Nov 16

New Release Blitz: Catch Lili Too by Sophie Whittemore (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Catch Lili Too

Series: Gamin Immortals, Book One

Author: Sophie Whittemore

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 16, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 77200

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, paranormal, lit, asexual, demisexual, trans, lesbian, gay, siren, ghost, necromancer, shapeshifter, vampire, murder, coven, monster hunters, poltergeist, zombies, humorous

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Synopsis

Lili is a Mesopotamian siren, and life as an immortal being is hard enough as it is. She’s asexual (which is incredibly difficult to reconcile if your entire point as a mythical being is to seduce people to death). She’s also struggling with depression from being alive for so long.

Lili is an absolutely shoddy improv-detective trying to track down a serial killer so ruthless that it makes even her murderous soul uneasy. However, there’s something larger at work than just one serial killer. A small town is hiding an even deadlier, global-scale secret. Forget Area 51 conspiracies. This one beats them all. With magic.

So, what better way to spice up her eternal life than being hired as a vigilante detective to stop a serial killer? Anything, literally anything. She’d trade her left lung to get out of this. Or, perhaps, somebody else’s.

Excerpt

Catch Lili Too
Sophie Whittemore © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
A Scandal in Gamin

The first killing had been easy. A little girl wandering the woods with a storybook under her arm. She hardly looked up; why would she? There were no tales of the killer in the wood.

Not unless you count fairy tales, that is. And who believes in those until it is too late?

She had books about fantastical heroes who go on quests to fight Evil that had a very purposeful capital E. She had colored in the pages of the black-and-white line drawings with pencils, with sweeping trains and glittering scales of armor. The pencils scattered on the ground, pages torn up and trampled underfoot. A halo around her perfect, little angelic head.

For that alone, the killer decided, she deserved to die. She was simply too good for this world. She would never have made it anyway. It was a mercy.

The second killing was more difficult. The killer, a little dirtier with a couple of claw marks on their face that would need to be fixed with a potion later, dragged their feet in the mud. The river was close; they could feel it. The sheer power emanating from it.

Their tongue darted out between their lips, tasting it. Death. Destruction.

Power. How long had it been since they’d felt it?

The killer scaled the little inn while everyone was sleeping. The owners had tried to modernize the inn to become an unremarkable hotel, the kind with a front desk and plastic keycards, and a swimming pool with far too much chlorine. Unremarkable except for one guest they had staying there. A guest who would check out and be replaced by someone far more powerful than he. Not that he knew it yet. Who would know if they were in the presence of a god, anyhow?

He wouldn’t, surely. He’d be dead before she arrived.

The killer knocked on the door of room 217. They hadn’t forgotten their manners in all their years of living. A curious figure came to the doorway, pressing their bespectacled face to it. They were a poet, fingers stained with ink and mind humming with words. Black hair swept through like a Romantic in the eye of the storm.

That’s the trouble with this town, the killer decided. Everyone believes in stories. That someone will try to save them.

“Are you all right?” the poet asked. “If you’re looking for the receptionist, everyone’s already gone home…”

The killer knocked the poet into the room and slammed the door shut behind them. A length of rope fell from their jacket.

“Come mierda, you’re crazy! What do you want with me? I don’t have any money. I’m a writer. I’m broke.”

The killer put their boot on the poet’s throat, uncoiling the length of rope. The poet choked and gargled and gasped in agony.

“I don’t want your money,” the killer cooed. “I want your room. At first, I thought I would just leave a note for the next guest. A little calling card to say I’m here. But I found something better than paper.” They leaned down and traced the poet’s jaw with a gloved finger. “Blood and flesh, for example.”

The poet died an unremarkable death for an unremarkable life. He’d most likely come back as a ghost, the killer decided. Violent deaths always got sentimental. But that would suit the killer just fine. He wouldn’t remember a thing, not in life or in death. The killer’s power made sure of that. Anonymity was annoying most of the time, but sometimes it was useful.

“A very powerful immortal will be the first to find you. You’re my welcome gift to her. No other will find you until then…” The killer pressed upon the body, sealing the contract in blood, flesh, and skin.

The killer yearned to look upon the immortal themselves, but that would ruin the ultimate plan. The immortal was so remarkable they might have been called a god if humans took kindly to that sort of thing. And nobody knew it yet, not even the immortal in question. That was why the killer did what they did. Killed anyone at all who might strike the immortal’s fancy. It was unusual, but that’s what the killer wanted.

The killer, strangely enough, wanted to get caught.

Just not yet.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Sophie Whittemore is a Dartmouth Film/Digital Arts major with a mom from Indonesia and a dad from Minnesota. They’re known for their Gamin Immortal series (Catch Lili Too) and Legends of Rahasia series, specifically, the viral publication Priestess for the Blind God. Their writing career kicked off with the whimsical Impetus Rising collection, published at age 17.

They grew up in Chicago and live a life of thoroughly unexpected adventures and a dash of mayhem: whether that’s making video games or short films, scripting for a webcomic, or writing about all the punk-rock antiheroes we should give another chance (and subsequently blogging about them).

Sophie’s been featured as a Standout in the Daily Herald and makes animated-live action films on the side. Their queer-gamer film “IRL – In Real Life” won in the Freedom & Unity Young Filmmaker Contest (JAMIE KANZLER AWARDS Second Prize; ADULT: Personal Stories, Third Prize) and was a Semifinalist at the NYC Rainbow Cinema Film Festival.

Their prior works include “A Clock’s Work” in a Handersen Publishing magazine, “Blind Man’s Bluff” in Parallel Ink, a Staff Writer for AsAm News (covering the comic book convention was a dream), and numerous articles as an HXCampus Dartmouth Correspondent. Ultimately, Sophie lives life with these ideas: 1) live your truth unapologetically and 2) don’t make bets with supernatural creatures.

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Nov 09

New Release Blitz: Mute Witness by Rick R. Reed (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Mute Witness

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 9, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 97900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, established couple, men with children, family drama, contemporary, crime

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Synopsis

Sean and Austin have the perfect life. Their new relationship is only made more joyous by weekend visits from Sean’s eight-year-old son, Jason.

And then their perfect world shatters.

Jason is missing.

When the boy turns up days later, he has been abused and has lost the power to speak. Small town minds turn to the boy’s gay father and his lover as the likely culprits. Sean and Austin struggle to maintain their relationship amid the innuendo and the threat that Sean will lose the son he loves. Meanwhile, the real villain is close to home, intent on ensuring the boy’s muteness is permanent.

Excerpt

Mute Witness
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

It was one of their rare lazy evenings. Summer, and the evening air was fresh and clean after an afternoon thunderstorm, with just a hint of a breeze. Normally, Sean and Austin were so busy that if they weren’t trying to change something about the little Cape Cod on the Ohio River they had bought a year before—adding a deck, putting in a new kitchen, stripping away years of white paint from the woodwork downstairs—they were too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and pass out, usually before eleven o’clock. Lovemaking, since they had bought the money- and-time-sucking house, had become relegated to weekend afternoons and the occasional early morning.

But today, Thursday, had been an easy one. Austin had called into work—the Benson Pottery, where he was a caster—and taken a mental health day. Things had just been too damn busy lately, and he needed the break. Waiting until Saturday was out of the question. Sunday seemed further away than the next millennium.

Sean, a reporter for the Evening View, the local thrice-weekly compilation of ads sandwiched in with a little editorial, had the day off. The couple spent the day in Pittsburgh, at the Andy Warhol museum, then had an early dinner at the Grand Concourse (the best paella on the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers), beat the brutal thunderstorm home, made love (acrobatically, in the kitchen, atop a butcher block), and now the two were curled up in front of the TV. Sean had rented Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and, after a bowl of Jamaican and a couple of vodka and tonics, the two were teary-eyed with laughter.

Sean looked over at his younger boyfriend and thought how lucky he was to have found Austin, especially in a town the size of Summitville, where the population hovered just above ten thousand. Even better, Austin was his fantasy man, with a broad, beefy body that his mother and her friends would have called strapping, sandy blond hair, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. When Sean first met him, he thought Austin’s eyes had to be fake, enhanced by those tinted contacts that never looked real. But he found quickly that the young man was simply blessed with arresting eyes to go along with his broad shoulders, dimpled chin, and infectious smile. He wore that smile right now, coming down from a fit of inappropriate laughter after hearing Elizabeth Taylor tell Richard Burton something along the lines of “I’d divorce you if I thought you were alive.”

A sick sense of humor was yet another thing the pair had in common.

It was what they both would have agreed was a perfect day. Well, Sean might have had one more item to add to the “perfection” list. Having his son, Jason, around for at least part of the time would have been all it would have taken to make the day ideal, but these days, Jason was for the weekends only.

In any case, this was close enough to nirvana. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back on Austin’s shoulder.

Sean was just thinking about slowly undressing Austin and then leading him into the bedroom for round two when the phone rang. Its chirp startled both of them out of the cocoon of warmth that had surrounded them, a cocoon built from good sex, supreme relaxation, and the aforementioned Jamaican weed.

Austin said, sleepily from under Sean’s arm on the couch, “Don’t get it. Please don’t get it. Just let the machine pick up. I don’t want to talk to anyone. And I don’t want you to either.” Sean eyed the little answering machine next to the cordless, wondering when they would enter the twenty-first century and use voice mail like everyone else. But, unlike voice mail, the machine did allow them to screen calls, and for two men who appreciated their privacy, this feature had voice mail beat all to hell.

Sean let the phone ring its customary four rings, although his tendency would have been to answer it. But if this would make Austin happy, then he was willing to do it. Especially since he had things in mind for Austin that did not involve the telephone. Things that would erase their fatigue and perhaps keep them up the better part of the night. Sean grinned.

On the fourth ring, Sean pressed the pause button on the remote control and sat up straighter to listen.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Austin whispered in Sean’s ear, flicking his earlobe with his tongue and giving his crotch a playful squeeze.

And then the moment shattered.

Shelley’s voice, almost unfamiliar under the veneer of tension that made it higher, quicker, came through. Shelley and Sean had been married once upon a time and their union had produced Jason, the best little boy in the world. As soon as Sean heard Shelley’s voice, he thought of his son, who shared his dark hair, green eyes, wiry frame, and his fascination with stories.

“Sean? Sean, I hope you’re there. This is important. Please pick up.” There was a slight pause. “It’s about Jason. He—”

Before she could say anything else, Sean sprinted for the phone in the entryway. “Shelley? Sorry, I was—”

“Jason is missing.”

“What?”

And then Sean heard her begin to sob and the relaxation in all of his muscles vanished, replaced by a tightness that felt like steel bands snapping taut. Blood rushed in his ears; his heart began to pound. A queasy nausea rose in his gut.

“Jason never came home tonight,” Shelley sobbed. “I don’t know where he is. Please say he’s with you.”

Sean sat on the little oak chair in front of the desk. Well, collapsed into the chair was more like it. “Shelley, I’m sorry, but he’s not here. Don’t you think I would have called if he had come here? How long’s he been gone?” Sean rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth curiously dry. He glanced out the window at the complete darkness.

“I went to work at six and he wasn’t home yet.” She blew out a sigh. “But, you know, we just thought he was horsing around in the woods or something and lost track of time. Then I called Paul and…”

“Wait a minute, Shelley. It’s a quarter to eleven.”

“I know. I know.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner? You mean to tell me you’re just starting to look? Christ, he’s eight years old.”

“I thought he would’ve come home while I was on my shift. Paul was here and he fell asleep and…”

“Paul. Great.” Sean rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“Please, Sean, it’s not the time. I fucked up. Okay? Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I need some help finding our son.”

She was right. In spite of the thoughts running through his head—most of them centering around how he and Austin would have been better parents but the courts couldn’t see that, all they could see was a little boy growing up under the wings of two queers—Sean knew she was right.

This was an emergency.

He looked over at his partner, who was sitting up, alert on the couch, concern making his fair features somehow darker, eyebrows pulling together, mouth open as if to say something. Austin mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Just a minute, Shelley.” Sean covered the receiver with his hand. “Jason has disappeared. They haven’t seen him since this afternoon.” Sean closed his eyes to try to center himself; this was feeling unreal, like a nightmare come to life. The room shifted, like he was drunk. He wished away any high the Jamaican he had smoked earlier brought on, but it wasn’t that easy. A feeling of giddy dread pulsed through his veins, electric.

This is how it feels to be totally helpless.

Austin got up from the couch and began rubbing the cords in Sean’s neck, which had tightened into iron.

Sean swallowed, trying to summon up some spit. “You haven’t seen him all day?”

“That’s right, and I don’t need the accusations. You know how it is around here in the summertime. Kids play outside until it starts getting dark. It was like that for you. It was like that for me.”

“I’m sorry. Listen, we’ll be right over.”

“’Kay.” There was a pause. “Sean? Would you mind just coming alone? Paul…”

“For Christ’s sake, Shelley.” Sean hung the phone up. “I’m going over there. See what I can do to help.”

“Let me throw something on.” Austin stood, his blue eyes alive with concern and sympathy.

“No.” Sean practically winced at the look of surprise on his lover’s face. He bit his lower lip and added, “I mean, maybe you should stay here in case anyone calls.” Austin frowned.

“Like Jason, Austin. Like Jason.” Sean groped in a desk drawer near the front door and pulled out his cell. “I’ll have this on me so you can reach me. Okay?”

Sean was out the door before Austin had the chance to offer any sort of rebuttal.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Real Men. True Love.

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

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Nov 09

New Release Blitz: The Envoy’s Honor by Antonia Aquilante (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Envoy’s Honor

Series: Chronicles of Tournai, Book Eight

Author: Antonia Aquilante

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 9, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 103800

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, Fantasy, romance, family-drama, other-world paranormal, court intrigue, diplomat, dragon shifter, murder, magic”

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Synopsis

Second son of an earl and cousin to the Crown Prince, Griffen has worked hard to forge a career in diplomacy for the principality of Tournai, but he never expected his diplomatic skills would be necessary for a problem so personal to him and his family.

A delegation from the mysterious kingdom of Ivria has come to Tournai to make sure the secret of their people—the magical Talent allowing them to change into dragons—and therefore their kingdom itself remain safe. The delegation is concerned for Corentin, an Ivrian, and the man Griffen’s older brother is soon to marry.

The Ivrians seem to want to drag Corentin back to Ivria for the offense of revealing their secret, but Griffen refuses to let it happen. His determination puts him into contact—and conflict—with Kirill, a negotiator for the king of Ivria who possesses the dragon Talent himself. The two clash and connect, getting closer and pulling away as they try to negotiate the needs of their people and an unwanted attraction between themselves. However, just as trust might be growing between them, a plot is uncovered and a member of the Ivrian delegation murdered. Griffen and Kirill must discover who is behind both for the safety of their countries and the people they love…and for a chance to be together.

Excerpt

The Envoy’s Honor
Antonia Aquilante © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Griffen’s day had been utterly normal—boring, even—until the dragons arrived.

The only mildly interesting thing that had happened was Bastien for once being convinced to attend a family dinner at the palace. Griffen didn’t delude himself into thinking his persuasion and prodding had anything to do with his older brother’s decision. No, Philip’s order had gotten Bastien and Corentin, the man he would soon marry, here. The prince rarely ordered his family about—and never in this type of situation, so Philip’s edict had probably been at least half joking—but Bastien was too dutiful to ignore it, despite his preference to be something of a hermit.

Bastien wasn’t truly unsociable—he just preferred to spend his time quietly on their family’s estate of Ardesia and not at court or even in the capital. Since Corentin taught at the university here in the city, Bastien could no longer spend all his time at Ardesia, unless he wanted to be separated from Corentin, which he obviously did not. And since they were cousins to the prince—Philip’s mother had been their aunt—though they were not royalty themselves, they were expected to be seen at court perhaps even more than others. Griffen had no problem with the expectation, but his and Bastien’s similarities ended with their appearances. They looked almost identical but couldn’t have been more different in personality.

What Griffen had never understood was why it was so difficult to get Bastien to casual family gatherings. Tonight’s dinner was not a court function. They gathered in Philip and Amory’s private sitting room—the royal couple having created a homey place for themselves in the grandeur of the palace—sipping drinks and chatting before dinner. Philip and Amory’s son was with them; Philip held the sleepy toddler now, rocking Julien slightly as he spoke with his cousin Cathal and Lord Marcus. Marcus did some sort of mysterious work for Philip, but he was with them tonight because he was going to marry Alexander, another of Philip’s cousins. The match was an interesting one—the older, serious, self-contained Marcus and the mischievous, outgoing Alexander. Faelen, Alexander’s twin, was chatting with Amory, and Flavian, Cathal’s husband, with Maxen, the man Faelen would marry later in the year, bringing them more wine.

No, it most definitely wasn’t a court event or formal in any way.

This family had grown so much in the last few years—and grown closer too. Griffen loved it, was honored to be a part of it. He was tied to Philip by blood, but blood wasn’t what made a family. If only there wasn’t a hint of sadness dragging at him. So many of his family had paired off—more, had found love matches, something rare among royalty and the nobility who were more likely to marry for power or position.

And Griffen…wanted that for himself.

He’d had his share of affairs with various people over the years and parted amicably after each, everyone enjoying themselves and not looking for more. None of those liaisons had ever been serious or had a possibility of becoming so, which had been fine. Then. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being fine to him.

“Everything all right?”

Griffen jumped a little before facing Tristan who’d come to his side. “Fine.”

Tristan frowned, an expression that always seemed vaguely wrong on his face. A bright smile seemed to go with his shining gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. Griffen had enjoyed his smiles, and other things, during the handful of nights they’d spent together. What they’d shared hadn’t even been something so formal as an affair, and it had been over long before Tristan married Etan, another of Philip’s cousins. Etan was here, too, talking in a corner with Bastien and Corentin—about something related to one of their studies if the faintly perplexed look in Bastien’s eyes was anything to go by.

“You seemed far away for a moment,” Tristan said, capturing Griffen’s attention again.

“Just thinking. I guess I’m easily distracted tonight.”

“I hope by something good.” Alexander winked as he appeared in front of them, decanter in hand, ready to pour more wine for them. His eyes narrowed as he studied Griffen. “Uh oh. Not good?”

Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Griffen smiled, warmed by their concern. When neither man looked reassured, he added, “Really.”

And there wasn’t—though they still didn’t look as if they believed him. He was just…thoughtful.

A sharp rap on the door saved him from having to convince Tristan and Alexander. Before anyone could move to answer the door, it flew open, and Ligeia tumbled into the room.

Surprise froze Griffen for an instant. His sister had elected to stay home that evening—though Philip and Amory would’ve been happy to have her join them if she wanted—with Patia and Idalia, two of the cousins who’d become Bastien’s wards several months ago. She shouldn’t have been at the palace, certainly not looking wild-eyed and near panic with her light-brown hair escaping its pins and her dress one she never left the house in.

He broke his paralysis and spoke at the same time Bastien did. “Ligeia?”

“What happened?” Bastien continued. “Are you all right?”

She halted a few steps inside, after pushing the door closed behind her—it was amazing the guards had even let her through looking the way she did. “Fine, I’m fine,” she said, breathless. Had she run through the palace to get here? “But…”

“What is it, Ligeia?” Philip asked as her gaze darted around the room. He didn’t exactly use the tone of voice that Griffen identified as more prince than family, but the way he said the words commanded attention, nonetheless. From all of them.

Ligeia focused on Philip immediately and took a breath. “Some people came to the house, looking for Corentin. From, um, his home.”

Marcus and Maxen looked confused, but everyone else froze. They knew exactly what that meant.

The dragons.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

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

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

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

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Nov 09

New Release Blitz: Daughter of the Moon by Effie Calvin (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Daughter of the Moon

Series: Tales of Inthya, Book Five

Author: Effie Calvin

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 9, 2020

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 75500

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, Mythical creatures, shifters, trans, royalty, war mongering, exile, gods, magic, student

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Synopsis

Four months ago, Netheia Isinthi failed to take her father’s throne from her older sister. After refusing to publicly support the new empress, she is banished to Ieflaria’s capital city, Birsgen, where she anticipates a long and uneventful exile.

Klavida of Nalova is a student at the university established by Princess Esofi for the study of magic. She has come from the far north researching Talcia’s creatures—or so she claims. After a chance meeting brings the two together, Klavida wants nothing to do with the angry, ill-mannered princess. But when Netheia offers Klavida access to the royal library, Klavida decides she can tolerate her after all.

As they spend time together, Klavida realizes that Netheia is intensely lonely and has never known genuine friendship. She becomes determined to show her that there is more to life than the pursuit of power and that a peaceful life of freedom can be more satisfying than ruling an empire.

But Netheia’s patron goddess is not ready to accept that she has lost the Xytan Empire—and neither are Netheia’s most ardent supporters.

Excerpt

Daughter of the Moon
Effie Calvin © 2020
All Rights Reserved

NETHEIA

Netheia Isinthi supposed things could be worse.

She could have spent the last three months in a prison cell rather than her own familiar rooms. She could be dressed in rags and manacles instead of a silk dress. She could be awaiting the headman’s axe instead of a meeting with the newly crowned empress.

Outside the door stood four guards—too many for Netheia to fight, no matter how her blood sang at the thought of a challenge. To make matters worse, all her weapons had been removed from the room, even the well-hidden ones.

Ioanna had always been good at finding hidden things.

Netheia paced the room from end to end. Outside, rain fell softly, and a thin layer of silver mist blanketed the palace grounds. If she looked out the window, she could see more guards posted below.

All the guards assigned to her were strangers, obviously hired on to replace those loyal to her. She wondered what had happened to them. Execution seemed unlikely, given Netheia still lived.

Nobody tried to contact her, including her own mother. Perhaps she was similarly confined, but probably not. Most likely Enessa didn’t want to be seen associating with Netheia anymore—once the favored daughter, now a failure, a traitor.

What would her father say if he could see them all now?

Netheia spent most of her time exercising until she couldn’t move, finding the burn in her muscles familiar and reassuring. She examined her arms and legs every day, terrified the long confinement was destroying her body. What would everyone say if she emerged from her room as thin as Ioanna? They might even stop supporting her—for surely they still supported her? They were only biding their time, wise enough to not stand openly against the new empress now that the Order of the Sun was here to be her own personal army.

Nobody answered her prayers anymore.

Netheia swallowed and tried to push that thought away. She ought to be grateful for the respite, but instead found herself fantasizing about ways to win her patron goddess back, to prove her worthiness.

The door opened, and Netheia turned to face the guards standing there.

“The empress will see you now,” one said.

Her fantasies often began this way, and always ended with Ioanna dead on the floor in front of her. In those fantasies, Netheia tore through the guards like they were made of parchment paper, and Ioanna put up less resistance than a rabbit might. But as she observed the guards now, she realized nothing would play out like in her imaginings. They would be on her as soon as the faintest glimmer of rust-red magic appeared at her hands.

Netheia’s stomach churned, but she refused to allow them to see her distress. She lifted her chin and strode past them out of the room.

*

Ioanna Isinthi, firstborn daughter of Emperor Ionnes, sat on the carved marble throne that should have been Netheia’s. She wore a beautifully embroidered crimson-and-violet gown and a heavy golden crown on her head. Netheia had not been asked to attend the coronation, but the noise from the celebrations afterward had reached her rooms.

On either side of the throne stood two paladins from the Order of the Sun, a man and a woman. The woman was some foreigner of no importance, but the man was Knight-Commander Livius. He had been exiled from Xytae about fifteen years ago, along with the rest of the Order of the Sun, after their refusal to fight in the emperor’s wars. After his death, the Order quickly reemerged to support Ioanna—almost too quickly. Netheia suspected her sister had been in contact with them long before their father’s death.

“We have discussed the matter.” Ioanna glanced over at the knight-commander. “And we have decided to be lenient. You were led astray by the priestesses of Reygmadra.”

Netheia wanted to object, but Ioanna went on.

“Your actions have cost the empire valuable resources, and you nearly plunged us all into a civil war. But if you agree to help undo the damage you have caused to our nation, I will be lenient. All I ask is you give me your support, publicly. Our people must know we stand together. Will you do this for me?”

“Yes,” said Netheia.

Ioanna’s face fell. “You’re lying.” She sounded exactly like a disappointed child. “Netheia—”

“Well, what did you expect?” snapped Netheia. “You think I’m going to sit back and watch you undo everything our father accomplished? You think I’m going to tell our people I’m proud of you for spitting on our family legacy? That I don’t know how weak you are?”

“I was strong enough to defeat you,” said Ioanna.

Netheia found herself with no retort.

“Netheia, I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. I am sending you to Birsgen.”

“What?” cried Netheia, shock momentarily replacing rage. They were sending her out of the country?

“Do not argue. It is only a temporary exile. You will remain there until Xytae is stable again. As long as you conduct yourself appropriately, the Ieflarians will treat you as a guest, not a prisoner. Your movements will only be minimally restricted, and you will receive a stipend to live on. Do not throw away this gift, Netheia. We both know your sentence ought to be much harsher.”

Ioanna paused, apparently wanting to give her sister the opportunity to speak. But Netheia had no words for her.

“Perhaps this is foolish, but I hope that when you return, you will be more amicable to an alliance. I do not wish for us to be enemies all our lives. I know you are not ready to think of such a thing yet, but I would like you to reflect on it while you are away.”

Netheia continued to stand in stoic silence. Ioanna rubbed at her forehead with one thin, pale hand. Netheia hoped their father’s generals were making her life miserable. The thought cheered her when she remembered how the army had been ordered to withdraw from Masim, undoing decades of progress in a matter of days.

But really, Netheia had no idea what happened outside her private rooms. None of her friends were allowed to visit her, nor the priestesses of Reygmadra that had been her most powerful allies in the weeks after her father’s death, including Archpriestess Seia herself. She could only rely on what tiny details she managed to press out of the servants delivering her meals and whatever gossip she overheard from behind her door.

At least, she hoped her friends were not allowed to visit her. What if they were deliberately distancing themselves? Netheia shoved the thought away, refusing to even consider the idea.

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Meet the Author

Effie is definitely a human being with all her own skin, and not a robot. She writes science fiction and fantasy novels and lives with her cat in the greater Philadelphia area.

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Nov 05

Book Blitz: Starting From Here by Lane Hayes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Starting From Here

Series: Starting From, #3

Author: Lane Hayes

Narrator: Michael Dean

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Release Date: October 23, 2020

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 8 hrs and 23 mins

Genre: Romance, Bisexual, Enemies to lovers, Rock and roll, Second Chance, Fake Boyfriend

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Synopsis

Two bands, one goal, and a second chance…

Declan-

Everything is finally going well. I have a new band, a new label, and a debut album coming out. And then my drummer breaks his wrists. Just my luck. I need a quick replacement to record one more song, but my options are limited, and of course, the obvious candidate hates my guts. Okay, so I may have given him a few reasons over the years, but isn’t there an expiration date on holding a grudge?

Tegan-

I don’t trust Declan McNamara. Sure, he’s talented, smart, and has more sex appeal than any one person should be allowed. And yeah, he may be a rock star in the making, but beware—he’s trouble. However, our new record label’s survival may depend on a truce and extreme measures…of the fake boyfriend variety. If it’s our best shot at the big time, I’m willing to set the past aside and start over…here and now.

Starting From Here is a MM, bisexual romance rock and roll style…rival bands, fake boyfriends, and a second chance at a new love story. Each book in the Starting From series can be read as a stand-alone.

Excerpt

The sound of cheerful squealing rang in the background before she hung up. I stared into space for a minute or two, feeling very…alone. I didn’t want to slip into teenage levels of self-pity. There was really nothing lamer than a privileged grown-ass adult whining about mommy issues. I flipped through television channels, pausing on a special about great white sharks. Then I tossed the controller aside and picked up my cell again.

Would you ever swim with sharks?

My phone buzzed immediately. I smiled when Tegan’s name lit the screen. Are you high?

I wish. Swimming with sharks is a thing. People get in cages and film themselves being surrounded by predators…for fun.

People are fucking crazy.

True.

What are you watching?

National Geographic. I was hoping for a sex in the wild segment, but I got sharks instead.

Shark sex?

I grinned. Nope. I don’t think I’m ready for that.

It’s not exciting. Fish sex is seriously unhot.

True.

My chuckled morphed into a belly laugh as I sank deeper into the cushion. I shared a quick story about the saucy squirrels who were getting it on outside my window last spring. Tegan teased me for being a rodent voyeur, then recommended a few human porn sites I might appreciate instead.

Btw, it’s officially midnight. Congrats.

I stared at the screen for a moment. I typed and erased two or three thank-yous that seemed a little too effusive. I didn’t want to come across as too excited or too grateful and somehow clingy, so I gave up and pressed Call.

“Hey.”

“Are you really fucking calling me?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. I am. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But it’s midnight, and I hate talking on the phone, so good ni—”

“Don’t hang up.”

“What’s wrong?”

I stared at the TV unseeing. “Nothing. I just…I’m keyed up and I need someone to talk to. What was your first release like? I know Zero’s record is still doing well. But…what was like in the beginning? How’d you feel?”

Silence.

“You want the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“It was anticlimactic.”

“Oh. That’s kind of depressing.”

“No, it’s just life. Nothing ever happens as fast as you want it to. You’ve got to be patient and keep doing your thing,” he advised. “We came home from our summer tour thinking we made it. What didn’t turn into superstars, but we made progress. And every day it gets better. But who knows what will happen? Maybe you’ll wake up at number one. Just stay positive and…stop torturing yourself.”

I smiled when Tegan’s uplifting advice gave way to exasperation. It was cute.

“It’s what I do. I excel at the art of self-sabotage. Ask my mom. If I bomb, you can be sure she’ll be the first one to say ‘I told you so.’ She’ll choose her words carefully, though. She’ll be kind-ish before she gently suggests that it’s time to throw in the towel and join the family firm. Fuck my life.”

“But it’s your life. The honor of making mistakes or kicking ass is all yours. You wrote those songs to be heard. Not everyone will love what you do, but plenty of people will. You just gotta be right in your own head. Ask yourself if you gave your best. Did you?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll do just fine, then. If you sell a million copies, great. If not, you’ll still learn something.”

Silence.

“Thanks. I needed that,” I said softly.

“You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.”

“I’m an almost rock star, and it’s midnight. My night is just beginning,” I lied, stifling a yawn.

“Have fun, rock god,” he snorted.

“I’m kidding. I’m channel surfing.”

“You mean porn surfing?”

I barked a quick laugh. “No, I get my porn on the internet like everyone else. I was watching that show about hoarders. It made me feel better somehow.”

“You’re a freak. Get your computer and jack off. You’ll feel better, and you’ll sleep better,” he advised sagely.

“Thanks, Dr. Monroe. I’ll report back in the morning.”

“Not necessary. Especially if there’re boobs involved.”

“I watch more dick porn than chick porn. I watched a great locker room scene last night. The coach and the quarterback. Sexy as fuck.”

“Are you really sharing a spank-bank story?”

“Yeah, you want the link?”

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes loves a good romance! An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016, 2017, and 2018-2019 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a not quite empty nest.

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Nov 02

New Release Blitz: Restricted by A.C. Thomas (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Restricted

Series: The Verge, Book One

Author: A.C. Thomas

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 2, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63900

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBTQIA+, sci-fi, pansexual, gay, nerd/scientist, pilot/space cowboy, space travel/road trip, space pirates, missing person, size difference, twins, virginity/loss of virginity, class difference

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Synopsis

Dr. Aristotle Campbell is a desperate man. His twin brother has been abducted, and Ari will do anything to find him. Forced out of the comfortable solitude of his laboratory, Ari must leave their home world of Britannia and search the farthest reaches of space for his other half. He hastily equips himself with a flawlessly tied cravat, a handful of clues, and his small science vessel. Now, all he needs is a pilot to get him across the Verge, a barrier separating the civilized world from ungoverned space.

Pilot Orin Stone is a desperate man. No ship, no pay, no prospects. He spends his days barely scraping by in the rough colonies lining the Verge interior. When he gets an offer from a frantic, upper-crust professor in need of a pilot, he has no choice but to take the job. He just can’t believe it when the professor turns out to be the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen and that his offer includes a ship of Orin’s own. If Orin can keep his heart (and other portions of his anatomy) from leaping every time sweet, innocent Dr. Campbell looks at him, this should be his easiest job yet.

Rugged Orin and aristocratic Ari work together to navigate the lawless areas of space beyond the Verge, soon discovering that they work well together in all areas. Their immediate and intense attraction to one another is an obstacle to their plans that neither saw coming. More than sparks will fly when they break through the force field and enter restricted space, all alone together for the perilous journey, leaving barriers to their growing attachment far behind.

In their search across the stars, can two desperate men find their home in one another?

Excerpt

Restricted
A.C. Thomas © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“You want me to do what?”

Ari straightened his shoulders, hands folded together on the table between them, suppressing a wince as his skin stuck unpleasantly to a thick smear of residue best left uninvestigated.

Somewhere behind him the sound of glass breaking was followed by a bowel-shaking roar, a meaty impact, scuffling sounds, and hearty guffaws.

Definitively best left uninvestigated.

He sniffed quietly, regretting the action as the odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies assaulted his senses. Forcing himself to meet his companion’s bored regard, he cleared his throat before speaking in as firm a tone as he could manage.

“In the interest of saving both of our time, I’ll cut to the chase. I require a pilot capable of navigating uncharted areas with immediate availability and a willingness to negotiate a flexible pay schedule.”

Mr. “Call me Orin, honey” Stone slumped back in his seat with careless, sprawling grace, the edge of one enormous scuffed leather boot sliding across the floor to rest a millimeter away from the polished black toes of Ari’s spats.

“So, just so we’re clear— You’re asking me to find you a pilot ready to jump right across the Verge into the deepest, slimiest dark, for—and this is the bit that really sticks in my throat, pumpkin— You want me to find you some sap willing to do all that for, apparently, no pay.”

Keen bourbon eyes swept Ari from head to toe, that restless boot finally edging just close enough to touch.

“You’re cute, sugar. But you’re off your rocker.”

Ari’s chair scraped against the floor as he jolted forward in his seat, one hand closing around the fraying cuff of Orin’s greatcoat.

“This is a matter of utmost urgency. My brother is—” He paused to clear his throat after an embarrassing crack in his voice. “My brother is missing; he has been abducted by an Outlier fiend, and I am utilizing every resource at my disposal to ensure his safe return. My inquiries led me to you, with the assurance you could facilitate a jump with immediate effect. Now I demand that you either provide said assistance, or you cease wasting my time.”

Orin fixated on the white-knuckled grip holding his sleeve. The coiled strength of his thick forearm underscored Ari’s awareness that he could break free at a moment’s notice with very little energy expended.

“What kind of resources are we talking, here?” Orin’s eyes narrowed under a heavy brow, the sweep of space-black lashes unexpectedly elegant against his brutish visage.

Ari drew a long breath, attempting to steady his resolve.

“I possess a three-year-old Xalanthe Explorer model 953V. It is in exemplary condition, and I am prepared to offer it as payment upon my brother’s safe return to our home on Britannia.”

Before he finished speaking, Orin sat up in his chair, the full extent of his imposing size suddenly evident even while seated. He turned his hand in Ari’s grip, long fingers wrapping easily around his thin wrist.

“You’re trading your ship. A brand-new ship. To any asshole willing to fly it? Just to finish a little game of hide-and-seek with your brother who—no offense, Red—sounds like he ran off with a bit of strange?”

Aristotle bristled, slim shoulders rising to his ears as the heat of an angry flush spread from the unfortunate ginger of his precisely parted hairline down to the white of his starched collar points.

“He did not ‘run off’! He was abducted. I have no more time to waste with your nonsense, sir. Are you able to assist in my endeavor, or shall I continue pursuing a pilot on my own?”

A lopsided grin spread across his companion’s face, revealing a hint of prominent canine and a surprisingly charming set of dimples. Orin gave another insolent sweep of his gaze, ticking to the length of Ari’s throat rising above his cravat. The rumble of his voice dropped low enough that Ari had to strain to hear him above the surrounding chaos.

“Hmm, that depends, Red. That blush go all the way down?”

The clatter of the cheap aluminum chair against the cracking concrete floor was lost in the cacophony of raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and blaring synth music that characterized drinking establishments on the rough ring of colonies lining the Verge. Ari wrenched his arm away as he stood, breaking free.

He turned his back, adjusting his waistcoat with trembling fingers as he wracked his brain for alternative solutions. He had only taken a half step away from the table when a firm grip on his coattails wrenched him backward. He swung around, fists in a pugilist’s stance, raised to the smiling face of Mr. Stone.

“Whoa now, slow up there, professor. If you’re wanting to trade a whole damn ship for the temporary services of some sleazy sack of shit with a pilot’s license, I got just the guy you need.”

Knees weak with relief, Ari nearly attempted to sit before remembering he had overturned his chair, which was now likely glued to the filthy floor of the saloon.

“Excellent. Where can I find this person?”

That lopsided grin opened up into a full-blown smile, revealing rows of white, uneven teeth. “You’re looking at him, sweetheart.”

Ari twitched at the endearment, unaccustomed to the way they seemed to drip from the pilot’s every phrase like butter melting off the plate.

He turned fully to face him, coattails twining around his narrow hips as Orin maintained his grip, tugging once with a waggle of thick brows at Ari’s resulting unintentional pelvic thrust before releasing him with a flourish.

Orin pushed off from the table, broad shoulders rising up and up to just above Ari’s line of sight. Ari swallowed an obvious comment on the pilot’s intimidating height, realizing how much he’d underestimated the man’s size.

Ari stared straight ahead at the hollow of Mr. Stone’s throat, bronze skin left exposed by the open vee of his collarless shirt. A few dark, curling hairs peeked out of the opening, inches from Aristotle’s nose. A strange fluttering sensation swept through his abdomen at the sight.

Recognizing the sensation as inappropriate at best and disastrous at worst, Ari turned on stiff legs and led the way out of the saloon, doing his utmost to avoid brushing up against the rough clientele. Heads swiveled to follow Ari even as they ignored the much larger figure of Mr. Stone following close behind his every step.

Ari ducked his head as they emerged into the daylight, squinting against the intrusive brightness before heading off toward the nearest dry dock, zeroing in on his ship after a few minutes’ walk. Mr. Stone was a silent shadow at his back, footsteps shockingly light for a man of his size.

The small exploratory vessel stood out among the busted-up freighters and speeders cluttering the dock. Clean panels of riveted steel shaped the subtle curves framing the centerpiece—a large frontal view screen. The only unnecessary ornament was that of the exaggerated dorsal fin, the sight of which had caused Aristotle’s brother to laugh out loud when they first purchased the ship.

Ari’s back stiffened at a low whistle, two familiar notes usually directed with prurient interest.

Mr. Orin Stone was circling his ship, one hand, large and square as a shovel head, trailing long fingers over the surface with surprising reverence.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

He directed his inquiry to the ship but turned to Aristotle as though expecting an answer.

Ari cleared his throat. “As I have previously mentioned, it is a Xalanthe—”

Orin cut him off with a rude sound pushed between full lips. “She.”

Ari opened his mouth to reply, mistaking a brief pause for the conclusion of the pilot’s statements.

“Ship’s a she. And she’s a pretty little thing, deserves a name. If you don’t have one for her yet, I can think of something fancy to call her. Something with a bit of glitter to it. Little lady like this one deserves to shine.”

His eyes in turn glittered at Ari, sparkling with amusement and apparent satisfaction upon viewing the small science vessel.

Without looking away, he spat into one rough palm before holding it out to Aristotle as if to shake.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Red.”

Ari recoiled from the offered hand, curling his own into protective fists at the notion of sealing a verbal contract with an exchange of bodily fluids.

“That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.”

Orin’s throaty laughter rang out against the polished metal panels of the ship exterior, echoing across the shipyard.

“Is it now? Well, stick with me, sugar; I could really expand your horizons.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

A.C. Thomas left the glamorous world of teaching preschool for the even more glamorous world of staying home with her toddler. Between the diaper changes and tea parties, she escapes into fantastical worlds, reading every romance available and even writing a few herself.

She devours books of every flavor—science fiction, historical, fantasy—but always with a touch of romance because she believes there is nothing more fantastical than the transformative power of love.

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Nov 02

New Release Blitz: His Dark Reflection by Heloise West (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  His Dark Reflection

Series: Heart and Haven, Book Three

Author: Heloise West

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 2, 2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 66100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, action, blue-collar, law enforcement, mystery, crime

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Synopsis

Disgraced FBI agent Nick Truman failed to save his sister, who was held hostage by a drug cartel until he could give them Alex Crow, who eluded him. His epic downfall lands him in witness protection, where he plays by the rules and keeps to himself. But the murder of his neighbor brings danger to his door. He unexpectedly finds himself the champion of innocents and helplessly attracted to the homicide detective in charge of the case. Nick knows it won’t end well.

Homicide Detective Hank Axelrod is good at digging out secrets, maybe because he hides a big one of his own. He also suspects his husband has one foot out of the door of their marriage and the specter of single life looms unpleasantly on the horizon.

A murder resembling a previous one brings Nick into his world, a man who claims to be a mystery writer looking for a real-life resource. Hank’s instincts say he’s more than that, and he’s rarely wrong.

Torn between the errant soon-to-be-ex husband and the distracting, sexy stranger, Hank needs to focus all his attention on his murder case before he becomes the next victim.

Excerpt

Excerpt
His Dark reflection
Heloise West © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Hank rattled the keys in a one-handed grip to shake loose the house key from the rest. No lights on in the house and beyond late for dinner—starving and sleep deprived too. In his other hand, he held a thick file of case notes because the night wasn’t over for him yet. At least Len had left the porch light on.

After letting himself into the house, he placed the file on the end table, keys on top, and toed off his shoes. The windbreaker he shrugged out of hadn’t done much to keep the spring cold off.

The rocking chair in the living room creaked. Hank spun around, hand going to his holster.

“Easy, cowboy.” Len yawned. He snapped on the table lamp beside him. “I fell asleep. What time is it?”

“Jesus, Len. It’s two in the damn morning. Let me put this away.” At the bottom of the closet, the gun safe sat on a shelf. He knelt, spun the dial, and tucked the gun away. When he turned, Len stood, arms across his chest, brown hair tousled. Another yawn stretched his mouth wide. Hank, tired to the marrow, pulled Len into a bone-crunching hug, and Len laughed against his shoulder.

Relief tickled through him. On the drive home from the station, he’d feared the house would be empty. He inhaled the scent of Len’s pricey shampoo—vanilla and sweet tobacco with a hint of whiskey. His heart twisted with anxiety.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“You got caught up, I know. ’Sokay.” Len yawned again. “But I’m beat. She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed wants me in bright and early tomorrow, so…” He stepped away from Hank’s embrace. Hank let him go with reluctance. “There’s lasagna and meatballs in the fridge. Or maybe you’re ready for bacon and eggs?”

“Neither. Both. I’ll figure dinner out while I read the case notes again. I need to make sure this guy doesn’t walk.”

Len turned around. “Hon? I know. You’ll be great. You always are. Night.”

“Night,” Hank responded as he picked up the paperwork. He sat in the rocker Len had vacated with the file in his lap and fell asleep with the first page between his fingers.

He awoke with a snort, thinking he’d heard Len’s muffled laughter and smiled. When he glanced at his watch, twenty minutes had passed since he’d first sat down. He’d sleep in tomorrow, but he still wouldn’t have caught up on all the sleep he’d lost over this one. Hank stood and stretched his aching muscles, contemplating a shower, but his deepening desire for bed and maybe sex to relax him led him into the bedroom and not the kitchen. Len’s nightstand lamp glowed, and his side of the bed rumpled but empty. Len’s soft giggle came from the other side of the bathroom door.

Hank rapped his knuckles against the oak. “Hey, babe?”

The toilet flushed. “I’m washing up! Be right there.”

A cold weight settled into Hank’s belly at his husband’s rushed, edge of guilty tone, slithery and with pointed scales brushing against his tender insides—a too-familiar feeling tilting the world on its axis. The bathroom door opened, and Len came out wreathed in the scent of mouthwash and minty toothpaste. “All yours.” He smiled but wouldn’t meet Hank’s eyes, making it all the harder for Hank to dislodge the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Who were you talking to?”

Len turned away from Hank. “One of the new interns drunk-dialed me. She’s a hoot, so we talked. Come to bed, Hank. You must be wiped out.” He slid between the sheets and pulled on the covers on Hank’s side.

Liar, the serpent in his belly whispered.

“I fell asleep in the rocker, so yeah, I guess I am.” Too tired to fight, he gathered up pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and headed into the bathroom. When he came out, Len lay facing away from Hank, his breathing even. Maybe asleep. Hank doubted it as he climbed into bed turned away from Len, his eyes wide in the darkness.

*

Hank slept later than usual, exhaustion stealing any memory of dreams he might have had. When he awoke, Len had already gone to work. What had Hank been so afraid of last night?

He went into the kitchen and started up the coffee. Not the first time one of Len’s friends had called drunk or upset. Len had a lot of friends. They helped him through Hank’s late nights. Although their marriage went to hell last spring, in the end, love forced them to work things out. Hank believed in Len, still believed the tearful, heartfelt promises of renewed fidelity.

He shoved a bagel into the toaster oven. But—he plopped down on a kitchen chair as if his bones had untied themselves—why did he have such a weird feeling last night? A couple of weird feelings, actually.

He’d believed Len when he returned to him and promised fidelity. Yet, he spent too much time with liars, thieves, cheats, and murderers, so maybe the distrust had rubbed off on him?

Or should he stick with his gut feeling Len had more to hide? It wouldn’t be the first time…but he’d hoped they’d done with the past. Ugh, second-guessing himself again. He couldn’t afford the drain on his confidence today.

The toaster oven tinged. With a fork, he dragged out the bagel. He loaded it with butter and the homemade strawberry jam his mother had made.

He didn’t trust much of humanity, long before he’d become a cop. Hank didn’t want the scum bleeding into their relationship. Distrust bred more distrust. He often found it tough to leave the hard-guy persona behind at the office, to let his softer side out around Len. It’d been difficult when they first met, but Len had been patient. Well, Hank would be patient too. What if a family issue had set off Hank’s alarms, a secret Len didn’t want to share yet?

He’d demolished the bagel as the wheels turned in his head. Sucking on his sticky-sweet fingers of one hand, he opened the fridge with the other for a second bagel. Last night’s dinner sat wrapped in cellophane on the shelf.

He had to talk to Len. But first, where did he leave the damn file?

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NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Heloise West, when not hunched over the keyboard plotting love and mayhem, dreams about moving to a villa in Tuscany. She loves history, mysteries, and romance. She travels and gardens with her partner of fifteen years, and their home overflows with books, cats, art, and red wine.

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Nov 02

New Release Blitz: Stable Hand by AE Lister (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Stable Hand

Series: The Braided Crop Ranch, Book One

Author: AE Lister

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 2, 2020

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84800

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, BDSM, pony play, cowboys, entertainment, sex toys, menage, polyamory, rewards, punishments

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Synopsis

The Braided Crop Ranch is looking for stable hands. But this is no ordinary horse ranch. They cater to men with a certain interest. An interest involving harnesses, tails, and trainers.

Managed and expertly run by registered psychologist, Adam Marsland, the Ranch is a safe place for the expression of sex positive and kink positive needs and fantasies.

Jensen Moriarty is desperate for a job. He can handle horses. In fact, he’s a pro at it. Too bad the BCR doesn’t deal with real horses. But they do have “ponies”.

If Jensen can wrap his head around what the BCR actually stands for, he may have the opportunity to expand his resumé and experience something completely unexpected in the process.

Excerpt

Stable Hand
AE Lister © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Horses. They were what I knew. What I’d grown up knowing, riding, grooming, tacking in the small Alberta town where I’d lived.

I missed small-town life. Ottawa wasn’t a huge city, but it was big enough, crowded enough, it made me crave the peace and quiet of a smaller life.

My friend Mitchell hadn’t told me much about the Braided Crop Ranch except to say the place was secluded deep in the heart of the Muskokas in Northern Ontario, which turned out to be an understatement.

From my calculations I was only about twenty minutes away, but the brush had thickened, and the GPS wasn’t making sense. There wasn’t even a proper road. Out of desperation, I pulled my car over to the gravel on the side of the dirt track. I left the car on, air conditioner blasting, while I looked up the name of the man who’d interviewed me over the phone: a Mr. Adam Marsland. I found the number quickly in my contacts and hit call.

“BCR, Connor speaking,” a chipper male voice announced after a few rings.

The voice didn’t belong to Mr. Marsland.

“Uh,” I hesitated. “Hi. I’m trying to reach Adam Marsland?”

“Who’s calling, please?”

I cleared my throat, feeling like an idiot. Nothing like starting a new job and not being able to find the place. “This is Jensen Moriarty. I’m supposed to be there at noon, but I—”

“Oh, hi, Jensen. I’m Mr. Marsland’s personal assistant. Would you like me to get him for you?”

“I just need directions. My GPS isn’t making sense.”

Connor laughed. “He should have told you not to rely on the GPS. You should be using the map from the email.”

Email? “What email?”

There was a pause. “You didn’t get the welcome email? The one outlining our policies and practices? I’m sure I sent the form to you a few days ago…”

I wracked my brain but didn’t remember seeing an email. Unless the message had gone into my spam folder. “No, I didn’t get it. A map would be…helpful.”

“Sure, yeah, let me text the map to you. Hold on a second.”

“You might as well text me the other info as well.”

Connor cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’ll let Mr. Marsland explain everything when you get here.”

I heard a notification and saw the map had come through. I opened the file quickly and had a look.

“Looks like I’m not too far.”

“Okay, come to the main building when you get here. You’ll see the BCR sign on the wall.”

“BCR?” I asked, wiping a crushed mosquito off the dash.

“The Braided Crop Ranch. That is where you’re trying to get to, right?”

“Yes. I just— Yes, that’s where I’m headed.” God, could I make a worse first impression?

“I’ll make sure Adam is here to greet you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

As I’d suspected, I wasn’t far out. If I followed this dirt road and turned onto another called Rattler’s Revenge in about three miles, I’d be there.

Would they put me to work right away, cleaning stalls and looking after the horses? Mr. Marsland hadn’t described my exact duties during our phone interview, but Mitchell had said they were looking for a stable hand.

Marsland had seemed like a nice guy. He’d appeared more interested in the kind of person I was rather than in any experience I’d had. I’d explained I needed a job that would give me some direction along with a decent salary so I could pay off my student loans.

The business degree had been a waste of money, no matter what my parents said. Turned out I hated accounting. Yeah, I was good with numbers, but working with them all day and night was too much to ask.

I needed to be outside. I needed to be interacting with other beings, human or animal. I needed hard work and adventure.

Now I had no idea what I wanted to do. Except for horses. I wanted to work with horses. Living on a ranch with a bunch of other cowboys wouldn’t be so bad either. Even if they didn’t share my orientation, the eye candy would be heavenly.

I’d been surprised when Adam told me the salary I’d be earning. The level was high for a stable hand. He’d also mentioned something about the special stock at the BCR so maybe they only housed Arabians or something. That would be a treat. I’d never seen a full-blood Arabian horse up close.

After following the serpentine curve of Rattler’s Revenge for about fifteen minutes, the brush thinned, and I emerged into a large clearing with the impressive outline of the ranch spread before me. The path took me to a set of steel black gates with BCR in big iron letters affixed to the bars.

A black intercom box perched on the stone wall to the left of the gates. I pulled in close, lowered my window, and pressed the button.

There was a crackle and then Connor’s voice. “Name please.”

“Jensen Moriarty. We spoke on the phone.”

“Awesome. I’ll buzz you in.”

An electrical humming noise sounded as the gates unlocked and slowly swung open.

“Welcome to the BCR, Jensen,” Connor said.

I drove forward and rolled up the window to keep the heat out.

An array of bright red and brown buildings crowded the far distance. In front of me stood an imposing clapboarded farmhouse with these words, painted in black, spanning the wall:

THE BRAIDED CROP RANCH STABLES

~ Pony shows every month ~

Pony shows every month, huh? Looked like I’d have my work cut out for me.

I parked in the small lot to the left of the front door and turned the car off. I wondered if driving all the way out here had been the right thing to do. At any rate, the job provided a new beginning and somewhere to spend the summer. If I enjoyed the work and found the people to be friendly and helpful, maybe I’d stay for a while.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

AE Lister/Elizabeth Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They have published many other books, one of which (Beyond the Edge) received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather Association–International for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.

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Nov 02

New Release Blitz: Flicker by Elizabeth Tybush (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Flicker

Series: The Fire of Felwing

Author: Elizabeth Tybush

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 2, 2020

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78900

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, slow burn, magic, magic users, friends to lovers, mythical creatures, royalty, redemption, past mistakes, portals

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Synopsis

Stripped of his magick and exiled to Earth, Solin Felwing vows to redeem himself. He committed a lot of bad for “the greater good” and the only way to make up for it is to give back to those he stole from. Incognito, of course, to avoid being brought to justice by humankind.

Solin volunteers at a soup kitchen, but his redemption is thrown into disarray when his best friend Jemier arrives to profess his love. Sam, Solin’s one-man support group and only human friend, thinks Solin deserves better.

When old enemies resurface, Solin fears his attempt to change is over for good. He could easily wipe his foes from existence—if he had his magick. Saving his friends—and himself—means compromising in new ways, but the temptation to sin remains. Everything could change in a flicker.

Excerpt

Flicker
Elizabeth Tybush © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
2017

Polaris, New York, Gaia

I stole the sunglasses with ease, unseen by any who’d dare report it. The large-lensed mask reflected the busy downtown of a city I neither knew nor understood but was nonetheless stranded in. I hid my eyes and features behind those lenses and continued my prowl.

I headed for the sidewalk patio of a bistro where a man with attentions diverted elsewhere would soon lose the hooded sweatshirt draped over the back of his folding chair.

“You gonna pay for those?”

I stopped. Had I not been caught entirely unaware, I would’ve fled, albeit into unknown territory with mere morning shadows and dubious dumpsters as my cover. I turned to face the source of the familiar voice, knowing I could not flee from them in my state or else I would be hunted.

Sam smirked. Sunglasses concealed his brown eyes, and he wore the same style of casual garb I wore although he had more of a decision in it than I did. His tailored clothing came from finer cloth and perfectly fit his slender form. He gave me a dramatic once-over and smirked again. His brown hair had taken on some salt since we’d last met, and his sun-kissed peach skin glowed.

“So, what brings you back here?” he asked in singsong. I waited for him to call for local or regional law enforcement. I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t here by their command. “Couldn’t have just had the hankering for some light shoplifting. Don’t they have stores where you’re from?”

I glared at him, calculating the many ways to escape his clutches. Sam and I shared similar builds, although he stood slightly shorter than me and had thinner limbs. My training alone would overpower him if I needed it to. If only my body were bereft of the aches that naturally came from sleeping on dubious hard surfaces for several cool summer nights in a row.

I said nothing but regretted hiding the heat of my glare behind my disguise.

“Of course they do.” He reached. I dodged. He held up his hands in peace and nodded a silent invitation to walk alongside him.

He studied me with the same expression he had when we’d first met. This was Sam. This would always be Sam. With one glance he’d understood me, treated me as an equal, and never underestimated me. A good quality in an ally as well as a friend, but for us, neither applied.

I took his invitation only to keep myself from staying still too long in a crowd I’d stolen from. When I’d first met Sam, he’d offered me a drink. I only hoped this offer had the same hospitable intent.

“Seriously though, are you gonna pay for those? Because I can buy you new clothes, Solin.”

“No, I am not going to pay for them, and I don’t want your charity.” My stomach disagreed. Food had only come my way during brief moments of opportunity.

“Yeah, about that…oh, here we are.”

“This is your vehicle?” I examined the nondescript, aging hatchback and its peeling, off-silver paint. “Part of your disguise, no doubt.”

“I’m rich, not famous. This is more for your benefit. Get in.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Have you seen yourself lately? I totally could.”

Had he seen me lately? How long had he been watching me? Of course he hadn’t just stumbled upon me, which meant he had been observing me for a while without me detecting him.

“But I’m not going to.” Sam opened the passenger-side door. “Trust me?”

I got in.

“You should put your seat belt on.”

“I’m aware.” I struggled to find comfort in the cramped passenger seat.

“The thingy under the seat, on the side there.”

I clicked into a more comfortable place. “I’m not thanking you.”

He flipped down the visor above my head. “And you have a little something on your chin.”

I grumbled and looked through at least three layers of dust and two more layers of grime on the cracked mirror above. A light-brown blob surrounded by a black blob looked back at me with its dark blobby eyes. No little something detected in my warped reflection. I flipped the visor up, then wiped my chin of the grease smudge using the slightly cleaner rearview mirror, albeit when Sam turned his gaze away.

The car revved to life, and we sat in silence for a few blocks. Passersby were too invested in their mobile devices to notice us—perhaps utilizing the very technology that had made Sam his wealth—sometimes at great detriment to their own health. He drove beyond the territory I’d explored since arriving in this place into areas slightly cleaner, slightly brighter, and slightly less bumpy. On these roads, the dreadful pine-scented ornament dangling from the rearview mirror no longer danced annoyingly in my peripheral vision.

“Radio’s busted, sorry,” he said. We slowed to a stop at a traffic light. “They don’t know you’re here.”

“Nonsense. You know I’m here.”

“Because I’m awesome, but that’s not the point. The point is, I might’ve done something slightly illegal to make sure what I saw, no one else saw.”

I considered unbuckling and jumping out the door. “For vengeance, no doubt.”

“Nah, seems like someone beat me to it. Besides, the best revenge is…something about being the better person? Living a good life? Whatever. We’re here.”

He parked the car next to an empty alley wedged between buildings of varying heights, though none over ten stories. The alley’s putrid odor smelled worse than the dumpsters that had served as shelter last night, but the rodents didn’t seem to mind.

“I taste garbage, Sam.”

“Keep walking,” he said. “We’re good.”

As we ventured through the maze of alleys, I understood he told the truth. I could trust him, for this moment. He clearly hadn’t told his friends about my arrival, and he didn’t move as a killer moved. The farther we walked from the car, the safer I felt.

The alleys smelled nicer too. We arrived at the back entrance of a shorter building where he punched a number into a keypad before opening the door and holding it for me.

“After you.”

His kindness alarmed me more than comforted me, but for however little I trusted him, I did trust my own assessment of the facts I had. I walked not to death, nor to barred walls. A keypad could mean anything. It did not mean Sam was luring me into a trap.

I entered after a moment of pensive reluctance and followed him up the stairwell of warm whites and polished woods.

Signs of humanity were everywhere. In the sole set of crisp boot prints on the vinyl-covered steps. In the recycling bins we passed at every floor’s exit, sitting below signs advising residents not to leave their recycling bins in the stairwell for safety reasons. In the leftover clear tape adhered to each floor’s door, ghosts of former safety signs. In the chewed gum beneath the handrail to the fifth and final floor before the roof.

“This way.” Sam nodded at the door.

Sunlight spilled from rooftop windows into the long hallway, reminding me briefly of home. Our steps echoed off the wooden floor as we passed doors with Welcome signs and decorative mats. At the very end of the hallway, Sam pulled out keys, unlocked the door, and opened it with a grand gesture.

“Home sweet home.”

The scent of fresh latex paint greeted us. Before us lay a furnished yet oddly empty apartment, save the bright morning light beaming from the windows and the gently frosted skylight. Beautiful but impractical. A man of such wealth put himself in grave danger with such windows. I had a hard time imagining a man of Sam’s status living in a home with…apparently no walls between rooms.

“This isn’t your home,” I said.

“Nope.” He dangled the keys. “It’s yours. The apartment, not the building. Forged your name on the lease and paid ahead for a year, so the landlady might not recognize you when you finally need to pay—”

I swept away his hand and headed for a window, forcing myself to squint through the intense light of morning. “I need nothing from you.”

“Okay, so maybe stop thinking I’m doing this as a favor to you, and maybe think about this as me having to do this for myself.”

“Why? I left you on a rooftop to die.”

“Oh, so you remember that? I blamed you so long for that, forgetting completely that it was—you know what, just take the damn keys, Solin.”

“You don’t know what my father would do if he discovered I cheated my way through exile.”

“Exile? Shit, did you try to take over your home planet too?”

“That’s not what I did here, and it’s complicated,” I said. “Let me wallow in my reckoning alone. My path doesn’t include charity.”

“Maybe it can. My charity. Take it. I guarantee you that being human is suffering enough.”

Powerless. He knew just how powerless I was. I faced him and paced the room, circling him. I had to reclaim some of my power, and I tired of being idle. My boots clicked along the glossy hardwood, which groaned whenever I neared the kitchen island.

“This is your last warning, Gardyner. My redemption will not include you. I will make my own way, and I won’t have you or anyone else meddling in things they don’t understand.”

“My last warning? You think I care about your warnings?” Now Sam paced, and I stopped, ceding power in the dialogue to him. I’d relied on fear to impress a message, and that didn’t work with Sam. He knew I had nothing to flex. “Listen, Solin, your redemption, if that’s even what you’re doing here, does include me. I was affected by that stunt you pulled. People died because of that bomb.”

“You know that wasn’t me—”

“But you enabled it. You trusted that asshole with power, and look what happened. And don’t forget, you did leave me to die. After I helped you. So yeah, I’m part of your redemption now. And you’re going to take this apartment and that credit card on the counter, and you’re going to be clothed and fed and sheltered while you walk this path.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“It’s not mine. It’s yours. I figured you might’ve been amassing some wealth here when you tried to conquer Earth five years ago.”

“Not conquer. Invite you to join our Federation.”

“That’s not what the internet said.”

“You know that’s not what I was here to do. You were there, Sam. Things didn’t go according to plan.”

“Yeah, I was there for the worst part of it. Anyway, you needed money to ‘invite us to join your Federation,’ especially if you wanted to establish a base of operations for thousands of years to come.”

“I had no plans for a base and no ill intentions for humanity. Besides, my account was drained. You watched it happen.”

“I found some leftovers. Moved them without a hitch. Don’t worry. The Shadowfall Alliance didn’t see a thing. They’re still pretty young, and their tech is weaker than they think. Plus, they aren’t as brilliant as I am.”

“But just as narcissistic,” I returned.

He grinned. “What you call narcissism, I call being realistic.”

“And what, you’ll let me live here and spend all of this money without supervision?”

“Do you need to be supervised?”

I said nothing.

“Do you want to be supervised?”

“No. Did we not just establish that?”

“Maybe ‘protected’ is a better word.”

“Get over yourself, Gardyner. You can’t protect me from anyone. Not your people in the Alliance and certainly not my own.”

“I found you, didn’t I?”

“Only because I dropped my guard.”

“Right,” he said incredulously. “How about this—I’ll keep an eye on things too. You know, for my sake. Not yours. Because you can do that all by your lonesome.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He turned to leave, but when he made it to the door, hand on the knob, he stopped. “I’m not kidding. I’m doing this for myself.”

“Of course you are.”

“Sometimes it pays to understand what, or whom, you hate. Makes some of the pain go away.” He tossed the keys at me. I caught them. “One for the lobby, one for your mailbox downstairs, and one for each lock on that door. Code is 8152. Oh, and there’s an ID card for you too. And a checkbook. But no one uses those anymore. Your name is Jonathan now. Probably best that you don’t share a name with Earth’s Most Wanted.”

I squeezed the sharp ridges of the keys with my fingertips, hoping the distraction would serve as a mask for my emotions since I no longer possessed any of the deceptive powers I once relied on.

“Thank you, Sam.”

He nodded at a device on the coffee table. “Call me if you need anything.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Liz plays way too much Minecraft and dreams about producing a television series. She loves an old-fashioned film noir and, unlike her character Solin, takes her coffee with a healthy dose of milk. Recent accomplishments include a 2019 fellowship at the Storytellers’ Institute and the book you’re about to read.

Flicker is her debut novel with NineStar Press. To learn more about The Fire of Felwing series and other upcoming stories, visit Liz at elizabethtybush.com.

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Oct 30

Blog Tour: Nice Catching You: A Holiday Love Story by Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Nice Catching You: A Holiday Love Story

Author: Ryan Taylor & Joshua Harwood

Publisher:  Wainscott Press

Release Date: 10/30/2020

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 84,000 words

Genre: Romance, Gay Holiday Romance, Contemporary Gay Romance, Holiday Romance

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Synopsis

What happens when the No. 1 college hockey star in the country falls in love—with a man?
Nick Johnson, a top prospect for a pro hockey team, has a secret: he’s gay. Tired of living in the
closet for the sport he loves, he sees no way out.

Jacob Meyer’s string of bad boyfriends left him cynical about love. Instead, he focuses on his
studies as a third-year law student. With a new job waiting for him, he’s eager to graduate and
move on.

On a school-sponsored trip, Nick and Jacob meet in a most unexpected way. When Nick tells
Jacob his secret, they decide to hang out, just as friends. But their attraction is too strong to
ignore, and they soon begin dating.

Since Nick is a big man on campus, it doesn’t take long for people to notice his attachment to
Jacob. All hell breaks loose when the relationship gets out. As the national media descends,
university officials try to figure out how to solve their “problem.” Their efforts divide Nick’s
team, inflame fans, and put Nick and Jacob’s futures in jeopardy. Will the men be able to
survive a plot to destroy them without derailing both their careers?

Nice Catching You is an out-for-you romance featuring a lot of love, exciting hockey, and a
beautiful holiday. There’s also plenty of steam and a very happy ending.

Excerpt

JACOB

Sunday, December 4

I haven’t been on many buses, but I was starting to think I might die on this one. The snow
began falling before we left Whiteface Mountain early in the afternoon, not unusual for one of
the top ski resorts in the Northeast. We were due in Syracuse before six, and I hoped the weather
didn’t delay us much. The last week of classes would start the next day, and I had work to do.
The snow was coming down hard, and by the time we reached I-87, I could see very little
out the window. Many of the cars had pulled over to the side, and others were creeping along
with their hazards flashing. Our bus joined the traffic and immediately began slipping all over
the road.

With fifty-odd college students on the trip, there had been a lot of noise when we left the
resort, but nerves had soon taken over, and people were mostly quiet now. I sat alone, three rows
from the back of the bus, trying to read a case for Federal Courts. With only one more semester
of law school to go, I needed to do well. A big firm in Boston offered me a job right before
Thanksgiving, contingent on my maintaining a 3.8 GPA. Pulling a C in Fed Courts would bring
me slightly under the requirement. Although I had high hopes for a job in DC, I couldn’t risk
losing the Boston offer.

Between the bus sliding in the snow and the constant chatter from the guys in the seat
behind me, I couldn’t concentrate at all. They were hockey players, and they kept up a
conversation about the game, other players, cars, and whatever else dumb undergrad jocks talk
about. They were the only people behind me except for their friend, who was passed out on a
seat in the back.

Whoa! The rear end of the bus lurched violently into the left lane. I tried to grab something
to hold onto, but I was already airborne by the time I dropped the heavy casebook.
Hands grabbed my shoulders but didn’t slow my momentum. Dreading the impact with the
seat across the aisle, I screwed my eyes shut and held my breath. All at once, something stopped
me. Rather, someone stopped me, and that someone had brawny arms and a hard body. He’d
caught me in midair.

“You all right?”

“What?” On my back in the man’s arms, facing the top of the bus, I couldn’t see much. I
turned my head, trying to find out who had hold of me.

“Everything okay?”

I craned my neck in the other direction just as he leaned over, and it was—shit!—one of the
hockey guys who’d been sitting behind me. I’d seen him over the weekend with his buddies, at
least one of whom had laughed at me the whole time. Now they’d laugh even harder, and I’d be
known as the skinny little runt who couldn’t even stay in his seat—the twit who had to be
rescued by a real man.

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Meet the Authors

Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood met in law school and were married in 2017. They live in a
suburb of Washington, DC, and share their home with a big, cuddly German shepherd. Ryan and
Josh enjoy travel, friends, and advocating for causes dear to their hearts. Ryan also loves to
swim, and Josh likes to putter in the garden whenever he can. The romance they were so lucky to
find with each other inspires their stories about love between out and proud men.

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