Nov 19

New Release Blitz: BEAcon of Love by Jamie Sands (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  BEAcon of Love

Author: Jamie Sands

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/19/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 45900

Genre: Contemporary Romance, romcom, gay, neurodiversity, comic-con setting, artists, TV stars, creatives, cosplay, costuming, online influencer, humor, friendship, game geeks, outing, coming out, introvert/extrovert, anxiety/panic attacks, autism representation, people pleasing

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Description

Cole has come to BEAcon for one reason: the contest cup. He’s spent months knitting chainmail and perfecting his poses. With cosplay rivals to out compete and the chance to attend panels for his new favorite show, Cole can’t afford any distractions—especially not falling in love.

Milo, star of the viral breakaway TV show Dusk City, would rather be staked through the heart like the vampire he portrays than crammed into a convention center with thousands of fans. Sure, success is great—but not when the future of the show and your co-workers depend on him staying in the closet. The frenzied fan reaction is nothing short of overwhelming.

When Milo’s anxiety gets to be too much, Cole doesn’t hesitate to come to the rescue of his handsome TV crush. His unorthodox solution opens the doors to an unexpected—and undeniable—connection. Between signings, meltdowns, and the swirling microcosm of the huge fan convention, can Milo and Cole ever be in the same place at the same time again?

Excerpt

BEAcon of Love
Jamie Sands © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Cole

Cole Parrish could not contain his excitement.

They were checking into the hotel. After a year of preparation and multiple days stuck in the car with his best friend, the greatest fan convention of the year was happening: BEAcon.

Bryce had driven the last leg of their road trip and groaned softly as he stretched out his back. The drive to Nevada from California wasn’t super long, but they still liked to split it over a couple of days and take their time. Neither of them was fond of driving for over four hours at a time.

Cole looked around, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The people in the check-in lines were just like him. They wore superhero T-shirts, or shirts with Tolkien quotes, or even casual cosplays. Cole glanced down at his own—a Dusk City fan shirt. Dusk City was the hottest new TV show of the season. Chances were there’d be a lot of cosplayers inspired by the urban fantasy show and its handsome cast who would be appearing at the convention. Especially Caleb, the smolderingly gorgeous vampire lead character.

Cole had a large suitcase and three suit bags full of costumes carefully handcrafted over the last year. Bryce had a duffel bag with his two tried-and-true cosplays inside it. He helped lug Cole’s bags up to their room.

“I dunno why you have to be so extra every time.” Bryce rolled his eyes

“I have to be extra for the community.” Cole made his eyes wide and innocent. “I have fans, you know. And they deserve every piece of effort I put into this.”

Bryce knew he was teasing. “You have maybe ten fans. And they just follow you for the time you accidentally showed nipple in that one video.”

“How dare you?” Cole slapped at Bryce’s elbow, which wasn’t easy while holding the garment bags.

“I’m here to keep you grounded, my friend. Someone’s got to.”

“You’re not just here to keep me grounded.” Cole shifted his weight. “You’re here to stalk Zack as well.”

Bryce colored. “Zack is… I don’t know why you’d bring that up.”

“Uh, because you’ve been talking nonstop about him on the drive here, how hot he is, and how much you hope you get to see him? Even though he’s my deadly cosplay rival and not even that good-looking?”

Bryce couldn’t meet his eyes.

Cole decided to backpedal. He didn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable, so he changed the subject back to a safe topic: himself. “Well. As soon as I get a brand deal for my social media, I’ll be getting my own room. No more sharing with hobbit peasants like you any longer.”

“Honestly? I can’t wait,” Bryce deadpanned. “Want me to take some pictures of you with your nipples out? That should do it.”

Cole stifled his reaction. Snooty narcissists did not snort in public.

He said instead, “My skills at crafting a fantastic costume and my natural charm and gift of connecting to others are what draw people to me. Not that someone who turns up to every event as Bilbo Baggins since they were seventeen could ever hope to understand.”

“Bilbo’s a classic.”

“Bilbo is great, but your costume is vintage. The character is vintage. You’re only twenty-two, like me. Liven it up and stop playing a hundred-year-old character.”

“Yeah, well, my job doesn’t allow for frequent visits to the gym to get my body superhero-ready.” Bryce reached over and pinched Cole’s bicep. “So, I’m going with the hobbit.”

“We work at the same pizza place, and you barely have more hours than I do.”

“Whatever, pretty boy.” Bryce flapped a dismissive hand as the elevator reached their floor, and they piled out.

“I read another rumor for what the B-E-A stands for in BEAcon, by the way.” Cole scanned room numbers as they turned into a new corridor, searching for theirs.

“Yeah?”

“Boardgaming, Egames, and Anime convention.”

Bryce frowned. “This convention has been a thing since before egames existed.”

“Yeah, I still think it stands for Badass Elves and Aliens.”

Bryce laughed. “Broadcasted Entertainment and Assortments is the one I’m sticking to.”

“Why would they have an acronym for assortments?” Cole said as he unlocked their door.

They shuffled inside. Two twin beds, a tiny desk, and a chair filled the room, leaving only enough space for Cole to drag his suitcases in.

“I call dibs on the closet,” he said.

Bryce snorted, slinging his bag on the nearest bed. “Wardrobe’s all yours. I’m claiming the shower.”

“Good idea. I don’t mind rooming with a hobbit, but a smelly hobbit?” Cole pulled a face.

Bryce aimed a playful swat at him.

Cole ducked, immediately tripping over the bed. “Is it me, or do these rooms get smaller every year?”

“It’s you and your giant ego; it gets harder to squeeze into the room. That or inflation.” Bryce squeezed past Cole’s suitcase and into the bathroom.

“Inflation? That makes no sense.” The only reply was the sound of water hitting the shower floor. Cole looked into the wardrobe only to discover he had a major problem. The tiny closet was big enough to house three costumes. He had five.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A number one bestseller on Amazon, Jamie (he/they) writes optimistic urban fantasy and romance, highlighting queer characters. They also dabble in short stories in all sorts of genres, notebook design, and tabletop roleplaying game design. Their work has been shortlisted for the Sir Julius Vogel Award. Jamie grew up in Wellington, New Zealand, and was a library devotee and constant reader of fiction from a very early age. They now live in Auckland with their wonderful spouse. Jamie has visited Japan three times and would like to move into Tokyo Disneyland. Pen names include Jaxon Knight (contemporary rom coms) and Drake LaMarque (mostly paranormal historical, high steam).

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Nov 12

New Release Blitz: Monsoon Queen by Jo Carthage (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Monsoon Queen

Series: The War Between Cedar and Oak, Book One

Author: Jo Carthage

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/12/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 43300

Genre: Historical Fantasy, historical fiction/1800s, fantasy, romance, lit/genre fiction, bisexual, lesbian/sapphic, anti-colonialism, East Africa, Yemen, conflict, mages/magic users, dark lord, insurgents, torture/whips, pirates, dark prince, woman mage, porqué no los dos

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Description

Twenty-year-old Noor has been hiding her magic and biding her time in the spice markets of 1812 Tajoura as she and her neighbours wait for the ravenous British Empire to sail into their homeport, cannons blazing. But when the HMS Victory arrives, so does the chance of a lifetime to join a found family in the Yemeni resistance. Noor finds herself caught up in the fight against the Empire’s battle mages and Rami, the dark prince who leads them.

In a case of mistaken identity, Noor heals Rami before a decisive battle. She sees the good in him, and her heart is torn.

Noor’s new friend Razan—a brilliant and beautiful inventor for the resistance—has no such qualms. She hates Rami for his role in the raid that killed her parents. Razan has found a way to harness Noor’s power to defeat the British, and the two women grow ever closer. On a perilous camel ride to the coffee roasting city of Mocha, Rami strikes, kidnapping Noor and taking her back to his cruel master on the HMS Victory.

In order to survive, Noor will need to call on everything she learned in the spice markets and the Yemeni resistance.

Rebels, mages, lovers. With the final battle looming and the resistance struggling without her, Noor must keep her eye on the prize: saving Yemen from the British Empire. If she can keep Razan in her bed and save Rami from the Empire, she will have the future she’s always dreamed of. But first, Noor has to survive the storms to come.

Excerpt

Monsoon Queen
Jo Carthage © 2024
All Rights Reserved

The jute rope flowed through Noor’s hands as she climbed down into the shipwreck. The shallow waters of the Gulf of Tajoura filled the creaking hold, but the crew deck was just above the lapping waves. She landed, and her sandals crunched on salt-encrusted cedar. Noor breathed a sigh of relief. At least this deck isn’t entirely rotted. Though she’d lived all of her twenty-one years within smelling distance of the sea, she could not swim. She hadn’t been permitted to learn.

Noor stood in a pillar of noonday sun shining through the hole she’d hacked in the deck above. Everywhere else was darkness. Noor peered into the gloom, checking for any cracks of sunlight on the side of the wreck where she knew her master, Musa, had anchored his dhow.

When she was certain he couldn’t see, she let a gentle glow rise in her fingertips, lighting the hold. Musa didn’t know she could cast light or move objects with her mind. He hadn’t been there when she’d found her magic that past summer, her hands on the body of a soft black cat who’d been trampled by a British officer’s horse. If he had seen her healing, he’d have had her killed.

Slaves could not be mages in Tajoura.

Before her magic had come, Noor had thought she would be trapped with Musa for the rest of her life; now, she studied with her imam every chance she got, gaining control over her power and searching for a chink in the world she could pry open long enough to escape.

The shipwreck jerked, a low wave slamming into the side.

Noor got back to work. She surveyed the crew deck, checking every corner and cavity until…there. A small tumble of rags and arm-length splinters of cedar shielded a glint of silver.

She hitched up her guntiino, the long red and yellow striped wrap she wore like an Indian woman’s sari, and raised her hand to light her way into the darkness.

Noor pulled Musa’s leather purse from under her guntiino and began filling it with silver coins.

“Teach that captain to talk too freely in the hookah shop,” she muttered as she swept up the treasure. “Or maybe just to know a thief when he sees one.”

Musa had overheard this dhow’s former captain in the hookah shop the night before, moaning about his sailors abandoning their backpay as they scrambled to escape the wreck two monsoon seasons ago. This boat was one of many. Ever since the British Empire had set their sights on Aden to the East across the Gulf and rumours of sightings of Lord Admiral Nelson’s Victory had been reported from the Cape northwards, merchants who’d never plied Tajoura’s shallow and reef-filled waters were trying their luck on the last free port on the Horn of Africa.

Many didn’t survive the experience.

Musa had sailed her out here on his rickety dhow several times a month for years, ordering her to loot the remains of shattered ships. He claimed any treasure she found or took it out of her hide if she tried to conceal it, to save up enough to buy passage somewhere else, anywhere else. Musa forgets that the alternative to allowing slaves to buy our freedom is having his throat slit in the night. Noor dreamed about it, but she didn’t kill, wouldn’t risk her secret connection to haya magic by using it for violence. Her imam had warned her that to do so might sever her connection forever. But even without knowing she had powers, Musa should have been more cautious. For now, Noor was biding her time, trying to find another way out.

So here Noor was, collecting other people’s pay for someone else’s profit; it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. She was relacing the purse when something else glimmered in the heap of mouldering cloth.

Noor’s fingers were delicate and careful of scurrying crabs and cedar splinters. There. She found what had caught her eye: a Yemeni dagger, a jambiya, with a pearl-dotted sheath and a polished moon-coloured lunella shell as a pommel.

It shone in her light.

“What kind of Yemeni man would abandon his family’s jambiya?” she muttered.

Beautiful weapons were impossibly expensive for someone like her and far too dangerous to own. She took a breath and stuffed it down the front of her guntiino. The dagger fit snugly between her belt and her belly. The leather purse went between her teeth. She climbed up her rope, arm over arm. Noor extinguished her light as the sun hit her upturned face. She reached the bare bit of stable hull that she’d tied onto and stood up on it, gripping the gunwale as the rising tide shook the wreck.

Noor glanced over the edge to see Musa glaring up at her from the helm of his tiny, shallow-drafted dhow, bobbing only a few arm lengths away from the wreck. His bald head glittered with sweat. His mouth was twisted and red.

“That’s it?” he shouted, gesturing at the purse between her lips.

She turned to descend the rope ladder, making a face where he could not see. Her sandaled feet slipped on the slimy, fraying rope, hands cramping tightly above the knots. A wave bucked the ship, and she slammed into the hull, the contents of the purse bruising her lips. The rope snapped—

Noor fell, and the warm water was over her head in seconds. She forced herself to hold her breath, struggled to look up, eyes burning with the salt. There it was, Musa’s hand lowering to rip the purse from between her teeth.

The current shoved her back against the hull of the wreck, and she lost hold of her climbing rope.

Noor shoved her panic away and pushed away from the wreck, tried to think of how she could use her magic, but her mind thrashed as the water forced itself between her lips. She couldn’t focus. She crunched against the hull again and turned into it, fingers digging into the rotting wood, forcing herself up one handhold at a time until she got her bruised lips above the water and gasped in sweet, salty air. A wave filled her mouth. She slipped and found a new hold, again and again, each breath a little shallower, until she felt Musa’s fingers dig in around her elbow before wrenching her over the side and throwing her to the deck.

As she tried to stand, he hissed, “You ugly idiot, I got my sandals wet because of you,” and cuffed her hard to the deck.

The jambiya’s sheath jammed into her stomach, and she curled around it protectively.

He hasn’t seen the blade yet.

Musa had already turned back to the helm, cursing her loudly as he adjusted the rudder, his fishing spear bloodied across his back. She had a moment to catch her breath.

Unfortunately, what she breathed in was the smell of a freshly killed dugong. The gentle creatures were like horses or the cows the Afar herdsman brought to the annual bazaar that had started just the prior month. With soft grey skin and silly faces, the dugong bore live babies. Her master liked to hunt them while he waited for her to scavenge for him, though Noor knew it was no real hunt. The sweet things would gather around any boat, as curious as kittens. She rolled away from the corpse, trying to keep her disgust off her face.

Then she froze. Strange bells sounded from across the harbour. Turning, Noor cocked her head, trying to find the source.

Silence.

Somali traders’ ships didn’t use bells. Neither did the double-masted Yemeni dhow that slipped into port under cover of night to avoid British patrols.

Only British imperial warships rang bells when they entered a harbour. She’d heard that from refugees, from women who’d escaped Mocha and Sidon.

No British warship had ever yet entered Tajoura’s harbour.

The bells rang again, and Noor’s breathing kicked up when she saw their source. At the mouth of the harbour, a ship as massive as the biggest mosque in Gaza, crowded out the sky. Its dozen square sails covered the faces of the clouds, each deck painted black and gold in succession, the colours wavering in the golden morning light.

“I’ve heard of that ship,” Musa growled behind her. “Striped like a bee, stung Napoleon in their last wars. The Victory. Their great Admiral Nelson died there.” He slapped at the ropes in the rigging, jerking the knots, swinging the sail out and into the wind. “They’ll blow us out of the water as soon look at us, with their alam mages or cannons or both.”

The bells rang louder.

Noor stared at Musa, the jambiya heavy against her stomach. If Musa stayed facing away from her, she could creep up behind him, slide the dagger out, and slit his throat the way he had the dugong’s.

There was a reason slaves weren’t allowed weapons.

The bells sounded, and she felt the weight of the knife like the promise she’d made to herself years ago: free yourself so you may remain free. She kept her eyes on the Victory as Musa hurried them back to port.

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Meet the Author

Jo Carthage is a bi, cis woman living in Silicon Valley. In her career, Jo has worked with survivors of labor and sex trafficking in DC, helped get incredible women and queer folks elected to state and national office in three states, and thinks politics and science fiction go together beautifully. Jo’s grandfather worked as a nuclear physicist at Oak Ridge in the 1950s, but it wasn’t until a 2019 family road trip veered off course and she spent an afternoon at EBR-1 that she started to write Atomic Age fiction.

Jo was honored to have Nuclear Sunrise favorably reviewed by the Director of the Mescalero Apache Cultural Center and intends to donate a portion of proceeds to their important work. As a writer, Jo loves slow burn, hurt/comfort, queer history, enemies-to-lovers, and happy endings.

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Nov 09

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

Title: Terror

Series: Scorned Devils MC, Book Two

Author: J. Hali Steele

Publisher:  Changeling Press

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Release Date: 11/08/2024

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 100 Pages

Genre: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense, Gay, MC Romance

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Description

Terror: Once, he had been Terrance Holton, a young gay man who learned to shove what he is so deep inside himself, he almost forgot. He grew up to be Terror and he is the Vice President of one of the baddest outlaw motorcycle clubs in Pennsylvania. The consequence of denying who he really is turns Terror into a threat to everyone around him, and eventually lands Terror in jail. There he connects with a beautiful older man who teaches Terror to love who he is.

Tinman: Timothy Jacoby gave years of his life to leading a motorcycle club that no longer exists. He did anything for his MC and his brothers, never hiding who he was. Then Tinman got arrested and sent to prison, where he serves ten years. When Tinman meets a younger biker who hides his gayness from the crew he rides with, he vows to keep Terror safe, but he hides his own past as a biker. Unable to forget their blistering encounters, the minute Tinman is released, he’s hellbent on finding Terror again. This time he’ll keep his prize.

Both men’s secrets are about to collide, and they just might blow the Scorned Devils MC to smithereens.

Excerpt

Terror (Scorned Devils MC 2)
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 J. Hali Steele

Terror

Goddamn Dread and his fuck-the-world attitude. Defying every norm, the man flaunted his desire for other men. Took them without a care for what anyone thought. Yet he was still the most respected Scorned Devils MC club member, the MC club’s sergeant at arms, and other MCs feared him as if he were some kind of hero with super powers or some shit.

Back then, Terror had detested Dread — mostly for causing his own dormant childhood feelings to resurface.

Now Terror was returning home from prison feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Having heard from Cat, a man Terror had introduced to biker culture and the Scorned Devils MC days before his release, he was aware of the showdown between Cat and Dread. He’d told Cat to pack up and return to Kansas. Terror didn’t even go home to get his bike. He had bigger plans. He couldn’t wait to see the man who’d taken up so much space in Terror’s head while he’d been locked up for nearly three years. Terror had berated Dread mercilessly about being gay. Treated him even worse whenever Terror heard about Dread screwing any man who would have him.

When he’d been arrested, Battle Graves, their MC president, had been the one to show up to bail Terror out. He’d turned down Bat’s offer of legal representation. The bastard Terror had beaten to within an inch of his life? Shit, he’d do that again if he had to. No reason to fight the charges and have his brothers find out what went down in that motel room in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

At that time, Terror hadn’t been ready to come out.

He’d been named Terrance Holton by his drugged-out single mom, who’d simply vanished one night. Wading through the foster care system at a young age, Terror had realized he might be gay. Afraid and beat down, he’d buried Terrance deep in his psyche. Deep enough to almost forget the boy existed.

As he grew older, nothing scared the man he became — an angry-as-hell bastard who cared for no one. Made everyone call him Terror. If they didn’t, he whipped their asses.

He came to embrace one thing — an old motorcycle he’d stolen from the shed behind his last foster home. It was never reported because that motherfucker would never talk to anyone again.

That motorcycle… the speed, his disdain for the law, it led to Terror’s prospecting with the Scorned Devils MC.

Meeting the club’s sergeant at arms changed everything.

Now he was back. And he was ready to show his true colors.

Would his brothers and other clubs receive Terror the same way?

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

A former MC associate, J. Hali Steele loves anything with wheels, including motorcycles, classic automobiles, and race cars. A retired winning ex-quarter mile drag racer, J. Hali often angles to get her butt back in the driver’s seat!

J. Hali is a multi-published, best-selling author of romance in Contemporary MC, ReligErotica, Paranormal, Fantasy, and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters, and angels collide – and they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap and a cup of her favorite beverage of the moment.

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Nov 05

New Release Blitz: Summers Power by BL Jones (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Summers Power

Series: Danger City, Book One

Author: BL Jones

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/05/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 101300

Genre: Contemporary Romance, family-drama, bisexual, crime family, schoolteacher, enemies to lovers, superheroes, deceased spouse, deceased parent, slow burn

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Description

Danger City has been ruled by the bloody iron fists of the Winters crime family for decades.

When the Summers family waged war on the Winters in an attempt to take their power, violence reigned, taking no mercy on both sides of the conflict. The Summers were eventually defeated and as a result Max Summers lost everything.

Flash forward sixteen years, Max is a new man, no longer a gangster, but a simple primary school teacher still grieving the loss of his first love and trying his best to raise his children as a single father.

Cue his old rival Sam Winters re-entering his life when their oldest sons meet at school and become best friends.

During their time apart, Sam continued on the path laid out for him, climbing the organisation’s ranks right to the top. He has become every inch the mighty and lethal crime boss he was born to be.

After their unplanned reunification, both men are forced to confront the nightmares of their joint past and the burgeoning desire developing between them.

Can Max allow himself to fall in love with anyone again, let alone the man who was once his greatest enemy?

Excerpt

Summers Power
BL Jones © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I never asked for this life.

In all honesty, if someone had told me when I was a child that one day I would be working as a primary school teacher, then I would have been horrified. I would have said my father—my father—wouldn’t allow that to happen.

When I was a boy, I thought my father was the strongest, bravest, most important man in the world. I don’t think that’s particularly odd within itself; many sons look to their fathers.

It was just unfortunate for me that mine was a violent criminal. Worse, he was a violent criminal who failed to be the best violent criminal in Danger City. When he tried to take down the behemoth that is the Winters family, they ground out my father’s rebellion like King Arthur and his knights ferociously beat down the Saxons.

I often used to wonder what would have been different if I’d just tried harder to fight my fate. At the time it had seemed inescapable. But now I look back on my choices and realise all the times when I could have been stronger, taken more control of my own life. I have to tell myself over and over again that I was young and scared, and I just wanted to please my father. To please him and survive him, a task many before me had failed to accomplish.

I’ve learned the hard way that people can do strange and terrible things out of desperation. I don’t believe anyone who hasn’t grown up as I did could understand what it’s like to live a life surrounded by different doors, yet still know you’ll only ever have the key to one of them.

My father trapped me with his choices, his mistakes. I felt like I couldn’t be anyone other than who he wanted me to be. Of course, now I know that wasn’t true. But hindsight is, as ever, mostly useless.

I’ve tried very hard not to trap my children in the same way. I want them to have every choice. I want them to feel free to be themselves, even if the world disagrees. I want them to fight back when someone tries to force them into a corner.

My son, Rory, started secondary school this year, and he’s made some interesting new friends. A best friend in particular who has caused me a great deal of anxiety.

When Rory asked if he could go over to his new best friend’s house after school on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays, I couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Not that I would particularly want to. But the thought of facing the father of my son’s new best mate is somewhat daunting.

When Rory first told me he’d made a friend named Elijah Winters, I was only mildly alarmed. I told myself that Danger is a large city. There could be plenty of people running around with that surname. It didn’t mean anything. Elijah could very well not be his son.

But another part of me knew. As soon as Rory said that name. Part of me knew there was no chance he could be anyone else’s son. I’d already accepted the fact, had let the sense of inevitability take over and the resignation sink in.

It made sense to me in a strange way that another one of the changes in my life had been invaded or influenced by Sam Winters.

I saw Sam at the school when I dropped Rory off last week. It was the first time I’d clapped eyes on the bastard in years.

It seemed mad to me that so much time had passed, yet I still felt a rush of defensive anger hit me when I looked at him. Sam always pissed me off simply by existing. I don’t know how he does it, and I probably never will. Being angry at Sam felt easy, like slipping on an old, well-worn coat. I was genuinely tempted to start hating him all over again, on principle.

But then I remembered I’m supposed to be an adult, and adults aren’t supposed to hate their childhood rivals.

Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t still let him get to me. I should have moved beyond the point where he was capable of it. But it would be a lie to say I felt nothing at the sight of him. Something about him just sets me on edge, and always has. I can’t explain it rationally. He affects me like no one else I’ve met in my life.

Growing up, my father worked for the Winters. Our families had been tied together for generations.

Then my father tried to take over, dragging me and my mother along with him. He started a war he was ill-equipped to finish.

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Meet the Author

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

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Oct 22

New Release Blitz: Racing Hearts by Alex Winters (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Racing Hearts

Series: Good Sports, Book Two

Author: Alex Winters

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/22/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 23500

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, family-drama, lesbian, second chance, runner, realtor

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Description

Riley Hunter was the dependable one. The good girl, loyal to a fault and faithful to the end. She’d had big dreams, once upon a time, until her grandfather got sick and she had to give up going away to college to care for him. Now, a year after his passing, Riley is a townie through and through, doing social media for a local realtor and happy with her daily grind. Or, at least, content. Content, that is, until she literally runs into her old high school crush during her morning jog one random weekday in the middle of May. The morning jog they used to run together, before Piper left three years ago, that is. Left without looking back…

Piper McPhee couldn’t wait to leave tiny Jasper, North Carolina. To run away from her abusive mother. Her dysfunctional home life. Her cloying friends and, most of all, her confused feeling about girls. And how much she adored them. The only thing she regretted leaving behind was Riley, sweet, sexy Riley. Her first and only female crush. But after three years at State, and a recent avalanche of failed romances, she can’t wait to come back to town. More specifically, come back to Riley. As the two girls pick up their old habit of running together every morning, they struggle to reconnect and realize it’s because they’re no longer friends. Or, at least, just friends. And in the days to come they’ll connect in ever increasing ways, becoming lovers at long last and realizing just how much they’ve missed by denying their feelings for far too long. And, happily, making up for lost time one scintillating tryst at a time…

Excerpt

Racing Hearts
Alex Winters © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Riley

“The hell?”

Riley Hunter did a quick stutter-step onto the sidewalk, used to having the whole of her big, wide suburban street to herself at this admittedly ungodly hour. Instead, she was suddenly sharing it with a rattletrap pickup truck in some sickly shade of mustard yellow, the crooked bumper covered in a hodgepodge tapestry of faded Northern Carolina State bumper stickers, as it grumbled by at an almost luxurious pace.

Riley took a break from glaring at the ramshackle bumper, afraid it might fall off in the middle of the street, and glanced up at the sky, familiar shades of orange, blue, and black as her morning run straddled the last of nightfall and the beginning of daybreak.

The truck’s brake lights faded around the corner as it wound clumsily along toward the cul-de-sac at the end of Sycamore Street. Riley shook it off and slipped back from the sidewalk onto the blacktop, pink-and-white running shoes finding familiar footing as she wound down her morning jog, savoring the cool dawn air as it washed over her sweaty body.

In the vague distance, the truck’s engine still hummed, the only sound for miles as the sleepy little town of Jasper, North Carolina slumbered through the last of the night, hours away from waking. It was what made her morning runs so appealing, despite the ungodly hour: an entire town, quiet and sleepy, all to herself.

Not that little Jasper was ever quite bustling or hectic to begin with, but there was something to be said about the solitude of an early morning run, the peace and quiet of empty streets, hers for the taking. Winking stoplights glowing just for her, no traffic jams or waiting at crosswalks, no barking dogs or passing school buses; nothing but her, the road beneath her feet, and the familiar sights, sounds, and even smells of her tiny hometown.

Most mornings, anyway. But this morning, she was sharing her long, meandering street with a noisy, rusty, unfamiliar interloper. Some college kid delivering papers, perhaps? Or some burned-out frat partier heading home after a rowdy kegger, heading off to bed as her day was newly beginning? Riley wasn’t curious, per se, just ticked off that the best part of her run, the quiet, slow, leisurely cool-off down the last of her street, had been ruined by some rattletrap junk heap at the ass crack of dawn.

“Chill, Riley,” she told herself, musing quietly with the last of her breath. “You sound like Old Mrs. Johnson when you and Piper used to drag your asses home after some high school party!”

Thus, she rounded the corner that led to her house, finding the piss-yellow truck parked crookedly in front of Piper’s old house. As she watched, transfixed, the driver’s side door opened and none other than her old teammate, and first lady crush, unfolded from the seat, one velvety-smooth, irresistible inch at a time.

“Speak of the devil,” Riley murmured, heart racing as she padded closer to the house at the end of the street, legs suddenly as unsteady as her trembling knees.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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Oct 15

New Release Blitz: The Monster Within by Marguerite Labbe (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Monster Within

Author: Marguerite Labbe

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/15/2024

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 121200

Genre: Horror romane, 19th century, Paris, French countryside, chevalier, tinker, fey, magic, monsters, ancestral spirits, orphanage, horror, thriller

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Description

For centuries, the Chevaliers de Rouen pledged to fight the monsters that inhabit France until their last breath. In the mid 1800s, Michel-Leon Parisee is the last of his line. The whispering memories of the chevaliers who passed before him offer help but have also driven other chevaliers mad with their constant advice, so Michel-Leon is forced to maintain a careful balance. When an ancient hunger threatens Paris, Michel-Leon must gather every tool he has to fight a terrifying threat that has eluded destruction before.

Constantin Severin is fey kissed, a man who walks the line between the fantastical and the mundane. He is determined to kill the magicman, the monster who destroyed his childhood, and rescue its young victims. In doing so, Constantin is in danger of becoming what he hates most. He needs a chevalier, but Michel-Leon is consumed with his own battle. Constantin must set aside old suspicions and his wandering ways if he is going to bargain for the help he needs.

Together, they can find the strength they need to battle their respective demons. They can learn they don’t have to fight alone, but it will take trust. It will take letting down long erected barriers, and it will take love. If they fail, Paris will be destroyed by the creatures that threaten it when the swarm hatches and decimates the city.

Excerpt

The Monster Within
Marguerite Labbe © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Dusk settled over the forested hills and rounded knobs of the mountainside as Michel-Leon Parisee crouched on an overlook and waited as patiently as any other predator waiting for its prey’s nose to peek out of hiding. An early April snowstorm had blown through several days ago, and evidence remained by the snow lingering around gnarled roots and the bite that clung to the air.

“This could go bad before we know it,” Régine Bardin commented as she hunkered down next to him, her gaze intent on the valley below. “The villagers are on edge and grumbling for payback.”

“That’s often the reaction when two worlds collide.” Michel-Leon spared a glance for her. Rumors and whispers had abounded since she was a girl that she was his bastard half-sister. Their coloring was similar, though her hair was more of a true red and his gilded with gold and brown. She had a riot of curls she never could tame, and his tended more toward tousled waves. They both had the same long, lean body and warm smile, and though their temperaments were quite often opposite, they complemented each other.

He thought of her as a sister, and she wished for it for all the wrong reasons.

The stamping of horses and the creak of wagon wheels sounded behind him as the villagers unloaded his requested goods. It broke the silence among the birch and firs. Michel-Leon continued to wait as Régine shifted next to him.

“The tricksters are coming.”

The voices whispered in his head, one warning coming out clear amongst the jumble of messages, as the first pinprick of yellow eyes appeared in the goblin holes that riddled the far hillside. The warning only he could hear—and Régine couldn’t—proved, despite all the rumors and wishing, they didn’t share blood.

“Here we go,” Michel-Leon said as Régine stood and laid her hand on the hilt of her sheathed, long-bladed knife.

Another pair followed the first eyes and then a dozen until the mountain holes were lit like a swarm of fireflies. Michel-Leon straightened and glanced over his shoulder at the small group of men gathered outside the abandoned chapel doors. “Is the tribute ready?” he asked.

A low grumbling answered him as he turned his attention back to the waiting eyes. “Oui. But I don’t see why we ought to give up the food we tilled and toiled for to a mob of troublesome creatures. You’re a chevalier. Blow them out or bury them deep. Isn’t that why we called you here?”

Régine rolled her eyes heavenward. The old ways were being forgotten, and Michel-Leon suppressed a sigh to echo Régine’s sentiment. He pointed at the starry field of blinking eyes. “I could do it your way, but it would end up costing you a lot more than a few barrels of spirits, calves you were going to cull anyway, and some bushels of root vegetables you can afford to give up.”

The other way would be bloody and long, and they’d never be sure they got them all. If even one goblin survived, the stunts it would pull afterward would make the villagers long for the days of kicked over milk pails and holes bored in fences.

The grumbling returned. “What’s to keep them from picking up their pranks and tricks again after you leave? The supplies won’t last long. We don’t figure to keep doing this each month.”

“Don’t worry, if they agree to the terms of the pact, they won’t bother you for a long time.” Michel-Leon patted his pocket to check if his surprise was still there. If this didn’t cause a stir of interest among the creatures, nothing would. He started to walk away and then paused. “I’d wait in the chapel if I were you. Some of the more mischievous among them might see you as friendly targets to play with when they come to collect their booty. Staying out of sight is best. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”

Michel-Leon took off in the gathering dark, one hand resting on his pistol as Régine strode beside him with the same posture. He wasn’t worried they’d have to pull it, but he didn’t want to chance the goblins would find the shiny metal fascinating and attempt to steal it. With his luck, one would blow its damn fool head off, and then negotiations would be over.

“I hope you have more tricks than they do,” Régine muttered. “I’ve never seen an infestation this big.”

“They have fewer places to parlay, and the machines with the iron and the steam, the gutting of the earth, make them uneasy.”

Michel-Leon cocked his head to listen for any other nuggets of wisdom articulating itself in the endless whispers, but nothing stood out. “Times are changing, Régine. Too fast for the little ones to keep up. Science is outstripping magic.”

“You sound regretful.” Régine spared him a glance. “There will always be more monsters.”

“Not everything different is monstrous.” A fact Michel-Leon believed fervently and one that had set him apart from other chevaliers when he was in training.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Marguerite Labbe loves to spin tales that cross genre lines, where stubborn men build lifelong ties of loyalty, friendship, and family no matter the odds thrown against them, and where love is found in unexpected places.

When she’s not working hard on writing new stories, she spends her time reading novels of all genres, enjoying role-playing and tabletop games with her friends, and taking long walks with her dog.

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Oct 11

Book Blitz: Trust is Fraught by Emily Carrington (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Trust is Fraught

Author: Emily Carrington

Cover Art: Angela Knight

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

Themes: Gay, Medical Romance, Multicultural & Interracial, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Medically Necessary (#2)

Multiverse: Searchlight Academy (#12)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 99

Synopsis

From insisting on a bed for their first time to protecting Amir from everything, Oliver is stepping all over Amir’s last nerve. It’s almost too bad the submissive wolf wants dominant Oliver in the worst way.

Amir’s frustration with Oliver doesn’t cancel out his attraction to the other wolf. As they fall deeper into the dangers of the psychic world in an effort to rescue their leader, their love may be the only thing keeping them sane.

As the leader of the werewolves sinks further into insanity, Amir and Oliver are pushed to their limits to find out what’s causing his decline. Once they discover the truth, it’s another struggle, this one against prejudice and time, to rescue the alpha above all alphas.

Excerpt

Trust Is Fraught (Medically Necessary 2)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Emily Carrington

It was full dark when Oliver jerked awake. He sat up, smelling his own sweat and the aftermath of sex.

He flashed back to the most traumatic time he’d woken to the stench of spent jizz. Geoffrey, the beta of the Kreisha pack, had been standing over him, cum dripping from his rapidly shrinking cock.

Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed, fully expecting to find himself surrounded by the enemy. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and he picked out the shadowy form of a lampshade. He reached out, almost knocking the lamp over in his need to shed light on the situation. When the bulb glowed, he took a quick look around the room, feeling the urge to ensure he was alone and safe. He didn’t quite dare to rise to his feet because his legs felt like they’d turned to water.

He missed Kenneth Jeremiah in the worst way all of a sudden, and he was unable to hide from the truth, that he missed his lover not for Kenneth Jeremiah’s own sake but because his lover had kept the nightmares at bay. Ever since being attacked, which had been two months before Kenneth Jeremiah died, the nightmares had been threatening. But he hadn’t actually dreamed of what happened until after his beloved was dead. Kenneth Jeremiah had possessed a rare empathic gift, one that allowed him to soothe others’ minds.

Sort of like Amir, he thought, but his terror kept him dwelling on the past.

He was alone in the downstairs bedroom of the house he rented in Washington, D.C.’s Northwest quarter. Why the hell did it smell of sex? And why didn’t his ass hurt?

Oliver’s gorge rose. He swallowed against the need to throw up. Gradually, his stomach settled and new information came to his nose. Yes, it was his own jizz he smelled on the air, but it was mixed with another male’s. The aroma didn’t spark a flashback but seemed to wrap around him, comforting him.

Amir’s scent surrounded him.

He’d had sex, all right, except it had really been making love. There was no fear or rage clouding the healthy leavings of two werewolves who cared for each other. They hadn’t gone all the way. Oliver had refused to claim Amir’s virgin body while they were so spun up from the events of the last few days and when Oliver himself had been so desperate for sexual contact that he hadn’t been sure he could be as gentle as was needed. They’d had oral sex, and now that his head was clearing, he realized he could taste Amir’s salty spend on his tongue. He licked his lips, found a little more of the heavenly liquid at one corner, and closed his eyes to savor it.

His cock stirred, although only a little as he fully realized he was alone in the bedroom. Where had Amir gone? Had he woken as Oliver had, frightened, and escaped into the house at large, or to the world beyond these walls? What if Oliver’s nightmare had been prophetic rather than a misplaced response to his joy?

He tried to push himself to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t support him. He flopped back onto the bed. Cursing softly, he performed a quick self-analysis, looking for sore spots or other indicators he’d been drugged. He detected nothing. Likewise, he felt no alien presence in his mind. His psychic shields were up and strong.

Still, his legs trembled. Clutching his knees, he tried to get a handle on his fear.

It hadn’t been all that long since he’d dreamed of the gang rape Geoffrey Huntington had led. Maybe only three weeks. Still, he was shocked every time it recurred. Hadn’t going through it once been enough? Apparently not for his traumatized body. Oliver could have bested three out of the four werewolves who raped him during that long five hours, but he’d surrendered to their brutality to save Kenneth Jeremiah. When the attack had begun, he’d expected to find Travers and Cobb involved because they were closer to him in rank, both being lower gammas. But the three besides Geoffrey, who was the beta of the Kreisha pack, had been Carl, Matthias, and Scott, all very low-ranked wolves, although not quite submissive. He’d always thought their ranks were why they’d participated. Geoffrey might have forced them.

Thinking about that night, all alone in the midst of raving beasts, wasn’t going to steady his legs. He needed to get himself under control so he could go looking for Amir and ensure his new lover was safe.

He forced himself to lie down on the bed. He inhaled Amir’s scent rising from his pillow, an aroma made of sweat and excitement and just a touch of disinfectant because Amir was a physician. Oliver breathed in and out, counting the seconds for each inhale and exhale. He added three seconds of holding his breath between these two acts and slowly his heartbeat stopped racing out of control. Amir’s joy and release held a comfort that Oliver hadn’t found since before the gang rape.

He sat up before that thought could take hold. He focused on the bedroom door, which was ajar. He did another quick sweep of the room, this time with nose fully engaged. He didn’t detect any blood or stench of fear. Amir must have left the room of his own volition.

With this idea in his head, Oliver was finally able to rise. He tugged on the pants he’d been wearing and started for the hallway. Following Amir’s scent, he went into the bathroom across the way, where Amir had apparently washed up because the tang of citrus soap hung in the air. Had he come out here naked?

Needing to solve that mystery because Amir walking anywhere potentially public without his clothes didn’t seem like the doctor of magical creatures at all. Back in the bedroom, however, Oliver saw all of Amir’s articles of clothing were still there.

Concern reared its ugly head again and he trotted from the room. He stopped by the front door, but Amir hadn’t come this way. He trailed the scent of soap to the stairs, and that was where it changed. The addition of fur’s rich aroma told Oliver Amir had slipped from human guise to lupine seeming before he went up the staircase to the second floor.

His night vision had fully adjusted to the dimness, and he climbed the stairs silently, keeping his ears open for Amir or their mutual patient.

Maybe that was it, he thought as he put his foot on the third step. Their mutual patient, Tilthos Charles, the alpha above all alphas in the Americas and Canada, was ill. Amir had managed to rule out any poisons or physical cause for Tilthos Charles’s growing madness, leaving it to Oliver to figure out the psychic cause. Oliver hadn’t yet solved the mystery beyond the realization Tilthos Charles was being forced to share his mind with five or six other werewolves who meant him harm.

Maybe Tilthos Charles was the reason Amir had left the bedroom and not because he’d endured a terrible dream. Oliver purposely made a little noise on the stairs to warn those up on the second floor that he was coming. He couldn’t quite make himself call out or even whisper. His throat had tightened, now with nervousness. What had he been thinking, making love to Amir when they had a patient to look after?

He reached the landing between the first and second floors and paused. Above him, out of sight because of the construction of the house, he heard a very quiet growl.

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.

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Oct 08

New Release Blitz: Into the Lion’s Den by John Patrick (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Into the Lion’s Den

Author: John Patrick

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/08/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 94800

Genre: Contemporary, coming out, missionaries, religion, religious extremism, civil discord, women’s rights, road trip

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Description

In the near future, political and cultural divisions have pushed America to the brink of civil war over States’ rights.

Daniel Ridley is a newly ordained missionary, raised in the heart of the separatist South and in ignorance of the broader world. He is sent to Boston as a missionary for the Christian Nationalist Evangelicals to preach the Word of God and to advocate for a government based on religious scripture. He’s not sure why God chose to burden him with same-sex attraction, but he’s confident his faith will give him the strength to resist that temptation. But he’s not prepared for the hostility he faces up North, and his secret mission—to find an elusive killer and bring him to justice—only complicates his task.

Jaxtyn Keller is a young gay man and perpetual college student who leads a Buddhist worship group at his university in Boston. He believes everything in the universe is connected, and everything happens for a reason. Unlike most of the citizens in his terrorism-plagued city, he’s convinced the only way to hold the country together is for both sides to truly see each other.

The two men meet by chance, and each sees in the other an opportunity to achieve his goal.

As the national crisis accelerates, however, Daniel’s cherished beliefs collide with the harsh reality of separatist violence, and he is soon torn between duty to his church and his growing feelings for Jaxtyn. When their lives are threatened, the two men must find a way to overcome their differences and accept their love for each other, while they fight to both save themselves and prevent a civil war.

Excerpt

Into the Lion’s Den
John Patrick © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

“This is not a test. Take cover immediately.”

Daniel’s cheek was squished against the bathtub wall. He breathed through his mouth while Jaxtyn—on top of him—frantically tugged at the blankets to cover their heads. Outside, sirens wailed, urging action. Through the closed bathroom door, Daniel could hear the announcements from the wall screen in Jaxtyn’s bedroom.

“This is not a test. Take cover immediately.” The warning repeated again and again, first in English, then Spanish, and then several more languages Daniel didn’t recognize. Jaxtyn’s foot slipped against the tub’s wall, and his elbow dug into Daniel’s ribs. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his coffee-scented breath puffing against Daniel’s face.

“This is not a test. Take cover immediately.”

God was punishing Daniel. That much was certain. Not even two months into his first mission, he’d failed to bring any of Boston’s sinners to Jesus, and—worse, much worse—he’d violated God’s sacred plan by succumbing to his own personal demons. Had it only been five minutes earlier that he’d condemned his soul to hell? Had he really almost kissed Jaxtyn?

Sure, it was a furtive, spontaneous thing, and in his panic, he’d pulled away before it truly began. But still. Did he really think he could flaunt God’s will? Of course he couldn’t. He’d failed. A spectacular, final descent into sin, and not five minutes later God announced his wrath through…whatever this was.

“This is not a test. Take cover immediately.”

How had his life spiraled out of control so quickly? Only six months earlier, he was secure in his faith and his future, safe and cocooned in the loving community of his missionary college, confident and eager, ready to work God’s will in the world. And now this.

“This is not—” The announcement cut off, immediately replaced by a series of shrill, sharp blasts. Outside, the sirens shut down, and an ear-splitting steady alarm took their place.

“Radiation detected! This is not a test. Take cover immediately.”

Above him, Jaxtyn sucked in a breath and squeezed lower into the tub, pressing more tightly against Daniel.

Daniel closed his eyes and began to pray.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Author John Patrick is a Lambda Literary Award finalist living in the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts, where he is supported in his writing by his husband and their terrier, who is convinced he could do battle with the bears that come through the woods on occasion (the terrier, that is, not the husband). An introvert, John can often be found doing introverted things like reading or writing, cooking, and thinking deep, contemplative thoughts (his husband might call this napping). He loves to spend time in nature—“forest bathing” is the Japanese term for it—feeling connected with the universe. But he also loathes heat and humidity, bugs of any sort, and unsteady footing in the form of rocks, mud, tree roots, snow, or ice. So his love of nature is tempered—he’s complicated that way.

John and his husband enjoy traveling and have visited over a dozen countries, meeting new people, exploring new cultures, and—most importantly—discovering new foods.

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Oct 01

New Release Blitz: The Hungry Butterfly by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Hungry Butterfly

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/01/2024

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 18500

Genre: Horror, contemporary, thriller, body horror, bisexual, British, suspense

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Description

Downtrodden charity worker Brenda can’t believe her luck when she gets a new job on a medical trial. It’s a dream position with a generous wage—almost too good to be believable. Life has never been better…

Until Brenda discovers some concerning facts about the company facilitating the trial. Why is FixMe so impatient for results? She keeps telling her manager you can’t change lives overnight, but Thomas doesn’t listen.

She should have noted the red flags.

Fortunately, Brenda isn’t ultimately responsible for the trial’s ethics. Who’s going to care if she forges signatures? One or three teeny-weeny fibs don’t matter.

She should have called the police.

Bells ring when Brenda starts ‘forgetting’ things. Where did she leave her case notes, and why can’t she remember writing them? Then Brenda’s customers disappear, but it’s too late for regrets.

She should have run.

It’s a constant struggle to remember what truly matters. Brenda doesn’t mean to lie or cheat, not at the start. What begins as a second chance at adulting ends with a trail of body bags and a broken butterfly.

She shouldn’t have done it.

Excerpt

The Hungry Butterfly
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Brenda

Thomas almost smiled. “We need evidence, Bren. It’s not enough to say you’ve made a difference. We know you have, of course. We are behind you, supporting you all the way. Certainly. But the funders—You understand. What FixMe need, FixMe get! Ha, ha, ha.”

Brenda’s stomach created a series of sounds and sensations similar to an operative building site. She became breathy and lightheaded and felt under attack. When she tried to speak, all that came out was air. “Off. Oof.”

A spray of spit landed on Thomas. He removed his glasses with a Dickensian grimace. “How many cases have you got? I trust you’ve brought the notes?”

Notes? Cases? Brenda turned a snort into a cough. She’d known on the first day the job would be a pile of crap.

FixMe, a newly established charity, worked with people stuck in a cycle of crime. The job description boasted a worthy ethos and decent pay. The cold realities of the work had proved less attractive—no training or support, no induction, no structures or pathways, no risk assessments or colleagues.

All Brenda had been offered as support was a tiny office in a storage facility. Thomas was based far away at an undisclosed location. Once a week, Brenda received an email with a list of names to contact and a reminder that she was doing an extraordinary job.

Since starting the job, she’d trailed the streets, visiting crack dens and prisons. Got nowhere. She’d made hundreds of desperate phone calls to the police and cried in the storage facility toilets. Increasingly, she’d return home by one o’clock and chain-smoke in bed.

“Fourteen cases,” she lied. “Two more sign-ups this week.” She’d meant to say four, which would’ve been an exaggeration since she had no cases. No cases. Zero. A big, fat nothing.

Thomas pointed one long finger; hand poised in mid-air. “Fourteen?” His fingernails were brown as if he’d been scratching at graveyards.

Brenda nodded and then couldn’t stop. Her head went up and down like one of those car toys attached to the dashboard, trapped by motion and movement. Stuck forever.

“You’ll need to up your load to fifty by the end of March.” Thomas licked his lips. “At least. A hundred would be even better, wouldn’t it? Hmm?”

Brenda’s voice hit the unpleasant notes of a shriek. “Fifty?”

“You sound surprised, Brenda. Fifty. Yes. If we want to get paid. And we all want money, don’t we?” Thomas tapped the desk with his FixMe pen, decorated with pretty butterflies. “Payment by results. It’s the deal. Hasta la vista, baby.”

Brenda’s resolve not to argue snapped. The words tumbled out. “But it’s not possible. It’s not! We’re talking about people with numerous barriers who’re entrenched in harmful behaviours. Most of them have mental health issues. There’re no easy fixes. It’s hard enough getting hold of them in the first place. They leave custody and disappear. I have no way of finding them.” Under the table, Brenda’s hands found each other. Her bottom lip wobbled. “I’m struggling. I can’t do it.”

Thomas sighed. He tapped his pen on the desk every few seconds.

To Brenda, the noise of the pen was a frantic heartbeat and the background music of a cult horror film. Tap, tap, tappety tap.

Thomas tapped aggressively. “Have you sought referrals from statutory services? Police and Probation. Social Services. Et cetera.” His head began wobbling like Brenda’s. “I presume so because you assured me it was the case last time we spoke. Hmm?”

Had she? Brenda tried to think back, to be professional and robust, efficient and resourceful, and all she’d promised at the interview. Effective? She’d been drinking too much and not sleeping, and anyway, her memory wasn’t what it used to be. “I. Yes.” It was all she could manage.

Thomas shifted some butterfly-patterned papers. When he spoke, it reminded Brenda of a film about interrogations. “Last supervision. The fourteenth of the month. Two p.m. You reported the project as going well with no issues. We’ve had ten supervisions altogether. It’s been gratifying having such a dedicated and positive employee.” He smiled nastily.

Brenda suddenly needed the toilet.

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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Oct 01

New Release Blitz: The Death of Rowan Copry by Elaine White (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Death of Rowan Copry

Author: Elaine White

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/01/2024

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 113500

Genre: Paranormal, young adult, contemporary, fantasy, demons, half-demons, gods, non-binary secondary character, necromancy, mage, magic-users, light magic, dark magic, witches, reunited, time travel, urban fantasy

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Description

Fourteen years ago, Storm Tera failed to save the world. Born a prophecy child, foretold to save magic, he went into war untrained, unprepared and lost everything. Ever since, he’s been in self-exile, turning his back on magic as it grows and festers inside of him, unused and unwanted.

Then a young witch makes an offer he can’t refuse: to go back in time and undo the mistakes that led to his failure. They have one chance to rewrite the past, to save everyone he lost, and ultimately…to save magic.

Storm is about to play a game of cat and mouse with time and the Fates. Necromancy is in his blood, but if he can’t find a way to prevent the death of Rowan Copry, he can say goodbye to magic, and life as he knows it, forever.

Excerpt

The Death of Rowan Copry
Elaine White © 2024
All Rights Reserved

August 1, 2040

Waking in a bed of tangled sheets, coated in sweat, was nothing new for Storm. Every night of the last fourteen years had been predictable, from the racing heartbeat and the slow-fading memories, to the shaking of his right hand every time he reached for a cigarette. He took his first puff, raked a hand through his hair, and swung his legs out from under the thin sheet.

Storm walked into the bathroom and started the shower. Eyeing the mirror, the inevitable awaited: black smoke as dark as his magic swirled in his eyes, tempting him to delve into the darkest of powers, a birthright no one had bothered to teach him. If he’d known how to wield forbidden magic, he wouldn’t have spent his adult life having night sweats and nightmares, all because the Fates were bickering bitches.

The thin line along his top lip suggested he was dehydrated. His tawny skin showed paler than usual, meaning he could add anaemia or vitamin deficiencies to his worries. That was all part of living in the West of Scotland, he supposed: sea air and lack of sunshine. Pushing aside the long fringe of his raven hair, he wondered if the time had come to move somewhere new, less conducive to invisibility. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fade for real.

Ignoring the temptation to test his untapped abilities, Storm showered to wash off the shakes, sweat, and lingering memories of the worst night of his life. He dressed in the invisibility of a white T-shirt, black jeans, and a black leather jacket, the same thing everyone else wore in this neck of the woods who came here to disappear. There was a reason he lived above a biker bar, miles from the nearest town, deep in the heart of the woodlands. The storms were turbulent here by the sea, and most witches knew better than to settle where magic was at its wildest.

Storm was safer living far from other magic users, friends and enemies alike. He’d come here to escape the world of magic, laws and backstabbing, and the politics of guardians, gods, and elements. Running didn’t exorcise his demons. He took them everywhere he went. If anyone was desperate enough to seek him out, they knew where to find him. The wind could tell them if they had the sense to listen.

He didn’t bother with keys or a wallet as he left the apartment and descended the steps. Wards carved into the wooden door frame kept everyone out. His bar tab was paid at the end of every month, when he got his pathetic human salary from the docks, and Storm kept strict control of his vices and exit strategies.

Magic coursed through his veins like a torrent of the most volatile cyclone. Nothing calmed the raging heat and hate beneath his skin like working on the docks, unloading the fishing boats. The movement, the lack of a routine, and never knowing what tomorrow would bring was the unpredictability his soul craved, the freedom and life of a drifter, with no job, boss, or family to tie him down.

On solid ground, with nothing but compacted earth and weeds beneath his black boots, he stopped. Storm tipped his head to the sky and basked in what the world could tell him. Rain was coming; not an unfamiliar warning in this area, promising not to be heavy or dangerous. He mentally pushed the warning aside and moved on to the next. The wind wanted him to know magic was in the air, someone powerful approaching from the west. He’d suspect someone was passing through, coming for his help, but the wind seemed unsure. When Storm stuck his tongue out, the first drop of rain brought little clarity. Something was coming. A deeply buried instinct screamed Beware! Nosy. Too curious. Whoever was on their way, the rain thought they should mind their own business.

Around Halloween, curious kids would drift through town in hopes of seeing the crackpot Storm Tera: prophesied Chosen One, mage of the elements and earth. Too early in the year for that, he wondered what was hunting him and why they made the wind nervous.

Storm mused over what was coming, wondering if they would be brave enough to approach or if he’d get to keep his peace for another day. Hopefully, the latter.

He went into the bar beneath his apartment, ignoring the stale air and sticky floor to focus on the familiar hints of hops and cigar smoke. The latter came from the old man in the corner, a permanent fixture since Storm moved here three years ago.

He smiled, remembering the first time the man had spoken to an invisible companion. Storm had tapped into his powers, wondering if a spirit, demon or creature was toying with the man, but there had been nothing.

Storm caught the bartender’s eye. He gave a nod of greeting and took the centre stool at the bar like always. No one spoke to him; they never did. The bartender tended to flirt late at night when Storm was leaving. He’d get that look in his big blue eyes, tip his head in curiosity and wait for Storm to make the first move. He never did, never would.

How could he explain the nightmares that plagued him each night? No ordinary person, those who lacked even the simplest magical gifts, would understand the black mist clouding his eyes whenever he felt too strongly, all because he didn’t know how to suppress the darkness in his veins.

Settled in his stool, Storm tapped out a cigarette and used Ithen’s old lighter for his second smoke of the night. At barely after midnight, he’d only left the bar a few hours ago but no one would remark on his return. They never did.

A glass of scotch appeared along with a tentative smile. When he didn’t react, except to lift his glass and take a drink, the bartender moved on, knowing better than to hover.

A lesson he wished the rest of the world would learn.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Elaine White is the author of multi-genre MM romance, celebrating ‘love is love’ and offering diversity in both genre and character within her stories.

Growing up in a small town and fighting cancer in her early teens taught her that life is short and dreams should be pursued. She lives vicariously through her independent, and often hellion characters, exploring all possibilities within the romantic universe.

The Winner of two Watty Awards – Collector’s Dream (An Unpredictable Life) and Hidden Gem (Faithfully) – and an Honourable Mention in 2016’s Rainbow Awards (A Royal Craving) Elaine is a self-professed geek, reading addict, and a romantic at heart.

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Giveaway

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

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