New Release Blitz: Muse by Mychael Black (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense

Themes: Bisexual, Multisexual, Pansexual & Transsexual, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Multiple Partners, Rock Star Romance, Vampires

Series: Fragile Web (#3)

Multiverse: Blood & Fire (#4)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 72

Description

Treya Fischer finally has everything she’s ever wanted — two guys who adore her, and her dream job as Fragile Web’s lead singer.

Now she and her band members have the opportunity of a lifetime — a record deal. But life outside the band is another matter entirely. Determined to rein in her scandalous ways, her parents have enlisted the help of the last man she ever wants to deal with again — her ex.

Vampire David Garrison has officially joined the band as their new keyboardist. His partner, Ryan Parrish is their newest roadie. Not only are David and Ryan two of the hottest guys Treya’s ever met, they’re totally into her, as well as one another. They’ll do anything to protect her — especially from her jealous, manipulative, cheating son-of-a-bitch of an ex. There’s nothing they can’t manage, together.

Excerpt

Muse (Fragile Web 3)
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mychael Black

Treya Fischer glanced at her cell phone and finally put it on silent. It kept ringing, but at least she couldn’t hear it. No doubt she’d get a string of texts once her mother gave up trying to call. She sighed and got out of the car. Her folks had never approved of her lifestyle, her friends’ lifestyles, their music, or her career choice. It didn’t matter that Fragile Web was growing in popularity and demand around the city. It didn’t matter that she made more than enough money to live comfortably without having to ask her parents for a single dime. She’d never be the perfect daughter they wanted. Her sister filled that spot quite well.

The door opened, and she smiled. The guys hovered, fiercely protective as always, but now they had two more who’d joined the “shelter Treya from the world” cause. Not that she disliked it. Their form of sheltering was nothing like her parents’. The guys loved her for who she was, what she could do. They didn’t try to change her or make her fit into a mold.

“You okay?” Michael asked as she headed toward him. He took the case with her favorite mic and held open the door for her. The rest of her usual equipment stayed in the rehearsal loft until shows.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh, holding up her phone and showing the missed call notification.

Michael grimaced. “I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”

Treya shrugged, and Michael shut the door. She led the way back toward the rehearsal room. “Not really. It’s probably the same old song and dance she’s been doing for years. ‘You’re better than this. You could be an opera star.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

Michael opened up the door leading into their soundproofed rehearsal space. “You are a star. Hell, Fragile Web wouldn’t be what it is without you.”

She smiled and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. You guys are just as important, you know.”

“Honey, you could walk out onto a stage in a burlap sack and sing the phonebook, and the audience would be eating out of the palm of your hand,” Scott said from the table where he was changing strings on his guitar.

Treya laughed and took her mic case from Michael. “I think you’re all biased, but thanks.”

“Maybe,” Sam said from behind his drumkit, “but we’re right.”

Treya started to reply, but two men stepped into the room. She felt herself blush when they both smiled at her. David Garrison had officially joined the band as their new keyboardist, and his partner Ryan Parrish was now one of their two roadies. Sam’s partner Cole had swooped in to help in that capacity as well.

“My dear muse,” David said, “you are magnificent just as you are. Never let anyone — not even your parents — tell you otherwise.”

Treya bit the corner of her lower lip and had to look away from the vampire’s knowing gaze. The attraction between herself, David, and Ryan was no secret, but they’d yet to act on it. Treya had no idea where to start anyway. She’d never been with two people before — and definitely not with a vampire.

Scott finished and took his place at his amp. Michael strapped on his bass and turned on his own amplifier. Sam did a couple of test kicks to make sure his pedal was in the right position. As Treya took out her beloved Sennheiser MD 441, the exact model Stevie Nicks used, she watched David get his own keyboard situated on its stand right above Treya’s Korg Kronos. She couldn’t believe they’d lucked out in finding him. Not that anything was bad with Sam’s singing, but David just added a bit of sultry oomph that meshed well with Treya. Of course, she was probably a bit biased.

David smiled at her, and a shiver ran throughout her entire body.

Okay, definitely biased.

“Did you guys hear about the scout?” Scott asked them all.

Treya turned to him. “No…”

Scott nodded and plugged in his guitar. “Black Nebula Records has been poking around the area, even hitting some shows.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked.

“Yep. Can you imagine…?”

Treya blew out a breath. “That would be… oh, my God. Beyond amazing. What are the chances of someone seeing us live?”

Scott shrugged. “There’s no telling.”

“Even more reason to really tighten things up,” Treya said. She switched on the PA system. “Let’s get to it then!”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

Website | Facebook

Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!


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New Release Blitz: Sound Can Shatter by BL Jones (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Sound Can Shatter

Series: Liquid Onyx, Book Four

Author: BL Jones

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/11/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 83800

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi/fantasy, family-drama, superheroes, bisexual, gay

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Description

When Caleb Moon was eighteen years old, he took the powers forced on him as a child and began using them to protect the world as the superhero, Crescent, fighting alongside fellow supers his childhood friend Tate, girlfriend Mei, and brother in all but blood, Rex.

Two years later, he has a missing brother, an ex-girlfriend, and a whole lot of confusing tension going on between him and one of his best friends. Add to that the shattered bones of his relationship with his older brother, Jamie, and the perpetually strained one with his disapproving father, and Caleb’s entire support system is crumbling around him at the very worst time.

Facing pressure from every direction in his personal life, it doesn’t come as a shock when his superhero life starts spiraling into chaos, too. Between rage blackouts and bisexual awakenings, Caleb’s sense of self is shattering.

But Caleb Moon has been a survivor since he was four years old, and he’s not about to quit now.

Excerpt

Sound Can Shatter
BL Jones © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The Racket of Emotion

Barricade and I can’t keep this up for much longer.

We’ve been fighting Mages in a factory parking lot for what feels like hours, although I know it can’t have been. It’s just my exhausted brain playing with my perception of time.

I’m weaker than I should be, thanks to the Mages’ ritual, or whatever the hell it was that made me feel like all my strength was being sucked out of my body by some unseen force, to the point where I almost lost consciousness.

A tall, blond-haired Mage throws a green fire ball in my direction. The flickering emerald ball careens through the air in a terrifying show of magical power, triggering a fear response that clicks and fires off like a gun without a safety. No matter how many times it happens, I’ll never get used to magical fire being lobbed at my face.

Barricade throws up a shield to absorb the fire ball before the thing can get anywhere near me. In another battle, on another night, Barricade would have kept his shield up constantly, not letting it drop, to make sure I’m protected and able to get close enough to take the Mages down. They’re no match for me when it comes to a one-on-one fight, or even as a group. These Mages have no formal combat training at all. That was clear right from their first attack at the Anti-hero concert.

Just getting near enough to land a couple of good hits is the challenging part.

Barricade, who stands at my left, close enough for me to reach out and grab his shoulder if I wanted to, turns his head to meet my eyes. He exchanges a look with me that I can easily interpret. He’s feeling it, too. The only reason he dropped his shield is because he’s running out of energy, which means keeping his shield up is going to become increasingly difficult. Barricade is strong, far stronger than me, but we all have a limit, and Barricade is close to his.

We need to shut this down soon, or the Mages are going to end up winning by default.

I try to console myself with the fact that our odds have been worse than this before, during other battles against powered-up armies. Robots. Giant acid dogs. Bizarre, alien-looking creatures with too many teeth and dripping slime that escaped a supervillain’s lab. Just. Wow. There have been so many of those, you don’t even know.

I dip my head in a quick nod at Barricade, wordlessly communicating “we’ve got this, right?” Barricade is scarily good at reading people. Far better than me, which is funny, and occasionally frustrating. He nods back at me, agreeing with the lie, his mouth twisting up into a somewhat maniacal grin that means “fucking right we do”.

A new flush of adrenaline hits my veins like a class A drug, and I grin back at him just as broadly.

At least I know we’re on the same page, even if everything else is going to hell. Barricade doesn’t revel in the thrill and danger inherent in the life of a super as much as I do. But he gets it more than Frost does. More than Wrath. Definitely more than Polaris. For them, it’s about duty, a way of using their abilities to make the terrible atrocity of what was done to us mean something. Make it worth everything we lost.

In another world, where there are no superheroes or supervillains, I think I would still crave the fight. I think that I would have always been something dangerous, Liquid Onyx or no Liquid Onyx. Not a FISA agent, though. That wouldn’t be my first choice if I didn’t have powers. I’m a legacy at FISA, a descendant of many agents before me. But if I was normal, I’d probably choose to serve my country via the military. My family has a long history of becoming soldiers, too.

I’m not my brother. Someone able to play a part, to trick and manipulate. That’s not the kind of warfare I would ever have been suited for.

But I can see myself in camo, buried somewhere in the desert. Blinded by the sun. Surrounded by enemies I can only get glimpses of. Covered in paint, dirt, and blood. Red, not black. Maybe even with Tate Bishop, large and laughing and probably still the best of us, at my side. We’d have each other’s back in that world, just like we do in this one.

Mei would probably tell me the part I would struggle with was the following orders given to me by any brand of authority. She might be right. I’m not a fan of going in blind. I like to know the whys of what I’m doing. From what I know of the military, questions are troublesome things.

Although, from my experience with FISA, anything attached to the government has a strict aversion to open, honest communication.

Barricade is looking at me still, mouth split open, corners dragged sharply up at both sides. I can see his teeth, even though it’s pissing down with rain and there are no lights apart from the fire and charges of magic created by the Mages.

And the moon. I can trust that bastard to illuminate my battlefield.

My Liquid Onyx blood gave me superior senses, so I’m able to see without much light. It makes it easier to patrol the city, not having to rely on dim streetlamps or flashing signs to make my way around. It gives me the advantage in most street fights, too, especially in dark alleys where shadows make good accomplices.

Barricade jerks his chin to my left, indicating a Mage who appears to be gearing up to take another shot at us.

These Mages are persistent, I will give them that.

Knowing Barricade is with me, I throw myself back into the fight with little care for the inevitable consequences if we keep going without any reprieve. There’s no choice. The Mages won’t stop coming unless we put them down, and there’s no chance I can leave that up to the FISA agents. As good as they are, I couldn’t abandon them to save my own life.

If I falter and die, then I falter and die. It’s what I signed up for when I became Crescent. To fight till the last.

Barricade stays close by my side, resolutely supporting my severe lack of self-preservation, and we move together in well-practised tandem.

I’m able to get the best of two other enemy Mages before—fuck. Before I feel it.

There’s a particular cadence to the sound of loss when felt for the first time. It’s the screech of metal against metal, like the scrape of a knife getting dragged across steel.

I heard it for the first time when I was eight.

Jamie fell off a large rock on the beach and cracked his skull upon impacting the smaller rocks below. We had to go to the hospital to get him checked out, since Dawn was at the base so we couldn’t just ask her to take a look at him like she usually would.

Mum was going to leave me with Lady Mars and Rex in Colbie, but Rex insisted on going to St Azrael’s in person to make sure Jamie would be okay. He buzzed around my brother like a concerned blond bee. Jamie let Rex fuss, only pretending to complain about his manic fretting, just like he always did. Jamie was far more patient with Rex than he was with me. Not that I fussed over my brother. At the time, I was mostly annoyed with him for getting hurt and transforming our fun afternoon into one big drama.

Point was, if Rex was going to Danger City, then I wanted to go, too. Danger was massive and busy and full of potential hazards for a person like my best friend. Rex daydreamed too much. He sometimes got so lost inside his head or stuck in a book he was reading that he would walk right into the road. I’d have to walk beside him, steering him by the elbow back onto the pavement, or directing the few cars on the roads in Colbie to drive around him. I even convinced my mum to buy Rex light-up trainers for his birthday to help in the winter when it got dark far earlier.

After a few years, the people of Colbie learned to look out for a flash of white-blond hair while driving through town.

In a city like Danger, he would be in real trouble. I couldn’t let him go off on his own. Mum would be too distracted by Jamie to pay attention to what Rex was doing.

We had to sit for ages in the hospital waiting room before Jamie was let in to see a doctor, who ended up giving him a couple of stitches for the cut on his head. I sat outside the medical room, playing some game on my mum’s phone, while Jamie got stitched. Rex was inside the room, up on the examining table with Jamie, holding my brother’s hand and talking a mile a minute about nothing and everything.

I could hear what Rex and my brother were feeling, the soppy twang of an acoustic guitar, when they held hands and looked at each other. Rex attentive and earnest. Jamie soft and indulgent. It seemed really stupid to me back then. Jamie had been hurt far worse before, he didn’t need to be coddled so much, and he would never let anyone else treat him like Rex did. Not even our mum.

I didn’t understand their weirdness with each other.

In my defence, I was only eight. Hindsight is an odd thing, sometimes.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

BL Jones is a twentysomething British author who spends all her free time reading and writing and taming her three much younger brothers. She works as a BSL interpreter in Bristol and lives with a temperamental bunny named Pepsi. She’s been writing stories since she was five, rarely sharing them with anyone except her numerous stuffed animals. BL has had a difficult journey into discovering and accepting her own queerness, and therefore believes that positive, honest, and authentic stories about queer people are very important. She hopes to contribute her own stories for people to have fun with and enjoy.

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Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!


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New Release Blitz: Celebration Boys Duet by Willa Okati (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Valentine’s Vow/Independence Day

Author: Willa Okati

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Box Sets, Paranormal, Romance, Romantic Comedy

Themes: Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft

Series: Celebration Boys (#3)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 57

Synopsis

True love comes where you’re least looking for it… and where it’s been, all along.

Valentine’s Vow: Best friends and frequent bed-buddies Thom and Ryan don’t go for any of that “love” stuff. They’re so set on their path they swear off Valentine’s Day as a holiday for the hopelessly mushy. What they don’t know is St. Valentine himself has taken an interest in their case. Flaunt his Holy Day, will they? He’ll teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget… and show them that there really is a lot more to love than candy and flowers.

Independence Day: With the help of guardian ghosts Edmund and Great-Uncle Joey, Thom and Ryan made the transition from bed-buddies to live-in lovers in Valentine Vow. But their relationship hits the skids when Ryan discovers Thom has neglected to tell people about their new coupledom. Miffed that he’s a closeted secret, Ryan’s ready to call it quits. Time for Edmund and Joey to step in again, to bring Ryan and Thom back into each other’s arms in time for Independence Day.

Excerpt

Valentine’s Vow/Independence Day (Celebration Boys Duet)
Second Edition
Willa Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Willa Okati

Ryan stood at the kitchen range, slowly stirring a pot of his special chili. Hot as the seven fires of hell, full of peppers and onions, it let out a smell that made his nose tingle. No one could beat that chili.

He paused in thought. Should he serve it over potatoes? Given a few minutes, he could toss a couple of tubers in the oven and get them baking. Or nuke the things. That’d be quicker. Never tasted the same, though.

Maybe he should serve it plain. Garnish it with a good sharp cheddar and let it stand as the golden god of bachelor cuisine that it was. Beans and all.

He’d gotten the recipe from his great-uncle Joey, grouchiest son-of-a-bitch on earth, and a lifelong bachelor. And, as it turned out, a randy old goat, too. One of the brothers of the flesh and in the closet all his life, although Ryan hadn’t found that out until after the man died and he inherited his cabin. While rooting around in the attic, he’d come across stacks of old letters from “Edmund.”

Funny what you don’t know about people until it’s too late.

Ryan had taken the letters and run with them. Together with his best buddy and lover Thom and a couple of six-packs, they’d had a hell of a night reading through the stacks. Turned out Joey and Edmund had had a pretty hot on-again, off-again relationship for almost fifty years.

Damn. That was something, when you thought about it. Fifty years. From tasty young men with presumably tight asses, to tottery codgers with no teeth bitching about the younger generation.

Those two had done everything when they’d manage to snatch a few days together. Edmund had been some kind of banker in the city. Big man. Bigwig. He’d even gotten married for a while, but that hadn’t lasted. He went back to Joey — Joey and his penchant for the hot and spicy. According to the letters, Joey didn’t do it just in the missionary position, with his eyes shut and thoughts fixed on England. He liked it on his back, on his stomach, up against a wall, on the floor, in the bathtub or the shower. Hard and fast, slow and sweet, or spicy like his chili.

Edmund raved about that chili every time he had to go to some honorary banquet. Seemed there was nothing he’d rather have done than pull a chair up to Joey’s rickety table and go down on a bowl of the good stuff.

Speaking of which, the chili looked like it was almost done. “Hey, Thom!” he called out to the living room, where his friend was flipping channels like he was in a speed-click contest. Bad habit of his. Ryan made a point of never watching TV with the guy. You could have a seizure.

“Yeah!” Thom called. “That chili about done? I could eat the whole pot and still have room for you for dessert!”

“You fucking wish!” Ryan hollered back, stirring the mess of meat, beans, sauce and peppers. “Your turn to bring the condoms. Did you remember?”

A foil packet flew through the open door into the kitchen, skittering to land by Ryan’s foot. “I’ve got a half-dozen just like that!” Thom called. “You have the lube?”

“Yep. I even picked up that mango scent you like so much. You know how hard it is to find flavored, scented lubes that don’t damage latex?”

Ryan kicked the condom out of his way. If the dog didn’t eat it, he’d get it later — probably when they’d finished their meal and come back for seconds on the sex. They usually ended up in the kitchen, having gone in search of a long cold one and, instead, finding a long… hot one.

Gingerly, he took a taste from the tip of the spoon. Almost burned his tongue off. Good; almost ready. He ran a glass of water and gulped it down. Which reminded him… “Did you bring the wine?”

“Wine? I brought beer!”

“Beer? You asshole!” Ryan stormed out of the kitchen, tearing off his apron. “I told you on the phone. Wine. White wine. Something really dry, and it needed to be cold. Ice cold. And you bring me beer?”

Thom smirked up at him from his position on the couch. Legs open, leaned back, he looked tastier than the chili. “Goddamn it, you are such a fucking fruit, Ryan.” He gestured at a cooler. “White wine, as you requested. Nestled in ice. Just waiting for that chili. And holy hell, is it done already or what?”

Ryan folded his arms. “Maybe. Are you going to apologize for talking to me like that?”

“Nope.”

“Then it’s ready.” Ryan grinned, beckoning him toward the kitchen. “Bring the wine. I’ll get some glasses.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will’s definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he — not she anymore — is a lot less quiet these days.

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One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!


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New Release Blitz: Second Chance by S.B. Barnes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Second Chance

Series: Hudson Valley Murder Mysteries, Book Two

Author: S.B. Barnes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/04/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 94800

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, gay, demiromantic, Hudson Valley, mystery, murder, campus, town/gown, professors, auto mechanic, closeted, coming out, family drama, student/teacher relation, mental health

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Description

Almost a year after the murder that shook Lobell College to its core, the start of a new academic year brings familiar faces back to the scene of the crime. Daniel Rosenbaum starts his first year as dean of the English department and takes a hands-on role in advising students. Lily Peterson and Gianna d’Angelo return to continue their undergrad studies after the death of the professor they were both in love with.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Hudson, Tony d’Angelo is working hard. With his sister back in college, it’s all hands on deck to keep his dad’s auto shop running and take care of his infant niece. He still finds time to spend most nights with his boyfriend, Daniel, although he can’t seem to find the words to talk to his family about his relationship. Tony’s life is exactly what he’s always wanted it to be—so why does he feel like he’s struggling to be himself?

When a Lobell professor is once again found murdered, the idyll of the last months is turned on its head. Can Tony and Daniel stay out of harm’s way this time? Or will the fragile new peace they’ve found together be shattered?

Excerpt

Second Chance
S.B. Barnes © 2025
All Rights Reserved
Prologue

With a groan, Amelia Lawrence pushes away from her desk. The sun is setting outside, and since it’s late August, that means it’s about eight. The semester hasn’t even started yet.

It serves her right for taking this long to finish the syllabus; she should have gotten the jump on planning last weekend or maybe sometime in July. It just didn’t work out. For some reason, trying to make herself work on classes in the summers feels like stuffing a square peg in a round hole, with her brain being the square peg.

That’s the burnout talking, Amy, the analytical goblin living in the back of her mind tells her.

She ignores it.

She’s getting really good at that.

Amelia vaguely recalls a phase when she was better at this. She got more things done in the same amount of time. She planned her lessons, wrote her syllabi, and there was somehow still time left over to do her own research.

The sun sets over the trees at Wordstone Mansion, down by the river. Amelia can barely see it from the science building, but she can feel in an unsettled way how beautiful it would be to be there. There and not in her office, slaving away at things she should have been done with ages ago.

Her husband sent a text. It’s a video of their daughter, Francie, waving goodnight.

Guilt swamps Amelia. Her husband didn’t mean to make her feel this way, she’s sure. He gets it. He got a doctorate, too, before leaving academia for the calmer and more lucrative waters of IT consultancy. She still feels guilty.

They talk about it in oblique references sometimes, she and her husband. The burnout. The thing looming on the edges of her psyche she can barely put a name to because it means failure. The reason she’s already exhausted at the thought of teaching on Monday.

It’s not fair.

Amelia has always loved teaching.

She was one of the few PhD students in her cohort who did.

But here she is, thirty-five years old and not even a tenure-track position to show for it. Instead, she has to hope every year she’ll be somehow, magically, gifted something more permanent than a “good work this year, let’s talk about contract renewal.” Amelia barely dares to ask for a raise in those talks, only an inflation adjustment, because what does she have to offer? Her own research is stagnating, like so many zebrafish she has her students perform experiments on.

Psychology is so glamorous.

Amelia needs to learn to draw proper boundaries. Say no and mean no. Go to class with last year’s slides and no other preparation. Not be available to everyone and anyone. Take time for her own stupid zebrafish experiments. Do some writing, catch up on journals, stop living day to day.

Take her daughter to the Catskills when autumn hits the hillsides in the Hudson Valley and turns it into a glorious riot of color.

Amelia takes a deep breath.

“Just finish up tonight, Amy,” she tells herself. “Get it done and then be happier.”

She sits down at her computer again, willing herself to work through the end of the syllabus.

Immediately, an email notification distracts her. An unread message from Lily Peterson. A vague memory surfaces in Amelia’s brain, something to do with the mess last year after Professor Lombardi died so tragically. Lily was involved. Amy has a dim memory of an all-faculty email about it. She’d been seeing him, and when he died, she vanished from class suddenly and completely. Lily was on the roster of one of Amelia’s classes, a two hundred–level lecture course about…something. Neuroscience, probably. That’s the one everyone drops out of.

Amelia clicks on the email.

Apparently, Lily returned to Lobell, and she wants to know if she can still get credit for the class by retaking the final.

For a heartbeat, Amelia thinks about it. She’d have to dig into the mess of the file structure on her computer and figure out where she left the final exam. Then she’d have to schedule a time, remember how she graded the neuroscience final last fall, oversee one student taking the exam, figure out how to get the extremely late grade through the Registrar’s office, and—

No, her burnout gremlin tells her very firmly. Boundaries. Amelia’s setting boundaries this year. She won’t let it stay this bad.

Dear Lily, she writes. I’m sorry.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

S. B. Barnes attended college in the Hudson Valley, studying English Language and Literature and Anthropology (although unlike her characters, her time there was not interrupted by crime-solving). She grew up split between the USA and Germany, attending university in both countries before eventually settling in Germany. Today, she works as a teacher and lives with her husband and two cats in an apartment with too little shelf space. Fiction has always been one of her greatest loves, as a reader, as a teacher, and as a writer. While S.B. has been writing for most of her life, this is her first foray into publishing her work.

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One lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!


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New Release Blitz: Diplomatic Liability by Rebecca Cohen (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Diplomatic Liability

Series: Devlin Taylor, Earth Ambassador, Book Two

Author: Rebecca Cohen

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/28/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 65900

Genre: Science Fiction, tentacle/tail sex, aliens, interspecies, scientist, ambassador, space travel

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Description

Devlin Taylor is Earth’s first ambassador, seeing the universe with his alien boyfriend Zal by his side. But nothing is straightforward when you’re the first human on board a spaceship. Devlin and Zal need to keep their relationship hidden for now, and many others on the ship would like to get the chance to explore a new species’ anatomy.

New planets, strange worlds, and exciting adventures await Devlin, but when an unknown species tries to board the Chroalian ship, something doesn’t add up, and Devlin is left wondering what is going on. Add in homesickness, jealousy, and cultural differences, and Devlin has a lot to learn. Good job Zal is by his side every step of the way.

Excerpt

Diplomatic Liability
Rebecca Cohen © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Devlin fastened the buttons of his suit jacket. “How do I look? Suitable for drinks with the captain of a starship?”

“As much as I love you in a suit, and probably even more out of one, I do have to ask if it’s really the right attire for your new position.” Zal was sitting up in bed, his bright orange hair sticking out at all angles and looking like he’d not long before engaged in several rounds of energetic sex. Which was unsurprising because that was exactly what had happened.

“The Ministry said the office dress code extended to my position as Earth Ambassador, but you might have a point that I should probably consider this the equivalent of your dress uniform.”

“I don’t have one of those yet. While I wait, the closest thing I have are my ambassadorial robes or my formalwear. And the latter didn’t survive the evening after our leaving gala. The ship’s quartermaster told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t a seamstress when I asked him to repair the side seam that somehow got split.”

Devlin chuckled at the memory. They had thought it would be their last night together, with Zal leaving Earth at the end of his visit. At that time, Devlin thought he had no way to leave with him. They had been very enthusiastic. “You did get a bit excited, but at least you have a chance of repairing your robe; my poor shirt ended up being put in the rag recycling box.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you.” Zal patted the space next to him on the bed with the point of his tail. “I promise not to damage the one you’re wearing.”

“Nice try, Zal, but you should be getting ready. You’re supposed to be my liaison officer, and I’ve got a drinks reception in my honour to attend. I don’t want to be late.”

Zal muttered something Devlin’s translator either couldn’t or wouldn’t translate but got out of bed. “We’ve plenty of time yet. Let me grab a quick shower. I can hardly turn up reeking of sex with a human.”

“For all the crew would know, the smell could be a new cologne you picked up on Earth.”

Zal laughed and stole a quick kiss as he headed to the bathroom, naked. “Eau d’Devlin does have a nice ring to it, but the last thing I want is someone else liking your scent. That, and your fuzziness, are all mine.”

Devlin loved the pattern of scales that ran over Zal’s skin and his tail which now, like often was the case, writhed as if it had a mind of its own. Zal was hairless and, because of it, had a fascination with Devlin’s body hair from the first time he’d got his hands on his hairy chest.

Staring around his new cabin, Devlin still couldn’t believe he was here. There was no mistaking that the vista outside his porthole was space. He was the first Earth Ambassador and would be travelling on this ship for the equivalent of ten Earth months before reaching Zal’s home world, Chroalia. The idea of all the fascinating people he would meet was the icing on the cake of being with Zal. They had thought it impossible, both having given up on finding their happy ever after, yet here they were.

A ping came from a panel on the wall by his bed. He wandered over to it. It pinged again, and he saw written in green font: incoming communication.

For want of a better option, he tapped the writing and when nothing happened there was a third ping. “Hello?” he tried.

The screen came to life and a face appeared. They had bright pink skin and a neatly trimmed purple beard but not a wisp of hair on their head, which made their ears look bigger than they were, especially with their elaborate earrings. “Ambassador Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“I am Dr Golic. You’re supposed to report to Medbay once you’ve settled into your cabin. Where is Lieutenant Catenmir? He was aware of the requirement.”

He had a vague recollection that he would have a medical once he came aboard, but Zal hadn’t said when. Zal was currently in his shower, removing the evidence of how they’d christened his new bed, and since no one was meant to know they were in a relationship yet, it might give the game away. “Er…”

“According to the location sensors he is in your cabin.”

“He’s just using the bathroom. Once he’s done, I’ll have him bring me to Medbay.”

“Good.” Dr Golic gave him a strange look, which Devlin couldn’t decipher. He suspected he was going to get quite a few of those in the first few weeks aboard ship. “Come immediately. That way I can take your base levels before they are contaminated from anything you might imbibe, as I understand you’ve a welcome reception to attend.”

“I’ll trot right along.”

“Walking will be acceptable, Mr Taylor. There is no need to engage in Earth equine activities.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Rebecca Cohen spends her days dreaming of living in a Tudor manor house, or a Georgian mansion. Alas, the closest she comes to this is through her characters in her historical romance novels. She also dreams of intergalactic adventures and fantasy realms, but because she’s not yet got her space or dimensional travel plans finalised, she lives happily in leafy Hertfordshire, England, with her husband and young son. She can often be found with a pen in one hand and sloe gin with lemon tonic in the other.

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New Release Blitz: Skate City by Alex Winters (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Skate City

Series: Good Sports, Book Three

Author: Alex Winters

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/21/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 22100

Genre: Contemporary, Romance, contemporary, lesbian, sports, skate shop, skateboarder

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Description

All Zoe Chamberlain wanted was to buy a skateboard for her one of her perpetually late employees. Was that so hard? It shouldn’t have been, yet the minute Zoe walks into Skate City to finish up her shopping, the fiery young redhead behind the counter captures her eye, and her heart, from their first interaction. Sarcastic, funny, witty, and bold, the counter girl—Astrid—makes quick work of Zoe’s resolve and charms her with every fiery retort and sly, leering glance. It’s not quite love at first sight, more like…love at first fight! And Zoe is here for every sexy minute of it!

Astrid Woolf never imagined herself falling for the curvy MILF who walked into Skate City that day, but Zoe was unlike any woman she’d ever met before, and she was desperate to see her again. So, she improvises a lot and fibs a little, convincing Zoe that not only are the boards she’s looking at buy one get one free, but that a complimentary skateboard lesson comes with every purchase. But it’s a limited time offer: one night only! Zoe hesitantly but inevitably agrees and, after work the following night, Astrid meets her behind the bakery Zoe owns to teach her how to skate. Only, Zoe has other plans in mind, and before the night is over, the teacher will become the student, learning just what it means to please another woman, and be pleased in return. It’s a night neither woman will ever forget, but one they’ll want to revisit, time and time again…

Excerpt

Skate City
Alex Winters © 2025
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One

ZOE

“Is this…for you?”

Zoe Chamberlain registered the dramatic look on the young cashier’s face and blanched. Miserably. She’d been hesitant about walking into the too-cool-for-school skate shop in the first place, and this comely cashier had just confirmed Zoe’s suspicions that she was, in fact, thoroughly and irretrievably uncool.

“Obviously not, but so what if it was?”

The counter girl, fresh-faced and freckled with charming auburn pigtails and a creamy soft lip gloss Zoe ached to taste, gave her another cool once-over, like maybe she’d wandered into the wrong nightclub and needed to be escorted out.

Pronto.

Zoe half-expected a bouncer to show up at any moment. “Nothing, it’s just…do you need to check with the nursing home first? They might not approve of such a rash purchase.”

Zoe rolled her eyes and glanced around the empty skate shop, a bare bones affair that was so cavalier about its warehouse-inspired aesthetic it just had to be good. In the background, lowkey punk music completed the grunge vibe. “Is this how you treat all your customers?” she teased, knowing the sassy clerk was just giving her the business—and wishing she didn’t enjoy it so very much.

The wispy redhead, tall and gangly in her baby-doll-blue Skate City T-shirt with the pink cuffs and collar, met her gaze with cool green eyes, as languid as they were searching. “Not really, but it’s not every day a MILF walks in to buy a cherry-red skateboard, so I’m at a slight disadvantage at the moment.”

“I’m not a mother!” Zoe huffed, hoping the blush she felt dampening her panties didn’t extend all the way to her cheeks. “And? Gross?”

The counter girl blushed as well but met Zoe’s eyes with the indignance of a young woman clearly confident in who she was. And, apparently, what she wanted. “Maybe not, but…”

Zoe waved her hands, as nervously as she did demonstratively. She wasn’t used to such flagrant come-ons. At least, not since she’d graduated high school a good dozen years earlier. She ran a bakery for Pete’s sake. A nice, wholesome, independently owned bakery specializing in muffins and cupcakes, at that. This—this flagrant sexiness wasn’t a part of her daily routine, though Zoe couldn’t actually say she wasn’t into it. Not that she’d let the sexy skater girl behind the counter know, of course.

“Listen, let’s start over,” Zoe cautioned, feeling as if she’d just stepped into some kind of red-light district, as yet unknown to her despite living in tiny Sunset, South Carolina her entire life. She extended a cautious hand, somehow sensing that if the saucy cashier took it, Zoe might never let it go.

The redhead brightened, standing a little taller and extending a pale hand with long fingers, many of them covered in cheap silver rings that shimmered in the warehouse’s extensive track lighting. “Good idea,” she chirped, squeezing Zoe’s hand so familiarly, so warmly, it was as if they’d known each other for years. “Welcome to Skate City! I’m Astrid. And you are?”

“Astrid?” Zoe gave her a little nose wrinkle for good measure, slithering her hand out of the cashier’s grip before she could detect Zoe’s sweaty palms and the sudden tremors that seemed to rack her entire body. “Is that a real name?”

Astrid jutted out her youthful chin as predictably as she did defiantly. “I mean, is Zoe?”

“How did I say my name?” This time, Zoe did in fact look around the industrial-size skate shop, as if someone with a cue card bearing her name might be standing just behind her.

Astrid leaned over the counter, small breasts pressing against the pale blue of her clingy T-shirt. Tapped Zoe’s nametag as familiarly as she did everything else. “What? You forgot you came straight from work?”

Zoe glanced down at herself, her faded black Sunset Sweets work shirt dusted with flour and, naturally, bearing her crooked nametag just above her left breast. She blushed anew, feeling flustered and seen in ways she hadn’t in, quite literally, years. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that yet, but part of her wished she’d just gone to the generic skate shop on the Strip like she’d intended to. Those stores were usually so busy Zoe certainly wouldn’t have been able to receive the, uh, personal attention she was currently getting at this grungy skate shop just off the Strip.

“I guess I did,” she said quietly, her hip sagging against the countertop, littered with vibrant pastel and neon Skate City stickers. “I didn’t think this would be quite so hard.”

Astrid apparently took pity on her, inching around from the counter on predictably long legs, topped by a pair of frayed denim shorts so small they could have qualified as bikini bottoms. “Listen, sorry, you’re my first customer all day and I didn’t mean to come on quite so strong.”

Zoe wasn’t letting her off the hook so easily, endless legs and small, perky breasts notwithstanding. “I mean, MILF? I should ask to speak to your manager, young lady…”

Astrid beamed, tugging on her own nametag, hiding just beneath one of her auburn pigtails. “That’d be me too, so…”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a manager?”

Astrid smirked. “I’m not as young as I look.”

“And I’m not as old as I apparently look, so…”

Astrid leaned back against the counter, a hand on either side of her impossibly narrow waist, as if posing for, well, a skater girl catalog. “You act like I insulted you or something.”

“Did I say that? I just wanted to buy a skateboard, that’s all.”

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies, and smooth jazz. Visit him social media to see what stories are brewing up next!

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New Release Blitz: Fae-ry Tales by Mychael Black (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Author: Mychael Black

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Dark Fantasy, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense

Themes: Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Fae-ry Tales (#5)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 174

Description

Firewalk With Me (Fae-ry Tales 1)
Kyle Stafford had anything a young man could want, until a single lapse in judgment changed everything. When Roen stumbles — quite literally — into a human sleeping right at his realm’s front door, his duty requires him to take the young man prisoner — back to House Vakeor.

Broken Spell (Fae-ry Tales 2)
Kirof, formerly of House Vakeor, has no idea why Wizard Micah Norwood was exiled, but it’s only a matter of time before the wizards or the Dark Fae find them. Desperately trying to keep one step ahead of their pursuers, Kirof finds himself caring far more for Micah than he should.

Glamour (Fae-ry Tales 3)
Prince Erilan always performs his duties with unflinching loyalty, but when he meets a Dark Fae scout, his sense of duty wars with his unholy desire for the enigmatic Fae. Lyren of House Kehru prefers covertly spying from the shadows to jumping into forays on the frontlines. What he doesn’t count on is the insanely gorgeous Light Fae who nearly takes his head off with a sword.

Dawning (Fae-ry Tales 4)
Arulas is a wolf shapeshifter who lives alone in a cabin deep in the woods. His life is perfect — until he finds the half-dead Dark Fae in the middle of nowhere. He nurses Ren back to health, only to find himself square in the middle of a damn war.

Excerpt

Fae-ry Tales
Mychael Black
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Mychael Black
Excerpt from Firewalk With Me

Fuck.

Kyle Stafford huddled under the tattered awning of a decrepit old general store. Rain pounded the dirt, turning it into a lovely mass of mud. Kyle sighed. He couldn’t stay here. He needed sleep — desperately. The city shelters were too far away, and, honestly, he had no desire to go to any of them. The shelters were always overcrowded and stank of piss, body odor, and only God knew what else. No, he needed somewhere out here, a cave maybe.

The mountains loomed in front and behind him. Surely, he could find a small nook to take refuge in, at least until the rain stopped. He shivered and pulled his battered coat tighter around him. The poor thing was threadbare, but it still kept him reasonably warm. His stomach growled, and he glanced over his shoulder at the abandoned store. Nothing perishable, but maybe a can or two of something? He looked around, then picked up a broken piece of wood and finished busting an already half-broken window. Then he cautiously climbed in, wood still in hand. No telling what else decided to check out the place.

The inside seemed to have weathered time far better than the exterior. Most of the shelves, while empty, still stood in place. Judging by the various product signs hanging on the walls, the store wasn’t quite as old as the outside appeared. Thankfully, no creatures — animal or human — jumped out at him. Kyle scanned the aisles, but the place had been picked bare. He exited the same way he entered and figured his best bet stood straight ahead.

By the time he slogged through the rain and muck, he swore even his bones were utterly drenched. He ignored the cold ache sweeping up from his waterlogged feet and made his way to what appeared to be a small cave opening. It wasn’t big, but it was dry. Wood in hand, he explored it to the back, satisfied nothing else called it home. It wasn’t warm by any means, and even starting a fire the primitive way would be futile with the rain soaking every bit of wood outside.

Kyle found a relatively smooth spot and lay down. Hunger gnawed at him, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. On his side, pillowing his head on his arm, he closed his eyes, feeling safer than he had in a long time.

* * *

The ward protecting the portal hadn’t been touched. Roen inspected every inch of the shimmering haze, but found nothing amiss. He lifted his left hand and focused on the ward. The barrier vanished, leaving only the bare rock wall.

Roen unfastened a small pouch on his belt and sprinkled a tiny bit of dust into his palm. Then he blew on it, toward the wall. The stone shuddered and slid open slowly. Most people called them portals, but they were more like gateways. Granted, only magick could open one and dismantle the ward.

Roen retied the pouch and stepped into the dark of the outer cave. He immediately stumbled over something large. Within seconds, he had an arrow nocked and ready to fire. Eyes narrowing, he prodded the lump with one boot. The shape grumbled, unintelligible but definitely not an animal. Human then?

“Get up,” Roen ordered loud enough that his voice echoed in the small cave.

The man on the floor rolled and scooted backward until he hit the opposite wall. Alert but weary eyes stared at Roen from under a tangle of dark hair. Even in the darkness, the man’s eyes seemed to shine, as if lit from within.

“Who are you?” Roen asked. “What are you doing here?”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Mychael Black has been writing professionally since 2005. He writes gay romance and erotica, but also het romance as Carys Seraphine and queer fantasy as Katherine Cook.

He’s an avid PC gamer with a love for RPGs, a horror fanatic, and a fantasy nut. He also has a weakness for anything relating to skulls, dogs, and Spongebob Squarepants.

Mychael lives on the Eastern Shore of the US with his family. He loves to hear from readers, be it via email or Facebook.

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New Release Blitz: The Prince by Mell Eight (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Prince

Series: Princes of Toval, Book Two

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/14/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 45800

Genre: Fantasy, MM Romance, nonexplicit, royalty, soldiers, politics, magic, magic-user, spies, coup

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Description

Captured as a prisoner of war, Prince Clament expects rough treatment. However, the extent of torment he endures is beyond even his expectations. When Prince Braxton frees him, Clament knows it’s only a farce meant to coerce him into finally spilling all his country’s secrets. Except, despite all his efforts—magical and common—Clament finds himself helplessly drawn to Braxton, wishing he could believe the tantalizing promises Braxton makes.

Unfortunately, the war continues to be fought. When the ongoing battle spills into Clament’s healing ward, resisting Braxton takes a backseat to simple survival. And yet, Clament knows he must make a terrible decision: believe in Braxton and betray his country, or betray Braxton and possibly get him killed. That is, assuming Clament is allowed to live long enough first.

Excerpt

The Prince
Mell Eight © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Prince Clament of the country of Namin walked through the campsite on the shores of Lake Estaral only half listening to the mercenary captain bitching in his ear about how long they had been left to wait with dwindling supplies. He tried to keep the sneer twisting his lips in place, but all he really wanted was to roll his eyes and go back to his own campsite where he could get some sleep. He really, really didn’t want to be here.

The whole plot was a harebrained idea doomed to failure, but no one back in Namin had wanted to hear Clament’s opinion. Instead, they had assigned him to lead these sorry excuses for mercenaries. The plan was simple: the mercenaries would descend from the Spikehorn Mountains into the lush northern farmland in the foothills less than a day’s ride from here, where they would pillage the local villages into oblivion. The country of Toval, within whose borders those villages were located, would be forced to respond to protect their people by sending a large military contingent to repel the mercenaries. The military would be focused on rescuing the people and on rebuilding whatever was left of the villages. While Toval was distracted by what was happening in their north, Namin planned to invade in the south, using their forces to establish a new border where Namin could claim the land in those even lusher foothills.

There was no damned way such a moronic plan would work.

A glance around at the maybe two hundred mercenaries in the camp told Clament exactly how poorly the plan was going to go. Not a single mercenary had a properly maintained set of armor or weapons. Also, none of them would be particularly pleased with the idea of having to work together and split the spoils.

Assuming the mercenaries even agreed to participate—rather than just cutting their losses and heading out to find a better job—Clament knew what would actually happen. Should this ragtag group descend into Toval’s northern farmland, the result was very likely going to be the exact opposite of Namin’s grand, hairbrained plan: the mercenaries would attack and pillage the villages and Toval would respond. If Namin was lucky, Toval might send one full contingent of forces in response. A full contingent was probably overkill to defeat the mercenaries, if Clament was being honest. The rest of Toval’s large and extremely well-trained army would remain in full readiness, completely able to respond to an incursion in the south.

Clament would probably be killed by Toval’s forces in the battle, which, in hindsight, might explain why he was sent to lead the mercenary part of the plan. A convenient way of getting rid of him—having Toval remove his head. Clament would go from the hated bastard prince to a martyr killed by the great enemy of Toval, a dead figurehead used to unify the people of Namin under the king’s call to arms. He was much more useful to Namin dead than alive, for this part of their grand plan, at least.

Two soldiers held open the flaps of the command tent as Clament ducked the low awning and stepped inside. The complaining mercenary captain followed, his mouth still running with yet more complaints. One by one the rest of the captains entered, each of them scowling and trying to look more intimidating than the others. Clament tried to out sneer them, in hopes that acting haughty would convince them to obey his orders. Last of all came the captain wearing the red patch on his piecemeal leather armor, denoting he was in charge of the Blood Lions. He ducked into the tent and looked up, immediately catching Clament’s eyes.

Prince Fenwick of Toval, Commander of His Majesty’s Royal Forces. Clament recognized him immediately.

And then all hell broke loose.

*

Clament hadn’t bothered counting the days since Toval had captured him; since Fenwick’s pet chef had interfered and ruined the doomed-to-failure plot before it could even be implemented. Clament’s hands were tied to the pommel of his horse’s saddle, and his legs tied to the stirrups. One of the soldiers guarding him held the reins. Clament couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t even lift his hands to wipe away the deluge of rain dripping down his face.

They finally reached a fork in the road. The majority of the royal forces went left, while Clament and his cadre of guards took the righthand path. Not too much later, they arrived at a gate set into a thick wall. The momentary reprieve from the rain as they went through the long tunnel under the wall was the only good thing he could remember happening in a very long time. Unfortunately, they emerged into a courtyard soon after and the rain resumed.

The guards cut him free and hauled him down from the saddle, then they frog-marched him across the courtyard, two guards, one on each side, gripping Clament’s arms. They walked for quite a few minutes, following the outside wall of what Clament wanted to assume was the palace of Etoval, the capital city of Toval and the royal seat, until they reached a nondescript door with a very heavy-looking lock. One of the guards banged on the door. Even over the dripping, pounding rain, the heavy thunk of a bar being removed, the rattle of a thick chain, and then the thud as the lock was turned was perfectly audible. Someone pushed the door open from the inside and his guards marched Clament into the building.

Clament dripped onto the gray flagstones for a few long seconds, taking in the narrow room. A sturdy chair sat off to one side, and the room was barely big enough for it. A second door with an equally large lock was across from the chair, and the guard who had opened the first door pounded on it.

Another thunk, rattle, thud, and the second door swung open, revealing yet another guard and a long flight of stairs heading downward. A third door that must be the access route directly from within the palace was to the left, but Clament’s two guards took him down the stairs, which had two landings as it switched directions on the descent.

At the bottom was a dimly lit hallway of more gray flagstone floors. Six barred doors dotted the walls, three on each side. The guards took him to the farthest door on the right, pushing him inside and slamming the door shut behind him.

Clament was, thankfully, finally left alone. He reveled in the peace of it—of not being tied to another person when he wasn’t tied to a horse—and took stock of his surroundings. The place wasn’t cold, which was a small mercy since he left behind a puddle as he walked forward. A hard, wooden bedframe with a thin mattress and thinner blanket was set to the left, a hole in the floor in the back right corner was his latrine, and that was it. No window, no chairs, no obvious light fixtures. Nothing except the blanket and bed and pit.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Clament turned to face the door, and a moment later, a new face appeared. Light brown hair and intense hazel eyes set in a face that would have been handsome if not for the stern scowl currently twisting his full lips—Prince Braxton of Toval, officially a captain in the palace guard, but Clament knew better. Braxton was the kingdom’s spymaster and chief of all that happened in the dark and dank corners of the world. If he was here, it meant the king thought Clament had useful information, no doubt for their endless fight with Namin.

“You know who I am,” Braxton began, his voice powerful but not too deep. He didn’t mince words or try to pretend to be something he wasn’t, or to be after something else. Clament respected that, even if it was in regard to the person on the other side of a barred and locked door. “You know what I want. Are you ready to talk?”

Clament only glared in response. He might not be liked by his family, but he wasn’t a traitor. Braxton was going to have to wait a very long time to get any answers out of him.

“Very well,” Braxton continued, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now, but I will return later. Perhaps you’ll be in a better mood for talking then.”

He left and blissful silence returned, but only momentarily. Enough time had passed for Braxton to have left the dungeon when Clament heard footsteps again. Two of the guards who had been with Braxton walked into view outside the bars, both of them grinning, their eyes shining with glee.

“You heard our dear prince,” one of the guards said, his tone singsong with happiness. He pulled out a key ring and unlocked the cell door, pushing it open and stepping inside before relocking the door behind him. “He wants you to talk. We’re here to convince you.” The smile grew and the guard clenched his fingers into a fist hard enough to make the knuckles crack.

Clament closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. So much for Braxton’s veneer of civilization. Well, it wasn’t like Clament hadn’t been beaten before, and at least this guard didn’t know all his weak points like his so-called brother. Still, Clament braced himself for what was to come. The best defense was offense, so he reopened his eyes and glared, hoping this wouldn’t be too bad.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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Book Blitz: Wild Ones by Zoey Daniels (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Wild Ones

Author: Zoey Daniels

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Futuristic, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Sci-Fi , Suspense, Wildest West

Themes: Age Gap (Older Woman), Alien Encounters, Bisexual, Multisexual, & Pansexual, Multiple Partners, Shapeshifters, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Wild Ones (#5)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 167

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Synopsis

Four women choose to homestead on lunar colony Leman in search of new beginnings. They’re in for a wild ride!

A pair of shapeshifting wolves have adopted Lainey’s new farm on the agri-moon Leman as their home. Though wild, winning their favor is considered lucky. They have a sense of sexuality that other women would pay anything to taste. And they’ve chosen her. Lainey’s not crying wolf. She’s crying “God, yes, harder!”

Bold, independent, and free, Callie’s worked hard to become the best courier on Leman. And she’s not the only one to notice. Two stallions shadow her every move. They may be young, but these native shapeshifters are as adventurous as Callie, and they’re set on proving they’re old enough to handle her.

Some folks are victims. Some are survivors. Delia’s not sure she believes the stories about Leman’s beasts, animals who can take on man shape. But they believe in her — and in what they’ve scented waiting under the armor she’s plated around her heart. These two great cats plan to show their human cougar how much they appreciate what they see.

Rosemary, unofficial guardian of Leman, has waited — patiently, and not so patiently — in fierce hope of one day drawing the attention of the agri-moon’s strange and wonderful animals who become men. But after her fortieth birthday, she’s begun to doubt her dreams, and let her hopes drift away. Until, that is, she finds herself receiving an unexpected visitor. The first, in fact, of three…

Publisher’s Note: This box setcontains the previously released novellas Prowl, Wild Horses, Purr, and Who? in the Wild Ones series.

Excerpt

Wild Ones (Box Set)
Zoey Daniels
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Zoey Daniels
Excerpt from Prowl

Lainey closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sun. Had any sun on any world ever felt so fine? She thought not. Leman’s sun caressed her skin as gently as an accomplished lover, but it was no weakling. Its rays burnished the world brown, carried forward over fields of gold in heated breaths of wind that reminded her of hot kisses traced down her body.

A fine world to live in. She’d like it here.

“It hits us all that way at first,” Rosemary remarked. Lainey could hear the smile in her voice. “Don’t ever get used to it. Then it’ll lose most of its charm.”

Lainey let her eyes drift open and let out a soft breath of satiated desires. She gazed across the gold and brown of the fields and unpaved roads, the green tops of trees already afire with the reds and golds of autumn. It was only natural to take her hat off and rest it not over her heart, but her hip, as a woman of her professional background might in a sign of respect.

“I don’t ever plan to take this for granted,” she said. She wished she could strip naked in the sensual warmth of this world and stretch herself out in the grass to let it saturate her through and through.

Rosemary chuckled; she had an infectious laugh and she was around the same age as Lainey. They’d probably led the same kinds of lives before they came here, to the world no man wanted and every woman dreamed of. Any woman with any sense, that was.

“Good,” Rosemary said. “Let me check once more to be sure…” Proprietress of the small mercantile that was the only place one could buy supplies without traveling a few hundred kilometers in any direction — not that that bothered Lainey — she indicated they should get back to business by removing the stylus she’d tucked behind her ear and pointing it at her digital slate.

Lainey knew as well as Rosemary what she’d need and wouldn’t need and that she hadn’t forgotten a single thing on that list, but no harm in letting the woman do her job. She stood by with her hat at her hip, half-daydreaming through the double-check. “I have gold, not credits,” she reminded Rosemary.

“Good. Gold spends; credits are almost worthless out here.” Rosemary patted the side of the wagon. “Right, then. I’ll go total up your bill.”

Politeness, that. Lainey watched Rosemary retreat inside the mercantile and approved of it. She’d have the bill already totted up on her tablet, of course, but it would have been bad manners indeed to stand by and watch a lady retrieve her money from its hiding place. Even if she likely already knew where that’d be after packing the sturdy farm wagon with everything from seeds to vegetable growth supplements to pitchforks and a tin washtub big enough for Lainey to stretch out in.

Homesteading on a new frontier or not, Lainey was stubborn enough and fond enough of her few creature comforts that she’d no plans to give up any time soon.

Though Lainey liked Rosemary just fine, she was glad enough to have the peace and quiet back to herself for a moment. She extended her arms wide, as if she’d embrace the heat from the sun, and let the golden light wash down over her, better than rain.

A slight scuffing sound broke the silence that’d fallen. Not much of a noise, but Lainey’s ears were sharp and some training lasted throughout a lifetime. She could tell even without looking that whoever had come visiting wasn’t Rosemary, nor any of the other women settlers she had a nodding acquaintance with.

No, this was a Man. Lainey could smell the musk, wilder than most of the polished rich boys she’d dealt with once as mistress and madam in turn, before selling off all that hubris and heading out here to make her way, by her choice.

Not just a man, Lainey’s senses told her. A strong man, one who walked with the confidence of a fellow who had no fear of anything, but who stopped far enough away to show her he meant no harm. And — she cocked her head, intrigued — another man, not far behind him.

She wasn’t afraid of them; they’d given her no reason. Lainey let her eyes drift open and got her first look at this pair from between the sweeping curtain of her eyelashes.

Oh my. Lainey’s skin heated from more than the baking warmth of the planet. These were a fine pair to look at, weren’t they? One tall and rangy, dark hair clinging to his forehead, cheeks and nape; the other slighter and fairer and springier of step. Both had smiles broad and white enough to rival the sun and the moons, and stood close enough to reach out and touch if she wanted. Teasing her, just a little, by being that close and no closer.

There were no men this far West, not that Lainey knew of. Some fishermen still lived along the coastlines, but not one man who’d come inland to ranch or farm had managed to stay. Bully boys, most of those, or so she’d heard, and it seemed like the land had taken objection to them. Might be a story made up to scare folks, might not be, but for whatever reason, the men had left these prime ranch lands. Left them for women fool enough to try to tame them. And try they had. Leman liked women. Liked them fine. Her sun and moons were kind to the ladies, and they treated her as best as they could in return.

But one look at this pair and Lainey knew down in her gut that while this planet might be kind to the female strangers who’d colonized her… it loved these men without rhyme or reason. They were the sun and moons, somehow.

Lainey couldn’t help smiling at that pair. Five seconds’ worth of acquaintance or not, they brought it out in her. “Now if you aren’t a treat,” she said. “Something I can help you with?”

The men glanced at one another, communicating silently in the way long-time friends sometimes developed. A quirk of the eyebrow and the tilt of a wicked grin spoke volumes.

Laughing, the taller jostled the smaller aside. He had a strange laugh, one that made Lainey sit up and take notice. Something between a rumble and a ruff, ruff, ruff. Not unpleasant to hear, Lord no. Quite the contrary. Gave her a pleasant sensation of warmth in her belly not unlike the sun on her skin. It belonged here, same as they did even if they weren’t supposed to.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Need help?” the taller asked, gesturing toward Lainey’s loaded wagon. “I Asher. No. I… am, yes, I am Asher. He is Russ. You have long road back to cabin. We help you.”

Lainey’s eyebrows lifted, despite her years of training. Not supposed to be here and didn’t speak the language? Call her intrigued, yes ma’am.

And… they knew where she lived. Lainey figured she ought to be more alarmed about that, but so help her, she couldn’t be. She didn’t believe these two would hurt her, but if they tried? She had a rifle in the wagon, and she knew how to use it.

The taller took one half-step closer, his shorter companion jostling him in play as he followed. “Help with more than this,” the tall man murmured. He reached to touch her face, taking clear care not to startle her but not about to be denied. His fingertips were rough, as tough as paw pads, but his touch was gentle. Almost worshipful.

Lainey’s lips parted. So help her if she didn’t want to promise them anything for the pleasure of their company. It made her laugh. The shoe was on the other foot now, wasn’t it? Good thing for her she liked the fit of it just fine.

Purchase at Changeling Press LLC

Meet the Author

Zoey Daniels likes strong women, equally strong men, and faraway worlds filled with sci-fi cowboys and alpha shapeshifters. She also loves older woman/younger men. Yum, yum. Come enjoy!

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New Release Blitz: Brothers of the Sea by Larry Mellman (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Brothers of the Sea

Series: The Ballot Boy, Book Three

Author: Larry Mellman

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/07/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 121100

Genre: Historical, historical fiction/14th century Venice, lit/genre fiction, gay, May-December romance, age difference, political rulers, political intrigue and plotting, existential threat, apocalyptic wartime, military leaders, naval action and adventure, Venetian warships, lagoon warfare, protection of waterways and foreign trade routes, family drama, old friends, sex in a church

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Description

Running a gauntlet of raging seas and enemy warships, Nico and Admiral Vettor Pisani race to Constantinople to rescue Venice from Byzantine treachery.

A triple alliance of powerful princes plans to besiege Venice by sea and land and seize the reins of St. Mark’s legendary four horses. With Nico as his right hand, Pisani leads a war fleet to secure the island of Tenedos in the Aegean, fulcrum of the impending war. Amid the mortal dangers of the journey, Nico and Pisani wrestle with their overpowering physical and psychic attraction, knowing that the choices they make will change their lives irrevocably.

Nico first met Pisani and fell under his spell at the age of fourteen. In the decade since, despite great loves and failed loves, Nico never lost his starry-eyed admiration for Venice’s greatest admiral. Pisani, thirty years older and wiser, hesitates to risk everything for a young man’s love until Nico throws open new doors, and their age difference evaporates in the heat of battle.

The enemy triple alliance—Padua, Genoa, and Hungary—outnumbers Venice five to one. Mounted armies blockade the mainland shores and rivers while the enemy fleet breaches the lagoon. Venice can only win on water with Pisani leading her. When he is forced to fight a battle he knows he cannot win, Pisani’s disastrous defeat lands him in prison. Locked behind bars while Venice hovers on the brink of annihilation, Nico and Pisani sketch a bold plan to save the Republic.

Excerpt

Brothers of the Sea
Larry Mellman © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Venice, March 9, 1377

A Surprise Visit

I always know when he’s following me. He has followed me all my life like a vengeful shadow. My father—Marcantonio Gradenigo, also known as Brother Bernardo of the Hermits—ranks high in the hierarchy of demons roving this earth wreaking havoc. He dogs me and won’t take “no” for an answer, determined to make me his evangelist. The second time I killed Ruggiero, my half-brother, I severed his head to make sure he was dead and could never return. Nothing less will do for my father. He always appears when I least suspect him and leaves me scrambling to counterattack. He springs out of nowhere, threatens, laments, cajoles, using every weapon in his arsenal to win me to his side. I always say no and somehow escape. He takes perverse pleasure in trying to break me. Each failure gives him another opportunity. He will eventually kill me, I have no doubt, but at his discretion. To my eternal ignominy, I have failed thus far to kill him. Today may be the day. Hope springs eternal.

His presence feels clammy and close as I slip through the labyrinthine back lanes of St. Nicholas of the Beggars parish. I can do it with my eyes closed; he can’t. He makes mistakes. If I lose him, I can’t kill him, but at least I won’t have to listen to him.

He’s complicated. To the world, my father died during the failed rebellion he led in Crete. He faked his own death to escape hanging and quartering between the Columns of Doom. Everyone, even my mother, believed him dead. Today, we know better. He snuck into Padua, presented himself to the abbot of the hermits, and pleaded to be accepted as a postulant. The hermit monks wander and beg, living off alms. Brother Bernardo wanders and begs gullible nobles and princes to join his insurrection against the Republic of Venice, leaving a wake of destruction. A hefty price hangs on his head in Venice, but only the church has jurisdiction over the clergy. Since my father aims to destroy Venice, Lord Francesco Carrara of Padua protects him.

I don’t hear him; he’s too accomplished for that, but I smell him, a ravening boar. He comes to woo me, his handsome hero son, to seize the throne of Venice after he overthrows my doge. The doge eagerly anticipates snaring, hanging, and quartering him. Only I give my father the credit he deserves. He’s not indestructible, but thus far, he has eluded every attempt to snuff his candle out.

My father knows the ways of Venetians better than I do, but I know the streets. I have engraved maps of every inch of every alley, square, and bell tower in my flawless and all-encompassing memory. I never forget anything, a tremendous boon and a torturous curse.

Maybe I can trap him in the bell tower at St. Nicholas of the Beggars and kill him. He’s sixty years old to my twenty-three. He can’t give much of a chase, and I’m ferociously fit, so I take off. I’ve outrun him before. I tear across the bridge from Angelo Raffaele, taking the stairs three at a time and vaulting off the far side, but I can hear him behind me. It’s as if he knows where I’m going. I stupidly underestimated his stamina.

Maps of Venice’s twisted islets stitched up with bridges unreel in my brain. I plunge into blind alleys, whipping around corner after corner in a precise zigzag between close walls at sharp angles until I’m behind St. Nick’s church. I duck into the bell tower before he sees where I’ve gone.

The only light in the dark tower falls in thin beams through mullioned windows eighty feet overhead and lancet windows on the landings. Three flights of steep stairs ascend the brick walls of the central shaft, forty feet square, to the belfry where six bells wake the parish up and put them to bed. I bar the door behind me and climb to the top so I can watch him below.

Brother Bernardo sniffs the air at the edge of the canal behind the tower. He swivels toward the tower, and his eyes follow the masonry to the belfry, to the window where I stand watching him. As he reaches the tower, I lose sight of him, but I hear him. He rattles the barred door but can’t open it. His sword clangs from the scabbard under his hermit robes. He slips the blade between the door and the jamb and cleverly manages to slide the wooden bar until one end falls to the floor. The door creaks as it swings open. He pauses while his eyes adjust to the dark before tilting his head upward, following the sunbeams to the belfry. It’s pointless to hide in shadow; he knows I’m here. I step into the light and a twisted smile transfigures his face.

“You just can’t leave me alone, can you?” My voice echoes in the belfry.

“That’s no way to greet your loving father.”

“You weren’t so loving when you tried to kill me. What was I? Eight months? Ten?”

“A fantasy your mother fabricated to make you hate me. No, my darling son, the worst harm I did to you was to favor Ruggiero. I learned better too late, and I’ve already apologized profusely for that. I was wrong. I’m tired of apologizing.”

He starts up the stairs as I descend toward him from the belfry.

“I’ve heard your plea many times before,” I say. “My answer is no.”

He pauses, smiles, shakes his head wearily. “Alas, the world has confounded you. A monarch you abhor hops into bed with your nemesis at sea. An ally you hate falls, and false friends reveal themselves as enemies. Armageddon for the Serene Republic perhaps? I beg you, for your own sake, listen to me.”

“Not for my sake, for yours. Only ever for your own sake.”

My father flinches, as if I slapped him. “You haven’t learned a thing. Yes, I have done bad things, but always for a purpose and only out of passionate devotion to a cause. Noble Venice is as corrupt as a Syrian brothel. You know that close-up. All we need do is act decisively, and the craven weaklings of the world will kiss our feet and obey your every word. Whether they love you or hate you, they worship you. The hero of Trieste, of Curano, and of Buonconforte. The best bowman from Grado to Cavarzere four times running. A common bastard. A man of the people. They would offer you sacrifices were you bold enough to declare yourself a god.”

“No.”

He eases across the middle landing and pauses to study me a flight above him.

“You break my heart,” he says, “throwing away such a brilliant future. Donato would spit at your cowardice. He valued audacity and ambition above everything. He had no more loyalty to the doge or the Republic than I do, but he stupidly bet on their winning, choosing them with the same misguided fervor I chose Ruggiero over you. Sorry mistakes. Alas, my sons. Did you know Donato was your half-brother when he fucked you?”

“I found out after my other half-brother killed him.”

“Ruggiero was always impetuous. You never suspected?”

“Why should I? He came with the doge’s imprimatur.”

“As the ancients said, ‘When the cock grows hard, the mind grows soft.’”

“Despite being your son, Donato Venturi was a great man, and I loved him.”

“What did you love besides his body?”

“I loved everything about him.”

“Then you must love me. I am as much him as you, father to you both.”

He raises his arms in an embrace separated by a flight of stairs, gazing at me sadly.

“Your tongue befouls Donato’s name, Father.” Furious, I target his heart with my sword.

Unphased, he continues upward, toward me. To innocent eyes, he would appear to be weeping. His step is slow and measured.

“I hope you understand,” he says, “that I’m not being vindictive, but you are too dangerous a piece to remain on opposite side of the board.”

He lunges, and I dodge his sword, but he disarms me with an upward slash. I scramble for something to turn against him and find only words.

“You destroyed my mother. You ruined my life. You killed my friends and countrymen, and you want to kill my doge, who is a million times better than you. I spit on you.”

My spit lands in his eyes. He wipes them, advancing toward me.

“Better doesn’t matter,” he says. “Winning matters. Louis of Hungary, Carrara of Padua, Campofregoso of Genoa, even the idiot emperor of the east will kneel at your feet when we’re done. How can you say no to the only great man in this world who loves you for exactly what you are and not in spite of it?”

“Because I know you will fail, and whoever throws in with you will be hanged and quartered between the Columns of Doom for beggars to spit on. To his eternal shame, Bajamonte Tiepolo’s coup attempt failed, and he was a far greater man than you. They drove him out, razed his palace, and sowed the ground with salt. Marino Faliero, the doge himself, failed, and the Ten chopped off his head. No coup has ever overturned our Republic. What makes yours any different?”

“You.” The point of his sword presses against my heart. “The little people adore you, like they adore Admiral Pisani, another blind fool. You both betray the people’s love with your blind obedience to that sad wreck of a once-prosperous merchant who was elevated far above his station. After your exalted Andrea Contarini was blackmailed onto his throne, he wept he was not man enough for the job, and for once, he was right. I raised Ruggiero to seize the throne, but he was the wrong man for the job. He deserved the death you dealt him. Poor brave Donato, blinded by an incompetent doge’s bullshit, turned against me. But you can be invincible with me behind you.”

“Byzantine style, your dagger in my back?”

“You will learn to trust me.”

“I’d rather kill you. This world can’t hold us both.”

“Pompey and Caesar.”

“Me and you.”

“Good, because I am sick of your idiot refusals. Join me now and have everything or join your brothers in hell.”

He’s stronger than I remembered. Not a precision instrument, like Donato, but a paragon of brute force, fearsome but unsustainable, little consolation as he stabs and slices. Sweat blinds me. My head spins. He presses the blade of his sword across my throat.

“Last chance.”

His eyes lock on mine. They implore me, and for that instant, he is mine. I kick his balls so hard he collapses on the floor, and I leap into the tower’s empty shaft, grabbing the rope that swings twelve-hundred pounds of bronze bells. The rope rips my hands. I twist it around my wrists as I plummet downward. The headstock in the belfry creaks as it rotates. The clappers slam the bells like bombards. My toes graze the tower floor. I can’t free myself from the rope to escape. The headstock swings back and jerks me up toward belfry. My father lunges as I rise past him. I swing wide of him, pulled upward until my weight tips the headstock, dropping me to the tower floor.

He leaps down the stairs, stabbing at me, but he can get no purchase and fails to strike home. The brazen clangor of the bells batters our skulls like Vulcan’s hammer.

I hear voices. Roused by the bells, parishioners run toward the tower. Brother Bernardo is too canny to murder me with so many witnesses, each of them hating him as much as I do, more if that’s possible. As I am yanked upward again, he bolts out the door, past the priest, and disappears between the buildings, leaving me hanging.

*

I tell Serenissimo—Andrea Contarini, the sixtieth doge of Venice, my master—about my escape from Brother Bernardo. He furls his brow and shrinks deep into his gold robe, his features drooping like a Greek mask of tragedy. “That maniac wants you to be Brutus to my Caesar.”

“Exactly. He wants to publicly humiliate you before cutting off your head and feeding your body to feral pigs that have been starved for a week, and then mount your head to rot on a pike by the palace gate, at eye level, for all to pity and revile.”

Serenissimo’s eyes close. Despair becalms him, and he drifts in the current. “He’s willing to offer up his son like Abraham sacrificing Isaac.”

“Three sons that we know of, each sacrificed in his own way.”

“I witnessed his fake death, a bloody but transparent ruse accepted by the Senate, who wanted to believe it. I never believed it for an instant. A body with no head, stripped of everything, dragged behind a horse and hurled into the sea, could have been anybody. The spearhead of a bloody insurrection escaped. Thousands of our patriots were killed before we put it down. When I get my hands on him, and I will…” Serenissimo grips my forearm with his right hand, but his fingers are weak. “…I will crucify him upside down in front of Saint Mark’s until every Venetian has cursed and spat on him.”

“What the Romans did to Spartacus. He would be exalted in that. He’d take your judgment as affirmation of his greatness.”

“I know, I know…” Serenissimo grimaces, eyes closed, and just when I think he has dozed off, he clenches his fists and growls like the Serenissimo I love. “Fuck your father. Fuck the pope, fuck King Louis, fuck Francesco Carrara, fuck Domenico Campofregoso, fuck Handsome John, emperor of the east, fuck Charles the Fourth, emperor of the west. Fuck every scheming tyrant who dreams of bringing us down.”

“Don’t include my father with them. They have armies behind them. He has nothing. No peasants to milk, no slaves to arm, no bridges left behind him. He’s pathetic.”

“He’s dangerous,” Serenissimo says. “He kills without conscience.” He twiddles his thumbs assiduously. “From this moment forward, you will no longer leave this palace without armed guards until his head hangs on a pike in the square. Two men-at-arms minimum, wherever you go. Don’t look so horrified. They’ll grant you privacy. They can stand outside and wait. But they go everywhere you go and back again. Do you understand?”

I see red, as he knew I would. “Why only two? Why not a whole procession, like yours, priests and musicians and pages behind me while I go to the chancery archives or buy anchovies in Santa Margarita Square?”

“He knows your routines and inclinations, and he wants to kill you.”

“I’m twenty-three years old, not fourteen. And, oh yes, need I remind you he escaped from your prison with the aid of one of your guards? No, thank you, sire.”

Serenissimo flinches, opens his mouth, but holds his tongue.

“Your concern honors me, but when my father determines to kill me, only I can stop him. I take that into account every time I turn a corner.”

“He reduces you to a brawling wharf rat, flailing blindly. Your hatred warps your reason. He always manages to surprise and outwit you. He knows you too well for your own good.”

“You know me. He doesn’t. After he failed to murder infant me, he didn’t see me until my fourteenth year.”

“Not that you know of.”

“He knows nothing about me. I didn’t matter to him until I was selected ballot boy, and he thought he could use me. That changed the game. Yesterday, he made the stakes perfectly clear. But I know when he’s close, and I will kill him before he can kill me.”

“I’m not asking you,” Serenissimo says. “This is an order. No going out unguarded until he’s dead.”

He pauses outside the door before we join the Senate. He places his hand gently on my forearm as if for support. “I beg you, once again, from the bottom of my heart, to forgive me for stealing your youth and ruining your life.”

“You didn’t, Exalted Serenity. I was chosen at random. You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

A supplement of sixty wise men joins the Senate, extremely rich nobles with key appointments, critical players in the whirligig of committees that rule the Republic. We await the ambassadors from Padua, Hungary, and Genoa, joined by the Patriarch of Aquileia. No surprise there, but Admiral Vettor Pisani standing near the dais surprises me. I had no idea he would be here, and I’m embarrassed to discover that my boyish crush persists.

I first met Pisani in 1368. I was fourteen, an untutored fishmonger’s apprentice thrust into the palace by chance. He had to share his horse with me because I didn’t know how to ride. The rest of the noble delegation scorned me, but Pisani lifted me up with one arm and slung me behind him on the fateful day he delivered the bad news to Andrea Contarini that he had been elected doge. I overheard Pisani pleading with Contarini to accept the ducal crown after flatly refusing it. Pisani’s honesty and gentle demeanor, his adamant loyalty and patriotism, his noble brow, and downward-sloping eyes failed to convince Andrea Contarini. Only the threat of expropriation and exile did that. But they won my heart instantly and completely. Afterward, Pisani always treated me like another person, not a pest, and I learned much about the workings of the palace and the nobles from him. Vettor Pisani, Marino Vendramin, and Serenissimo were my magi, bearing gifts of wisdom, experience, and love. Whatever I am, they made me, not my father, still wreaking havoc in the guise of a hermit friar.

The ambassadors and the Patriarch of Aquileia exude belligerent defiance, each with an axe to grind. Allied, they constitute our worst nightmare. King Louis has money and a large land army. Padua commands the mainland rivers that feed us and would join any coalition pledged to our destruction. Genoa, most dangerous of all, has a navy to rival ours. If these allies attack us by land and sea, only a miracle can save us.

“Welcome, brothers,” Serenissimo says. “For we are all brothers in the one true Church of Rome. The Holy Father weeps for our grievances and begs us to behave like true Christians, to forgo warring amongst ourselves, and focus on our common enemy, Sultan Murad and his schemes for our fair lands.”

Serenissimo looks into the eyes of each ambassador and waits until each nods under threat of excommunication.

“We have no animus against any of you,” Serenissimo says. “We are bound by treaties. It would be a violation of law and a sacrilege for you to wage war against us. Please, let us resolve our grievances.”

Serenissimo finishes talking but continues staring them down, waiting to see who takes up his challenge. The silent Senate crackles like a brush fire Serenissimo lit. The four ambassadors look at one another for a sign. Carrara always waits for King Louis’s ambassador to speak first so he knows what to say. Given the hatred between Genoa and Venice, centuries old and well-known to everyone in the room, their ambassador also defers to Hungary lest he put both feet in his mouth. The Patriarch of Aquileia beams beatifically at King Louis’s ambassador, praying silently for gold and troops to keep Venice and the Turk from his farms and vineyards.

“We protest your occupation of Tenedos,” Hungary says. His jeweled brocade surcoat glitters in the sunlight through the high window. Handsome, polished, he could never be accused of willingly telling the truth, and he spreads deceit with Angevin refinement. “That is our concern.”

“You are mistaken,” Serenissimo says. “Emperor John Palaiologos the Fifth ceded Tenedos to us in exchange for returning his crown jewels which his mother pawned to Venice in 1354. They have never been redeemed, nor has he paid the twenty thousand ducats in reparations owed to us.”

The Genoese ambassador pushes forward. “Venice has no right to Tenedos.”

“Nor has Genoa,” Serenissimo says. “We, however, have the goodwill of Emperor John Palaiologos, and you do not.”

So angry he’s tongue-tied, the Genoese ambassador turns to Hungary for support.

“Be that as it may,” Hungary says, “none of us can willingly cede control of the Hellespont to Venice. Tenedos guards the entrance to the east with a fort you have recently reoutfitted. Against whom?”

Serenissimo irons every trace of rancor from his expression. “As the Holy Father so wisely reminded us, we have a common enemy, the Turk.”

Genoa explodes. “Damn your bullshit. We all know what you’re up to, and you might as well hear from us here and now. We will stop you once and for all.”

“Are you declaring war?”

“Of course not.” Hungary steps in front of the fuming Genoese ambassador. “We also revere the Holy Father. We only wish to make clear to Venice and Byzantium that Tenedos cannot be ceded to the highest bidder. All our interests must be served.”

With that, Genoa storms out and the others follow. The Senate devolves into a thousand arguments about whether we are at war or not and what to do about it. Serenissimo insists we are not at war. Yet. That unleashes more chaos until the meeting adjourns to allow the Doge’s Council to prepare an agenda for tomorrow morning.

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Meet the Author

Larry was born in Los Angeles and educated in literature, political science, and life at the University of California, Berkeley. He has worked as a printer and journalist in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and St. Paul, Minnesota. Larry also worked with Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground on the Exploding Plastic Inevitable in NY, Provincetown, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, was mentored by Dean Koontz, and shared a palazzo in Venice with international opera singers Erika Sunnegårdh and Mark Doss.”

While living in Venice for many years, Larry also taught English, led tours, and immersed himself in the history and art of the Venetian Republic. The Ballot Boy was born in Venice and completed in St. Paul.

Larry is a lifelong social activist and writer, a voracious reader and researcher, an opera fanatic, and devoted walker. He currently lives in St. Paul with his partner of twenty-one years and his ex-wife of twenty-five years. His son is a pianist devoted to blues and jazz.

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