Sep 23

New Release Blitz: Cryofactory Cryptid by Brenda Murphy (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Cryofactory Cryptid

Author: Brenda Murphy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/23/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 27500

Genre: Horror, Lit/genre, horror, paranormal, urban fantasy, humor, lesbian, urban explorers, cryogenics lab, genetically modified creature

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Description

When urban exploration photographer Cat McIntyre and her wife Lelia stumble upon a gruesome discovery in an abandoned cryofactory, their lives are thrown into chaos. Pursued by relentless security forces, they barely escape only to realize something even more terrifying is stalking them.

The creature in the shadows isn’t just any predator. It’s intelligent. It’s deadly. And it may be tied to Cat in ways she never imagined. As the women fight for survival, Cat must confront a buried secret from her past, one that has unleashed a monster.

When the cryofactory’s enforcers strike again, the bond between Cat and the beast becomes undeniable, forcing Cat and Lelia to make an impossible choice.

A campy horror thriller, Cryofactory Cryptid is a tale of survival, identity, and the unexpected bonds of found family.

Excerpt

Cryofactory Cryptid
Brenda Murphy © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The cryofactory door lock gave way with little effort. Cat advanced her crowbar and used it to lever the door open wide enough for them to slip inside. She winced as the screech of metal on rusty metal echoed through the chill night.

“So much for stealth mode,” Lelia whispered.

Cat turned to Lelia. “This entire row of warehouses is abandoned. The nearest house is over a mile away. I’ve watched this place for weeks. Don’t worry.” She used her shoulder to shove the door open wider and shone her flashlight across the concrete floor before sweeping it over the open room. “The cops don’t even patrol over here. Nobody cares about this place. Tweekers don’t even use it.”

“Then why did we have to climb a fence to get in here? And park so fucking far away? What is wrong with me that I let you talk me into doing this URBEX stuff?”

Cat turned back to Lelia, her face half lit by the flashlight glow. “Cuz you love me.”

Lelia nodded. “Yeah, I do. Let’s get moving. I don’t want to get busted. My mom’s still pissed about the last time she had to bail us out for trespassing.”

“We paid her back.” Glass shards crunched under Cat’s boots as she walked ahead.

“Not the point.” Lelia followed close behind her.

Moonlight filtered into the cavernous space through broken skylights and clerestory windows along the south side of the building, lighting the space with a cool white glow. Cat clipped her flashlight to her sweatshirt and picked up her camera. She framed a shot of computer desks haphazardly piled together against a door surrounded by toppled desk chairs. File cabinets lay on their sides, their contents spilling out. Dirty rain-warped paper littered the floor. “They sure left in a hurry.”

“As should we. I don’t like how this place feels. Or smells.” Lelia stepped up next to her. “You want me to video like last time?”

“Yeah, let me pull my mask up.” Cat pulled her face cover into place and tugged her hat lower.

Skittering rodent sounds followed them as they worked their way around the room, snapping shots of the disarray. Lelia followed Cat closely, filming her adventures. Cat arrived at a door. Its glass panes were spider-webbed, the safety glass hanging out of the top frame. A doorplate identified the space as Laboratory Nineteen.

Lelia lowered her phone. “What kinda place was this? Did you get the bullet holes on the south wall? Did the cops raid this place? There’s fucking tear gas canisters everywhere.”

“Couldn’t find out much online. Cryogenics. Sperm vault. Assisted reproduction research type stuff. Nothing about anything illegal. Are you getting those rat noises? I want to make sure I have them for the video.” Cat stepped over a puddle. “Watch the water.”

“It’s never water in these places.” Lelia walked around the edge of the suspicious puddle. “How much more do you want to explore?”

“Just a bit more. You okay?” Cat turned back to Lelia.

“Not at all. This place is creepy. And it’s rank.”

“Creepier than the mental hospital?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Cat studied Lelia’s face lit by the moonlight. She leaned forward, pulled her face mask down, and kissed her cheek. “Come on, babe, just a little more. I want enough for two episodes and some B-roll.”

“Fine.” Lelia lifted her chin. “But we’re adding this to the ‘you owe me’ column.”

“Fair.” Cat turned and stepped over the threshold into the lab with Lelia behind her. She crouched down, trusting Lelia to get a pan of the room before she proceeded to photograph it. She stared at rust-red spatters on the black and white tile floor before she snapped a few shots of them.

“Holy fuck.” Lelia gripped Cat’s shoulder and dug her fingers in. “Look.”

Cat stood. On the lab bench before her lay what remained of a body. “Oh fuck.” She forced herself to look at it. Covered in the shredded remains of a tattered white uniform shirt was a human torso. Neck bones and sinew stuck out of the shirt collar where the head should have been. One arm remained, its fingers curled around a folding knife.

“That explains the smell.” Cat moved closer to the remains. Past the juicy stage and sheltered from the elements, the body was desiccated. Its rib cage was exposed. Nothing of its internal organs remained. One leg was canted at an odd angle, the other missing below the knee, the exposed bone cracked and splintered. Cat took another shot of the body. Dried bloodstains filled the top of the workbench.

“Get away from it. We need to call the cops.” Lelia’s voice quavered.

“To tell them we found a body while trespassing?” Cat moved along the bench and took another few photos.

“We can’t just leave it here. That’s someone’s person.” Lelia stepped closer to Cat.

Cat bent to study the knife clutched in the body’s hand. Matted hair stuck out along the blood-smeared blade. “We’ll make an anonymous call when we get home.”

“They’ll be able to trace it. Come on. We have to get out of here.” Lelia shoved her phone into her coat pocket. “I’m done with this.”

“Babe. Calm down. I’ll get a burner phone.”

She framed the body and fired off another series of photos as she moved around it from different angles.

“What the fuck are you going to do with those photos?”

“I don’t know. It seems wrong to not record this. What the fuck could have done that?” Cat glanced toward Lelia. “A bear?”

“Are you high? How the hell would a bear get in here? When was the last time you saw a bear in the city outside of the zoo?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. But look at it; it’s ripped wide open. There’s all that black hair on the knife.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“I’m not stupid.” Cat backed away from the body.

The snap and crackle of a two-way radio echoed through the building. Cat swallowed on a dry throat. She shut her flashlight off and lifted her finger to her lips. Lelia nodded her understanding. Slowly they lowered themselves to the floor and duckwalked to the wall next to a bank of low cabinets. Cat gripped her camera close to her chest and pressed herself against the wall.

Garbled radio conversation mixed with the crunch of footsteps grew louder. Cat set her teeth on her lip. Lelia clasped her hand tight. She focused on her breathing, willing herself not to panic. Cat peeped around the corner of the cabinet. Two pairs of tactical boots. She shrank back against the wall. A light flashed in the upper part of the room, the bright beam sweeping from left to right. It paused on the body on the bench before moving around the room again slowly.

“Anything?”

“Nah. Just Hank. Hanging out.”

“Ha ha. You’re so funny, Chuck. I saw them come in here.”

“So what, Dawn? They’ll end up like Hank. Or we’ll catch them when they come out. Come on. My lunch’s getting cold.”

Their voices faded. Cat lifted Lelia’s hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. They waited until they no longer heard footsteps before they stood.

“Out. Now,” Lelia whispered. She tugged Cat’s hand, pulling her close to her. “If you stop to take one more picture, I swear I’ll divorce you.”

Cat switched to a red lens for her flashlight. “They’ll be watching the front door.”

Lelia huffed a breath. “So, what do we do?”

“The drone photos I took showed a loading dock out back. We can go out that way. Part of the fence is down. We can scoot through it. Or over it. Hop the guardrail and follow the drainage ditch along the interstate back to our car.”

Staying low, they exited the lab and turned toward the back of the building.

Clouds scuttled across the moon, leaving the space in deep darkness. Cat swept the red beam back and forth as they picked their way through the cluttered warehouse. The scrape of metal on metal echoed through the room. Lelia yipped and bumped into Cat’s back. The short hairs on Cat’s neck stood up. The hum of machinery kicking over and the grinding of gears above their head drew her gaze and she raised her flashlight. Muted by the red lens, it failed to illuminate the far reaches of the ceiling. The floor vibrated under her thick-soled boots, followed by a rhythmic wet thumping sound.

Lelia dug her nails into Cat’s hand. “Run.”

They barreled toward the loading dock. The concrete stairs leading to the dock were littered with bits of bones. They charged up the steps to the loading door. The large roller door was shut. Cat slung her pack off her back and pulled her pry bar from the front pocket. She wedged the edge of it under the door and forced the upper end down. The metal door bent with the force but did not move. She lifted the blade and pushed the edge farther under the door. With both hands she shoved down harder. The blade slid sideways and popped free. The bar spun toward her; the sharp end jabbed into Cat’s hand.

“Fuck me.” Blood welled up from the wound. Bright red, it dripped onto the dusty cement.

“Forget it. There’s a window.” Lelia jerked Cat’s jacket. “Come on.”

Cat wiped her hand on her jeans. Lelia strode to the window over a desk next to the dock. She swept her hand over the desk, shoving clipboards and papers to the floor.

“You first.” Cat held her hand out for Lelia.

Lelia clasped Cat’s hand and clambered to the top of the desk. Cat passed her the pry bar. The window lock lever was rusted shut. Lelia bashed the rusty lock with the end of the pry bar, knocking it loose. With two hands she wedged the flat end of the bar under the window and the sill. She pressed down with her body weight, forcing the window open.

The moon returned from behind the clouds, lighting up the warehouse. Lelia passed the pry bar back to Cat before she hoisted herself up onto the sill.

Silhouetted in the window, she turned to Cat. “You can step on the railing from here then down to the loading dock. There’s glass everywhere. Be careful.”

Lelia disappeared from Cat’s view. The sensation of being watched pricked her skin. Cat glanced over her shoulder. In the pale moonlight, the faint outline of a form on all fours stood out against the darkness. She lifted her camera and snapped off a shot.

“Come on, Cat. Hurry.” Lelia’s desperate tone drove her, and she climbed through the window. Brown glass littered the loading dock, and the parking lot sparkled beneath the full moon.

“There.” Lelia pointed to a bent and twisted section of fence. They bolted across the weedy parking lot and dove through the opening into the wooded highway buffer.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Brenda Murphy (she/her) writes erotic romance. Her most recent novel, Double Six, is the 2020 Golden Crown Literary Society winner for Erotic Novels, and Knotted Legacy, the third book in the Rowan House series, made the 2018 The Lesbian Review’s Top 100 Vacation Reads list. You can catch her musings on writing, books, and living with wicked ADHD on her blog Writing While Distracted. She loves sideshows and tattoos and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local library, she wrangles twins, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a free short story, information on book signings, appearances, work in progress snippets, previews and sneak-peeks, sign up for my email list at:

Website: www.brendalmurphy.com

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


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Sep 19

New Release Blitz: The Bathhouse by Gale Stanley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Bathhouse

Author: Gale Stanley

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: September 19, 2025

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Contemporary, New Releases, Romance

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, LGBTQ+ /Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Second Edition

Series: Roosters (#10)

Multiverse: Roosters (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 75

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Synopsis

Reed Barton is a millionaire who can have anything he wants, except the one thing he desires most. His first love. He’s spent years trying to recreate the night they met in a San Francisco bathhouse. The image of the beautiful Filipino man who took his virginity is never far from his thoughts.

Reed’s life is turned upside down when his long-lost love reappears — and not in a good way. Joseph Castro is not quite what he seems. Time and experience have changed both men, and there’s no going back. But maybe, together, they can go forward.

Excerpt

The Bathhouse (Roosters)
Second Edition
Gale Stanley
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Gale Stanley

Reed Barton had last minute jitters about going to the bathhouse. The men might be old and creepy. His visit might get back to his family. The list went on, but they were just excuses, soon cast aside in favor of discovering what he’d been missing.

Nineteen, almost twenty, and still a virgin. He had little experience with sex. Educated at authoritarian male boarding schools, there wasn’t much time for fooling around. Lessons started early and finished late, and afterwards the boys were kept busy with homework, sports, and dinner until bedtime. Still, he’d witnessed a few incidents. He’d seen one boy sucking another’s penis in the bathroom. At the time, Reed had been appalled, but titillated as well. He pictured himself on his knees, forced to suck another boy’s cock, and longed for the reality, but no opportunity presented itself.

In college, Reed felt the inexplicable draw of chemistry, but only toward other men. To his family he presented a picture of heterosexual “normalcy” but in fact, he took to visiting a bar where gay men hung out. He engaged in several hurried blowjobs in the bathroom, but nothing more. One of his nameless encounters told him about the bathhouse. Bathhouses had once been a rite of passage for gay men, but many had closed through the years. Somehow, this one had survived and Reed was determined to take advantage of whatever it had to offer.

The taxi deposited Reed in a downtown Frisco area known for muggings. Many of the buildings were abandoned and there were no signs or addresses. Confused, Reed questioned the driver. The man pointed down an alley and held out his hand for the fare.

A few working streetlights cast eerie shadows as Reed entered the back street. He felt uneasy, but the sense of danger excited him as well. He’d always been tempted by the forbidden.

A sudden downpour pelted Reed with stinging drops. He picked up his pace, ignoring the beer cans and fast food containers underfoot, and spotted a heavy wooden door with a small sign affixed to it that read Rock Hard Gym. Relieved, Reed pushed the door open and entered a small foyer.

A young man sat behind a window. He scrutinized Reed carefully before selling him a membership. “Do you want a locker or a private room?”

“A locker. I don’t know how long I’ll stay.”

“Fifteen for the membership. Five for the locker.”

Reed exchanged a twenty-dollar bill for an ID card, a white towel and a plastic wristband with a locker key.

“There are condoms and lube in the locker room.” The clerk buzzed Reed through another door.

The heady scent of sex intoxicated him. He didn’t care that the floors were old and slippery with water and body fluids. The lockers were rusty and the walls badly in need of paint, but Reed couldn’t see past the naked male bodies.

Men stood, sat, and lingered in stages of undress, manspreading on changing benches, tiny towels intentionally parted. Reed found it hard to look away from the smorgasbord of flesh so openly exposed.

While searching for his locker, he became aware of the lingering looks he attracted, but none of the men appealed to Reed, not even in the dim lighting. He wanted to explore and he made quick work of undressing.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, Reed left the locker room. There was a gym, small and ill equipped, but a gym nonetheless. Reed bypassed it. Straight ahead he encountered an area where men of all ages and sizes, naked except for their towels, stood around and watched gay porn. He watched the film for a few minutes, then he moved on, entering a series of corridors where men prowled the hallways looking for acceptable partners.

He passed door after door, some closed, many open. Grunts echoed from the shadows. Reed caught glimpses of men grinding and thrusting. Moans filled his ears. Hushed words, frightening and thrilling. Blood rushed to Reed’s dick. It was electrifying to be surrounded by so much sex.

Reed stepped around men who didn’t care about getting a room. Heart pounding, he watched them giving blowjobs or having anal sex in the hall. A few invited him to join in, but he wasn’t ready — yet.

Like a kid in a candy shop, he wandered the labyrinth, taking it all in. Everything astounded him — the soundscape of grunts, moans, hissing, gagging, slapping skin on skin… The halls reeked of sweat and semen.

Reed’s palms were damp with nervous energy. Was he really prepared to do what he’d come here for? Yes. He’d come too far to back off now. He wanted to explore his sexual self.

Reed’s path ended at the steam room. Excitement floated on clouds of vapor. A dozen heads lifted to size him up. Feeling suddenly timid and embarrassed, Reed backed up, intending to leave. Just then, a group of boisterous frat boys arrived and carried him along with them. Reed separated himself and took a seat on one of the wooden benches.

The warm, wet air enveloped Reed’s body, and loosened his tense muscles. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of relaxation, but the atmosphere changed with the new arrivals. Suddenly the steam room became a hotbed of lust. All wet, slithering bodies sliding up against each other. A strange body pressed up against Reed and startled him. He wished he could be as liberated as these men, but he was too new, too green. There were too many horny men. He needed to find a quieter space.

Reed got as far as the door, but was brought up short by a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he was too shocked to move. Then he turned.

The man in front of him was shorter. His black hair framed dark eyes, a flat nose and a smiling mouth. Reed scanned the length of him, eyes widening at the tent in his towel. Under it had to be a rock-hard erection. Reed dragged his fascinated gaze back to the man’s exotic face, his broad cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

The stranger’s alluring lips curled in a seductive smile as he spoke. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. It’s so noisy in here. A man can’t hear himself think.”

Purchase at Changeling Press LLC

Meet the Author

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

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


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Sep 16

New Release Blitz: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me by Timoteo Tong (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me

Series: The Magicals’ Alliance, Book Three

Author: Timoteo Tong

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/16/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 120800

Genre: Paranormal, Young adult, magic/magic users, high school, first love, supernatural war

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Description

In a world where ancient magic is real and monsters roam, Santangelo Lo Geffo’s life is about to change forever.

After the mysterious death of his mother, Santangelo is thrust into a world of magic he never believed in. He struggles with his own powers, with a father who insists magic only brings destruction, and with the weight of the loss that haunts him.

When his former friend Neeky reappears, everything shifts. Neeky’s return ignites long-buried feelings, and together they discover they are connected by more than just magic. They’re caught in a destiny neither can escape.

But a deadly rivalry brews in the Gloom—a realm where monsters roam and enemies seek to tear their world apart. As secrets about Santangelo’s past are revealed, he is faced with a devastating choice: protect the people he loves or embrace a future of darkness.

Love, magic, and monsters collide in this thrilling adventure as Santangelo must face his greatest fears and unlock the mysteries of his bloodline. But time is running out, and if he can’t make the right choice, everything—and everyone—he holds dear could be lost forever.

Excerpt

The Spellbinding Magic of You and Me
Timoteo Tong © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Below the vast concrete maze of Los Angeles, beneath miles of freeways sprawling across valleys, canyons, and passes, a middle-aged woman lounged on a sofa swarming with hundreds of thousands of fire ants. She had long, jet-black hair that cascaded down her back, its inky strands contrasting starkly with her pale skin, which seemed almost ghostly under the lights, tinged with an eerie green hue at the hairline. Her dark eyes, heavily outlined with thick, black eyeliner, cut through the room with a sharp, calculating gaze, like she could see right through a person. Her features gave her an air of regal intensity, but the permanent scowl on her lips sent shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to lay eyes on her. Everything about her screamed disdain as if the world itself was a personal annoyance to her.

“Darkness,” she exclaimed, “keep stinging me! Feels very refreshing.” She trimmed her nails with the sharp edge of a machete. At the same time, Coven Radio played in the background in the elaborate parlor of the Palatio de Malac, a gothic horror made of black obsidian decorated with the bones and skulls of countless Ordinaries killed by her kith and kin, the creatures of the shadows, vampires, werewolves, and, most importantly, witches, collectively known as monsters. She leaned over to drink bubbly, fermented Ordinary blood, chugging the heady concoction from a golden chalice.

“Tonight is glorious!” she said to the crows circling overhead in the vast expanse of the vaulted ceiling. “Devlina is getting her just desserts. My bae will emerge victorious, and he will elevate me to my rightful place, my despicable ones.” She stood and brushed several fire ants off her legs. “I will rule with an iron fist, bringing order to the stupid covens who have become complacent.”

A crow cawed loudly and descended in a lazy-eight pattern before lighting on her open hand. “Malius, whoever heard of monsters who don’t terrorize ordinary humans, who don’t hunt down families in the park or hide in shadows, ready to prey on young adults on the leafy universities of Southern California?”

“No one, your horribleness!” the crow said sharply. “Monsters have grown soft, lazy, comfortable.”

“Precisely,” the woman said. “And I can’t simply watch my brethren humiliate themselves in deference to the Pàcifimenta and the stupid Magicals Alliance.”

“Fools, all of them!”

The woman stroked the head of the crow with a long fingernail, filed into the shape of a V and painted black. “And you know, Malius,” she said, “it is time for the Máunadus to step up and lead the monsters. Take our place in the darkness and gloom and show those silly creatures what it truly means to be wicked!”

“Shall we go to the dungeons and scare some Ordinaries? Maybe torture them for fun?”

“Oh, that does sound delightful, Malius,” she said, “but we must plan out the coronation for when I transform from Máu Rabetica into Hêracansa, the Queen of the Gloom!”

Malius chirped, his black eyes sparkling. “What a glorious day that will be, my lady!”

“Won’t it?” Máu Rabetica asked, stroking the bird’s head. “What a turn of events for me, once a humble lesser goddess charged with ensuring the darkness in its entirety in the night, such a silly and tedious job. I went to the Paláujo Dorallen, the famed Golden Palace and home of the Casso Soljallen, the seat of Cupidêro Êímpagońena and his clan of the Sun and pleaded with him to allow me to be important like Amnoxha the Goddess of the Night. He refused, the sniveling fool, because she was the wife of Uvendra, the Goddess of the Moon and head of the Casso Uvendrallen, their rival house. He feared a resumption of war between the Three Houses of Morra Êímpagońena, which had lasted a millennium before the intervention of the Áuqala to restore peace.”

“We love fighting, death, and destruction!”

“That we do, my hated one.” Máu Rabetica ruffled Malius’s feathers gently. “Anyway, the Batanalla siec Êtaulls—the Battle of the Cosmos ends. Amnoxha’s reign of the night is agreed upon to placate Uvendra, and I ask the silly Sun God himself for a new name and more responsibility, and he scoffs. Instead, he offers to train me in Xem Sen Ou, telling me, ‘Coaugelus and Astroístus’—those silly semi-immortal descendants of the gods themselves—‘will revere and call upon me in their hour of need.’ Barf, no thanks. Especially because his condition was that I reject all worldly possessions and dedicate myself to humility.”

“You, humble?” the bird jeered.

“Exactly, pet,” Máu Rabetica said. “He told me to sell my beautiful palace of diamonds and opals situated among the mists at the top of Morra Rampsgàra in Passonea. I had seventy bedrooms, countless mirrors to admire myself, and the villagers below lived in absolute fear of me! And he wanted me to trade that in to learn how to smack a few heads around while also serving the other gods and goddesses?”

“Never!”

Máu Rabetica deepened her voice, imitating Cupidêro: “In order to truly become selfless—the core tenet of Xem Sen Ou—you must let go of your ego and transcend your id.”

“How would you do that? Meditate? Scream at people?” the bird asked.

“No, by scrubbing the toilets of the higher gods and goddesses, washing their feet, scrubbing their floors, and feeding them grapes.” Máu Rabetica gagged. “Can you imagine such humiliation?”

“Not for you.”

“I refused, of course, and, instead, offered to arm wrestle Cupidêro. If I won, I’d become Goddess of the Night; if I lost, he’d buy me dinner.”

“Surely you joke?”

“Never, but to your point, Cupidêro was outraged, and he punished me by sending me from Morra Êímpagońena to the Imvessanabo.”

“The Inversion!”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Timoteo K. Tong grew up in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles dreaming of living in a rambling Victorian mansion. He currently lives with his husband and way too many plants in San Francisco. He is obsessed with cheese pizza, drinking cola, and daydreaming about magic. He sold his first book when he was age eight, a story about his beloved stuffed animal named Crocker Spaniel. He is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators International.

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


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Sep 12

New Release Blitz: Consortium of Dragons by Emily Carrington (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Consortium of Dragons

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Cover Art: Angela Knight

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

Themes: Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, Multicultural & Interracial, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Shapeshifters, Werewolves & Wolf Shifters

Series: Dragon Lost (#3)

Multiverse: SearchLight Academy (#13)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 113

Synopsis

Two dragons are pulled into a murder mystery when their lover is targeted.

The blind grandson of the world’s most powerful dragon matriarch wants a male and female dragon in his bed. He’s bold enough to get what he wants. Unfortunately, so is the serial killer hunting his family.

A male-female land dragon couple long for their matriarchal society to be equal across the board. As they fight for their needs, they meet the water dragon who will change their lives.

Now a serial killer has these three in his sights.

Excerpt

Consortium of Dragons (Dragon Lost 3)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington

There had been another death, this one of a female dragon Joel had never heard of. She was a distant relative, though, a water dragon who lived in Central America, trying to stay under the radar, as it were, by thriving in the coastal waters of Costa Rica. Or at least she had been thriving. Lady Claudette had called to warn their mother to keep Joel and Jules close. “Rumor has it this monster is on the move north again.”

Joel Junior, whose name was pronounced in the Spanish style, Ho-el, hadn’t actually meant to disregard his grandmother’s orders, but his twin, Jules, was out swimming and Joel didn’t want anything to happen to him. Jules was an impulsive dragon, and he would have probably gone swimming even if he’d been there to hear the phone call.

With Jules most likely already in the water, Joel couldn’t use his sense of smell to find his twin. Instead, because Jules wouldn’t give a crap about a telepathic sending — wouldn’t bother to reply, in other words — Joel stripped on the Alaskan shore, shivering slightly even though it was May and the ice here had largely melted. He assumed his scaly form, all eight feet of sapphire-blue scales, and walked into the water. For humans, he understood, this would have been a Polar Swim despite the fifty-degree weather, but for him, it felt like coming home. Eyes open but blind, he submerged completely and used his other sense, the one honed by years of blindness and necessity, and sought his brother’s large presence in the water. It was almost like sonar, but not quite, being a combination of sound and psychic sense.

He encountered a pod of orcas closer in to shore than usual. He knew them to be members of the dolphin family rather than narwhals because of the amount of water they displaced. Orcas were almost twice the typical narwhal’s length. Now using his telepathy because the sea mammals disrupted his ability to “listen” to the water beyond them, he reached beyond them to see what had driven them toward the land. Orcas weren’t afraid of much.

He found his brother and another dragon devouring a school of fish. He swam toward them, giving the pod a wide margin even though he wasn’t a threat to them. Either the orcas could sense the dragons’ magic or they knew something the dragons didn’t know about the deeper water. With the enigmatic and relatively new interlopers into the Alaskan waters, it was hard to tell. Unlike narwhals, which had shifters among their numbers, Joel didn’t know if that was true of any other sea-going mammal.

He approached and recognized the shape of his brother’s mind. He sent out a blast of sound, a snort through his nose, and realized the other dragon, whom he’d taken for their friend Jean Pierre, was a female dragon. His brother wasn’t hunting, then, or not just hunting. Like Joel himself, Jules was bisexual, although he mostly flirted only with female dragons.

Jules snorted back at him and flicked his tail, stunning several fish. These he gobbled up before heading farther out into the bay. The female dragon went with him.

Joel vaguely recognized her as a distant cousin and wondered at his initial assessment. Water dragons weren’t exactly inbred, but they were connected by strong ties that meant they couldn’t lightly date those who might even bear a strand of similar DNA.

Deciding his brother wouldn’t listen just now, and telling himself no dragon had yet been accosted while in the water, he used his sense of the current to lead him back toward land.

Surfacing, he shifted back to human and walked out of the Arctic Ocean. If any human had seen him, doubtless they would have screamed, or run to get him a blanket. But there were no humans here in this part of Alaska. Sparsely populated as the state was, this little cove and the land that touched it was private property, where no one except the sons of Lady Nicole and all the servants played. Joel’s and Jules’s grandmother hadn’t even been here, afraid as she was that whoever was killing members of her family would find their way here.

Joel used to wonder if she thought he and his twin, nearly seventy years old, couldn’t take care of themselves. Yes, they were blind, but, no, that didn’t make them helpless. The two of them hadn’t been permitted to leave the area around the palace for over a dozen years.

He made his way to the large rock where he’d left his white cane. But when he was a stone’s throw from the place he always used to hold his clothes and cane, he sensed someone there. He paused, listening. He heard nothing. He reached out telepathically and found a shielded mind that he didn’t recognize.

“You’re Joel,” the stranger with an American accent said, although he pronounced Joel’s name correctly.

Wary, Joel took a step back. Despite his bravado of a moment ago, he was anxious. This male dragon was a stranger to him.

Male dragon? He processed that knowledge, realizing he’d gained as much from scent as psychic feel. “Who are you?”

“I guess I’m your uncle.”

That didn’t comfort Joel, not in the slightest. “What are you doing here?” Was someone in their family killing other dragons? He’d heard stories of dragons who ate others of their kind.

He tried to calm himself. If this was indeed the one stalking his family, he sounded awfully casual. Not at all like a serial killer, in other words. Although, beyond reading braille books and listening to the television crime shows, how would Joel know what a mass murderer sounded like?

“I’m trying to decide if I’m really the best person to be guarding you and your brother.” He shifted on the rock, the sound of denim scraping against granite making Joel take a second step back.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking out my cell phone. It’s time I let your mother know her defenses were easier to breach than she thinks.”

Joel gained his eight feet of height, putting on his scales. If this was the one who’d been threatening his family, the last thing Joel wanted to do was present him with an easy target. He channeled all his telepathic ability into a single word and sent it to Jules. Danger. Then he settled himself for hand-to-hand fighting.

“Why are you…” The other male dragon sounded flummoxed. “I’m not a threat to you. I’m here to protect you.”

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.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Shapeshifter Central

Giveaway

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


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Sep 06

New Release Blitz: Cosmo in Retrograde by A. Flowers (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Cosmo in Retrograde

Author: A. Flowers

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/09/2025

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 98200

Genre: Fantasy, bisexual, gay, PNR-magic/magic users, investigators, mystery-police investigation, enemies/rivals to lovers, in the closet, disabilities, mental illness, politics, psychic ability, psychic medium, speech impediment/stutterer

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Description

Nothing has ever gone right for Cosmo Valencourt. After an automobile accident that left him permanently disabled, he lost most of his magical prowess and almost failed out of university. Left with only his talent for psychometry, which allows him to see the history of any object he touches, Cosmo has been working as an investigator at New Scotland Yard. A job that, in Cosmo’s opinion, is beneath him.

To make matters worse, Cosmo is tasked to investigate the threatening notes sent to his university rival, Blaise Howell. The notes, sent by a mysterious entity who calls himself the Third Eye, reveal a conspiracy to take down England’s Department for Marvels—starting with Blaise.

At first, every second with the disgustingly perfect Blaise Howell makes Cosmo’s skin crawl. But as the investigation continues, Cosmo finds himself falling for Blaise. Instead of the arrogant rich boy Cosmo remembers from university, he discovers the first person who truly understands him. There’s something sublime about Blaise that calms the chaos in Cosmo’s mind even as the investigation incites more chaos around him. From warding off magical attacks leveled against Blaise to interviewing prisoners at London’s most high-security prison, this investigation is Cosmo’s greatest challenge yet.

But Cosmo’s newfound love for Blaise is challenged when he discovers that Blaise is keeping a dark secret of his own. Between trying to save the Department for Marvels and attempting to keep Blaise’s heart beating, Cosmo is most definitely in over his head. In the end, he is left with a choice: save the Department for Marvels or keep Blaise Howell. There isn’t much chance of doing both.

But Cosmo plans to try. And if he fails, he will do so spectacularly.

Excerpt

Cosmo in Retrograde
A. Flowers © 2025
All Rights Reserved

The World, Judgement, and the Hanged Man. All inverted.

It’s 12:14 in the afternoon, and Cosmo Valencourt has exactly sixteen minutes left of his lunch break. He’ll eat five of those up walking back to New Scotland Yard, so he’s eager to hasten along this current impromptu appointment.

Something gripped him this morning, right between a cup of over-sweetened coffee and an endlessly dull meeting, some efficacious urge to visit with Aziza Birch for the umpteenth time—and Cosmo has never been one to ignore an urge. Especially not one so strong. He gets such impulses at least once a week, and he always follows them just in case they lead him somewhere extraordinary. They haven’t yet, but here’s hoping.

It’s a miracle Aziza agreed to do his reading today. Nine times out of ten, she refuses.

“This is your present,” she explains. As she pushes the stiff cards towards Cosmo, her ring-clad fingers clink musically, as do the coins adorning her headscarf. She always dresses for the occasion. Cosmo doesn’t understand why, seeing as all she does, day in and day out, is meet with slovenly half-desperates who barely even notice what she’s wearing. She’s nothing more than a mouthpiece to them. The Interpreter.

Cosmo tears his eyes from the shimmering coins glimmering in the pink lamplight and redirects his flighty mind to the cards. They’re imbued with magic, of course, and elaborate in design: dark purple, with lavender accents and gold-foil highlights. His fingertips tingle when he touches them. They’re mocking him; he can almost feel it. He hates it when Aziza uses this deck because the cards hate him. It’s a circular issue, hate building upon hate. But the cards have one up on him. They’re not mortal enemies with an inanimate object, after all—though Cosmo does, at times, feel as though he barely exists.

He hates fortune-telling. He never paid much attention in his augury classes. Pointless, those were. Divination is for hopeless fools, an empty, futile grasp at controlling fate, which is, by nature, capricious. Or, at the very least, it’s an attempt at understanding the un-understandable.

Cosmo is paying for his apathy now, however. He’s become one of Aziza’s half-desperates. Though he’s a little past the halfway mark at this point. The irony doesn’t escape him as he straightens his rumpled tweed blazer. “Yes, well, what do they mean?”

“They’re inverted, you see.” Aziza’s eyes, liquid black, seem to swallow him up. “You are incomplete, Cosmo. You—”

“Brilliant, that.” Cosmo sweeps the three cards into a pile and sets them aside. “Let’s move on to my future.” He doesn’t care about the present; he’s never learned to live in the now. Probably because his present has never been much of a gift. A curse, more like.

“No. Draw three for your past.” Aziza is firm. Clients come to her for the truth, and she would not be doing her job properly if she didn’t give it to them in full force.

Cosmo groans, unable and unwilling to conceal his impatience. In his eyes, there is no such thing as the past. He’s moved on from it. He’s bored with it. He’s gotten past it. Grudgingly, he picks another three cards and hands them to Aziza to appease her.

Aziza sets them down on the purple cloth covering the table. It’s always purple with her.

Death, the Chariot, and Justice. Only the last is inverted.

“No wonder,” Aziza mumbles, shaking her head at the cards. Maybe she feels it, too, the loathing they harbour towards her client. “There’s something terribly wrong with you, Cosmo.”

“There’s something terribly unprofessional about you, Aziza,” he shoots back. She’s wasting both of their time by telling him something he already knows. He stares at the Death card for a moment, taking in the rather dour image of a skeleton in billowing black robes, a gold-foil butterfly flittering about behind him. Yes: this is a grim waste of time.

Aziza glances up, once again consuming Cosmo in her disquieting gaze like a blanket smothering a baby. Her face has the magnetic pull of the planet Earth, and Cosmo is unable to look away.

“I read your tea leaves last month,” she admits. “At Mr Godfrey’s party.”

Cosmo sputters. The party was long and dull and absolutely a waste of time, but he didn’t expect it to be an invasion of his privacy. “Unprofessional, again. I don’t recall ever giving you permission to do that. And why would you read my tea leaves when you usually refuse to read my cards?”

He guards his tea leaves as he guards his life: with abandon. Still, no one has any right to be poking about in them.

Aziza ignores him. She always ignores him, treating him as if he doesn’t have anything particularly important to say. He usually doesn’t, but it would be nice for someone to take him seriously once in a while.

“Do you know what I saw?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. It creaks in protest; Cosmo is just waiting for the day when the ancient thing falls apart. It must be at least a hundred years old—Aziza never buys anything brand new. “Pain. Terror. And a great deal of chocolate-chip ice cream.”

Not only is Cosmo more than half-desperate, he’s also more than half-starved. “When abouts does this ice cream make an appearance?”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re not listening.”

“I heard you say ‘ice cream’ and promptly forgot the rest.” Rather than wait for Aziza to instruct him to draw another set of cards, Cosmo reaches for her deck and frees three more. He flips them over. They’re slippery in his hands. Treacherous.

The Moon, the Tower, and the Star. All upright.

“Bugger this!” In a sudden fit of anger, he slices his hand across the slick tablecloth, knocking them all to the floor. They flipper through the air with a rifling sound.

“Cosmo.” Aziza’s voice is that of practiced calm. She’s used to reactions like this; her readings are always honest. More often than not, they’re a little too honest. “Cosmo, this is the third time I’ve read your cards this month—”

“Each visit more of a bloody waste than the last,” he mumbles. The cards are, most definitely, mocking him. All but the nine he drew landed face down on the floor, and of those, the cards with little characters pictured on them leer at him, golden eyes wide and purple mouths twisted into mocking smiles.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Aziza’s sigh is a sound that Cosmo has become intimately familiar with. She has three types. First, the soft you-think-you’re-so-funny-don’t-you? nasal exhale. Second, the harsher, will-you-shut-up-already-my-mysticality-is-suffering? mouth exhale. And finally, the exasperated part-groan that she does now. Cosmo knows she despises his irreverence for the art of divination, but he can’t keep himself from coming back. It’s an itch he has to scratch, a stone he has to skip, a shoe he has to tie.

In other words, it’s a compulsion. He suffers from those chronically. And he’s never learned how to say no to himself.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

A. Flowers loves all things fantasy, horror, and romance. She lives in a Vermont forest with a duo of mischievous cats. Her favorite place in the world is Kensington Gardens.

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


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Sep 05

New Release Blitz: Beer Truck by Emily Carrington (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Beer Truck

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Contemporary, New Releases, Romance

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, LGBTQ+ /Gay, Medical Romance, Rock Star Romance, Second Edition

Series: Roosters (#9)

Multiverse: Roosters (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 103

Synopsis

When TJ, a famous country star, finds out he has cancer, he retreats to his hometown to heal away from the paparazzi. Uncomfortable living with his parents, he gets a job as a beer truck driver.

Harvey is the owner of a local bar. He’s been following TJ’s career because the two of them used to be lovers. But TJ insisted on being in the closet. Now that Harvey’s older, he can’t imagine burying himself like that ever again.

But when TJ walks into his bar, both men are shocked by the attraction that still blossoms between them. But neither will budge in their beliefs. How can they possibly find happiness in each other’s arms?

Publisher’s Note: Content trigger warnings for both internal and external homophobia and physical illness (cancer survivor).

Excerpt

Beer Truck (Roosters)
Second Edition
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington

The music for the gathering was the weirdest mix Harvey had ever heard. As he served drinks for the extremely co-ed bachelor party, he heard the Carpenters, Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, Evanescence, Lily Allen, and a host of others that he didn’t know. He knew the music had no significance for one of the bachelors, Peter, because Peter was completely deaf. So, maybe Abe, his soon-to-be husband, had chosen everything? That didn’t seem likely. Peter and Abe were a team and rarely did anything solo anymore. Ever since their first night, when they’d met in this very bar, they’d operated almost as one unit, or at least that was how it looked from the outside.

Harvey remembered fondly approaching Abe, pronounced Ah-Bay in the Japanese style, on Christmas Eve a few years ago, asking if he and Peter wanted to be Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Considering that Abe was the shorter and smaller of the two, Harvey had presented him with the blond wig and belted jacket/skirt combination. Abe had asked Harvey to wait to offer Peter the other half of the costuming, but Harvey had jumped right in, loving Christmas in general and especially Christmas Eve at Maurice’s. He’d fumbled his explanation because even though at the time Peter could still hear the low thrum of a loud bassline, he hadn’t been able to hear speech and Harvey couldn’t sign more than “I love you.”

It had gone off rather smoothly after Abe stepped in. Harvey would never forget the way Peter’s eyes widened with obvious appreciation and lust as he’d viewed Abe in that red skirt.

Now, here they were, ready to get married in a couple of days.

Harvey pressed his lips together and turned away from the sight of the couple swaying on the dance floor, Abe guiding Peter with discreet touches that looked only slightly sexual. But from the shine of Peter’s eyes, he was feeling the full effects of his lover’s motions.

Being grumpy at a couple’s bachelor party wasn’t kosher or polite, so Harvey refocused on pouring drinks. Or would have, if anyone had been there asking for more. Instead, everyone, damn, every single person in the bar, was paired up and dancing.

Harvey bit his tongue to keep from frowning or showing any other sign of displeasure. He wasn’t actually displeased, just feeling left out. Granted, on nights like this, he or whoever was tending bar usually made a hefty surplus of tips, but he hadn’t wanted to be here for this. He had been invited, told he could bring a plus one. But he had to work instead. His business partner, CeeCee, was busy. Her daughter had some sort of medical emergency. And the regular Saturday afternoon bartender had COVID.

He tried to focus on thoughts of CeeCee’s daughter, who was like a niece to him, but he honestly couldn’t, and not just because CeeCee hadn’t revealed the nature of her teenager’s medical issue.

It was the sheer number of couples. From Mike and Aidan Delaney, easily the oldest pair in the room, to their nonbinary young adult, Ash and Ash’s lover, Theresa, the youngest, everybody was in a twosome. He wasn’t jealous. Or at least he refused to be where anyone could see him. But, damn, he missed having someone in his life.

All right, that wasn’t exactly true. He had occasional flings. But nothing serious. Not since college. Even his three-week, whirlwind relationship with CeeCee had ended, although not badly. They’d both decided working and sleeping together wasn’t for them. During that time, he’d casually referred to CeeCee as his partner, more out of desperation to have someone in his life than because he’d actually thought they had a hope in hell of making things work out. When they’d broken up right after Christmas, he’d blushed to think he’d given her that title.

He longed for a return to the days of his early twenties, when life had been a song and —

“And I was trapped in the closet, banging a man who dropped me the first chance he got.” Realizing he’d been speaking aloud, if softly, Harvey shut his mouth. And here came Aidan, almost the tallest man in the room as well as the oldest. Okay, oldest among the partygoers. At forty-two, Harvey had a year on him. And, damn it, he was the only single person here.

Forcing a smile, knowing the blind man couldn’t see it but also understanding the expression would carry in his voice, Harvey asked, “Get you anything, Aidan?”

“Just wanted to check on Dustin and CeeCee.”

That made Harvey’s smile genuine. “Dusty has the VID, which he’s probably tweeted to half the town by now because he’s so bored. He doesn’t have many symptoms but knows our zero-tolerance policy. CeeCee…” What could he say when he knew so little and wasn’t sure what she wanted bandied around? “She’s okay.”

Aidan nodded. “And you’re okay?”

Damn it, the man was too perceptive for someone who couldn’t see light or dark. Or maybe it was just a casual question. Maybe Harvey was just being paranoid because he’d had run-ins with Aidan’s intuitiveness before. So, instead of lying, because that might be caught, he asked, “How’s Mike? Are you two really going to go for a third adopted child?”

Aidan grinned. “Mike’s fabulous, and yes we are.” Then he sobered. “But are you okay?”

Damn. He should’ve known he couldn’t fly under the radar. “I’ll be fine.”

“Anything I can do?”

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.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Shapeshifter Central

Giveaway

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


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Sep 02

New Release Blitz: Mission Skyscraper by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Mission Skyscraper

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/02/2025

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: NB/NB

Length: 28100

Genre: Contemporary YA, contemporary, general lit, YA/young adult, NB, neurodivergent, gender queer/gender fluid, pansexual, ND/neurodiversity: autism, immersive daydreaming, fantasy world, art, transitioning, school, coming of age, first kiss, family drama

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Description

So, anyway, the world doesn’t make sense. By day, I’m a student who avoids teachers, parents, and rules because all they do is shout. I wish they’d leave me alone and stop calling me a lad when sometimes I’m a lass. Oh, plus, I can’t remember where I lived last year. By the way, have you noticed the handsome boy who keeps chatting with me after school?

There’s more. By night, I’m a spy on a mission, strong and essential, see? Some call it dreaming, but I know better. My assignment is to track two people who are trapped inside a skyscraper. I’m scared, and so are they. What if I’m not brave enough to save them?

So, yeah, things are tricky in both worlds. Two realities and a lot of questions are about to collide, and when they do, nothing can prevent the truth from spilling out. What’s inside the heart of a skyscraper? I’m about to find the answer. See you on the other side.

Excerpt

Mission Skyscraper
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The daydreams of Culleen/Colleen Farcy.

Thief.

Spy.

Lone warrior.

Teenage mutant thief.

My skills are unique, like scaling a wall and hearing bombs before they activate. I’ve evolved from nothing to a top-class thief, the kind you see on TV: stealthy, faster than the wind.

The best time for stealing art is late at night when the world sleeps beneath the cloak of darkness. Whoever snatched the art doesn’t yet realise someone slips through the cracks of the armour, breaking open their codes, taking back what villains stole, reclaiming paintings and sculptures, and returning them to their rightful place—Me.

Once home, the worlds and people frozen inside the pictures and sculptures can return to life, thaw, and then they’re home with their books and possessions, free to get on with everyday stuff like eating toast, making clay models, and watching TV in the middle of the night.

My powers are not superhuman but crafted from stubbornness, persistence, and a Lycra catsuit.

Unfortunately, the world is unaware a crime has taken place, a thing of beauty seized. If the police knew of my mission, they’d look at me with pity and say, “Off home now, lad,” as if I were a boy when I’m not, as if my assignment didn’t matter.

Only the people trapped understand the importance of my mission. Their echoing cries are killing me. Hearing a voice so lost is the saddest thing in the world.

I work alone. It must be so. I’m a cowgirl of the night, a shepherd of shadows.

But wait… My ear buzzes with someone trapped, trying to get out. There’s no way to silence the voices except to listen. You can’t ignore thunder. Whether you hide beneath the bed or not, the skies will rip apart anyway.

The buzz turns into a ringing, and now I’ve got numb hands. It pisses me off. There’s no need to attack my fingers. I try to ignore the voices by covering my ears. It should work.

It doesn’t.

The voices get everywhere, make my home itchy, and the food taste of sand. I can’t get away because they come from inside and not outside. Everywhere I go, they follow.

I want to get away. I hate them. “I don’t want to help you. Go away. Ask someone else. I’m only a kid, unsure whether I’m a boy or a girl.”

The buzzing becomes the voices. They won’t leave now until the mission is over.

It will be full of danger and risk. I expect to be undercover for a long time, maybe a year or ten years. Time is funny when you’re an art thief. I may not survive.

My ears hurt from the intensity of the buzz and the harshness of the light. This job is going to be bad.

Fear won’t stop me. I’m afraid, though, numb with worry.

Numb. You can’t hear the end of the word, the letter ‘b’. It throbs until the end of time. It’s a trapped memory dying to be freed, a swinging rope caught between motion and force. At what point does the ‘b’ cease ringing, and the rope stops swinging to and fro?

To and fro.

Forwards and back.

This time, there are two voices, far away echoes. Round and round, they spin, losing the words and the sense until all that’s left is the raw plea.

‘Hear us.’

It’s not a question.

They’re inside me now. I can no longer walk away or ignore them. I tried for a whole year.

It’s time to act—

—To put on the unique clothes made from the best quality, intended for any terrain. Dressing has become a ritual to switch from ordinary kid to teenage mutant thief.

Jeans, black as Drac, clinging tight against my legs. During a mission last year, laser beams exploded less than a millimetre away. It’s why I don’t wear surplus material that could set off alarms.

I shimmy in quickly and then wriggle into the gloves. I don’t want to leave fingerprints.

Last, my trainers, made especially for this occasion, the most crucial task yet, made of reinforced bounce that will help me run. And if I should need to climb, sucker pads along the bottom and sides will assist.

In these clothes, I could easily run away from home, and they’d never find me. Could I save the world? Maybe.

The voices squat inside my pores and my heart. Their burden is heavy. My ears and throat hurt. An invisible force pushes me forwards and backwards, but what is it?

Ignorance is bliss. I’ve heard it somewhere, but I don’t think it’s true.

“Goodbye,” I say, fading away into the night, whoosh, as stealthy as a ninja.

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


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Aug 29

New Release Blitz: The Boss by Gale Stanley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

 

Title:  The Boss

Author: Gale Stanley

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: August 29. 2023

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: BDSM, Contemporary, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ /Gay, Second Edition

Series: Roosters (#8)

Multiverse: Roosters (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 49

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Maxwell Barnes runs the top law firm in the city, owns a private BDSM club, and has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. He gets everything he wants, and now he wants his paralegal, Aaron Marshall. Mixing work and pleasure is a big no-no, but their mutual attraction is off the charts. The one thing Maxwell isn’t looking for is love, but sometimes fate has a mind of its own.

Excerpt

The Boss (Roosters)
Second Edition
Gale Stanley
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Gale Stanley

Fucking traffic. Even at this hour of the day, the streets were as jammed as my calendar. Doesn’t matter what I drive. My Mercedes-Maybach won’t get me to the office any faster than a Prius, but my ride got a lot of looks. It commanded the eye as well as the road. I imagined the other drivers were wondering what VIP was enjoying all this luxury. The thought ignited me. Being the center of attention was a turn-on. It was better than sex.

At last, my building came into view. It was an impressive sight. The Barnes Building was a soaring glass tower, twenty stories high, and one of the most prestigious addresses in the city. I helped design it myself. I demanded a seat at the table with the architects and builders, and my input resulted in a stunning building that met my needs. If you want something done right, do it yourself. ‘Nuff said.

I turned into the parking garage and pulled into my reserved spot, savoring the rewards of success. My car, my building, designer duds, a Rolex, they were all symbols of my wealth and status. None of it was due to luck. I worked damn hard to get where I was, long hours, high-profile court cases, good investments… I was on top of the world. Now I was ready to enjoy myself. For years work had overshadowed everything else in my life. I had made a name for myself and accumulated stuff, but I had neglected the hedonistic pleasures that shaped my life. It was time to focus on the thing that lit me up. BDSM. Erotic play made me feel complete. It energized me. I just needed the right partner. Lately, I had wondered whether the man I wanted even existed. It was a tall order to fill.

I knew who I was and what I wanted — single, gay Dom looking for a playmate, not a relationship. Nothing serious or exclusive. I wanted a man who was submissive because he loved the way it made him feel, but finding a compatible play partner wasn’t easy. In the past I’d had partners who played at being submissive so they could gain access to me. They were only interested in my prestige and money. I liked a man who was willing to work hard and make it on his own. Someone who was constantly learning and wanted to challenge his limits.

Even with my connections, it was difficult to meet men because my kink was a well-hidden secret. Submissives who were looking for a Dom wouldn’t know how to find me. It had been a long time since my Dominant side got any attention, and it had been frustrating as hell.

Until the day Aaron Marshall showed up. We had instant chemistry. Chemistry counted for a lot, but it wasn’t everything. There had to be more to it than attraction. The big question was, could we build something on that chemistry? This was such an improbable match, I couldn’t believe it was more than a fluke. But what if it wasn’t? I intended to find out because I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted this man.

I took the private elevator to the top floor. My suite was bright and modern, a stark contrast to my public office one floor down. There it was all cherry wood and leather, the warm traditional look I presented to the public. But the private penthouse was my home when I was working on an important case so it was all me, a personal office, sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, and a large bath, even a walk-in closet stocked with some of my favorite paddles and floggers.

I listened to my voice mail and found a message from Brett Holiday, my best friend. No need to answer it. I’d be seeing him tonight. I went into the bathroom to check my appearance before taking the back stairs to my office.

Before settling in, I walked out to the front office to greet Aaron, who was now my newest paralegal. My current office manager was teaching him the ropes, a task I planned on taking over shortly. Pun intended.

Aaron always clocked in ahead of everyone, even me. He wanted to make a good impression, and he had. The man was a quick study and very professional, but he had other assets that sparked my interest.

I never forgot our first meeting. I liked his looks immediately — dark blond hair, hazel eyes, slim build, but his stance was what caught my attention. Aaron stood in front of my desk, his back ramrod straight, arms at his sides, head up, eyes down. His deference was flattering to the point of overkill. I saw it as a tendency to yield to the will of another. He was hard-wired to be a submissive.

We made eye contact and it was hot as hell. I pictured us having wild sex and I sensed he felt the same. The undeniable connection between us was like an out-of-body experience. That mysterious attraction couldn’t be forced. It was what I longed for, but seldom found. Calm down, I told myself. Do not hire this man because you want to fuck him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Marshall.”

“Thank you.”

I decided to test the water. “Thank you, Sir.”

Aaron’s eyes went wide but he responded immediately. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

His reaction was beautiful to behold. Being told what to do excited him. I could tell he wanted me to take control, to dominate him. Anticipation shivered along my spine. I knew an untrained submissive when I saw one. Aaron was struggling to recover his self-command, but his desire and arousal shone like a beacon in a storm. I was intrigued.

Purchase at Changeling Press LLC

Meet the Author

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

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Aug 26

New Release Blitz: Rom-Com for Dummies by Tom Diggs (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Rom-Com for Dummies

Author: Tom Diggs

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/26/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 89500

Genre: Contemporary, MM romance, open relationship, friends to lovers, cooking, heirloom farming, humor, lawyers, writers, soap opera

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Description

Gabe’s only rule in life? Avoid married men at all costs. But when a sexy, married lawyer-cum-farmer, with dreamy eyes and in an open relationship, makes himself indispensable, Gabe’s no-married-men pledge is hard to keep.

Gabe Hartman is an award-winning, workaholic soap opera writer who prefers friends with benefits that don’t interfere with his deadlines. After his mother dies unexpectedly, he returns to his small hometown to settle her affairs, then get back to work ASAP. He schedules the memorial, arranges the burial, but makes no plans to fall for anyone, especially not a married man.

Owen Greene is open-hearted, good looking, and blessed with a charmed life. He’s passionate about all things farm-to-table and isn’t afraid to pursue what he wants—experience optional. When Gabe stumbles into his chaotic farmers market booth, the sparks are instant.

Gabe wants to do right by his mother and get back to work. Owen wants Gabe. Their chemistry? Unavoidable. Between messy estate finances and a fake-date crash course in emotional vulnerability, they just might stumble into something real. If only Gabe could come clean about a secret of his own…

Fall in love with this warm, witty MM rom-com about unexpected connections, complicated timing, and kissing the guy who makes your heart trip.

Excerpt

Rom-Com for Dummies
Tom Diggs © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Gabe Hartman was a first-class liar. It made sense he would become head writer on a soap opera.

If Tomorrow Never Comes had been around for decades. It was created in the late fifties by the legendary Aurora Helms, one of the doyennes of soaps. She had the vision to recognize bored, postwar, suburban housewives who needed the fantasy of romance and drama to keep them going until their husbands returned home in the evening after work. Aurora had created a kingdom of daytime dramas for the networks. If Tomorrow Never Comes was not only the feather in the cap of her reign, but also her last remaining soap still on the air. The fans couldn’t imagine a world without their hour of escape to Harmony Hills. The poor municipality had survived fires, plagues, serial killers, cult suicides, and Russian invasions. As of late, the show’s plots had become more tame and socially conscious, thanks mostly to Gabe Hartman’s sensibilities as head writer. He had grounded the show in salt-of-the-earth storylines that appealed to its down-to-earth audience, mostly from rural areas and red states.

Aurora Helms was in her nineties now and popped into the Manhattan offices of If Tomorrow Never Comes once a year from her estate in Connecticut. The staff performed a dog-and-pony show for the reigning “Queen of Soapland.” She spent a quick morning dispensing worthless advice and questionable anecdotes about the “Golden Age of Harmony Hills.” She bragged about getting now-famous actors from the New York City theater community to act in the early years of If Tomorrow Never Comes. Actors who would go on to become the greatest actors of their generation were allegedly cast as extras and “day players.” No corroborating record of any of this existed, but Gabe had trained his staff to listen politely, chuckle adoringly at her jokes, eat cheese, and drink sherry with her. She loved sherry. She waxed about her dreams of owning a cable network that played nothing but reruns of her soaps; no one had the heart to tell her cable networks devoted to soaps rarely succeeded. At some point, Aurora would have closed-door meetings with both the suits and the executive producers. Eventually, she would get tired and be limo-ed back to Connecticut while the staff returned to business as if she had never been there. Did she even watch If Tomorrow Never Comes anymore? Did it matter? As long as the show stayed on the air, her coffers kept filling.

The staff always complained about Aurora’s visits, but Gabe would have none of it. He was extremely vocal about his gratitude. Because of Aurora, he had been gainfully employed and living comfortably as a writer in New York City for over a decade. What other writers could say that? This year, he won his first Daytime Emmy due to Aurora’s creation, and he amplified his gratitude in his Emmy acceptance speech.

Gabe was good at his job and had always been well respected at If Tomorrow Never Comes. He had the unique talent of all great head writers: he made the writing staff feel like they were equally involved in a collaborative process. Gabe, however, always had the final say. He also had the best ideas. Everyone was always impressed with what he came up with.

But Gabe had a dirty little secret. None of his ideas were original. He was a world-class liar and a world-class thief. Morality was of no use to Gabe when it came to getting the job done.

Gabe’s secret weapon was his hometown, Concord Valley, a small borough Upstate. The people there were nice enough, but nothing else was of interest for Gabe, especially having grown up there as a young gay boy on the verge of his sexual emergence. That said, Concord Valley was where Gabe got all his best ideas for If Tomorrow Never Comes. Or more accurately, stole all his best ideas.

Every great idea he got for his soap came from someone’s real life story in Concord Valley. The love triangle between the beautician, the plumber, and the nun…Gertie, Phil, and Concetta in Concord Valley. The child misdiagnosed with autism who simply needed an ocular aid…the Waverly child in Concord Valley. The bad girl who returned to town and ran the cafe…Mildred in Concord Valley. Concord Valley as a town was the perfect population to inspire Harmony Hills-sized storylines.

Even though his dear mother still lived there, Gabe seldom went to visit. Concord Valley was the kind of place gay boys leave and never look back. That was the lie Gabe told himself. He went home for Christmas and birthdays, and he called his mother almost daily when she unwittingly fed him his latest storyline updates. Deserted by Dad decades ago, Gabe considered his mother one of his closest friends. He was planning to check in with her that night as he might have a couple of new storylines that needed developing.

His deception had one more layer. Gabe was such a professional liar, he never told anyone in Concord Valley he worked at If Tomorrow Never Comes. For all they knew, he worked in Manhattan at some aimless job in a nebulous megacorporation. Visits home would be easier if they didn’t know. He wrote for If Tomorrow Never Comes under the pseudonym, George Sample. Since soap writers are basically invisible, there was little chance of anyone ever learning the truth. The daytime writing awards were never shown on the televised part of the Daytime Emmys. There might be a still photo of Gabe floating around on the interwebs, but the image would be labeled George Sample and not Gabe Hartman. A “Gabe Hartman, soap writer” online search would yield fruitless results. Gabe was confident he had safely set up an impenetrable secret life. As long as the networks were broadcasting soaps, Gabe was guaranteed a healthy career as a writer for soap operas.

One of Gabe’s jobs as head writer was to keep track of the weekly ratings. Erin, the show’s fabulous writer’s assistant and Gabe’s work spouse, was the first to retrieve the ratings and make copies for all of the upper-level management production team.

Gabe headed to Erin’s cubicle next to the copy machine in the supply room. Erin had been an intern from NYU during her undergrad years. Not only did the staff adore her, but Erin was also a super fan of the show. She was offered a full-time gig the moment her internship was over. Gabe couldn’t imagine the place without her.

The supply room was abuzz with the whirr of script pages being printed and the organized chaos of ZipExpress overnight delivery envelopes getting prepped for drop off. The staff writers mainly worked from home. They didn’t need to come into the Manhattan office every day. As the sole writer’s assistant, one of Erin’s jobs was to put the finishing touches on several overnight packages for the out-of-town writing staff.

Erin had also already organized and highlighted the ratings in a neat pile. Gabe admired her competence and efficiency, a rare find in anyone, especially someone so young.

“How do we look, Erin?” he asked.

“Not great,” said Erin. “Down another two hundredths of a point. You want a look?”

“I trust you. Not too precipitous.”

“Steady but sure. The fans want more shirtless dudes, Gabe.”

“Take a number.”

“You should read the fan mail.” Erin held up a pile of letters.

“Above my pay grade. Wait! These ratings were from the week the plot revolved around the men’s swimwear competition. Guess our dudes need to work out more.”

“You can’t expect good actors to be gym rats. I still say the cannibalism storyline could be a Sweeps Week winner.”

“You’re nuts. Short of hardcore porn, I’m not sure what would spike the ratings.”

“What about a simple romance?”

“Right…”

“Or better yet, hide a romantic comedy in what might have been a tawdry storyline. Who doesn’t love romance? Add a few jokes. The combo is incredibly sexy. Some daytime drama sleight of hand.”

He considered Erin’s rom-com idea charming, but quaint.

“Not sure how that would work…on the air or in life,” said Gabe. “We’ll see what the producers have to say. Speaking of, how are the Douglasses today?”

“Higher than the ratings.”

“Not saying much. Wish me luck. Thanks for these.” Gabe grabbed the pile of ratings. “You make the shitty parts of my job look easy.”

“I bet you say that to all the exploited underlings. Want me to join you with the Douglasses?” asked Erin.

“I’m wearing my big-boy pants. I can handle a couple of drunken producers.”

“I always admire your detachment.”

“That’s what they pay me for.”

Gabe glanced at the actual ratings numbers and tried not to blanch. They’d recently been sliding so low, this week’s two-hundredth percentile decline was inconsequential compared to the previous hemorrhaging. The consistent slide was not good for If Tomorrow Never Comes, let alone soaps in general.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Tom Diggs is the author of fiction, plays, and musicals. His fiction has been published in The James White Review. His play, FAIR AND DECENT, was developed by the Kennedy Center and nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2008. When he’s not working on his own writing, he enjoys teaching middle schoolers to write. Outside of the world of letters, he bakes, bikes, and keeps up with the latest technology. A lifelong learner, he attended Brown University, the University of Washington, and NYU/Tisch. Once upon a time, he interned on All My Children. He currently spends his time between San Francisco and Santa Fe and is a member of the Dramatists Guild.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tiktok

Giveaway

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


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Aug 19

New Release Blitz: Killing Motives by Reis Asher (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Killing Motives

Series: Killing Games, Book Three

Author: Reis Asher

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/19/2025

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 45200

Genre: Horror/Thriller, action/adventure, alternate universe, bisexual, civil war, dystopia, horror, nonbinary, transmasculine

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Description

Reis has spent a year trying to keep the spirit of Anver-Kasyova alive, running Rainbow Bridge, a grassroots rescue network smuggling civilians out of war-torn Anver. It’s all they and Edgar can do in the wake of the destruction of the cities’ connecting bridge.

But when the Kasyovan Bureau arrests Reis, what should be the end turns into an unexpected new beginning: an invitation to lead the very country they’ve been fighting to save. Inducted into the Shadow Government, Reis becomes a reluctant President, aware they’re a pawn, but powerless to say no. The Shadow Government has leverage…and a secret weapon: a powerful

AI named Oracle, whose capability even surprises Edgar.

As Reis takes the helm, they uncover a darker truth—Nation Builders, Inc. (formerly the Killing Committee) is operating out of the ruins of the former seat of government, the Pyramid, to manipulate global regimes. And they’ve built their own AI.

Now, Reis must outwit the puppet masters who shattered their home, confront betrayals on every front, and hold on to Edgar—and their dream of a free, reunified Twin City-States of Anver-Kasyova.

Excerpt

Killing Motives
Reis Asher © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Reis

Reis hit the ground as a bullet sank into the car door above their head, missing them by inches. Smashing into the concrete knocked the wind out of their lungs, and they gasped. Recovering quickly, they rolled underneath the vehicle, trying to buy themself a few precious seconds to think. Reis’s heart pounded. Blood roared in their ears, the din of their body complementing the rain hitting the car like a percussion backing track.

So much for gathering evidence. They’d barely ventured a mile into Anver before being fired upon by an unknown sniper. Careless. Reis could hear Edgar telling them it was a bad idea, but they’d pleaded to go on this scouting mission. After receiving a report that the once grand technological powerhouse of Anver was now home to starvation, pestilence, war, and death on a scale befitting the apocalypse, they were determined to see it with their own eyes.

Anver’s people were dying, and Reis felt duty-bound to help. Sitting in relative safety on the other side of the river in Kasyova wasn’t cutting it. A soldier had to take action, not make statements and wish for the best. Fighting was in their blood, trained into them from an early age, and their skills were being tested once again.

Another shot made Reis jerk involuntarily as it shattered a window. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in reverie, with crystalline nuggets of safety glass raining down on the pavement like hail, inches away. Eventually, even the most amateur sniper would find their target, if only with a ricochet. Reis wouldn’t lie here and wait for the enemy to get lucky.

There was no way they could escape without being fired upon, so negotiation was the only option. Reis hoped they were dealing with a scared citizen instead of a mercenary from one of the many military contracting groups divvying up Anver like a pie.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Reis yelled out into the pouring rain. “There’s no need for us to fight. I’m on your side.” They closed their eyes, wondering if their voice carried over the sound of the rain. They were done here if they couldn’t use reason to talk their way out of danger. Their only hope was that their would-be assassin would run out of bullets, and they could make a run for it.

Reis jumped when a response came loud and clear. The sniper was closer to their position than they’d anticipated.

“I saw you emerge from the tunnel. Quit rubbernecking and go back to Kasyova where you belong!” The deep, husky voice held more than a tinge of sadness beneath its anger, and Reis could tell their adversary had been through more in the past year than they cared to consider. They were desperate. That was something Reis could use.

“I just want to talk. We have yet to learn what’s been happening since communications were lost. A flyover can only tell us so much. We need to hear from the people on the ground. People like you,” Reis explained. “I want to help. Please.”

“It’s too late for help. While you sat in your ivory towers, we died. There’s nothing left to save.”

Reis heard sloshing as footfalls kicked up puddles. Strong arms reached under the car and pulled Reis out. They looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard pointing a rifle at their head. All they could do was stay as still as possible, knowing that any sudden move could set off the stranger’s itchy trigger finger.

“Get up,” the man barked.

Reis rolled onto their side and used the car to crawl to their feet. They were wet and miserable, but this was the closest they’d gotten to engaging with a non-hostile in months. They reached out with one mucky hand, and the man grasped it with an equally filthy one and shook firmly. A warmth in his eyes seemed to radiate from beneath his war-weary cynicism, and Reis decided to rely on their gut instinct that this man could be trusted.

“I’m Reis. Reis Asher,” Reis said. “I’m with the Rainbow Bridge. We’re a non-governmental organization focused on helping people trapped here.”

“NGO? Hah, figures. Fucking government wouldn’t risk breaking a nail for Anverites. I thought Tony Anvas was a sad sack of shit, but he was right about one thing—Kasyova never did give a fuck about us.” He wiped the rain from his eyes with a frustrated, nasal grunt. His short black hair had grown out and hung over his eyes. He slicked it back in a motion that said he’d give anything for a decent hairdresser or, failing that, a pair of shears to lop it off himself.

“It’s complicated.” Reis wanted to defend the Kasyovan government, but they were as frustrated with the current stalemate as the stranger seemed to be. The government appeared to have fallen silent, allowing Anver to decay rather than risk a war with one or several of the factions fighting in the civil war—or, more likely, the nations backing them. The Anverite civil war was nothing more than a proxy war that had become a place for the wealthiest nations to air their grievances to one another without risking their citizens or territory.

“It’s not so complicated. Kasyova would have come to our aid if we were still the Twin City-States. They would have rolled the tanks in and stopped Anvas before he could kill the President.” The man sighed. “In the end, none of that matters. We’re way past politics now. All we can do is hope to survive. We take each day at a time, hoping that the big money will lose interest sooner or later and let a faction win. We don’t even care who at this point. Let it be the most fanatical separatist blowhards; I don’t give a shit. I want it to be over so we can start to rebuild. I’m Zach Fisher, by the way. I used to be a computer programmer. Now I’m just an idiot who knows a language nobody here speaks. I wish I’d become a doctor—we still need those.”

“My fiancé is a programmer,” Reis explained. “His name is Ed. We still need your skills—perhaps more than ever. You might not believe it, but we’re fighting for you. Maybe not with guns or tanks, but we’re fighting. Would you believe it if I told you that Tony Anvas is still alive, sunning it up on a private island? The assassination was a hoax. Without hackers, the world would still be hunting me down for his murder.”

“If I hadn’t heard your name before, I’d write you off as a conspiracy nut.” Zach spat. “But even if you’re telling the truth and not spewing some ‘truther’ bullshit, it’s not like it matters. This war isn’t about ideology anymore. The sides are all the same. It’s about foreign actors settling their grudges while padding their bottom line. I’m sure the world reacted to the coup with horror, right? Of course, they didn’t. It’s just one more war in a country they’ve never visited and can’t even place on a map.”

Reis nodded. Zach wasn’t wrong, and it hurt to feel cynicism ring true. “Come back to Kasyova with me. I’m sure there’s a lot you can tell us about what’s going on here. It’s been a while since we’ve encountered anyone willing to hold their fire long enough to talk.”

“It’s a little late to launch a rescue mission now. As you said before—it’s complicated.” Zach looked down at the ground, and Reis got the sense there was something he wasn’t telling them.

“Do you have a family? They can come, too, if you’d like. We want to help the people on this side, Zach. Let me help you.”

“I can’t accept your help.” Zach turned on his heel. “A year ago, I could have used you—but now. No. Just go back to your pretty little city on the other side of the river and forget you ever saw me.”

“I can’t do that,” Reis said. “I was born in Anver. Before the crisis, I was a Bureau agent. The citizens of Anver are my responsibility.”

“It’s been a year since the coup. A whole fucking year of hell on earth. A year of waiting for help that never came. Where have you been? What took you so fucking long to cross a three-mile-wide river with a tunnel underneath?”

Reis lowered their gaze. They’d been recovering. Finding themself. Putting their own oxygen mask on before they could assist the person next to them. It was hard to look at Zach—one of those left behind—and tell him the truth, but if they were to have any chance at success, they had to be completely honest.

“I was—there were some things I had to take care of. Hormones. Surgery. PTSD from the last few times I’ve been in fear for my life. I wasn’t exactly in a condition to scout out a war zone. I shouldn’t even be here now. I’d much rather be living in my ivory tower, planning my wedding, but I’m not. I wasn’t here for you a year ago, but I’m here now.”

“You’re trans?” Zach raised one eyebrow. “Heh. Go figure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reis asked, raising their defenses. It had been a long time since they’d encountered phobia of any kind, but who knew what had happened to Anverite society since being cut off.

“It means you ain’t the only one.” Zach kicked a puddle. “Thank fuck most of the effects of T are non-reversible—but not all.” He shook his head. “I’m forgetting my manners. It’s been so long since I needed ’em. Pronouns?”

“They/them,” Reis elaborated. “I’m transmasc.”

Zach nodded. “Just masc here, all the way. Fine, I’ll come with you—but I need to get something first. Back at my house, right up the hill here.” Zach led Reis across a pock-marked street. Weeds pushed through the tarmac, breaking the road where grenades and IEDs hadn’t done the job. Reis followed Zach up crumbling steps to a decrepit house that was once a jewel of suburbia. It was only a few miles from where Reis and Edgar had shared a home once upon a time. Reis had often wondered if it still stood and what state it was in now.

“This was your house before the war?” Reis asked.

Zach nodded. “Yeah. My wife and I lived here. Now it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” Reis said.

“Don’t misunderstand. She isn’t dead. She left me for some prick who could offer her the food and protection I couldn’t. I should be bitter about it, but she wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t even protect myself.” Zach unlocked the front door and hustled inside. “Now I find out if you’re here to help me.”

Reis heard it, then. A baby’s cry echoed from upstairs. Zach’s eyes narrowed, and he stomped upstairs. The child’s screams fell silent. Reis kicked off their muddy boots and climbed the creaking stairs, not wanting to soil the dirty carpet any more than it already was. Decrepit or not, this was someone’s home. The door to the upstairs bedroom was open, and Zach’s binder lay on the bed. He held the baby to his chest, nursing it. Reis looked away, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment.

They hadn’t felt dysphoria since their top surgery, but there it was, loud and clear, and judging from Zach’s look, he felt it every time he fed the tiny infant in his arms. Reis backed up and waited outside until Zach emerged.

“I can’t imagine how hard this has to be for you.” Reis blinked back tears, suddenly angry that Zach was forced to be here, birthing and nursing a baby alone against his will.

“You get it. I’ll go with you on one condition,” Zach said. “You find a good home for her because I can’t do this anymore. I need to finish my transition. This should never have happened in the first place. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I couldn’t get T after the war started and…” He leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, gathering his composure.

Reis let him be for a moment, swallowing the lump in their throat at the nightmarish scenario. “Of course, we’ll help you. Adoption services, transition services, therapy… The Kasyovan government will fund all of it. They’ve been cutting the Rainbow Bridge checks on the down-low this past year because they do care. They can’t show it because their hands are tied by superpowers threatening to invade if they intervene in Anver’s ‘efforts for independence.’”

Zach sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care about politics. Just get me out of this hellhole. Please. Get me to where I need to be, Reis. If you can’t take us both, take her. Find her the family she needs.”

“You’re both coming. Pack the things you need. We need to move out before nightfall.”

“What about your contact?” Zach asked.

“They didn’t show up at the rendezvous,” Reis explained. “I’m going to assume they’re dead. Let me know what you need to pack, and we’ll get going.” They took a deep breath, steadying themself on shaky legs before muttering, “Fuck. How did things get so messed up in just a year?” They grabbed a bag and started packing things Zach laid out on the bed. Most of it was for the baby—Zach had done an incredible job, given his impossible situation. The child slept soundly, oblivious to the fact that she was going on a journey very soon.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Reis Asher (he/him) is a transmasculine author living in rural Pennsylvania with his husband and four cats. He loves video games, reading, technology, and of course, writing.

He enjoys shining a spotlight on queer characters and their adventures in a diverse range of worlds, from the fantastical to the everyday.

Catch him on Twitter where he’s happy to interact.

Giveaway

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


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