Apr 01

New Release Blitz: The Break of Dawn by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Break of Dawn

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 04/01/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 28400

Genre: Contemporary, British, Yorkshire, YSP, Art, Sculpture, Easter, Spring, second chances, new beginnings, first love, baby animals

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Description

Cora ‘I am all that I need’ Richards has a prison reputation for being an ice queen. She exists via a strict code of survival: people equal pain—the end. Surprises lead to disappointment; therefore, Cora won’t tolerate the unexpected. Friends? No. Lovers? Never. A hollow nighttime ache in her chest is bothersome, true, but the issue certainly isn’t caused by loneliness. Cora knows who she is and what she isn’t. She gladly accepts a placement at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, not to meet the elusive artist, Sky Sunday, but to finish her prison sentence early. It’s work, nothing more.

But the breathtaking landscape, woolly lambs, fluffy ducklings, and friendly artists challenge a woman trying not to feel. Life at the Sculpture Park is vibrant, messy, and warm. Still, it would take someone extraordinary to melt an ice queen such as Cora—the end.

Sky Sunday wears dungarees and muddy yellow boots, talks in riddles, listens to Cora’s suggestions, and never belittles her. From the first awkward meeting, attraction sizzles between them. But Sky is rubbish at talking. So is Cora. How can two impenetrable women ever get close?

From dawn to dusk, the workers toil on a mysterious, humming sculpture, and nobody knows what it’s supposed to be. If they trust their instincts, Sky insists that something unique will happen on Easter Sunday. Cora abandons the last of her ice armour as dawn breaks, but is it too late to be vulnerable and take a second chance?

What happens when an ice queen and a fluffy chick kiss? Can Cora and Sky forget their past and begin a new life together? This story is not the end.

Excerpt

The Break of Dawn
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

February 1

It started with a shout.

“Richards! Gov’s office.”

The yell left a deafening silence in the dining hall. Chatter ceased, the insistent bang-bang of doors stopped, and even the pitter-patter of rain on the windows faded as if it knew that a shout from Miss Holmes always signalled terrible news, and especially for me—my prison release date was mere months away.

Potential crimes flashed through my mind. Had I left a mess in the kitchen during my shift? Did I piss someone off? Had my sentence been lengthened due to a technical hitch?

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d messed up the dates. Three sentences ago, a fight led to six additional weeks on the wing. Gah. The incident hadn’t been my fault. When someone insulted me, I fought back. If you didn’t stand up for yourself, you’d end up on the floor with a broken nose.

When the yell settled, the women gleefully nudged one another, glad to see me in trouble—I wasn’t popular.

My roommate, Jenny, tugged insistently at my standard prison-grey sleeve. “Cora. You better go. She sounds pissed.”

We exchanged worried looks. I stood as if to head to the office but legged it to our room instead, my stomach clenching about the bottle of hooch brewing beneath my bed. Jenny and I had started the brew a few weeks before. I’d reckoned we could celebrate my release with a few drinks. After eight months of sharing a cell, we’d grown pretty close. As close as I allowed people, anyway, which meant a chasm the size of a planet crouched between us. We were very different. Jenny carelessly revealed every facet of her life as we lay in our beds, whereas I shared bare essentials, such as my favourite brand of chocolate. Stuffed animals covered her bed while mine was bare. Enough said.

The hooch was not the problem. Bubbling quietly and consistently, our concoction hadn’t been discovered. Hooch constituted a minor offence anyway. What the hell else had I done?

The officer shouted again, more aggressively. “Richards! Gov’s office.”

The tone of her voice pissed me off. I wouldn’t go without a fight. Yeah, I should’ve accepted defeat and walked to the office with a sorry expression. Only a spanner with a death wish as strong as the undead would have ignored a call from the governor. I didn’t say sorry or play nice. Thirty-two was too old to change the habits of a lifetime.

Jenny thundered into our cell, banging the door behind her. “Did someone snitch? You better go before you get a warning.” At forty, she was serving her first sentence, naïve as a baby. Jenny still believed the prison rules existed to protect us, bless her cotton socks.

I made myself comfy on the bed. “Nope. Miss Snotty Holmes will have to come and fetch me.”

Years of practice in front of a mirror hadn’t been wasted. I could steel my face into an impenetrable fortress without much effort. Nobody saw the real me, the kid who’d cried during beatings and hoped her momma would visit at the children’s home over Christmas time.

Needless to say, my weak years were a very long time ago.

Jenny adopted her melting-biscuit look. She was pretty, with an expressive face that hid nothing. My helpful lessons about concealing one’s feelings hadn’t done anything for her. She cried or shouted wilfully, drawing attention, revealing weaknesses and vulnerabilities she should’ve kept hidden. I’d probably have demanded a new cellmate months ago if she wasn’t so kind. Oh, I didn’t like her—god forbid. Jenny was inoffensive to live with. Like and dislike had become irrelevant feelings to me. But she never gave up trying to improve or save me, the poor woman.

Jenny hovered at my bedside, looking like the apocalypse was coming, bristling with kindness. “Go and see what Miss wants? Maybe it’s good news. You know they’ve been handing out certificates from education this week? You did well in your exams.” She nodded encouragingly as if I were a silly kid needing a hug rather than a tough bitch who could cope with any amount of trouble. Bring it on.

She lunged. I held my breath, willing her not to touch. Jenny had a crush on me. It wasn’t unusual. Most women inside welcomed a ‘special relationship’ with a roommate. Not me. Jenny had attempted many touchy-feely incidents over the months. Obviously, I’d ignored them all. Whether hand-holding or hair brushing, every contact was disgusting to me. Why would I welcome another woman’s baggage on top of my own? No. It was better to be alone than abandoned. Hugs equalled pain. The end.

Jenny attempted a sudden, unexpected hug. “Aww, babe.”

I held up a practised iron fist. “Don’t touch me and never call me babe.” It was laughable and sad how she shrank back, believing I would hurt her. I never would. Jenny might be a nuisance, but she didn’t deserve or need a slap, only a little reminder now and then about boundaries.

She abruptly drew her hand back. “I just wanted—” She sounded wounded, almost tearful.

The grief in her eyes was too much. I closed my eyes.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell me because I’m as interested as a cardboard box would be. I’m having a nap if anyone asks.”

It was a relief to shut her out. Why women wanted to be special, I’d never understand. Yuck.

I began silently counting. At six hundred, a stern voice broke my concentration.

“Didn’t you hear? The gov wants you in her office.”

I swung my legs off my bed and crammed cold feet into my shoes. “I didn’t hear, Miss. On my way.”

What had been gained from the extra few moments alone? Even I didn’t understand myself. Maybe it was part of my nature to rebel, or perhaps every victory, however tiny, kept me going. I was a narky cow. The end.

Jenny watched me silently and reproachfully. As I passed her, I stuck out my tongue. She rolled her eyes.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!

She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!

For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.

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Giveaway

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


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Mar 28

New Release Blitz: Out-Houses by Kira Stone (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Out-Houses

Author: Kira Stone

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Contemporary Romance, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, New Adult

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 55

Synopsis

Out-Houses.com. The hottest gay-owned interior design business in Northern California.

When Paul joins the owners of Out-Houses.com, Alex and Toby, at their secluded cabin, it’s supposed to be a chance for them to work away from the distractions of the office. Instead Paul finds himself more distracted than ever — and wanting to join in the fun.

Andy is late for a very important date — with Toby, one of the owners of Out-Houses. Toby doesn’t like to be kept waiting and decides to teach Andy a lesson by giving him a spanking. Not the traditional way to start an interview, but at Out-Houses, anything goes.

Alex and Toby are great fun, but Paul wants a man of his own. Not just any man — he’s got his sights set on Andy. Which would be fine, except Andy’s not looking his way. Or is he?

Excerpt

Out-Houses
Kira Stone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone

“Fuck me.” There was a startled gasp, then, “Harder!”

“You want it bad, don’t you?”

The sounds of slapping flesh accompanied the masculine voices emanating from the other side of the bedroom wall. Paul groaned and rolled over. His hard-on stabbed the mattress and he groaned again, this time from pain. It was gonna be a long, exhausting week if he had to listen to his bosses, the owners of Out-Houses — the newest, hottest gay interior designer company in Northern California — get it on in the living room every night.

Especially given his recent, secret aspiration of becoming the meat in their cum sandwich.

“Oh, yeah. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Must be Alex doing the begging, the little slut. Paul pictured him on his knees, his fine caramel colored ass in the air. Desperate for what satisfaction only his partner could give him.

Toby’s deep bass rumbled in response. “Heh. No worries there.”

“Oh, fuck. More. More!”

Placing a pillow over his head didn’t help stifle the erotic noises coming from the nearby room. If he had to hear it, then Paul wanted to see it. Feel it. Be fully engaged in the action. Eavesdropping was a poor substitute for sating carnal lust. Last night he’d been jet-lagged enough to fall asleep. A drag queen in full voice wouldn’t have woken him. However, after spending the day shoulder to shoulder with his gorgeous employers, hunched over a work table studying a ream of concept drawings for a gay-oriented housing project, pinned between their two rock solid bodies…

Damn. Rock solid. Just like his cock.

He was never going to get to sleep as long as he had to listen to them fuck.

Paul tossed off the sheet covering him and slipped out through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He didn’t bother to dress. Dense shrubs on either side of the isolated beach house created a privacy screen from anyone walking along the cliffs. The only people he was likely to encounter were otherwise… engaged.

Two long flights of stairs descended from the deck to meet a short expanse of pristine white sand. Paul didn’t feel comfortable going near the water, in part because walking around in the dark in a strange, wild area had “potentially fatal” written all over it, but also because it took him farther away from where he really wanted to be. Inside. In the living room. On his knees. Sucking Alex’s cock while Toby pounded into him from behind.

Like that’s going to happen. Face it, Paulie, you may be ready, willing and able to bat for the home team, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get a chance to play in this ballpark.

Paul lifted his face to the ocean breeze, trying to clear his mind. He failed, miserably. No matter what lust-killing thoughts he injected into his brain, his libido returned him to the action inside. Toby’s large frame, black skin over corded muscle, wrapped around Alex’s lithe Latino body. Fucking like bunnies.

If it were just about the sex, he might have stood a chance at stemming this hormonal rampage, but Paul admired their internal qualities too. Both had high IQs and more ambition than a rookie Triple-A player after a spot on a major league bench. They were risk takers. Adrenaline junkies. And it was a good thing, because it would take as much guts as money to make their fledgling company, Out-Houses, a success.

But if anyone could do it, Toby and Alex were capable of pulling it off. Paul wasn’t sure how these two alpha males managed to work together so well, or how long their partnership, in and out of bed, could last. Meeting them through their website had been a fluke when Paul needed help with his bathroom plumbing. They’d needed an architect though, and he was ready for a change in jobs. However, the youth of their business and their relationship made signing on with them a gamble. If they broke up, chances were the company wouldn’t survive. Paul chose to take the risk with them. It was hard to walk away from a dream job.

And his dream of joining Alex and Toby during one of their lunchtime quickies.

Paul relaxed against the balcony rail. Moonlight spilled over his milk white skin, giving it a silvery sheen. He ran his hand down his chest, following the thin arrow of reddish-blond hair to his cock. In order to get any sleep at all, he’d have to appease his woodie sooner or later. Might as well be now.

But not quickly. Not something that would be over and forgotten in a minute like a quick jerk-off during a morning shower. Paul wanted to treat himself to something special. Something he’d remember for a long time to make up for the erotic ménage memories he’d have to live without.

Purchase at Changeling

Meet the Author

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories. Visit Kira’s Website.

Giveaway

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


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Mar 25

New Release Blitz: At Her Service by K.S. Trenten (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  At Her Service

Author: K.S. Trenten

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/25/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23500

Genre: Fantasy, Cinderella, F/F fairy tales, nonbinary characters, romance, magic, royalty, humor, glass shoes

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Description

There are one too many Ariellas in our family chateau, when my stepmother becomes its mistress. She’s the rightful Ariella, and Ariella is a name she’ll only share with her daughter. Fortunately, the lady doesn’t realize I’m more than happy to give her daughter anything, including my name. I’ve come to live for the moments when I tickle her feet into her glass slippers. Why would I wish for anything more?

Magic, however, is going to whisk me away from my pallet in the cinders for a night of lights, dancing, and mystery. Mischief will try to sweep me off my feet, but I’m not so easy to sway. For princes are not what they seem, and a servant’s loyalty can be as strong as any spell.

Excerpt

At Her Service
K.S. Trenten © 2025
All Rights Reserved

One Ariella Too Many

I’ll never forget the first time my mistress offered me her hand.

“Every woman should dance once.” She hadn’t been my mistress yet. She was my stepsister, a bewitching girl with sapphire-blue eyes and a husky voice.

No, the other Ariella’s voice was more than husky. I could feel every syllable caressing the inside of my ear. Nor did the sensation stop there. The sound glided down my spine, raising the hairs of my neck, awakening my entire body.

“Shall I show you how, Ariella?” She kept her strong fingers steady, ready to catch and claim me.

Shy, uncertain, I dared to raise my hand to touch hers.

“Ariella, stay away from that girl!” Harsh as the caw of a crow, those words stopped us where we stood.

Ariella stiffened, turning to face its owner at the same moment as I did.

The lady of the chateau wasn’t a tall woman, but her presence loomed within the room, ready to quell anyone who dared to irritate her.

I could already tell I more than irritated her.

“Ariella was only showing me how to dance…” I began, trailing off when I saw the expression in my stepmother’s eyes. How could she look so much like Ariella herself, yet be so different?

“You will address my daughter as the Lady Ariella.” The lady of the chateau spoke in a tone as cold and flat as her eyes. “This is not your home, not anymore. You may no longer dance around as if you owned it.”

“Mother…” Ariella began, but her mother cut her off.

“This is our ancestral estate, the Lady Ariella’s and mine.” She advanced upon me, raising one hand in a claw. It reminded me of a chicken who’d once challenged a hound dog for dominion over a pile of sand. The chicken had won.

“Even if your ancestor managed to steal this chateau from ours, we have taken it back.” She kept her hand raised, a ring flashing upon it. It may have once belonged to my mother, but she hadn’t worn it very often.

“Isn’t it my father’s estate?” Frightened as I was, I hadn’t learned yet not to contradict the lady. “Aren’t you only here because my father married you?”

She struck me, a sharp, glancing blow which might have been no more than a slap to a sturdier woman.

I had never been particularly sturdy. I was tiny, overimaginative, and lacking in a sense of balance.

The lady’s strike knocked me off my feet. I hit the ground in an ungraceful pile at the lady’s own.

“How dare you!”

I’ll never forget the angry snarl that distorted her face. What she’d constrained within her eyes and pinched lips had finally been set free.

I crawled to my knees, not getting up. It seemed better to stay down. One glance at the lady’s twisted, quivering mouth was enough to convince me. I covered my head with my hands.

No, I’ve never been particularly brave. I try to avoid conflict. I suppose I’m like my father in this.

Submitting didn’t appease my stepmother. She raised her hand. Perhaps she meant to hit me again once she’d grabbed my hair, pulling me up to the level of her fist.

“Mother, stop.” Ariella’s husky voice rose with a firm authority I’d never heard her use.

I opened my eyes to glimpse her ankles peeking out from under the hem of a dark-blue skirt.

They were pale, bony, but there was a strength to them. They were planted on the floor between the lady and myself, drawing energy from beneath her heels. I could feel it, traveling up her legs to her torso, heart, and head. The shape of the bone protruding from her ankles reminded me of a rock jutting out from the coastline, standing in proud defiance of the coming waves.

I wanted to grab her ankles, kiss her feet, to give her whatever I could to help her withstand her mother’s rage. Or anything else that might crash against her.

Not that I could do any of those things while huddled on the floor.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

I’m a California Bay Area author, exploring the borders of reality and gender to create new worlds and populate them with compelling characters. I live with my husband and our two four footed children, i.e. cats.

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Giveaway

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


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Mar 21

New Release Blitz: To Tempt a Troubled Earl by Fearne Hill (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: To Tempt a Troubled Earl

Series: Regency Rossingley, Book One

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/04/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77200

Genre: Historical, historical romance, gay, UK, aristocracy, rich man/poor man, enemies to lovers, hurt-comfort, humorous, slow burn, opposites attract, scoundrels

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Description

A chancer and a rogue, Kit Angel is down on his luck. Presenting himself at Rossingley Hall in the dead of night, he begs an audience with the eleventh earl, the most enigmatic nobleman in Regency England.
The visit has purpose. Kit, hungry to ruin the baronet who ruined his sister, believes Rossingley is the only man who can help him.

Lando Duchamps-Avery, Eleventh Earl of Rossingley, doesn’t trust the sinfully handsome stranger one bit. He does not care for the tales he spins, his hot temper, or his thick, ebony curls. And, most definitely, he is not in thrall to the delicious golden hoop dangling from Kit Angel’s left ear. Lando has his own motivations to ruin the same lord, and the two men form an uneasy alliance.

As the dangerous plot they hatch unfurls, the suspicious earl and the shady scoundrel are increasingly thrown together. Whilst the wily earl gradually surrenders to his growing attraction, Kit can’t make up his mind if he wants to swive him, declare undying love for him, or throttle him.

Bit by bit, as mutual desire swells between them, Kit wins over the earl’s body, his passion, and his trust.
But in order to win the earl’s elusive heart? The scoundrel must risk losing everything.

This first book in the new Rossingley Regency romance series introduces Lando Duchamps-Avery, nineteenth-century predecessor to Dr Lucian Avery of the contemporary Rossingley romance series. With Lando’s story, we return to southern England and the Rossingley estate. This book can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt

To Tempt a Troubled Earl
Fearne Hill © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Rossingley Estate

Summer, 1821

“You have visitors, my lord.”

Inglis floated across the eleventh Earl of Rossingley’s sleepy eyeline, looking peevish. Lando swore the man had silken castors in place of feet. With white-gloved hands clasped together in front of his vexed frame, his head butler awaited his response.

“And you have chosen to disturb me about this because…” Lando tilted his balloon of brandy this way and that, playing the flickering candlelight against the delicately engraved crystal. That the evening was late was an irrelevance. He and his butler were of the same accord; visitors at any time of day were unusual, unwarranted, and unwelcome.

“A Mr Christopher Angel, my lord. And his sister, Miss Anne. The young man says it’s important.”

One of a pair, the balloon glass had been a gift from dear Charles. “I know of no one named Angel. Begging the question ‘important for whom’?”

“He didn’t make that distinction, my lord,” admitted Inglis. “But he gave the impression the matter is somewhat urgent.”

Lando took a warming sip of brandy. The drink of the damned. He didn’t especially care for it, but he fancied it lent him a louche, philosophic air. “What is urgent is seldom important, Inglis,” he deemed, pleased with his wisdom. Rousseau himself might make a similar pronouncement. “If it’s alms he’s after, toss him a half-crown, some cold meats, and send him on his way.”

The gloved hands wrung together. “I did try that, my lord. But he’s…ah…more insistent than our usual callers, and neither is he a pauper. And…” Inglis paused. Never let it be said the butler couldn’t milk a drama. “He…he mentioned one of his close relations. His uncle. One…ah…a former cavalry officer sadly no longer with us, God rest his soul.”

As Inglis made the sign of the cross, Lando took another, more contemplative sip. So many good men had fallen during the wars in France, and a chap struggled to keep up. “Oh, yes?”

Inglis cleared his throat. “Yes. A…ah…Captain Charles Prosser, my lord.”

Like rancid vinegar, the fine liquor soured on the earl’s tongue. He fought to swallow it down. Perhaps he should have stuck to port after dinner. Maybe it would have better softened the dull ache now swelling behind his rib cage. Captain Prosser. His dearest Charles, his lover. His heart.

Lando didn’t make his older lover’s acquaintance until after the wars, from which Charles returned hale and hearty. But where French bayonets and the battlefields of Trafalgar had failed, the insidious wasting disease prevailed. An annoying tickle became a cough, a cough tinged with blood. Slowly, inexorably, his lover faded away, their time together, in all of its perfection, too brief. A life only half lived; a conversation forever unfinished. Lando, not daring to be at Charles’s bedside at the end, heard the news of his passing from a mutual friend some two weeks after his lover had been buried beneath Kentish loamy earth.

Three long years ago. Yet even now, at unprepared moments such as this—and was there ever such a thing as a prepared one?—that name still had a powerful hold upon the eleventh earl. If Inglis hadn’t broken the crushing silence, it might have persisted well into the night.

“I have taken the liberty of passing the young man’s sister over to Mrs Sugden, my lord. The girl is in a state of great distress. And I have shown her brother to the small parlour. He’s…ah…not fit for the library.”

Inglis’s waspish voice sounded as if coming from an awfully long way away. “My lord might wish to be more suitably attired before receiving him?”

Tipping back his fair head, Lando forced another swallow of fiery amber liquid. For a second or two, it threatened to reappear, then he pulled himself together. Ridiculous. Three years gone and one mention of Charles turned him into a limp dishrag. Well, it was high time it didn’t. Time to make a clean breast of things. Time to stop bloody moping. Charles would have hated him squandering his salad days drinking alone and brooding in front of a dying fire.

He cast his gaze down his spare frame. Fussy Inglis might wish him more suitably attired, but Lando gave not a fig. As purportedly one of the richest men in England, Lando could host a ball clad in only his underclothes, and the ton would declare it the latest fashion in Paris. He pinned Inglis to the spot with his pale eyes.

“I’m decent. Uninvited callers find me as I am, or not at all. As you damned well know.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Fearne Hill lives deep in the southern British countryside with three untamed sons, varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and a beautiful cocker spaniel.

When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary romantic fiction. And when she is not doing either of those things, she works as an anaesthesiologist.

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Giveaway

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


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Mar 14

New Release Blitz: Eight Second Magic by WM Kirkland (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Title: Eight Second Magic

Author: WM Kirkland

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: March 14, 2025

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Wildest West

Themes: Gay, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Sports Romance, Vampires, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Cowboy Matchmaker (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 89

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 Synopsis

When vampire Beau Hollings falls into rodeo clown Leon Lavoie’s arms as he comes off a bull, he’s more than grateful for the save.

Sparks fly when Beau meets the sexy vampire clown after the event for drinks, and a night of passion makes the night complete. But what should have been a one-night stand turns into something more when Leon reveals that they were matched by Cowboy Magic, a dating service for paranormal rodeo performers.

Wolf shifter Rhody Tallwood, one of the famous Tallwood brothers of bronc riding fame, put in a request with Cowboy Magic, then forgot — until he’s told to watch the bull riding.
Now he’s got to juggle not one, but two vampire mates, as well as his brothers’ displeasure, because the three of them together are magic, and each of them wants their relationship to last a lot longer than eight seconds.

TRIGGER WARNING: Rodeo Clown, may be a trigger for those with clown phobia. Adult language and situations.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Each book in the Cowboy Magic series contains stories of queer cowboy/cowgirl/cowthey love across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum.

Excerpt

Eight Second Magic (Cowboy Matchmaker 1)
WM Kirkland
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 WM Kirkland

Beau didn’t think he had unreasonable requirements — at least six feet tall, familiar with bull riding and the danger that came with it, understands the life of a traveling cowboy — but as he hit send on the preferences form at Cowboy Matchmaker, he thought he was asking for a trip to the moon or something. Though depending on how good the cowboy was at giving a blow job, it might feel as if he’d gone into orbit. He grinned at his mental joke, then quickly sobered. He hadn’t had so much as a quick hand job in the men’s room for a very long time.

He’d been focusing on his career and watching his bank account get fatter. It was nice to skyrocket in the standings. It was even better to know he would have a nest egg for when he was ready to hang up his bullrope. At some point he’d have to leave because even though people knew about vampires, the fact he aged more slowly still creeped most of them out. Guess that would be another requirement — not icky about vampires.

He checked his ride time. The rodeo would be starting soon, and he wanted to find a good place to watch before the bull riding closed out the event. Grabbing his travel mug, he drained the last of its contents before heading out.

He made it to the arena just as the first event, bareback riding, was starting, and found a spot behind the chutes to watch. He waved at the bull riders passing by to go scope out their rides and see what they were up against. He already knew. He’d drawn Smoke Demon, a big, dark gray bull that few cowboys could stay on for the required eight seconds. He could, though. He knew it, and tonight would be his night to add to his winnings and his legend.

The cowboy in the arena spurred in rhythm with the bronc’s big bucks, the two of them as pretty as a postcard. His white hat tumbled off about three jumps in, and his long, dark ponytail fanned out behind him like a horse’s tail. Dirk was good, one of the best, and a good friend. The crowd cheered and hollered as the buzzer sounded, and the pick-up men helped Dirk off the big chestnut paint bronc. When his score hit the board, the arena erupted even louder. Beau drank it in, thinking the crowd would cheer just as loudly for him, too.

He watched the rest of the bareback and saddle bronc riding, then as the first roping events started, he went back to the locker room to begin his preparations for tonight’s ride. He wove through the workers behind the chutes, giving some nods of hello to men busy moving stock to and from the pens and those working the chute. He reached the locker room, surprised to find it lightly populated, and went to his trunk where he kept his chaps and bullrope.

He sat on the bench, trying to focus on the visualization exercises he did before his ride, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that Cowboy Matchmaker application he’d submitted. After paying and filling out the form, all he had to do was wait and see who he’d be connected with and just how well and how fast they’d hit things off.

Word of the service had spread through the cowboys, with most of them calling it magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in magic. He was a vampire, and he knew magic existed. It was just, well, cowboys like him didn’t get a happily ever after, and even the mortal, completely non-paranormal cowboys had rough relationships with the stress and danger of the road. A vampire? Who rode bulls? After living for a few hundred years, he loved the adrenaline. He also knew he’d have to move on in a decade or so. He could only claim a great skincare regimen for so long.

Beau removed his hat and raked his fingers through his long sandy-brown hair, cut just shaggy enough to give him a rakish look.

“Worried about your ride tonight?” a familiar voice asked as he walked into the locker room.

Beau replaced his hat and put on a big grin. “I’ve ridden worse. Who’d you draw?” he asked to deflect the conversation from him. Brand Bennings had chased his place at the top of the standings for the past few years, and the younger vampire was always trying to give him a hard time.

“Spit Stain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s so predictable. One hop out of the chute, then spin to the left. Yawn. I’ll have to be perfect to get a good score tonight.”

“Stay on your rope. Sometimes he’ll go to the right and dump you in the well.” They might be competitors, but Brand had to ride well for them to be in close contention, which was exactly what the fans wanted.

“Right-O.” He gave a two-fingered salute at the tan brim of his cowboy hat, then went to his trunk.

Beau returned to his visualizing the ride. He knew Smoke Demon’s moves, had watched countless videos of him after the draw. The trick to staying on was to expect the unexpected, because Smoke Demon didn’t have a single way of going. He could do this. He moved to his stretches, and by the time barrel racing started, he exchanged his cowboy hat for his helmet and was ready to ride.

He went behind the chutes with the rest of the riders, giving a nod to Brand as he passed him on the bleachers. Beau would be riding fifth, so when the barrels were removed from the arena and the spotlights dimmed, he was ready and already getting stationed behind the chutes where the first three bulls were being guided into place.

Normally he’d ignore the announcer’s hype. He knew the sport was rough and dangerous, that he was epitomizing the essence of the cowboy, especially since he’d been part of the Wild West when it was truly wild.

Smoke Demon went into the chute, and it was showtime. Upon reaching the chute, he climbed down, straddling the gate while he adjusted the bullrope. When he was ready and the arena cleared of the last rider, he settled on Smoke Demon’s back. He fastened his bullrope, and though he’d done this a thousand times, he wasn’t sure if it was like strapping himself to a rocket or a fifteen-hundred-pound rattlesnake. One wrong move and it’d hurt like hell at the very least. He was immune to a lot, but a horn through the chest wasn’t one of them.

Out of habit, he reached to press down his cowboy hat, his hands encountering his helmet instead, and gave the nod. The gate swung open and Smoke Demon exploded. He jumped from the gate, hitting the ground with his front feet solidly in the dirt and his hind feet up over his ass. A long thread of snot whipped from the bull’s nose to slap across the toe of Beau’s boot with the remainder hitting the ground. Beau ignored it, because just as the hind feet landed, the bull bucked again — another leap and snort and all Beau’s focus remained on his center of gravity locking with the bull’s.

One more jump, then the bull settled down to turn to the right, into his hand. He didn’t get cocky, didn’t think he had the ride. Instead, he rode each spin, each jump as it came, and when Smoke Demon whirled out of the spin, reversing like a cat pouncing on its prey, he rode with the bull. He’d never been one to count the seconds. He didn’t even try to view the board, but surely he’d ridden eight seconds by now.

He dimly registered the bullfighters staying in position in case he needed help. One, dressed all in black, a mop of curly blond hair poking from beneath his black cowboy hat, gave him a thumbs-upas the bull twisted and spun. More jumps, more bucks — how the hell could so much beef be so athletic?

Then the whistle blew.

Beau yanked on the bullrope.

It didn’t budge.

Fuck.

He yanked again as the pressure on his hands tightened, his fingers swelling from the loss of circulation.

The bullfighter in black was there. “I got you,” he yelled over the crowd’s gasp as they realized what was happening. “Relax your hand.”

Relax his hand? He was trying to cling to a pile of angry fucking hamburger. He also knew the bullfighter was right.

“I got you. Look into my eyes,” the bullfighter said again, and something about his voice, a bit of compulsion, captivated Beau, mesmerized him, and his hand relaxed.

The bull jumped.

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Books2Read | Changeling Press

Meet the Author

WM Kirkland loves the smell of the forest after a thunderstorm and listening to the pounding of hooves as the horses come to the fence for attention. A pen name for a prolific author, WM focuses on writing stories of steamy queer love between shifters, magical creatures, cowboys, and the occasional time-traveling gladiator. They’re proud to have been telling tales for the past two decades and hope for many more.

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Mar 11

New Release Blitz: Specimen by C. Quince (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Specimen

Series: PRISM Agents, Book One

Author: C. Quince

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/11/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105100

Genre: Science Fiction, MM romance, sci-fi, interracial/intercultural, former military, spies, secret agents, aliens, vampires, covert missions, cosy mystery, paranormal, paranormal sleuthing, sci-fi fantasy, action, British humour

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Description

David Cortez, a decorated US Marine, is now on the run from his own government after escaping a top-secret CIA lab when an experimental medical procedure turned sour.

While lying low in Mexico, an assassin sent from British Intelligence tracks him down. However, Sonny from MI6, a British-Iranian with a cockney accent, offers David a choice: join his team, or be killed.

David chooses to work with Sonny, not only because he wants his life back, but because he feels a kinship with the man.

They’re also both in the unique position of being the only living test subjects with alien DNA in their blood. Could that explain the strong attraction between them?

Excerpt

Specimen
C. Quince © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Tijuana, Mexico

David was being followed.

He couldn’t see who the tail was; every time David paused to do a little window shopping on the street and check his six in the window’s reflection, the tail managed to hide. Whoever they were, they were good at slipping by undetected.

David wasn’t sure who it was. Agency, probably, or another US-based shadowy government division. He should’ve picked Venezuela to lie low, but Mexico was his home, his heritage. He had lingered here longer than he should; he knew that, but he’d been so careful, using different names and cash only. He’d grown a beard to blend in and kept moving from place to place, never settling. David had been looking over his shoulder for six months. Now it seemed the bastards had finally caught up to him.

The sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds pink and orange. Vendors in the busy street were out in full force, providing good cover. David calmly made his way down the street, not letting on that he knew he was being followed—but if his tail was worth their salt, they’d know that he knew.

If his tail was a US Government agency like David suspected they were, they wanted one of two things: One, they wanted to keep tabs on him. Two, they wanted to bring him in. The latter would involve kidnap in some form or other; then they’d transport him to a black site—a soundproofed lab where nobody would hear him scream.

David should know. He’d been through that scenario once, and once was enough. If they thought he would come in quietly after what they’d done to him, they had another thing coming.

In the early evening hubbub of Tijuana, David led his tail down side streets and off the beaten path. He knew this town like the back of his hand, and it gave him the advantage.

On an ill-lit street, popular with gang members from the local cartel, a neon bar sign flickered on and off over an open doorway. David ducked in there. Immediately inside the door was a set of steps descending into darkness. David hurried down. At the bottom of the stairs, another open doorway awaited him. David knew the bar; it was small, gloomy, lit only by neon, and it was popular with drug dealers. Today it was busy enough, with music playing loud, and David was able to slip in without attracting attention.

He planned to lie in wait and watch who came through the door after him, so he situated himself at the far end of the bar, facing the entrance. He ordered a light beer. The bartender opened a bottle and stuck a wedge of lime in the top before handing it over.

David took the beer but didn’t drink yet. His eyes were trained on the doorway. Nobody had followed him in, which meant they were hanging back.

If the shoe had been on the other foot and David was the one doing the tailing, he wouldn’t have run straight into the unknown either. That meant this tail wasn’t a local, much as he’d suspected.

David leaned on the bar more casually and poked the lime wedge down into the bottle so he could take a sip of beer. He happened to catch his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Illuminated by red neon light, David’s tan skin looked darker than it usually did. He’d grown his hair out to ear length, the colour a mid-brown shade kissed by the sun. His full beard was a darker shade of brown. He looked like a local.

It was ironic; he’d spent his youth in California trying to look less Mexican, trying to fit in with the White kids in his grade. He’d lightened his hair with frosted tips for a while there—hair in the early ’00s…not great. David was half Mexican on his father’s side. His mother was Caucasian American from San Diego.

Now David had fled the US, he wanted to look more Mexican. He had felt shielded by his disguise so far, but maybe it was time for a new disguise. A new location.

Still no one had come through the door. That was nearly five minutes, a lifetime in surveillance work.

David was about to cut and run, when a figure appeared at the entrance. For a moment David tensed, but he soon saw that this figure was tiny. A short Mexican woman, and likely not his tail. She was the first of a group of local youths entering the bar. Two women, three men.

David relaxed some. These were Mexican kids. He could tell by looking at them; their dark hair, their complexions, and their clothes. The shoes gave it away: slides and sandals weren’t exactly standard surveillance footwear. These were civilians.

As the lively group came further into the bar to order their drinks, David noticed that one pair of feet among them had on black boots.

Bingo.

That was his tail, the man at the back of the group. Likely he had waited for a group to enter the bar and tacked himself on. Clever.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Quince is a MENA-British author who lives in England, enjoys sci-fi and fantasy, history, and Halloween.

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


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Feb 27

New Release Blitz: The Search for Sasha Lockwood by Thomas Grant Bruso (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Search for Sasha Lockwood

Author: Thomas Grant Bruso

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/25/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 10250

Genre: Paranormal, Genre/lit, paranormal, family-drama, new adult, lesbian, bisexual, camping trip, schoolfriends, disappearance, Bigfoot, police

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Description

Something is stalking the campgrounds at Pine Hill Creek.

Rumor has it that local folklore about the notorious Bigfoot is responsible for the mystery of a missing young woman.

When eighteen-year-old high school senior Sasha Lockwood vanishes without a trace while camping with her friends, fear and horror sequester a small community. Local and federal law enforcement officers begin an exhausting twenty-four-hour investigation of seventy acres of vast forest, looking for the victim.

The tight-knit community is in an uproar, horrified by these unexpected events. An unrelenting sheriff’s department and a media-savage system doggedly interrogate Sasha’s parents and close friends.

What happened the night Sasha Lockwood disappeared? Is it real or part of a cruel joke? Is Bigfoot responsible, or is something more sinister at play in the deep, dark woods?

Excerpt

The Search for Sasha Lockwood
Thomas Grant Bruso © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Journal thoughts
I’ve got a secret.

I can’t stop thinking about my best friend, Annie Monroe. We’ve been friends since forever. I don’t know what I’d do without Annie. She’s not only a friend, but a decent, caring person. She is beautiful, artistic, and somebody I don’t ever want to lose.

We went swimming in her parents’ inground pool today. We ordered pizza and had a few beers. Her parents were out of town. So, it was refreshing to be alone with Annie. Finally. Usually, we see each other at school, while passing in the hallways or after ninth period study hall, or by our cars in the parking lot. Rarely are we alone, which I’d prefer. I love hanging out with her. She makes me feel good. We laugh and smile when we’re around each other. She makes me feel safe. I admire her self-deprecating personality and wise-cracking jokes.

It’s as if time stops when we’re together. Annie introduced me to her shoe collection and the new painting she’s been working on since the beginning of the school year.

She’s so talented, and everything she creates shines like the gorgeous high heels and charm bracelets and that great big smile she wears every day.

Her new pastel and watercolor painting is of Lake Champlain where we used to sit every weekend by the water’s rocky edge. She unveiled the final product to me last weekend when she invited me for a picnic by the lake.

She also told me she loved me more than a friend.

Hearing the words over egg salad sandwiches and potato leek soup (her signature dish) hit me like a hot skillet on the back of the head.

I was floored, speechless, and thrilled—all at the same time. I knew how I felt about Annie. And being around a person for so long only heightens those emotions. But I never knew how Annie felt about us. We’d never done anything sexual together, not even kiss, obviously.

Years ago, I struggled with my sexuality and my feelings for girls, especially Annie. I wanted to make a move and kiss her or hold her hand and tell her I loved her. But I was naïve and scared because I was unaware of her thoughts—whether she liked me the way I liked her or not.

What if Annie wasn’t sympathetic? What if she wasn’t a lesbian? What if my open-hearted discussion about love and romance spiraled out of control and left egg on my face? I didn’t want to ruin a good thing with Annie. Our friendship meant everything to me, like life or death.

I always wondered or worried that she’d notice how I looked at her when we were together, sitting by the lake, or walking by each other in the hallways at school, or during one of our sleepovers.

Annie Monroe is a stunning beauty, an eye catcher for both sexes. I almost drown staring at her peaches and cream complexion and losing myself in her illuminating blue eyes.

There is a sunset glow about her when you’re in her company. Life feels less lonely, unhinged. At least, for me. Reality blurs and all my problems vanish when Annie opens her mouth to talk, or smile. The way she curls the feathery locks of her hair around her earlobe weakens my soul in a wonderful way.

So, when she told me she loved me, more than a friend, I cried happy tears.

We held hands for the first time in public, by the lapping water, in the gathering dusk.

It was magical. Our relationship was more than just…friends.

Love is a powerful thing.

The way Annie and I love is unmatched by all the other romantics walking around: fighting, cheating, and living a lie.

We are happy together.

Our secret is safe with us.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Thomas Grant Bruso knew at an early age he wanted to be a writer. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since he was a kid.

His literary inspirations are Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Ellen Hart, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, Sam J. Miller, Joyce Carol Oates, and John Connolly.

Bruso loves animals, book-reading, writing fiction, prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he was a winner for the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes book reviews for his hometown newspaper, The Press Republican.

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Feb 25

New Release Blitz: An Ivory Fox Mask by Sita Bethel (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  An Ivory Fox Mask

Author: Sita Bethel

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/25/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78200

Genre: Fantasy, dark, magic/magic-users, mythical creatures, witches, sorcerers, royalty, knights, plague, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance

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Description

After a monster attack to the capital city, Citadel, Sir Liam Bord seeks the witch responsible to bring him to the king for his trial and his punishment. Liam succeeds in capturing the witch, Reynald, a former royal mage whom Liam knew as a squire. Despite his attempts at treating Reynald as a prisoner, as Liam begins to understand Reynald’s motives, he can’t help but question the very system he’s always supported. The way his heart races every time they’re near each other only further complicates his mission…

Excerpt

An Ivory Fox Mask
Sita Bethel © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Creed’s hooves struck the cobblestone streets as Liam galloped toward the main square of Citadel’s market sector. The horse’s tail and mane were braided with bright blue ribbons. Gold and sapphire beads shimmered as Creed’s tail whipped behind him.

The fountain of Saint Margaret gurgled. The dying sunlight dipping below the castle’s parapets stained the water a vivid, fiery orange. All around the sculpture, people fled from the inns, taverns, and companion houses. Their screams circled the square. In the stories, Darius, the demon of vengeance and hunting, attacked Citadel as a great dragon, and Saint Margaret defeated him after being devoured and slicing through his stomach to escape. Liam pulled on Creed’s reins. Dismounting, he dashed down the alley between the Naughty Mare and Candlewick Inn.

Liam’s breath echoed along the narrow pathway. He skidded to a halt when he saw three crimson gashes of light burning in the shadows. The darkness moved and shifted, taking shape as the stryx crawled forth, as if from old wet-nurse tales, on four taloned feet. Liam unsheathed his sword, his shield raised to intercept any magical attacks, but the creature only screeched before spreading her wings and charging. The black feathers fluttered around the creature like smoke, her entire body semi-ethereal, a shadow bleeding onto an artist’s canvas. Only the three needle-thin eyes were solid…vulnerable to attacks.

She snapped with her dark beak. Angling his sword, Liam thrust the blade toward the creature’s third eye. The tip plunged forward, hilt-deep. Her body collapsed into a shower of black feathers. Though they tickled as they brushed Liam’s sweat-drenched face, the feathers dissolved into wisps of smoke after settling on the ground.

Liam exhaled and smeared the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sword hand. Another scream—a human scream—pulled his attention away from the small victory. He glanced to his right and noticed one of the third-floor windows was open. A woman struggled to get away from the birdlike creature. She leaned half out the window and screamed again. Without hesitating, Liam grabbed the rusted iron ladder fastened to the side of the building as a fire escape and hoisted himself upward. Only a slender catwalk connected the ladder to the other rooms, so Liam hugged the inn’s outer wall as he inched closer.

“Come out! There’s a ledge!” He called to the woman perched on the windowsill.

She jerked her head in his direction. Her thick, brown curls danced around her head like streamers as a breeze blew past them. She saw the crest on his blue surcoat—a black stallion and golden scale—and relief washed over her expression.

“Sir Bord!”

“Come now.” Liam beckoned her out of the hotel room. “I’ll fight the creature, but I need you out here where it’s safer.”

The woman scurried onto the ledge. Her dress snagged on a stray nail, and she teetered, hands flailing. Liam hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She gripped his shoulders. A blush dusted her cheeks.

“Sir Bord, you saved me.”

His stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot. As a knight, he was familiar with the expression on the damsel’s face and knew he’d need to hurry before she tried to “reward” him with a kiss. Despite the danger in letting go, he released his grip on the wall in order to remove her hands from his shoulders.

“Hold tightly to the wall. Stay here until I clear your room and call you inside.”

She nodded as a twitch of disappointment from his subtle rejection contorted the smile on her face. Liam grabbed his sword and dipped into the window. His shield caught the stryx’s claws as she swiped at Liam’s face. Liam sidestepped and parried, dancing around the torn sheets and broken chair as he fought. The stryx opened her mouth and shrieked, lunging for him. Liam saw an opening and pushed his sword into one of the beast’s eyes, twisting like a key clicking home in a lock. Another burst of feathers showered him. He plucked one from his long, coiled hair and dropped it to the floor where it wisped into nothing. Liam stuck his head out the window.

“It’s safe now.”

The woman scrambled into the room, bowing in appreciation. Liam nodded and then raced out the door and back to the street where more creatures hunted for anyone who hadn’t fled to the church. The blazing sunset burnishing the city a quarter hour ago was now bruising into a wounded red violet. The shadows stretched from each building. As Liam crossed the square, he could hardly tell Creed’s outline from the stryx charging toward his horse. Creed reared, pawing at the stryx with his hooves. The creature paused for a moment, but realizing Creed couldn’t hurt her, she darted forward. Her beak snapped, aiming for Creed’s neck, but Liam managed to wedge himself between them with his shield raised. He pushed the stryx backward and slipped his sword into her right eye slit.

Liam’s heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall. His armor was finely crafted mesh, one-third the weight of traditional plate, but he’d been riding and racing all over the city while hunting the stryx, and he felt like hot coals were packed between his shoulders and traps. He wasn’t sure he could fight anymore, but a child’s wail reverberated into the square.

Liam pivoted, searching. Around the corner, in front of a bakery, curled a dirty, bruised lad, perhaps eight or nine years old. The shadow creature stalking him wasn’t like the others. She was larger, with four wings and a broader crest. A Matriarch, according to Liam’s studies. A spark of hope flashed in his chest. She shared a bond with the witch who called her flock. If she died, the summoning spell would unravel and all the lesser stryx would vanish. Exhausted as he was, Liam wasn’t sure he’d survive another encounter, but he didn’t have to survive, he only needed to take her with him. Liam sheathed his sword. Stooping low, he snatched a stray stone from a flower bed in front of one of the shop windows and hurled the rock at the back of the creature’s head.

“Hey!” he shouted.

She spun, screeching.

“That’s right! That child’s hardly a snack! Come get a proper meal!” Liam splayed his arms wide, inviting the creature to attack him.

He didn’t bother drawing his sword again. His arms trembled from exertion. He no longer had enough strength to wield his blade with the finesse needed to hit the hair-thin mark of her eyes. Her talons clanked against the cobblestone as she trotted toward him, gaining speed when he didn’t try to attack. He waited until the gap between her and the child was sufficient before pulling a small throwing dagger from inside his glove and flinging it into her eye.

Miss.

She turned her head half an inch, and it was enough for the blade to zip past her and bounce off the brick bakery.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Hey there, readers. It’s me, ya boi, Sita Bethel. And this is a biography where I tell you all the boring facts about my life- like how I have a degree in writing, and how my two cats, Odin and Anpu, will one day rule this land as your feline overlords. Enough of that same old, same old. Here’s the real dirt. Sita Bethel likes to wrap up like a burrito with a weighted blanket. They host coloring parties as a personal eff-you to anxiety, and read everything from trash British sensationalist novels like The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins to literary masterpieces like The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Had enough of Sita Bethel yet? If not, check out @sita_bethel on Twitter, or sitabethelfiction on Facebook, or even www.sitabethel.com.

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


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Feb 21

New Release Blitz: Terror by J. Hali Steele (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Earth’s Craving

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: February 21, 2025

Cover Art: Angela Knight

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

Themes: Bisexual, Multisexual, Pansexual & Transsexual, Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Shapeshifters, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Dragon Lost (#1)

Multiverse: Searchlight Academy (#13)

Book Length: Print

Page Count: 84

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Synopsis

When werewolf and dragon meet, will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned plans?

Tom, a land dragon, is so large he’s earned the nickname “Earth.” His dragon herd takes advantage of him until he’s sold to a pair of basilisks. Unfortunately for them, Tom’s mating plans don’t include repopulating the basilisk species. Time to make his escape…

Kailee, psychic disaster and frightened “rehabilitated” werewolf, is new to adulting, but she’s been through enough to make her a force to be reckoned with. Transgender, she is burdened with not one, but three psychic abilities. The overabundance of power tends to make her a little off-balance…

Will Kailee be able to protect Tom from those hunting him? Can Tom learn to trust? Or will their need for each other defeat all their well-intentioned plans?

Excerpt

Earth’s Craving (Dragon Lost 1)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington

Tom fled through the forest, staying low to the ground, or as low as a person who stood over six feet could manage without crawling. He needed to keep his feet because —

He flashed back to when the matriarch had cut off his left foot to keep him from escaping again. It had grown back, of course. He was a dragon. Still, it had hurt, and he sometimes woke in the middle of the night with phantom pain reminding him how he’d suffered.

He didn’t have a very good sense of direction, but it was a sunny day, early in the morning, and the sun came up in the east. So, just as long as he kept the sun on his left, he’d assumed he’d be generally heading south. Out of Canada. He’d grown up here but all he knew about the country where he’d been imprisoned was that it was north of the United States.

He was grateful his shedding was over for another six months. His escape would have been impossible while he was struggling through the twice-a-year loss of his scales.

He heard other dragons flying above him and huddled against a tree, hoping the darkness of his skin would blend with the shadows. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a late December winter when the temperatures around Nova Scotia lingered just above freezing most days. He wouldn’t freeze to death… probably. As long as he kept moving, he’d be all right. Just now, though, stillness was required. He shut his eyes, fearing that his anxiety had turned his irises yellow-green. They might be spotted by someone with a searchlight.

He wondered briefly if the female dragons had employed some of their males to help. Most of the males were treated better than he was, although not equal to the females. The large majority would do as they were told because they weren’t required to stand stud all year, just when the females wanted them.

Probably most of the other male dragons were grateful for his existence. He was an anomaly, but one that the females liked. Bigger and stronger than any other dragon he’d ever met, he’d been conditioned since birth. He’d been born larger and the hopes for his future progeny had been high. Hell, they were still high even though only about one third of the dragons he sired were of greater size when they were born. He’d only been at this enslavement stud service for a year and a half, so none of his children were more than a year old.

It was as if, when the dragons and werewolves had split off from their basilisk parentage, they’d been cursed to all stand at the exact same height in either human guise or scaly form. Five feet, ten inches was the height of almost every other dragon he’d heard of when they walked on two feet. With their talons and tails, they stood eight feet tall.

Tom was six-two sometimes, and others, he was ten feet tall. Being larger than most dragons should have been an advantage. Having increased strength could have helped if there weren’t so many damn males and females alike ready to take him down.

The sounds overhead faded and he hesitated, not wanting to leave his hiding place. Yet, what good would it do him to stay here? They’d send out hunters on foot if necessary.

So, biting his lips almost hard enough to draw blood, he crept away from the tree and started running again. He skirted around a meadow and kept going, adrenaline making him thirsty even as it lent his muscles endurance.

The sun had been up for an hour before he judged it safe to stop and drink. He’d been hearing a river nearby for about the last ten minutes and that burbling, overly cheery sound made him long for water.

He broke from the game trail he’d been following and found an offshoot that led in the correct direction. When he came upon the river, he was relieved to see a rocky bank where he could get right down close to the water and drink his fill.

He crawled to the edge of the river, listening hard. He heard nothing except the twittering of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Well, and the rushing of the water, of course. It was a deep stream, not quite the river he’d been envisioning based on the amount of noise it was making. He slipped his hands into the icy cold water.

Hands seized him roughly by his hair.

Without thought, he shifted to his scaly form to lose that grip. His clothes, rags now, fell away as he tried for the sky.

Three dragons, brown and orange, like him, male, like him, each two feet smaller, crashed into him. From below came a howl of triumph and something sharp sliced through his wing’s membrane.

He screamed as he fell.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. 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. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

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


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Feb 18

New Release Blitz: In Flight by K.R. Collins (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  In Flight

Series: Sophie Fournier, Book Eight

Author: K.R. Collins

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/18/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 74100

Genre: Contemporary, Romance, contemporary, sports, family-drama, lesbian, ice hockey

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Description

As she enters her ninth season in the North American Hockey League, Sophie’s pressure on herself to perform well has never been higher. Next season will mark a decade as the first woman in the League, a milestone no one will let her forget, especially as her expected replacement will be old enough to be drafted herself.

Sophie has the support of Coach Elison and her team behind her. She has come into her own on the ice as the captain and face of the Concord Condors. Off the ice, her life is looking good as well. She and Elsa are living together with plans to build a home, provided Concord signs them to contract extensions.

As always, though, it isn’t enough. Sophie has her eyes set on the Maple Cup, the trophy given to the best hockey team each year. She has all the motivation she needs—a contract to live up to, a personal hockey hero on the team who has never lifted the Cup before, and a need to prove herself, again, before Emily Skelton is drafted and takes the League by storm.

Excerpt

In Flight
K.R. Collins © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Sophie greets Armand Mason with a smile and a brief handshake. Mason is a middle-aged man with dark skin and even darker hair. He wears a green button-down, but the sleeves are rolled to his elbows in deference to the summer heat.

His grip is firm but not overpowering. He has callouses on his hands, in different places than Sophie does. She suspects his are from holding pencils or, maybe in this modern age, a tablet stylus. Sophie’s callouses are from gripping her hockey stick and from all the weightlifting she does.

Elsa shakes Armand’s hand next. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” she says.

Elsa, who normally only has a scant few inches on Sophie, has closer to four today, because she’s wearing wedge sandals. They’re open-toed to show off her lime-green toenail polish. The color clashes with Elsa’s dress, a light-pink halter-top. The green-pink combination reminds Sophie of watermelon, but she’s smart enough not to mention it to Elsa.

While her girlfriend—and that’s still a thrill, thinking of Elsa as her girlfriend—is understanding of Sophie and her quirks, Sophie doubts that will extend to being compared to a watermelon.

Sophie doesn’t wear a sundress like Elsa or business casual like Armand. She wears black capri leggings and a black T-shirt boasting her team’s name and logo.

The Concord Condors are New Hampshire’s North American Hockey League team. Their logo is a condor with its wings stretched wide and a hockey stick clutched in its talons. Concord was one of the newest teams to be added to the league. The NAHL decided New England could support two teams, one in Boston and one in Concord, and that the proximity would create a rivalry which would sell tickets.

In the early years, there wasn’t much of a rivalry. Concord was where Boston fans went because the tickets were cheaper. Now, though, Concord is a proper NAHL team. They have a Maple Cup to their name, having won hockey’s most coveted prize in Sophie’s third season. She hasn’t managed to do it again, but she has a good feeling about this year.

Sophie gestures for Armand to sit at the booth she and Elsa picked out at the coffee shop. She and Elsa sit side by side opposite him. This year is going to be a good one, for many reasons. Yes, Sophie is chasing the Cup again, something she will do every year she’s still playing in the NAHL, but there are other things she’s focused on.

She has a girlfriend to take out on dates. She has a contract negotiation she wants done with before the summer is over. She has plans to go to Sweden with Elsa, then for Elsa to visit Sophie in Thunder Bay.

And, of course, she has this meeting with Armand Mason, a local architect.

Sophie and Elsa plan to sign contract extensions this summer, the two of them committing to Concord for as many years as they can. They’ve already committed to each other, for more than the eight or ten years their hockey contracts will last. Another declaration of their intent is this: planning a house together.

They’re going to build their dream house. They’ll have enough bedrooms for when their respective families come to visit or for when their teammates need a place to crash. They’ll have a sleek, modern kitchen where Sophie can cook when she has the energy and heat up team-prepared meals when she doesn’t. They’ll have an open living room with enough seating to host their teammates.

It will be perfect, and Armand is going to help them make it happen.

“Are congratulations in order?” Armand asks with a glance between them.

It isn’t an unfair guess, and Sophie feels a twinge of guilt for lying to him, for using him, as she smiles and says, “Not yet. We’re hoping by the end of the summer to have ironed out our new contracts. Once the ink is dried, we can begin building, but we wanted to start planning ahead of time. We think it will go well.”

Armand’s surprise morphs into a polite smile.

Sophie knows the assumptions people will make about her and Elsa. They see them together and think they’re a couple. They are a couple, but Sophie doesn’t want the wider world to know. So few things in her life are allowed to be hers, are private, that she clings to this one.

She was the first woman drafted into the NAHL. It means she’s been the first for a lot of milestones in the league. She is the face of her franchise, and in some ways she’s the face of the league. It’s a lot of responsibility, and she accepts that it’s part of the price of entrance.

She doesn’t want to be the first hockey player to openly date their teammate. She doesn’t want the pressure or the attention or the people who will dig into every detail of her life. She values her privacy. Even more, she values her relationship with Elsa, and she doesn’t want to constantly defend it against people trying to twist it into something bad.

Armand won’t be the only person to make assumptions based on Sophie and Elsa planning a house together, but there won’t be a lot of people like him, either. For most of the hockey world, Sophie and Elsa are simply Sophie and Elsa. They shared an apartment in Elsa’s first season in Concord, and they’ve shared a house every season since. There was a brief time when Elsa moved in with a boyfriend, but she was back with Sophie the next season.

Their relationship is teammates being teammates. Sophie is happy to feed into the misdirection, because it allows her to protect what’s most important to her. She and Elsa will plan their house, and pictures will leak from today’s meeting. The two of them will train with each other, first in Sweden then in Thunder Bay. At some point, they’ll sit down with Concord’s front office and sign matching contracts.

It isn’t the first time Sophie has spun a narrative. It is, by far, the largest scale deception she’s ever undertaken. Part of her feels guilty for it. There aren’t many out athletes, and this is an opportunity for her to be a role model and a spokesperson. The thought of it exhausts her. Maybe, it’s selfish. Or maybe, it’s self-preservation. She isn’t sure. She’ll bring it up with Dr. Malone in her next therapy appointment. For now, though, her relationship with Elsa is a well-guarded secret.

Elsa’s immediate family knows, and Sophie’s brother knows. Soon, Sophie will have to tell her parents, but she doesn’t intend to tell anyone else. Concord’s front office won’t be told, her teammates won’t be told. One day, she’ll tell a wider audience, either because it leaks or because she’s ready to, but she isn’t ready now. And Elsa isn’t pressuring her.

“We’d like to stay within a thirty-minute drive of Concord,” Sophie tells Armand once they each have their beverage of choice. Sophie has a smoothie which has too much sugar to be healthy, but there’s fruit in it so she can pretend.

Elsa doesn’t even make that small effort. Her iced coffee has several syrup shots and a tall spiral of whipped cream. It’s a toothache in a cup, but Elsa’s happy with it so Sophie doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know if that limits what we can do,” Sophie adds because Armand is their architect, not their realtor.

“Are you looking to build a large house?” Armand asks.

“No,” Elsa answers, and she grins at Sophie’s look. “He’s thinking McMansion. We want space, but not that much.”

Armand smiles and ducks his head, almost bashful. “Large isn’t exactly a precise word.”

“A little bigger than what we have now,” Sophie says. She slides the pictures and specs of their current house across the table.

The house is a good size for them, but its true benefit is the attached in-law apartment. It’s the perfect place for their respective families to stay when they visit. They’re close enough to see, but there’s enough separation that Sophie and Elsa don’t feel crowded. Would it be weird to have two in-law apartments in their future house?

“The biggest upgrade will be in the size of the yard,” Elsa says. “We’re looking to put in a saltwater pool.”

“We aren’t,” Sophie says. She tries to frown at Elsa’s impish look, but Elsa’s too pleased with herself for Sophie to hold out for very long. They have playfully argued about their pool since they first considered the idea of building a house.

Elsa wants something whimsical and impractical, a saltwater pool with a grotto and a waterfall. Sophie thinks if she’s going to have a pool, it should be a lap pool, something with purpose. Unlike their disagreement over toasters, which was solved by buying two, Sophie doesn’t think this one will be solved by having a pool for each of their preferences.

Armand laughs at their antics and sips his tea before he pulls out a blank piece of paper. “Let’s make a list. No judgements yet, anything and everything you might want. Next session, we can whittle it down based on practicality and preference.”

“All right,” Sophie says.

Her life is measured in milestones; from leagues she’s broken into to hockey achievements, even to things like her first car, her first apartment lease, her first house. This is another milestone, planning a house with the woman she wants to live with for the rest of her life.

Under the table, where no one will see, Sophie reaches for Elsa’s hand. Elsa meets her halfway, and they lace their fingers together.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

K.R. Collins went to college in Pennsylvania where she learned to write and fell in love with hockey. When she isn’t working or writing, she watches hockey games and claims it’s for research. Find K.R. on Twitter.

Giveaway

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


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