got what we needed from it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Antonia Aquilante has been making up stories for as long as she can remember, and at the age of twelve, decided she would be a writer when she grew up. After many years and a few career detours, she has returned to that original plan. Her stories have changed over the years, but one thing has remained consistent—they all end in happily ever after.

She has a fondness for travel (and a long list of places she wants to visit and revisit), taking photos, family history, fabulous shoes, baking treats (which she shares with friends and family), and of course, reading. She usually has at least two books started at once and never goes anywhere without her Kindle. Though she is a convert to e-books, she still loves paper books the best, and there are a couple thousand of them residing in her home with her.

Born and raised in New Jersey, Antonia is living there again after years in Washington, DC and North Carolina for school and work. She enjoys being back in the Garden State but admits to being tempted every so often to run away from home and live in Italy.

Facebook | Twitter | eMail

Tour Schedule

10/8 –  Mirrigold Mutterings and Musings

10/9 –  Love Bytes

10/10 –  Bayou Book Junkie

10/10 –  Divine Magazine

10/11 – Boy Meets Boy Reviews

10/12 –  Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

10/12 – AL Boyd

 Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

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

Title:  Listener’s Remains

Author: L. Julia

Publisher:  NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 8, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 89200

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure you do.”

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

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

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

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

Eduardo could read his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have the wine?” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

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

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Button 2

Load more