Jun 04

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

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)

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)

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)

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.”

Purchase

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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)

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

First Sight
Jordan Taylor © 2018
All Rights Reserved

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)

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

What It Seems
Sydney Blackburn © 2018
All Rights Reserved

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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May 21

Release Blitz: The False Moon by Jacqueline Rohrbach (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The False Moon

Author: Jacqueline Rohrbach

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 21, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84,900

Genre: Paranormal, werewolves, shifters, gay, paranormal

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Synopsis

Outsiders call them False Moons, but Garvey’s kind call themselves Moondogs. Moondogs hunt. Moondogs live free. Moondogs stick together. Moondogs are half-breeds, not completely accepted by those who consider themselves “true wolves.”

Garvey is a Moondog to his bones. He and the unexpected get along just fine. That’s why when Molly, the vampire who should be a mindless eating machine, turns out to be an oddity, Garvey decides to hide her away instead of killing her.

But that leaves him needing another vampire to carry out the schemes of the two powerful werewolf rivals he’s caught between. What’s an improvising Moondog to do other than find some poor sap and create a new one?

Garvey might be a Moondog to his bones, but to defeat his enemies, he must navigate their world and be the stupid, subservient beast they expect. At least on the surface. Behind the scenes, Garvey intends to turn their plans against them and bring the two greater packs to the brink of war.

Excerpt

The False Moon
Jacqueline Rohrbach © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1: Jouska But Not Really
KIJO

Kijo stood in front of the gateway Mazgan stole from the Boo Hags. Lacking descriptive language, she could only call it doorish but smaller. As it was, when she became wolf, it was what she felt and not what she saw. Surging electricity pried apart large spaces inside of her to make room for itself amongst her being. This sensation wasn’t intoxicating. It was terrifying. Without knowing how she knew it, Kijo understood the presence with her wanted to rip her apart.

You do not open it. It opens you.

It was one of the few things Kijo remembered Lavario saying with any force back when he was still her father. Normally flippant about bright-line rules, he was stern, even afraid, when he cautioned her against tampering with the sentient powers immured within the gateways.

Back then, pride kept her from asking him more. As a new wolf, she wanted her pack to think she was in control, secure in her ability to fight any enemy the world had to offer. Varcolac. What a fool she’d been. Now it was too late to ask for guidance, too late to admit her fear, too late to do anything other than move forward. Under her nose, Mazgan had already brought a gateway there and left it where anyone could access it. Worse, he’d selected Garvey—a brazenly careless wolf—to travel through it and bring back a vampire of all things.

“Here is proof of Mazgan’s foolishness,” she said to herself in the darkness. “Here is proof he’s tampering where he should not.”

In her head, she considered her pack’s response. It’s nothing, they’d say.

She stressed the significance to them. “It is a gateway. Here.”

Their retort played out in her head. It was past time for Varcolac to have dominion over one. We are due. You are looking at your birthright. Your rank is not just some silly title. It is a destiny, Guardian.

Furious, Kijo paced the length of the hall. Her imaginary conversation with her subordinates became reality if she approached them now. Pack pride surmounted their caution. An honor they’d been denied all these years, a right reserved by the much hated Isangelous, was in their possession. Having did not mean tampering. Even if it did, the wolves of the Varcolac—mostly younger, brasher—might not understand the danger.

Mazgan hadn’t exactly hidden it either; the damn thing was literally a door to a storage room. Inexcusable hubris.

“You will need so much more to persuade them of the danger,” she concluded to herself.

This time, her pack did not answer her. She was alone.

No, not alone. An unknown entity stirred nearby. More curious than concerned, Kijo scanned the hallway, narrowing her eyes while she sniffed the air in measured, stable inhalations. Her nostrils barely twitched. Although she didn’t see, didn’t hear, didn’t smell anything, instinct demanded she listen.

Kijo straightened herself, haughtily raising her chin. She walked up to the gateway the same way she’d approach any other enemy. Touch. The energy sent her staggering backward. It was an impulse as strong as anything she’d ever felt, more demanding than even her body’s need for blood.

“No.” Defiant, Kijo said it out loud. Cold liquid ran down her spine. Sweat, she realized.

The energy shifted, tipping her direction as though to acknowledge her refusal. Softer this time, the request was seductive. Touch.

Kijo’s hand twitched at her side. With effort, she forced herself to walk away. Lavario’s words repeated, You don’t open it. It opens you.

Purchase

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Meet the Author

Jacqueline Rohrbach is a 36-year-old creative writer living in windy central Washington. When she isn’t writing strange books about bloodsucking magical werewolves, she’s baking sweets, or walking her two dogs, Nibbler and Mulder. She also loves cheesy ghost shows, especially when the hosts call out the ghost out like he wants to brawl with it in a bar. You know, “Come out here, you coward! You like to haunt little kids. Haunt me!” Jackee laughs at this EVERY time.

She’s also a hopeless World of Warcraft addict. In her heyday, she was a top parsing disc priest. She became a paladin to fight Deathwing, she went back to a priest to cuddle pandas, and then she went to a shaman because I guess she thought it would be fun to spend an entire expansion underpowered and frustrated. Boomchicken for Legion! You can find Jacqueline on Twitter.

 

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May 17

Book Blitz: LEVEL UP by Annabeth Albert (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  LEVEL UP

Series: loosely related to the #gaymers series, but stands alone

Author: Annabeth Albert

Publisher: Annabeth Albert

Release Date: May 17, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 40,000 words

Genre: Romance, contemporary m/m romance, gay romance, geeks, nerds, friends-to-lovers, gamers, gaymers

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Synopsis

Landon can’t believe he’s let himself get roped into participating in a charity calendar, let alone one that features tastefully photographed nudes. The genius physicist is hardly model material and he’s dreading the nude part of the photoshoot. Amid his reluctance, the one bright spot is his emails back and forth with the photographer.

However, Bailey ends up being not quite what Landon expects, and their first meeting is decidedly awkward. Bailey’s persistent though, and gradually Landon warms to the burly photographer, and they discover they have a shared love of gamer culture.

A tentative friendship is born, but the road from friends to lovers isn’t easy. Landon’s battling past trauma and must decide how much of a risk he’s willing to take. A sexy connection may not be enough to keep them together unless both are willing to put their hearts on the line.

Approximately 40,000 words. Previously released as part of the EXPOSED anthology, and loosely linked to the #Gaymers universe, this friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort story stands alone with a guaranteed happy ending. Contains a brief mention of a prior assault, but no on-screen violence or flashbacks.

Excerpt

LEVEL UP EXCERPT—This is their first kiss, because I absolutely love writing first kiss scenes!

***

Bailey was the type who moved a lot as he gamed, biceps flexing, knees wiggling, shoulders jostling. Landon always liked people who got so into gaming, but it was more than a little distracting. His body was quickly coming to associate that orange scent of Bailey’s with good things, and other parts of him apparently liked Bailey’s nearness, which was a novelty because instead of intimidated, as he would have expected, he was more than a little turned on.

“Oh man, that was a rush.” Bailey laughed as both of their health meters dipped to zero. “I’m almost wishing I’d gone into game art, not photography. Amazing how these graphics have held up over the years.”

“Totally. And speaking of art, let me find the Space Villager stuff.” Landon reluctantly stepped away from the game. He headed to the nearby kitchen, where he was pretty the papers were buried with a stack of mail. Paper control was not his strong suit. “You’ll go nuts at the latest screen shots and promo teasers.”

“Cool.” Rather than follow Landon, Bailey went to sit on the couch.

“You want a drink while I’m in here?” Landon called to him after he found the papers under a pile of pizza ads. “I’ve got four flavors of Snapple, soda, and water.”

“Surprise me with a Snapple flavor.” Bailey looked right at home on Landon’s couch, lounging back.

He really did not look at all like any photographer Landon had ever met, and curiosity had him asking, “So why photography? You said you could have done game design?”

“Yeah, I had plenty of friends at the art institute go that direction. But I’ve been in love with photography ever since I worked on our middle school yearbook. I figured out quickly that taking pictures of events and sports was far more fun than trying to do the sports myself, so I did yearbook all through high school, got a photography scholarship to the art institute in Portland.”

“So you don’t play a sport?” Landon had a hard time believing that. With Bailey’s height and breadth, he totally looked like he lived for weekend games of some type.

“Nope. Hopelessly uncoordinated.” Bailey shot him an endearing smile when Landon handed him the bottle of tea.

“Me too.” Landon clinked bottles with him, then held up the papers. “Found the codes. But can I show you some stuff on the TV screen while you have your drink?”

“Absolutely.” Bailey took a long swig of tea, and Landon had to look away before he got mesmerized by Bailey’s full mouth, how it looked when his tongue chased a stray drop of moisture, how pink it was in contrast to his paler skin and brown beard.

Landon queued up the pre-release trailer Josiah had sent him a link to. Bombastic music filled his small living room as on the screen, and a spaceship pulled in for a landing on a planet filled with ruins of a once-powerful civilization. The narrator had an iconic voice and detailed all the special features of the expansion pack. Landon had already watched this a half-dozen times, and it still gave him happy chills.

“Wow. I can’t wait.” Bailey looked suitably awed. “This is even cooler than when War Elf added the mystic raids.”

“I know, right? Now look at the in-game screen shots.” He brought up another video, body relaxing more and more despite Bailey’s nearness. It was just so awesome to have someone new to share this with. He’d been hyped about this all week, but Pike was distracted by his boyfriend Zack’s deployment, Savannah didn’t game much, and the rest of his regular crew seemed to have other things occupying their attention.

Somehow, as he shared more video clips, he drifted closer to Bailey, so that their knees were almost rubbing. It wasn’t a giant couch, so there wasn’t a ton of room to move back, but even so, Landon wasn’t looking for an escape. He was aware of Bailey, very much so, but not nearly as freaked out as he’d been a few hours ago. Instead, his senses seemed to soak up Bailey’s scent and nearness, and it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth video that he realized that he was aroused.

Clink. Somehow Landon’s left hand, holding his drink, and Bailey’s right hand tangled.

“Oops.” He tried to extricate himself without spilling both beverages. Bending to put his on the floor, he hadn’t realized that Bailey had also leaned down until their heads collided.

“Ow,” they said simultaneously.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Bailey reached out, feeling around on Landon’s head. “Did you see stars? Break the skin?”

“I’m fine.” Landon didn’t pull away. Bailey’s hand felt damn nice. Gentle. Soothing more than just the bump on his head. Their eyes met, and he really needed to move back, break this spell, but he didn’t, instead leaning into to the touch. Bailey’s eyes darkened, and he stroked down Landon’s jaw. God, that felt so good, like an extra blanket on a chilly night, warmth he hadn’t realized he was missing. How long had it been since he’d been touched like this? Hugged, sure. He’d hugged Savannah goodnight, and hugged and wrestled around with his best friend Pike at the last LAN party, but neither of those things was touch like this. Caring. Sweet. Arousing.

Bailey leaned in again, way slower this time, all the time in the world for Landon to stop him. But he didn’t. Bailey’s beard tickled an instant before their lips met, a soft slide of mouths. Not aggressive at all, not the on-a-tight-schedule rush of a hookup, Bailey kissed like they had a sleepy Sunday afternoon to kill, like each reaction of Landon’s mattered, like he was trying to memorize something important and was going to take his time learning the lesson.

Landon was the first one to take things further, mouth opening on a sigh, welcoming Bailey’s agile tongue. He tasted sweet, like tea, and minty like the gum he’d popped after the pizza, familiar yet new at the same time. How had he managed to forget how awesome kissing could be? A laugh bubbled up in his chest, but quickly transformed to a groan of pleasure as Bailey nipped at his lower lip.

Not content to let Bailey be the one exploring, Landon sent his own tongue on a quest, tracing Bailey’s full lower lip, delving inside to rub tongues, retreating playfully to earn another nip. Fuck. This was nice. The video switched over to something random, and he barely registered it. He couldn’t say how long they kissed, just that he didn’t want it to ever end.

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Meet the Author

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer. The #OutOfUniform series joins her critically acclaimed and fan-favorite LGBTQ romance #Gaymers, #PortlandHeat and #PerfectHarmony series. To find out what she’s working on next and other fun extras, check out her website: www.annabethalbert.com or connect with Annabeth on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Spotify! Also, be sure to sign up for her newsletter for free ficlets, bonus reads, and contests. The fan group, Annabeth’s Angels, on Facebook is also a great place for bonus content and exclusive contests.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two active children.

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May 14

Release Blitz: The Song of the Faerie Prince by Tay LaRoi (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Song of the Faerie Prince

Series: The Faerie Court Chronicles, Book Three

Author: Tay LaRoi

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 14, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 78500{Audiobook Length:39}

Genre: Fantasy, young adult, faeries, trans, romance, royalty

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Synopsis

Sixteen-year-old Gia Johnson is comfortable in the background, but when dark magic looms over her town, her beautiful voice will put her in a spotlight she never imagined: the Seelie Court. To get out alive and save her childhood friend, she’ll have to trust Oliver O’Brian, a trans classmate and a Prince of Faerie, especially when an ancient evil rears its ugly head from the depths of Lake Michigan. All the while, Gia finds herself drawn to Oliver, but what does that mean if she’s always liked girls?

Excerpt

The Song of the Faerie Prince
Tay LaRoi © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“Woo-hoo, take it all off.”

“I’m going to stop going places with you.”

Zoe snickers and swings another bathing suit over the dressing-room wall. “Try this one next. You look great in warm colors.”

Warm colors look more like neon on my big frame, so they’re automatically vetoed. I don’t care what’s in right now. I’ve told Zoe to only get dark colors a million times since we walked into this store, but she’s what my parents like to call hard-headed.

At least, they call it that when I disagree with them.

“Yeah, try that one on, sweetie,” my mother calls. “It’s adorable.”

Apparently, Zoe gets a pass.

“I told y’all to grab something black,” I grumble, taking the suit and holding it up next to the aqua one I’m trying to take off. I have to admit that the swirls of deep orange and crimson are pretty. And there’s a little skirt on it. That’ll cover my thighs a little bit.

“There aren’t any more black ones, Gia,” Zoe says, lying through her teeth, no doubt. “You should have replaced your old one right after it got wrecked instead of waiting till September.”

She’s got a point. When my old suit got caught in the wringer-outer-dryer thingy at the public pool, I thought I could put off buying a new suit until next summer, but then Zoe and our friend Miguel convinced me to go to the back-to-school beach party. I don’t really belong at things like that, out where everyone can see me, and my heavyset body that’s impossible to miss, but Michigan’s warm-weather days are numbered. A hoodie and jeans would be acceptable, I guess, but I already know Zoe’s going straight for the water, with Miguel not too far behind, and being on the sidelines is no fun, even if people snicker at you while you get off said sidelines.

I squeeze into Zoe’s choice, calculating how many calories I can burn just by holding my gut in the entire time we’re at the party. That’s got to count for some sort of strength training.

“Shoot. Georgina, let me see that one real quick so I can go grab milk. I’ll meet you girls up front when you’re done,” Mom says.

I study my tubby figure in the dressing-room mirror. This suit isn’t too bad, I guess, despite the bright colors. Thanks to the skirt, it has a slight A-frame, giving me the hint of an hourglass, and the straps are thick enough to actually give me some support up top. I’ve learned the hard way that halters are neck-pain city when you have big boobs. The suit’s far from perfect, but perfect’s a long way off for me anyway, so I unlock the door to show my best friend and mother.

Zoe whistles a catcall and sticks her tongue out when I give her a dirty look. She gets to her feet and drags me over to the three-way mirror. I feel even bigger now that I’m next to her petite willowy frame. Her long silky black hair doesn’t help. There’s no denying she’s pretty. Not quite my type—I like my girls a bit more masculine—but Zoe’s definitely pretty. My hair looks okay in the cornrows that drape over my shoulders, but let’s be real—hair like Zoe’s is where it’s at. Especially in high school.

“Mrs. Johnson, what do you think?” Zoe asks over her shoulder.

Mom joins us at the mirror and beams with pride that sparkles in her blue eyes, probably at my hair. She always does a great job. “I love it. It’s very flattering. Is that the one you want?”

“I guess,” I reply with a shrug.

Mom tugs at the skirt, her smile a bit smaller. “Does it really need this piece, though? It’s a bit old-lady looking. Nothing against old ladies, except you’re sixteen.”

“That’s the most important part,” I joke.

“I could go find that bikini again, Mrs. J,” Zoe offers.

Mom puts her hands up in surrender. “Old-lady skirt it is.” She checks her wavy brown hair in the mirror, tucks a few loose hairs back, frowns at her laugh lines, then readjusts the jacket in her arms as she heads toward the dressing-room exit. “Get changed and meet up by the registers.” Pointing to Zoe, she adds, “Make sure she gets there. Don’t let her wimp out on that suit. It’s super cute on her.”

“As if I’d let her.” Zoe plops back down in her seat and crosses her legs. “I’ll drag her out of the dressing room if she tries.”

“Why do you have to make everything weird?” I mutter on my way to change back into my jeans and T-shirt.

“Life’s more fun when you’re weird. How many years are we going to be friends before you learn that?”

If I haven’t learned it after seven years, I don’t think I ever will.

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Meet the Author

Tay grew up reading too many fairy tales and watching too many movies, which is probably why she writes fantasy now. When she’s not at her day job or writing, she can be found taking spontaneous drives to new places, and drinking way too much coffee.

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May 14

Release Blitz: Adrian’s Scar by Martin Delacroix (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Adrian’s Scar

Author: Martin Delacroix

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: May 14, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 16000

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, student/teacher, disability, grief

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Synopsis

After Kai Olsen’s “perfect lover” dies in a cycling accident, Kai takes a part-time job teaching at a community college to fill his empty evenings. When Kai’s student, Adrian Knox, shows an interest in Kai, their lives quickly change. Adrian is dominated by his controlling mother, Kai can’t stop obsessing over his lost lover, and school policy says faculty members can’t date students. Does love between Kai and Adrian stand a chance?

Excerpt

Adrian’s Scar
Martin Delacroix © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
I was thirty, and my partner of five years, Christopher, was gone. An octogenarian driving a Sedan Deville ran over Christopher while he trained on his ten-speed bicycle. Christopher died instantly.

Some mornings, after the accident happened, I’d wake up and turn over in bed, expecting to find my beautiful Christopher hugging his pillow while sunlight reflected in his dark hair. And then I’d remember.

Christopher was a remarkable person, a gourmet cook who competed in triathlons and sewed the drapes hanging in our home. A pediatric hematologist, he treated kids with leukemia and hemophilia. I let him choose my clothes because he knew what matched with what. Like me, Christopher was organized, a true neatnik, and our home sparkled. We kept everything arranged just so, from the living room and kitchen to the closets and attic.

Now Christopher was gone, and I knew in my heart that no one could ever replace him.

In my bedroom, on the bureau, I created a sort of “Christopher shrine”: framed photographs, his sports medals and trophies, his wristwatch, and the gold necklace I’d given him for his twenty-ninth birthday. He wore the necklace at the time of his death.

I framed a letter he wrote me when he attended a medical conference in Montreal, and now the letter sat among the memorabilia. I kept a scented candle on the bureau and often lit it. I’d sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the display while tears rolled down my cheeks.

Oh, Christopher, why did you have to leave me?

Evenings were hardest. I’d come home from my law office to an empty house. I had no one to discuss the day’s events with and no one to share a meal with. I took to eating frozen dinners, the kind I could pop into the microwave. I lost fifteen pounds and looked like a scarecrow. I felt lonely as hell and finally decided I should fill my evenings with some kind of activity. But what?

My law partner, David Bonner, suggested I try teaching part-time at our community college.

“There’s a paralegal program,” David said. “I know the department head, so I can put in a word if you’d like.”

Hell, why not?

I interviewed with Susan Stouffer, David’s friend, a petite woman in her forties with an easy smile, a strand of pearls, and a cluttered office. Textbooks choked her bookshelves. Her desk was stacked with file folders and legal journals.

“This is a four-year program,” she told me, “and our standards are high. I think you’ll find most of our students are bright and earnest. Many are middle-aged, looking to start a second career.”

I would teach a course called Introduction to U S Law and the Judicial System.

“It’s a survey course,” Susan said. “You’ll give them a taste of each area of substantive law: torts, contracts, family law, constitutional law, and so forth. You’ll also teach them court procedure; you’ll explain the state and federal court systems, and the Florida statutes too.”

Class met three nights per week, two hours per session, and the semester lasted four months.

“Adjuncts aren’t paid a lot,” Susan said. “You might call it a labor of love.”

“It’s fine,” I told her.

Susan gave me three different texts, a syllabus, a campus map, and a key to my office. “Visit the personnel department. You’ll need to sign forms and get your parking decal.”

The campus was perhaps fifty acres, much of it shaded by live oaks and long leaf pines with trunks as big around as oil barrels. The buildings were contemporary, with lots of glass and cream-colored brick, all connected by concrete walkways winding through swaths of Bahia grass. Classes were not in session that day, so few folks were about.

Located in a one-story portable, my office was a cramped space with a desk and a swivel chair, a laminate bookcase, two folding metal chairs, and a telephone. My windows faced west, and afternoon sunlight slanted in through the venetian blinds. The paneled walls were barren, the carpet coffee stained.

If Christopher had been present, he would have rubbed his hands together and clucked his tongue. He might’ve said something like, “This place needs livening up: plants, framed posters, and maybe curtains.”

How I missed him.

A knock sounded on my door, and when I answered, a wiry guy my age with huge brown eyes stood in the hallway, clutching a briefcase. His skin was dark as chocolate, his hair onyx and straight as straw. His pudgy lips were a purple shade. I was six one and probably had half a foot on him. He wore a starched white shirt, khaki pants, and leather slip-ons.

“Are you the new adjunct?” he asked.

I nodded.

He extended a hand. “I’m Kip Patel; I teach legal research and writing full-time.”

We shook, and I told him I was Kai Olson.

With his thumb, he pointed over his shoulder.

“My office is across the hall. Elegant digs they give us, eh?”

I grinned and bobbed my chin. His voice had a lilting quality I found appealing.

“Do you like it here?” I asked.

He nodded. “Very much. This will be my fourth year at the college. After law school, I took a job at a firm; I performed real estate and corporate work.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I worked sixty-hour weeks, and it was boring as hell. This job pays less, of course, but I prefer the academic life.”

“I’ve never taught before,” I told Kip.

He shrugged while rocking his head from side to side. “It’s not difficult,” he said. “But listen, if I can be of help, you must let me know. We are all friends here.”

Purchase

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Meet the Author

Martin Delacroix is a former journalist and trial attorney. He writes short fiction and novels. His short fiction has appeared in over twenty anthologies and he has written several novels. Martin lives on a barrier island on Florida’s Gulf Coast. When he’s not writing he enjoys beach walks, playing his guitar, gardening, cooking, and distance running. He enjoys good wine and conversation. Find out more about Martin on his Website

 

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