Blog Archive

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Release Blitz: The Family We Make by Dan Wingreen


Title: The Family We Make
Author: Dan Wingreen
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 30, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 108800
Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Romance, Contemporary, Family Drama, Explicit, Gay, Humorous, Children, Teaching, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Family, Geeks, Bullying

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Synopsis

Spencer Kent gave up on love a long time ago. As a twenty-eight-year-old single father with a fourteen-year-old son, Connor, he knows his appeal to the average gay man is limited, and when you factor in his low self-esteem and tendencies towards rudeness and sarcasm, it might as well be nonexistent. But that’s okay. A man is the last thing Spencer needs or wants.

Tim Ellis’s life is falling apart around him. After four years of hard work at college, he finds himself blacklisted from the career of his dreams by the professor he refused to sleep with and abandoned by the boyfriend he thought he was going to marry. Even though he was lucky enough to land a job at a bakery, he still feels like a failure.

Tim and Spencer’s first meeting is filled with turbulent misunderstanding, but Tim makes a connection with Connor through a Big Brother/Big Sister program, and both men put aside their mutual dislike for his sake. By letting go, they may help each other find their way into a life they never could have imagined.

Excerpt

The Family We Make
Dan Wingreen © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“Yo, Mr. Kent!”

No, no, not now!

“What do you want, Jamal?” Spencer Kent asked, not glancing up from his phone as he furiously tapped the screen. Commanders of Warfare 3, a Four Square clone where people built up a character and “conquered” real-world locations, was his latest obsession, and he was so close to reclaiming his rightful spot as the Great General of Laurence Tureaud High School from the little prick who kept taking it away from him. Whoever CaptainSpock77 was, Spencer knew he had to be a student, because he never knocked Spencer off during class. It was always right before school or during sixth period—which he assumed was the bastard’s lunch period—and Spencer was determined that this would be the day he’d vanquish his foe forever.

Still, even with most of his attention focused on glorious conquest, he couldn’t help noting that being able to recognize one of his new students by the sound of their voice six days into the new school year was never a good thing. Spencer once had a dog who’d, according to his parents, gone through three different names before he finally remembered to keep calling him Avery. Personally, he doubted the accuracy of that story, but he’d be the first to admit he was pretty shit at remembering names unless the person in question was a Bringer of Stress.

And, sure enough…

“If I didn’t do the essay, but I still read the story, do I still get credit?”

Spencer stifled his first exasperated sigh of the day. “No, Jamal.” He winced as his commander lost half its health bar. “The whole point of the essay was to show you read the book.”

“But I did read it.”

“And how am I supposed to know that if you didn’t do the essay?”

“You could trust me?”

Spencer didn’t have to look up to know there was a cheeky grin on the kid’s face. He could sense it.

“I could also throw myself in front of a train. Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

A decent number of kids chuckled. “That’s cold, Mr. Kent.” Not as cold as the icy ball of despair that will form in the chest of CaptainSpock77 when I win this battle. “My pops says all this literature stuff is bullshit anyway, and I ain’t never gonna use it in the real world.”

“Language,” Spencer droned. “And your dad’s right. You aren’t ever going to use anything I teach you outside of this class unless you decide to study literature in college. But. You’re still inside my classroom for the rest of the year, and until then, you need to do the work you’re assigned, or you’ll be right back here next year doing the same—son of a bitch!” he finished with a hiss as his commander fainted, and two adorable, blushing anthropomorphic ambulances carried it off on a stretcher.

How the fuck did I lose? I had it!

“Language, Mr. Kent.”

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of first period, and the end of Spencer’s noble crusade to free the school from tyrannical bondage. It took more effort than he’d care to admit to keep from throwing his phone at the wall. Fucking mobile gaming was going to kill him.

What kind of shitty algorithm picks a school as a command center anyway?

Spencer glared up at Jamal. The kid standing in front of his desk was ridiculously tall for a fourteen-year-old, and Spencer was a short man who liked to keep his chair as low to the ground as possible, so some of the intimidation factor was probably lost. Sure enough, there was the cheeky smirk.

“Class,” Spencer called out, not even trying to keep the growl out of his voice. He was pleased to see a few flinches from the more perceptive and easily rattled students. “Be sure to take the time to thank Jamal for the surprise quiz you’re going to be taking today.”

There came a chorus of groans and some scattered “fuck you, Jamal’s” he decided to ignore. Jamal scowled, but Spencer merely raised an eyebrow and pointed at his assigned seat toward the back of the room. “Unless you want a desk closer to me, I suggest you take your seat and get out some paper. I’m thinking this test will take the form of an essay question.” He raised his voice. “Hopefully, the rest of you got some practice writing essays over the weekend.”

His words were met with another louder round of groans. Spencer smiled to himself.

Spreading the misery rarely failed to improve his mood.

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Meet the Author

Dan lives in Ohio (as people do) with his husband and the most adorable little rescue dog ever. His three favorite things are The Empire Strikes Back, winter, and RPGs. His least favorite thing is pizza. Since the age of twelve, it’s been his dream to write something good enough to get published and, after over a decade of unforgivable procrastination, he actually managed to get it done. Thankfully, what he finally ended up writing turned out much better than the Spider-Man and Eminem fan fiction he wrote in sixth grade. His new dream, which will hopefully take less time to achieve, is to own two Netherland Dwarf bunnies named Bunnedict Thumperbatch and Attila the Bun. You can find Dan on Twitter.

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Monday, March 30, 2020

Release Blitz: Hearts of Destiny by Kay Doherty


Title: Hearts of Destiny
Series: Chevalier, Book Four
Author: Kay Doherty
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 30, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 40700{
Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, gay, pack dynamics, feud, wolf shifters, dragon shifters, multispecies shifters, bonded mates

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Synopsis

Ean and Matthias have known they’re mates for a while, but Matthias has been unwilling to claim Ean. He believes his past and age-old secrets are too big for Ean to overcome, so instead keeps Ean away by irritating him.

Depressed and no longer able to be near the dragon-shifter, Ean leaves the pack house and, after a night of heavy drinking, makes a life-changing decision that pushes Matthias into action.

As the blood moon draws nearer, the Chevalier Pack is called before a tribunal of paranormal leaders to assess the Alpha’s rumored mysterious abilities. Matthias decides to share his secrets with a little help from Colby. And to top everything off, they face another attack by the McBane Pack, which the Chevalier decide will be the last.

Excerpt

Hearts of Destiny
Kay Doherty © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
Duray Horde Vault

After adjusting the stack of scrolls tucked beneath his arm, Matthias opened the door to the vaults and headed down the stairs. He had no idea what was contained in the newest additions to the horde library, but Sadie had insisted he take them, look through them, and archive them appropriately. The sheer number of scrolls he was carrying guaranteed weeks of sequestered reading, and he was looking forward to it. Matthias often disappeared for days within the vault stacks, and no one cared. He was moody and antisocial at the best of times and preferred his own company to that of other dragons.

At the back of the library, he dropped the scrolls unceremoniously on top of the desk he’d claimed as his, decades ago. Since no one came down to the vaults, no one had challenged his claim. As far as the horde was concerned, the vaults were Matthias’s domain. The soft thump of little feet echoed in the cavernous space, dulled slightly by the papers and leather-bound tomes that filled the shelving. Matthias knew who those steps belonged to, and his disposition lightened a bit. Sadie’s son had a thirst for knowledge that Matthias admired, even if it did mean his quiet sanctuary was invaded on a regular basis by the child.

“Hi, Matthias.”

“What are you doing down here, Luca?”

The fledgling hefted a book that was nearly a third his size, and Matthias recognized it as an old human-written story about a witch. He wasn’t sure it was an appropriate choice for a fledgling of just eight years to read, but he’d learned early on that Luca was not an ordinary little dragon. There was something special about him: something that reminded Matthias of the child he’d raised centuries before.

“Nothing in that book is factual,” Matthias told the boy.

“That’s good, because the witch ate the kids.” Luca winced before turning around and disappearing into the shelving.

“Don’t make me come behind you and straighten up,” Matthias ordered, his voice carrying through the room despite him not raising it the slightest bit.

Twenty entirely-too-quiet minutes passed before Matthias rose from his chair to go check on Luca. He found the book the boy had brought back exactly where it should be, but Luca wasn’t there. Returning to the main aisle, Matthias glanced down each row as he passed until he finally found Luca sitting on the floor with his back against the stone wall with a book opened across his little legs.

“This isn’t a row you’re allowed to be in,” Matthias said, shocking the little boy who was clearly immersed in what he was reading.

Matthias squatted in front of him, closed the book, and willed the panic he felt explode in his chest to not show on his face as he pulled the book from Luca’s grasp. He stood and placed the tome well above the boy’s head. Luca was entirely too curious for his own good.

“But I liked that story,” Luca complained. “It had a dragon married to a wolf, and I didn’t know that could happen, and I want to see what happens next.”

Matthias swallowed thickly. Luca thought he was reading a fictional story, but Matthias knew all too well that the Chevalier family had been real, and he’d be damned if he put the idea of interspecies matings into the head of the horde matriarch’s son. Pushing the memory of his own interspecies mating to the back of his mind—because what did it matter anymore?—he looked down at the fledgling.

He steered the boy into a more appropriate area of the vaults to be explored and then returned to the tome he’d confiscated. Pulling it off the shelf, Matthias thumbed through page after page of his own historical account of the Chevalier, removed the most informative and thereby damaging chapters, and then replaced it on the shelf. Luca was only going to get older, taller, and more curious with age. Matthias wouldn’t risk him finding the book again.

Later that night, after darkness had fallen and the compound had grown silent with slumber, Matthias burned one of the last firsthand accounts of the Chevalier—his own. Why he’d thought it was a good idea to put that horror down on paper, he’d never understand. Youthful folly. All that was left to do was locate and obtain Alietta’s journal, the final remaining written history of the family and subsequent events Matthias had yet to destroy. For now, he was content knowing the only memory of the Chevalier that existed in the Duray Horde was now locked safely away inside his head; a place no amount of childhood curiosity could penetrate.

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Meet the Author

Kay Doherty is an omnisexual/polysexual who lives in Colorado with her poly-family, Mike, Keri, and Tigz. Her house is overrun with cats and dogs. Family is important to her so there are daily texts, frequent visits to her parents, and constant banter with her brothers. She happily suffers a severe addiction to coffee and Mexican food. She loves to read and write and can easily become consumed by it for hours, much to the dismay of Mike and Keri (Tigz is an enabler). On occasion she can be convinced to venture out into the world of the living despite being annoyed by the sun shining in her face.

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Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Release Blitz: Blue Umbrella Sky by Rick R. Reed


Title: Blue Umbrella Sky
Author: Rick R. Reed
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 23, 2020
Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 63200
Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, grief, Alzheimer’s Disease, alcoholism recovery, over 40, age gap, Southern California, second chances

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Synopsis

Milt Grabaur has left his life, home, and teaching career in Ohio to start anew. The Summer Winds trailer park in Palm Springs, butted up against the San Jacinto mountain range, seems the perfect place to forget the pain of nursing his beloved husband through Alzheimer’s and seeing him off on his final passage.

Billy Blue is a sexy California surfer type who once dreamed of being a singer but now works at Trader Joe’s and lives in his own trailer at Summer Winds. He’s focused on recovery from the alcoholism that put his dreams on hold.

When his new neighbor moves in, Billy falls for the gray-eyed man. His sadness and loneliness awaken something Billy’s never felt before—real love.

When a summer storm and flash flood jeopardize Milt’s home, Billy comes to the rescue, hoping the two men might get better acquainted…and maybe begin a new romance.

But Milt’s devotion to his late husband is strong, and he worries that acting on his attraction will be a betrayal.

Excerpt

Blue Umbrella Sky
Rick R. Reed © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Milt Grabaur stared out the window of his trailer, wondering how much worse it could get.

The deluge poured down, gray, almost obscuring his neighbors’ homes and the barren desert landscape beyond. The rain hammered on his metal roof, sounding like automatic gunfire. Milt shivered a little, thinking of that old song, “It Never Rains in Southern California.”

He leaned closer to the picture window, pressing his hand against the glass and whispering to himself, “But it pours.”

That window had given him his daily view for the last six months, ever since he’d packed up a life’s worth of belongings and made his way south and west to Palm Springs and the Summer Winds Mobile Home Community. This same picture window, almost every single day, had shown him only endless blue skies and sunshine. An errant cloud or a jet contrail would occasionally break up the field of electric blue, but other than that, it was azure perfection. Milt reveled in it. He’d begun to think these expanses of blue, lit up by golden illumination, would never cease.

Until today.

At about three o’clock, that blue sky, for the first time, was overcome with gray, a foreboding mass of bruised clouds. Milt wondered, because of his experience in the desert so far, if the clouds would be only that—foreboding. The magical gods of the Coachella Valley would, of course, sweep away those frowning and depressing masses of imminent precipitation with a wave of their enchanted hands.

Surely.

But the sky continued to darken, seemingly unaware of Milt’s fanciful imagining and yearnings. At last the once-blue dome above him became almost like night in midafternoon and the first heavy drops—fat beads of water—began to fall, first a slow sprinkle, where Milt could count the seconds between drops, then faster and faster, until the raindrops combined into one single and, Milt had to admit, terrifying roar.

And then an unfamiliar sound—the drumroll and cymbal crash of thunder. The sky, moments after, lit up with brilliant white light.

The rain fell in earnest. Torrents of the stuff.

The other trailers, his neighbors, nearly vanished in the relentless gray downpour. The wind howled, sending the rain capriciously sideways every few seconds. The palm trees in his front yard swayed and bent with the ruthless gusts, testimony to their strength, despite their appearance of being stalklike and weak. The wind tore dry husks of bark from them.

At first Milt was unconcerned, thinking the rain could only do good. It would bless the parched succulents, cacti, and palms that dotted the rocky, sandy landscape of the park, maybe even bring them to colorful life, forcing a brilliant desert flower, here and there, to bloom. His decade-old Honda Civic, parked next to the trailer, would get a wash, the thick layer of sand and dust chased away, almost pressure-cleaned.

For the half a year he’d been here, Milt had been amazed at how clean everything could look when, in actuality, anything outdoors was quickly covered in a veneer of fine sand, almost like gritty dust. Milt was forever wiping off his patio furniture, cleaning the glass surfaces of his car. But this minor inconvenience was more than outweighed by the stunning and almost surreal appearance of the Coachella Valley and the desert, a wild beauty which far surpassed anything even an optimistic Milt had dreamed of when he had made up his mind, somewhat suddenly, to shed his old life in Ohio and move out to Southern California.

He stared out at the gusts of wind, the flashes of lightning, and the almost-blinding downpour and realized he had no idea it could be like this. The trailer park was smack up against the San Jacinto mountain range, and Milt realized with horror that not only would the little park suffer from the copious water falling from the sky, but it would also be the beneficiary, like it or not, of runoff as it came hurtling down the mountain face.

As if to confirm his notion, Milt gasped as he noticed the street in front of his trailer.

It was no longer a street.

Not really.

No, now it was a creek. A creek notable for its rushing rapids. Water was speeding by at an unprecedented pace. Milt sucked in some air as he saw a lawn chair go by, buoyed up by the current. Then a plastic end table. An inflatable pool toy—a swan—that Milt supposed was in the right place at the right time. But the damp throw pillows whizzing by, like soggy oyster crackers in soup, were not.

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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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Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Release Blitz: Playing House by Suzanne Clay


Title: Playing House
Series: Rough Play, Book Two
Author: Suzanne Clay
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 23, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage
Length: 80500
Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, college, new adult, bisexual, trans, queer, coming-of-age, ethical nonmonogamy, polyamory, threesome, homophobia, family issues, theater/acting, sex toys, dirty talk

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Synopsis

After six months deeply in love with each other, childhood best friends Logan and Christian are excited for their first summer away from home. With one year of college under their belts, they’re ready to grow up and see what the rest of their lives will be like together by strengthening their relationship over the next few months. But fate has never followed their neat plans.

Christian receives an opportunity to pursue one of his greatest unfulfilled passions: acting. It’s a chance to explore a talent his parents crushed before he could dream of spending his life studying it—but is he up to the challenge? Is it worth taking the risk, knowing his family won’t support him?

Logan struggles with his attachment to Christian and his fears of being left behind. If Christian’s career on the stage takes off, will he abandon Logan and replace him with far better lovers? And how can Logan be so hypocritical when another man has caught his eye? Or has that man perhaps captured Christian’s attention as well?

Their relationship will be tested far beyond their imagination—but love always has room to grow, even in the face of fear.

Excerpt

Excerpt
Playing House
Suzanne Clay © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Logan’s muscles ached like hell. It probably had something to do with the mountain of opened boxes sitting in the corner of the small bedroom. With the massive bed taking up the lion’s share of the sunshine-lit room, his empty moving boxes cluttered up the rest. Everything still wasn’t in its place, but he couldn’t be mad about it right now. This was home for the summer—away from Fulton State University.

Words couldn’t express how grateful he was not to be going back to the little town of Greenbarrow. God knew he’d have finer company here than there with his family.

The sound of footsteps crumpling plastic bags on the floor behind Logan made him speak. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Don’t need to change when you’re perfect.” Christian’s familiar drawl had the same effect on Logan that it always did: a slow series of tingles drifted down his spine. “Don’t be roasting me on how I pack shit.”

“You make it so easy.” Logan turned around and pointed at the equally messy pile of empty bags. “That. Look at that. I’ll buy you suitcases, duffel bags, anything you want—just stop putting everything in a goddamn trash bag.”

Christian slung an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “How much does it cost to get you to stop running your mouth?”

Difficult to think of a price, really, when goose bumps were still skittering over his arms. He turned his head and found Christian’s mouth less than an inch away. “…half an hour of making out.”

“Done.”

With a solid shove to his back, Logan landed facedown on the bed, then grunted when Christian’s weight crashed down on him. Instincts kicked in—he dug his elbow into Christian’s side and shoved him away, then rolled away to get a better position for wrestling.

Six months of dating, and they still acted like they had every day of their thirteen years of friendship. It wasn’t an easy habit to break. For every kiss they shared, there was Christian pinning Logan down until he said uncle and swore he’d do the dishes that night. Each evening they snuggled in one of the tiny bunk beds in their dorm, and they couldn’t keep from shit-talking each other until their eyelids were heavy.

Weirdly, Logan thought being out of college for the summer would make their relationship a little more like a movie—soft, sweet, and romantic—but as he lunged for Christian and pinned an arm to his chest, he realized things might never change. And he was okay with that.

“I said making out,” Logan gritted out as he batted one of Christian’s massive hands away before it could grab his hair. “Not me kicking your ass again.”

Christian laughed breathlessly. He snagged the back of Logan’s neck. “This is just foreplay, baby, don’t be silly.”

Baby. He still wasn’t used to that either. The air caught in Logan’s chest long enough for Christian to put him on his back. With the sight of his stunning boyfriend rising above him, all dark skin and dangerous eyes and smirking lips, he didn’t much feel like fighting anymore.

Whatever energy was overflowing in Christian seemed to dissipate. He trailed the back of his fingers down Logan’s cheek, leaving a path of fire behind them. One finger snagged in the neckline of Logan’s T-shirt as Christian bit his bottom lip and sighed.

The mood changed fast with Christian, and Logan never knew how to keep up. Not even after all this time. All he could do was watch him with a sense of wonder and see what he was going to do.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab some food now that we’re done unpacking,” Christian murmured. He tugged at Logan’s shirt, and the hook in his belly yanked even harder. “Now I’m pretty sure I wanna eat you.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “You know you don’t gotta ask.”

Christian crashed down, their lips smashing together painfully, as he dug his fingers into Logan’s thick curls. As he shoved Logan back on the mattress to try to get better leverage, something fell to the floor, and Christian lifted his head with a huff. “The fuck is that? Are you already breaking shit?”

“Me?” Logan shoved him with a laugh, then rolled over to reach for the fallen binder. “C’mon, this is gonna make you feel old as fuck. You ready?”

“Aw, hell.” Christian lay on his side, head supported by his hand. “What’s this?”

Logan opened the binder. Inside were a few memories that he wouldn’t have shown anybody else for love or money—but Christian was different. He was the man he loved. And these little treasures included him too.

“Oh my God.” When Logan held a photograph toward Christian, he took it with another rough chuckle. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“So cute,” Logan teased, and Christian elbowed him.

It was an old, battered photo of Christian as a child in his first-ever church play. Some girl was trying to pull off her shoe in the background, and a boy was going completely off-script and pushing someone off the stage, but Christian stood very seriously at the front of the stage as he delivered some poorly written line or another.

“Jesus Christ,” Christian breathed, shaking his head, and Logan threw an arm around his waist with a grin, snuggling closer to see better. Christian scoffed. “Damn. Probably a good thing I never went after that shit. I look stupid.”

“You’re a kid. You all looked stupid.” Logan left a messy kiss on his cheek.

“Funny.” Christian set the photo aside, then pulled something out from the other sleeve of the binder. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s…” Logan reached to take it away, but Christian was sitting up out of reach. “Hey, c’mon—”

“Ooh, I remember now! Baby’s first monologue!”

Logan made another dive, driving Christian to his feet. “Don’t! It’s awful, man, give it.”

“Not a chance in hell!” Christian turned his back to him and began to recite. “Family. Is there any deeper hell than family? Is there—”

Logan couldn’t listen to a word. With strength he hadn’t used since they’d started dating, he practically crawled up Christian’s shoulders and snatched the paper away with such force that he ripped it free from the fingerhold of paper Christian had. “No, we’re throwing this shit away right now.” The mere memory of how enthralled he’d been by Christian performing it when they were teenagers was embarrassing.

“Hey, hey.” Christian grabbed Logan’s shoulders, but when he didn’t reach for the paper again, Logan stayed still, tension in his chest. “Just ’cuz we were young and awful when we did that shit don’t mean we shouldn’t keep it. Remember where we came from. You know?”

Logan scoffed an unamused laugh. Yeah, great to keep it around when we’re never gonna get to follow those dreams again. Right.

“Logan?”

“Just put it away, man.” He offered the paper over his shoulder, then turned his head to watch and make sure Christian did as he asked instead of being an asshole.

The knock on the door drew Logan’s attention back to the present. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me!”

“Just Noah,” Christian said absently. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

“Shut up.” Logan laughed, but moved to open the door.

“Hey!” Noah grinned up at him, flushed from his own exertions of unpacking. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve got cookies!”

“Cookies?”

“Yep! From Daiki.” Noah gestured behind him, and Logan leaned until he could see a bouquet of sweets set up on the tiny, scratched dining room table. “He sent a note too. He says he wishes he could be here.”

The bed creaked behind Logan as Christian spoke. “You’re actually sharing your boyfriend’s cookies with both of us? Now, that’s friendship.”

Noah chuckled. “It’s not that big a sacrifice—I can’t eat that many anyway.” He blinked. “I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?”

“Nah,” Christian drawled. “We were having a walk down memory lane. Then I thought I’d maybe fuck Logan’s brains out. The usual.”

Logan turned his head, cheeks flaming. “Shut up!”

“Just saying.” Christian shrugged.

“Oh! Uh. Right. Right.” Noah stepped back into the hallway, his hands raised. “You know what? I think I’m going to run to the grocery store, so, uh, if you guys need anything, just text me, I’ll pick it up, no problem…” He was still talking as he grabbed his keys and walked straight out the front door.

Christian immediately burst out laughing, grabbing his bare stomach. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“Oh, you don’t think he’s entitled? Are you just gonna announce every time you wanna fuck me?” Logan shut the door and went for his belt with a roll of his eyes. Christian might be obnoxious sometimes, but it didn’t stop the fact that his gut was stirred up, eager for a distraction from the binder Christian had tossed to the floor.

The look Christian gave him—dripping with heat and invitation—scalded Logan’s skin. Christian licked his lips, his gaze drifting down, down, down, until it rested on Logan’s hands. “Well, it’s just damn polite, ain’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. You want him to be surprised when he sits there and hears us fuck every time?”

That was a bizarre thought, one that made Logan snort and roll his eyes and completely ignore the lift of carbonated bubbles in his chest, around his heart. No, instead of thinking about it, Logan kicked his pants off and crawled on top of Christian and got caught up in how goddamn lucky he was. He’d spent months thinking he’d never get to have this, but here they were, safe in their own bedroom, with a bed they could sleep in side by side and a roommate who wasn’t going to throw a fit if they made love to each other in the middle of a weekend afternoon. As far as Logan was concerned, there was nothing ahead of them but hope and light.

He was lucky—too lucky—and he refused to think about what might happen if that luck ever ran out.

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Meet the Author

Suzanne is an asexual woman with a great love for writing erotica and enjoys spending her time confusing people with that fact. She believes there is a need for heightened diversity in erotic fiction and strives to write enough stories so that everyone can see themselves mirrored in a protagonist. She lives with her husband and cat, and, when not writing, Suzanne enjoys reading, playing video games poorly, and refusing to interact outdoors with other human beings.

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Monday, March 23, 2020

Release Blitz: Russ Morgan, PI by Lloyd A Meeker


Title: Russ Morgan, PI
Author: Lloyd A. Meeker
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 23, 2020
Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 68650
Genre: Contemporary Mystery, LGBTQIA+, Mystery, supernatural, murder, religion, recovering alcoholic, age gap

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Synopsis

Private Investigator Russ Morgan solves cases, using more than his wits.

Enigma
Who’s blackmailing the high-profile televangelist whose son was miraculously cured of his homosexuality many years ago? Threatening letters using old Enigma songs from the 90’s have got Reverend Howard Richardson spooked. Psychic Denver PI Russ Morgan uncovers obscene secrets shrouded in seeming righteousness, but must make peace with a sword of justice that cuts the innocent as well as the guilty.

Blood & Dirt
When Russ Morgan investigates a vandalized marijuana grow in Mesa County, he lands in the middle of a family feud that escalates into murder. Who is willing to go that far to get what they want? Russ’s personal life is escalating, too—he has to figure out if he’s brave enough to begin a relationship with Colin Stewart, who is half his age.

Excerpt

Russ Morgan, PI
Lloyd A. Meeker © 2020
All Rights Reserved

The little man in the expensive suit sneered as if I should have known what brand he wore and wilted before its awesome power. Armani? Versace? Burberry? I had no idea, and it didn’t matter to me that I wasn’t current on suits likely to cost more than my monthly mortgage.

His sneer had come from a designer collection, too. Men more generous than I am might have imagined he’d meant his lip movement as a smile that had come out deformed, but every time his lip curled, his aura came up spiky and dark. No, it was a sneer.

He was not happy to be in my office. In fact, he’d walked in carrying some kind of grudge. Since I’d never met him before, I figured his issue wasn’t mine to fix until he shared. I let him stew.

He leaned forward and snapped his business card on the middle of my desk like it was an ace of trump. “My client wants you to find his son’s blackmailer.”

I picked up the business card and studied it, although I already knew what it said. Andrew Kommen, Managing Partner, Stelnach, Kommen and Breyer. On the phone, his assistant had spoken the name with outright reverence, expecting I’d be awed or at the very least grateful for this visitation.

I pulled one of my own cards from the desk drawer. It said Rhys (Russ) Morgan, Investigations and listed my license number, address, and phone number below my name in a perfectly professional manner. Granted, it wasn’t embossed on the same quality stock as Mr. Kommen’s, but I offered it to him anyway, the second half of the business card minuet. When he smiled, thin lipped, and didn’t take it, I smiled back and placed it gently on the desk in front of him.

He gazed at it for a second, just long enough to let me know touching it was beneath him. I had to hand it to him—his sense of nuance and timing was impeccable. I tried to imagine him doing stand-up comedy. It didn’t work.

According to reputation, Andrew Kommen’s firm had enough money to hire every detective in the city for a whole year and still never think of cutting back on the Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee beans in the general staff room. But here was the managing partner, sitting opposite me in my modest too-close-to-Colfax-Avenue office, slumming.

“I’m a little surprised you’ve come to me,” I said. “We don’t usually travel in the same circles.”

“Believe me, you were not my first choice.”

He didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. That made us even. “Who’s your client?”

“Until you sign this nondisclosure agreement, there will be no names.” He lifted an attaché case too sleek to be made anywhere but Italy onto the desk and popped it open. Out came two documents, which he pushed across to me.

I read far enough to learn they would ruin me if I breathed a word about this case to anyone but an authorized representative of the firm or its client. Recovery of fees, punitive damages, etc., etc. I stopped before getting to the paragraph stipulating grievous bodily harm if I divulged any information, but I’m sure it was in there somewhere.

I looked up. “You guys play hardball.”

“I’m so glad that registered with you. It would be unfortunate for you if that were to slip your mind. Ever.” He smiled again, this time showing teeth. “On the other hand, we will pay you well for your services. Very, very well.”

“There are limits to what I can keep confidential with the police, for example. I won’t violate those.”

“Of course.” Kommen shrugged, a tiny gesture dismissing a tiny concern. “You will receive no harassment from the police in this matter, I can assure you.”

That smelled bad. I shifted my focus to check his aura. Calm and probably quite clear for him. At the very least, he believed what he was saying to be true. I watched him for more clues but didn’t see any.

Could he and his firm work their connections with the police to deliver on that promise? If so, did I really want to do business with a lawyer who could pull strings like that? I wasn’t eager. I gave him another chance to change his mind. “Surely your firm could do better than hiring me for what is obviously a very sensitive case involving very sensitive people.”

“Yes.”

I had rarely heard that word so carefully filled with insult yet so calmly delivered. It was the perfect smackdown. I couldn’t help smiling in admiration. “Nice. But?”

“You’re a known homosexual, with knowledge of homosexual activists.” This time the disapproval was front and center. “We believe vengeful homosexuals are behind this attack on my client and his family. This matter requires extensive knowledge of your…subculture.”

Got it. Sub, as in lower than. I struggled not to laugh. “I see.” I imagined several generic scenarios, all involving the gay son of some prominent figure. I already knew whose side I was on. I reached for the nondisclosure agreement.

“Well, I think I’d like to help your client’s son.”

“He’s not the one who’s important,” Kommen snapped. “Your job is to help my client. The rest of the family’s affairs are none of your business.”

I studied the man across from me with a sudden twinge of pity. He looked even smaller now—pinched and dried out. Mean and empty.

“I think we both know you may not be able to control the scope of the investigation like that, so please don’t pretend.” I signed both copies, and he signed for his firm and his mysterious client.

Then he pulled out the letter of engagement, check attached. “Your base salary will be $7,000 a week plus expenses for which you will provide receipts. My client wants this matter finished expeditiously. If you solve the case within four weeks of engagement, you will receive a $25,000 bonus. Payment in the method of your choice.”

My pride thought he put just a little too much emphasis on the if. “Before I sign anything else, you need to brief me on the nature of the assignment. Otherwise, we’re finished already.”

He stared at me for a minute. I stared back, prepared to wait him out. He was in my office, after all, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t enjoy slumming with known homosexuals who might even know a vengeful activist or two. Me, I was perfectly comfortable. I often dealt with jerks.

“Your client will be Stelnach, Kommen and Breyer, Mr. Morgan. Our client,” he said as if giving me far more than I deserved, “is Reverend Howard Richardson. It is likely you will never meet him or speak with him. All your communication concerning this matter will be directly with me. Under no circumstance are you to initiate contact with Reverend Richardson or any of his family. Is that clear?”

I nodded. I appreciated that Richardson would want to keep as far as possible from an investigation of blackmail against his gay son. At least, I assumed his son was gay. Even before Proposition 2, Richardson had been a powerful figure in every anti-gay political pushback in Colorado as well as nationally.

Oh, the irony. A high-profile family values advocate with the very abomination he sought to eradicate lurking in his own household.

“And he wants to keep his family aberration a secret?”

“Oh, no.” Kommen looked way too pleased at my wrong guess, as if it confirmed my inadequacy. “He made no secret of his son’s illness.”

He leaned forward, apparently to drive home the point. “In 1993, when James first admitted to his father that he was afflicted with homosexual desires, the Reverend enrolled James in a therapeutic program. He hid nothing from anyone. Indeed, he called to his congregation to pray for his son’s victory over darkness.”

My stomach lurched. Reparative therapy. The devil’s work if ever there was a devil. I kept my face neutral. “And how old was James then?”

“Seventeen. Committing him to the rescue program was perfectly legal.”

“I have no doubt.” I stuffed my nausea, deciding I wanted more than ever to help James to recover from his father’s abuse, although I didn’t know if I had the skills for that. I could read auras, but I’d never tried to heal them. “So what then?”

“He was transformed. His father declared it a miracle. James joined his father in ministry, although not in a political way. He now supervises a number of successful educational and outreach programs for the church as well as the publishing operation.”

The story was way too tidy. “Let me guess. James married, and they’ve got two children.”

“Three.” Kommen’s smirk made his whole face quiver. “They’re very happy.”

“But it’s not all harmony and light in paradise, is it?” I wasn’t asking a question.

“About two months ago, threatening letters from someone calling himself Enigma began showing up. In very disturbing ways.”

I wanted to make sure I understood. “You’re saying that the way the letters arrived was disturbing, in addition to their threatening content?”

Kommen shook his head. “First, the letter of engagement,” he said pointing to the paper on my desk. I signed. He signed. He put his copy in his attaché case and snapped the latches.

“The Enigma letters are in our keeping. Come to our offices tomorrow at nine, and you can examine them. You may make copies, but the originals remain in our custody.”

Kommen stood, and I followed suit. I offered my hand, which he shook for less than a second. I retrieved my spurned business card from the desktop and watched him leave. The documents from my new best friend went in the safe, and I stared out the window at Pearl Street, taking my time to decide where to have lunch. I like taking my time with important decisions. At fifty, I figure I’ve earned the right.

Purchase

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Meet the Author

I’m a mystic, writer, healer, lover, cancer survivor, father, friend. I write (mostly) gay fiction featuring all those paths and more.

Having led what can only be described as a checkered life, I can honestly say I’m grateful for all of it. I’ve been a minister, an office worker, a janitor, a drinker, and a software developer on my way to finishing my first novel in 2004.

But basically I’m just a psychic empath, a little weather-beaten and still learning how to live in the world just the way it is. The thing is, I experience the world as so much more than is generally accepted. That’s the challenge. Writing stories is the best way I’ve found to examine and share the questions, the wonders I engage daily.

My husband and I have been together since 2002, married since 2007. Between us we have four children and five grandchildren. We’re based in south Florida, and work hard to keep up with the astonishing life we’ve created for ourselves.

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Sunday, March 22, 2020

Shade Addiction: A Dark Erotic Romance by Lea Bronsen




Ex-boxer Mike Logan struggles to put a brutal past behind and make ends meet as a bus driver. When a young runaway settles for an all-night ride, he seizes the chance to do a good deed—get her home safely. But first, they’ll drive around and talk.

What he doesn’t anticipate is that this broken night angel is also a sexy little minx needing a lot more…and not just the gentle kind.


**This is an expanded edition of the story previously featured in the anthology Passion, Pleasure, Pain in 2019**

#Dark #Erotic #Romance



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Excerpt


She gives me a long, languorous look. I think I know what it means: She’s interested by my wild side. Dark attracts dark. She believes she’s found the same kind of fallen angel as she is, a soul mate.

Wrong, kiddo. What you need is someone good, not broken like me.

She reaches over the table to pat my chest. “So hard. Jesus. You definitely work out.”

Her touch sends electric sparks to my groin. My cock pulses. I push her hand away. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“Why?”

I sigh. “I’m thirty-two, you’re what?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen, that’s very young. I could easily be accused of taking advantage of you. Did you see how the waitress treated me?”

She crosses her arms underneath her boobs. “But I’m an adult, and I have boyfriends.”

“You have boyfriends.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, many?”

“Yeah.” She holds my gaze.

I don’t know why I had to make a deal of that.

She continues, “So, it’s not like I’d let anybody touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

“Well, I don’t want you to touch me. Let’s go.”



About the author




Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After a deep dive on the unforgiving world of gangsters with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between romantic suspenses, dark erotic romances, and crime thrillers.

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Saturday, March 21, 2020

White Oak/Black Mahogany (duet) by Emily Carrington

White Oak/Black Mahogany Duet (Heartwood 1)






Can love be shield, sword, and healing balm for this troubled couple?

White Oak: When Mike, a sheltered nineteen year old, is hired to assist a blind high school senior, he isn’t prepared for his attraction to Aidan, or the residual fear caused by being back at the high school. The man who tormented Mike and made him ashamed of being himself will stop at nothing, including murder, to ensure Mike’s silence.
Black Mahogany: When the man who molested Aidan’s lover escapes a pedophile charge, Aidan will stop at nothing to keep Mike safe. But Mike can’t imagine leaving the town he’s lived in all his life. If they can’t find a way through this impasse, their fledgling relationship will die before it can grow deep enough roots.


EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Emily Carrington
Excerpt from White Oak
Mike gulped at his third cup of coffee. He fidgeted with the folder that held his résumé. “They’re paying nineteen thousand for the entire school year.”
His mother, over at the sink, asked, “Are you going to tell us what this interview’s for finally, Mr. I Don’t Want To Jinx It?”
“An aide position at Marisburg High.” He grabbed his cup again as another yawn threatened. God, but he needed to get more sleep.
His mother stalked to the table and grabbed both his cup and the nearly empty carafe from its place in the middle of the table. “Your hands are already shaking. You don’t need any more of this.”
Mike scratched at the narrow space between his neck and the collar of his dress shirt. He adjusted his tie. “I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you go in there looking like a tweaker, no one will take you seriously.”
“A what?” Mike laughed. “Where’d you hear that word? They’re not called tweakers anymore. That must be a word you used back in the sixties.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Were you a tweaker, Mom?”
“Getting back to this teaching position…”
“What?” his father grunted from the depths of the mudroom. “You’re not qualified for that, are you, Mike? You’ve only been at the community college for the summer, and you’re taking different language classes, not how-to-teach classes.”
“Foreign language classes, John,” Mike’s mother murmured.
The older Delaney laughed. “Listen to the woman, would you? She takes one college course herself, and now she’s the professor.” He clomped two steps into the kitchen, took off his hat, and bowed to his wife. “Thank you, Molly. I appreciate the correction.” Then he turned his attention back to Mike. “Well?”
“I’d be assisting a blind student with his class work.” His jittery fingers danced on the table, and he worked to pass it off as impatient tapping on the cover of a second copy of his résumé. “My interview’s in half an hour.”
“So get going,” his father said. “You planned to take night classes this semester anyway. Make the most of this opportunity.”
Mike got up, clutching the folder. Maybe I can take a nap when I get home. He rushed out the door. Assuming I can sleep.

About Emily Carrington

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.






Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Release Blitz: Ge-Mi --Part One by Mell Eight


Title: Ge-Mi: Part One
Author: Mell Eight
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 16, 2020
Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 33900
Genre: paranormal fantasy, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, opposites attract, genetically modified humans, law enforcement, restaurant server, men with pets, cat rescue

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Synopsis

A hundred years ago, evil scientists spliced human genes with those of animals, creating a genetic mutation passed on through the generations. Hated because of their differences, these Ge-Mis live on the fringes of society where they scrounge and scrape to get by.

Nevada is half Ge-Mi and hides that fact behind baggy clothes and by keeping distance between himself and everyone around him. One day, his peaceful life is shattered by an explosion and the arrival of a pack of wolves to sniff out the culprit.

Wolves have excellent noses and as Alpha, Taylor can sniff out every one of Nevada’s secrets—and the harder Nevada tries to resist, the more difficult staying away from Taylor becomes.

Excerpt

Ge-Mi: Part One
Mell Eight © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
In the waiting room, people milled about restlessly. There weren’t any chairs provided for the supplicants, nor for the onlookers who were only there to enjoy the show. Handing over a bribe wasn’t supposed to be a comfortable experience, after all.

Nevada stood in a corner, the backpack containing the only thing he had that would suit as a bribe clutched carefully in his arms. Rosto stood next to Nevada, one shoulder pressed indolently against the wall. He was older than Nevada by at least twenty years, his hair grayed at the temples, but his back still strong and unbent. Rosto had done this before—brought a supplicant with his bribe—and he had a personal connection with the lord of the city. Rosto wasn’t worried, but Nevada was.

It had only been six months since Mom had died. They hadn’t had the money or the resources to get her proper health care, and her cold had turned deadly far too quickly for Nevada’s three part-time jobs to pay for a doctor’s bill. It wasn’t just that the doctor was expensive, but payoff money for his silence was too much. Nevada would have risked it for Mom’s sake, but Mom had put her shaking and weak foot down and the matter was settled.

After that, Nevada hadn’t been able to stay in that house or city. The hiding was a fact of life, but he hoped the melancholy could be alleviated with a new home and a new start. Nevada had arrived in Kensey three days ago and found an apartment whose owner didn’t mind pets. The down payment had sapped the last of his hastily scraped-together funds, so Nevada had gone job hunting.

Rosto’s café was quaint and in need of a full-time waiter. The pay was decent and the hours reasonable. But in Kensey, things worked differently than Nevada’s old home. The lord in Kensey wanted a direct bribe from every citizen; the previous lord didn’t pay any mind to peons like Nevada. Had Nevada known he had to meet with the lord directly and provide a bribe that, if accepted, was his ticket to having any sort of life in Kensey, he might have chosen to settle in a different city with a different lord.

The room fell silent quickly, almost suddenly, as a side door opened. The man who stepped into the room first was clearly a guard. He was wearing a light layer of armor, the bluish metal vibrant against his dark skin, and a large laser gun at his hip. His hard eyes surveyed the room once before he stepped aside. The second man who walked into the room looked like he was Rosto’s age, somewhere in his late fifties. His blond hair disguised whatever gray may have been present, but the crow’s feet around his blue eyes revealed his true age.

“Where is Taylor?” the lord asked his guard. They both walked to the front of the room where a very large desk built of thick, dark wood was positioned. It was intimidating, but that was probably the point.

“Off with his wolves,” the guard replied stiffly.

“That boy,” the lord grumbled. “All right, let’s get started.”

A third man stepped forward from where he had been standing off to the side of the desk. He was holding a datapad from which he read out the first name.

A woman and her two young children approached the foot of the desk. She needed help finding her layabout husband. He owed her back wages for childcare, and she wanted him to pay up. Her bribe was a gold necklace with a ruby in the center, which would have paid for the childcare handsomely.

“She’s after revenge,” Rosto explained under his breath. “Her husband was a cheat, and she wants what’s rightfully owed to her because she knows he’ll suffer for it. Lord Reyes prefers supplicants ask for something meaningful, instead of straight out asking for something purely selfish. He’s a good man.”

Nevada hoped so because he didn’t have anything nearly as nice as a ruby necklace in his bag.

For the next half hour, he watched as fancy watches, jewelry, and other expensive items were offered to Lord Reyes in return for favors. Some of them Lord Reyes agreed to, like the woman looking for childcare money, but others he denied. He didn’t return the bribes either way.

“Rosto Gregorio,” the steward called.

“That’s us,” Rosto grunted as he pushed off the wall. He strode forward, unconcerned, and Nevada hurried to follow.

They reached the desk and stopped a few feet away. Rosto bowed, and Nevada copied him a beat too late.

“How’s the café?” Lord Reyes asked, a smile on his face. It was the first smile Nevada had seen from him. He apparently was interested in what Rosto had to say.

“We’re expanding the kitchen at the moment,” Rosto immediately began to explain. “Putting in four ovens so we can sell fresh-baked goods as well. We’re also adding outside tables for the summer, which means I need additional waitstaff. I’m looking to hire Nevada here.”

Lord Reyes turned his attention to Nevada, and Nevada fought not to squirm. He needed the job, which meant Lord Reyes had to like him.

“New to the area, too, I believe,” Lord Reyes said. “Has all the appropriate paperwork been filed?”

“As of last night,” Rosto replied. “All it needs is your seal of approval.”

Lord Reyes nodded. “You’ll have to come over for dinner and tell me about your renovations,” he said to Rosto. His attention switched back to Nevada. “What have you brought to entice me to allow you to live and work in my city?”

Nevada gulped and reached into his bag. He knew what he looked like. He had a ragged bandana tied tightly over his head, his long-sleeve shirt was threadbare and unraveling at the cuffs, and his loose jeans had a darned hole in one knee. The clothes were baggy, too, but Nevada had to hide a pair of cat ears and a tail beneath his outfit. He looked poor, but hopefully that meant Lord Reyes wouldn’t look any deeper at what Nevada was hiding. Hopefully, it also meant he wasn’t expecting anything extravagant as Nevada’s bribe.

Nevada pulled the fluffiest, whitest cat he had ever fostered out of the bag and gently placed her on the desk.

“This is Princess Pea. She likes big houses and lots of attention. She’s also very particular about what blankets she sleeps on. I thought you might like to have her company.”

The waiting room had gone silent. It was even quieter than when Lord Reyes had first walked into the room. Yes, it wasn’t a ruby necklace, but surely a beautiful cat wasn’t so bad. Nevada fought to keep from turning to look around the room.

Lord Reyes’s eyes had frozen in a hard glare. “Is this a joke?” he snapped.

Nevada bit his lip, wondering how to answer that. Maybe live animals weren’t acceptable as a bribe? Before he could formulate an answer, Princess Pea took over. She sauntered across the desk toward Lord Reyes and hopped down into his lap where she promptly began to purr furiously. One of Lord Reyes’s hands involuntarily drifted to his lap where he began to pet her soft fur.

“Fine,” Lord Reyes snapped. “Six months’ probation. Rosto will come report to me then, and I’ll decide whether to accept you in my city. I’ll even make sure Princess here isn’t eaten,” he added cryptically.

Rosto bowed, one of his hands pushing on Nevada’s shoulder to force Nevada to bow also. Then that hand pushed Nevada toward the door.

“I can’t believe you got away with that!” Rosto breathed once they were out of the waiting room and headed toward the building exit.

“Got away with what?” Nevada asked, glad to be away from Lord Reyes.

Rosto laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “You gave Lord Reyes a cat. That’s practically the ultimate insult.”

“Oh,” Nevada mumbled, feeling his shoulders droop. He had six months, at least, which was enough time to save up before he had to move to another new city.

“Where did you find that cat anyway?” Rosto asked as they reached the main doors and headed out into the parking lot.

“I find cats everywhere,” Nevada replied with a shrug. “I have a beautiful tortoiseshell looking for a new home, if you’re interested.”

Rosto unlocked the car without answering. Nevada got in and buckled his seat belt. The engine whirred to life, and the hydraulics bounced them gently into the air. The car flew toward the city down the hill, Rosto guiding them along in silence. They stopped a few minutes later outside Nevada’s apartment building.

“No more cats where Lord Reyes is concerned, okay?” Rosto said. The car idled in the air for a few seconds as the hydraulics engaged and the car drifted to the ground. “You start on Monday, 9:00 a.m. sharp.”

Nevada got out of the car and stepped onto the curb. Rosto waved goodbye before sending the car streaking upward again.

Purchase

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

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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Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Release Blitz: From the Dark We Came by J. Emery


Title: From the Dark We Came
Series: Pointy Ears & Pointy Teeth, Book One
Author: J. Emery
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: March 16, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 50600
Genre: Paranormal, NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, Paranormal, fantasy, other-world, action/adventure, bisexual, cisgender, asexual, demisexual, vampire, vampire hunter, fae, magic/sorcery, dark, humorous, revenge

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Synopsis

Belar has made lying into an art form. His neighbors know him as a mild mannered music teacher, but to his fellow monster hunters he’s a senior agent with one of the best track records in the organization. Werewolves, malignant spirits, and other oddities—you name it, he can track it. And kill it if necessary.

But when a vampire shows up in Belar’s parlor, his two worlds crash into each other. The vampire is named Cassian, and if he had any sense of decency he would be dead since Belar has already tried to kill him. Twice. Luckily, Cassian isn’t interested in holding a grudge. He wants to hire the hunter. Someone in vampire society wants Cassian dead and they’ve been using Belar to do their dirty work. Finding the culprit will save them both.

Their search for answers takes them through a nighttime world of ancient vampires, demon tailors, and monsters of pure shadow. But Belar hasn’t been the only one lying, and enemies and allies are harder to tell apart in the dark.

Excerpt

From the Dark We Came
J. Emery © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Vibrant pink and amber dawn streaked the sky before Belar finally clambered down from his perch in a nearby tree. He moved with spidery grace. Heights had never bothered him, not when he had perfected the art of sneaking out of his bedroom window before the age of six. He had only gotten better since then. Nothing soothed like a narrow ledge beneath his fingers and a world of sky behind him, waiting to catch him if he fell. Granted, the fall would most likely kill him. But until then—pure ease.

He should have been born a bird instead of a man.

The abandoned house was silent. He had searched the area for days before he’d found the place, half swallowed by the encroaching forest. The perfect place for a vampire to hide, empty as it was, but not so distant from human society to make feeding difficult.

There had been a brief moment earlier when he had even worried his guess was wrong, and the house really was as empty as it appeared despite the feel in the air—blood possibly—that called to him. Then he’d gotten his first sighting as the vampire had come lurching back to his nest and removed any lingering doubt. Belar had gauged him as average height (for a vampire as they ran tall) and probably quite old based on the speed of his movements. He wasn’t graceful—exhaustion rendered him clumsy—but he was certainly fast. Belar had lost track of him for seconds at a time as the vampire zigzagged through the dense underbrush in the woods. But by now the vampire should be fast asleep, hidden away where the sun couldn’t disturb him or his rest.

Belar had waited an extra hour to be certain. Not that he was worried. Because he wasn’t.

Vines grew thick over the sides of the old house, its sagging roof full of patched holes, half the windows empty staring eyes, their glass long since shattered. Utterly abandoned. Dilapidated. Save for the curtains hanging in a lower room, a cheerful, if faded pattern of blue on white like the border on a fancy plate. They had no reason to be there. Not here in an empty house, in an empty town where all but the birds had moved on. Even the bones of those caught in the fire that had destroyed the village years ago were gone. The forest had reclaimed everything but a handful of houses, their crumbling walls marked by smudges of soot and a few scattered patches of paving stone that had once been the town square. The bridge arching over the nearby stream verged on collapse. The rest was mossy, green, and still.

His eyes strayed again to the curtains in the window. Something about them unsettled him.

“Or maybe you’re just losing your touch after the last time,” he muttered. In the stillness, his voice sounded loud as a shout, and he flinched despite himself. But anyone was liable to be a bit jumpy after his recent near miss, he reasoned.

His last hunt had begun as they typically did. Weeks of research and information gathering about the area before he successfully pinpointed the resting place of the vampire and felt safe making his move. He’d always been thorough. Usually it served him well. But despite his many precautions, despite waiting for the sun to rise high enough to assure his target was deeply asleep, Belar had found himself trapped in a tomb with a very angry and very awake vampire who was fully capable of fighting back. Belar had recovered from the blow that threw him into the wall just in time to see the dark figure of the vampire eclipsing the sun streaming in the open door. For one moment, as impossibly beautiful as a wrathful god to Belar’s dazed mind. Then he ran out into the daylight. Everyone knew what happened to vampires touched by the sun. No part was pleasant. No one seemed to have told this vampire though. There were no screams. No flames. Not even the slightest sizzle of searing flesh. Nothing but a rapidly retreating vampire.

Belar had been lucky to escape with nothing worse than a black eye, a sprained wrist, and enough cracked ribs to make breathing exciting for the next few weeks. In a lifetime of brushes with death, this had been the closest of all. By rights he really should be dead. Not that he was complaining on the last point.

And clearly he hadn’t learned his lesson well enough since here he was stalking yet another vampire. Other hunters might have taken the job if he’d wanted to give it up. The thought had never even occurred to him.

Belar slithered in through one of the gaping eyehole windows and landed softly atop a floor carpeted with moldy leaves and splintered wood that had once been a shutter. He took a moment to get his bearings. There wasn’t much to see. He’d surveyed the house from every imaginable angle outside, but hadn’t ventured inside. He hadn’t dared. The risk of spreading his scent around and alerting the vampire to his presence was too great. Now it wouldn’t matter. The sun was up and so was the vampire’s time.

The stairs leading to the cellar were almost completely broken away. What remained was as rotten as everything else in this place. A few jagged timbers and a yawning darkness below. He would have to be careful climbing back up so he didn’t end up full of splinters.

Belar checked his axe and the knives strapped to his wrists before he snugged the knot of the scarf tied over his face. Then he leaped down to kill himself a vampire.

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Meet the Author

J. Emery is slowly writing their way through every fantasy trope imaginable. And if they can make it weirder and queerer while they do, that’s even better as far as they’re concerned.

They spend their free time gaming, working on their cosplay creating skills, and drinking large quantities of tea, occasionally all at the same time. They have also been known to document their ridiculous levels of terror while watching horror movies on twitter as @mixeduppainter. Sometimes they even discuss upcoming projects.

They have also written and self-published two queer short stories: An Offering of Plums and Help Wanted.

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