Sep 08

New Release Blitz: At the Border of Destiny by C. Quince

Title: At the Border of Destiny

Author: C. Quince

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/08/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 360

Genre: Historical Fantasy, Heroic Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, Folk Horror, Low Fantasy, Folklore, Epic Battles, non-explicit romance, fifteenth century, medieval England, magic, witchcraft, ghosts, royalty, Christians, Pagans, knights, interracial/intercultural, political intrigue, uprising, HEA

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Description

Murad is an Imperial Messenger, and he has a secret… He’s a witch.

On a visit to the foreign court of Mercia in Britain, he has a vision of the crown prince, Aaron, in serious trouble.

In his desire to save Aaron’s life, Murad becomes entangled in Mercia’s political strife, border disputes, and rising Paganism.

At the heart of the conspiracy, Murad encounters a powerful blood witch who has plans to sow division in the land.

Her magic is too strong for Murad on his own, so he seeks out new allies in two very different witches: a green witch, and a Viking seer.

As lines are drawn in the sand, both at court and on the battlefield, Murad stands with Aaron, bolstered by their allies. Together, they can unite Mercia for good.

Excerpt

At the Border of Destiny
C. Quince © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Late February — London, the Kingdom of Wessex

The busy port of London straddled the River Thames on the border between two kingdoms, Wessex and Mercia. Trading vessels of all shapes and sizes sailed in from the North Sea entrance on the eastern side and unloaded their goods onto the crowded docks: salt from East Anglia, wool from northern Mercia, more wool from the southern kingdom of Wessex, fine cloth, metalwork and glassware, and fresh and dried produce from the continent. Apples all year round.

Sailors and dock workers sang as they unloaded the ships:

“Heave-ho! Heave to!

“Ship to shore, here we go!

“I got a piece o’ silver in my pocket and a barrel o’ ale on my docket!”

The men called back and forth in unison as they swung heavy crates down in rope nets, rolled the barrels, or carried the smaller boxes. Some of these goods would be distributed in London’s markets, and some would be loaded onto larger vessels for trade elsewhere.

Murad had come in on a Venetian ship with plenty of extra room on board because trade with Britain had been strictly limited. He and his party disembarked and split off at the docks. They each had their tasks to complete before they could regroup and leave London.

Murad’s task was coin exchange.

He made his way toward the bustling town, past the pungent fish market and the waterfront stores with merchants calling out loud enough to startle him more than once. He dodged past a herd of huge oxen on their way to the livestock market, using his small size to nimbly slip through the crowds in good time.

Everywhere around him, traders and merchants called out short rhymes and dirty limericks at ear-splitting volume to catch the attention of passers-by. Murad ignored the noise and distractions as best he could, focused on his destination.

When he arrived at the coin exchange house, there was a queue to get in. Not unusual for this time of day, but armed guards stood at the door. More than Murad had counted on his last visit to London.

That didn’t bode well.

He caught his breath from his dash across town as he waited, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else in the queue.

People glanced at him, but locals were used to seeing all kinds of people come through their port. Their stares weren’t more than a passing interest.

The guards sized him up. Murad watched them quietly confer amongst themselves for a moment, but when it came to his turn, they didn’t stop him from entering, nor search him for the weapons hidden under his patchwork cloak.

Murad entered the dingy, damp-smelling foyer of the coin exchange.

“Next!” called the clerk, a stout, pale man with a greying beard. He sat behind a small, barred window, safe within the reinforced cell. Candles burned near him for light within the gloom.

Murad stepped up to the window, producing two pouches from his belt. “Local coin for Wessex, the other for Mercia,” he said, sliding both under the narrow gap.

The man quickly scooped up the pouches, tipping out the contents one by one to weigh them on his scales. The contents were gold talents, bearing the official treasury mark of the United Empires. While relations between the kingdoms of Britain and the United Empires were somewhat prickly, gold was welcomed warmly in any kingdom.

The talents were accepted, and the man barked out currency orders to more clerks hidden from Murad’s line of sight.

“Collect them over there,” he told Murad, gesturing to the side wall.

Murad knew that already, but he merely nodded.

“’Ere,” the man said, leaning closer to the bars to stare at Murad. “You one of them messengers?” Before Murad could answer, the man continued, “When are they gonna reopen trade routes? There ain’t been any nutmeg on the market for months, and the price of a pinch of pepper these days is through the bleedin’ roof!”

Murad didn’t have an answer for him. Trade sanctions were for rulers and councils to agree upon, not him.

“I am only a messenger,” he answered.

“Coins for Wessex and Mercia!” came a muffled shout, followed by the plink of couch purses landing in the chute.

Murad had to collect his coins and leave to let the next customer in.

On his way back, he got distracted by two young children in threadbare clothes trying to steal a fish from a market stall. They weren’t very good at it.

He paused to assess the scene, eyes going to the fishmonger who was currently occupied with another customer.

If those children hurried, they could take a fish. Murad was silently rooting for them, but the children had a mishap. The little boy who was giving the little girl a leg up slipped, and they both fell over in the dirt with a wet fish landing on top of them.

The fishmonger noticed.

“Oi!” he shouted, barrelling over to them. “You thieving li’l beggars!”

Murad swiftly stepped in. “I will pay,” he said firmly, producing a silver coin of Mercia. “How many fish does this buy?”

The fishmonger eyed the coin. “You can ’ave four big or six small for that.”

Murad glanced down at the children, who were staring back at him in surprise. They were small themselves.

“Small,” he said, handing over the coin.

When the exchange was done, the two children grinned at Murad before hurtling off, cradling their wrapped fish tightly in thin arms.

Murad watched until they disappeared into the crowd, wondering who they were running home to, or if they even had a home.

They reminded him of himself at that age.

The fishmonger shook his head at Murad. “You’re a fool, you know. Those beggars are here every morning, trying to steal.”

Murad couldn’t help a smile. “How does the saying go?” he replied. “Foolishness is a lesser evil.”

This at least got a laugh out of the man.

Then Murad was on his way. Time to meet his fellows, procure horses, and draw lots for which kingdom to enter.

They had important messages to deliver.

He found Kai first, spotting his brightly coloured uniform of red and blue silk robes, the same uniform Murad wore under his cloak. Kai was huddled in a private conversation with a London local Murad recognised: Yorgos the Greek. The man those in the know went to if they needed anything from the infamous black market.

It seemed Murad had happened upon Kai during a clandestine transaction, as the two large men exchanged small pouches in practised sleight of hand movements. Kai’s spices for Yorgos’s unmarked silver was Murad’s guess.

Yorgos left with a grin, and when Kai turned around, he was also grinning…until he noticed Murad and realised he was caught red-handed.

Murad raised his eyebrows minutely to let Kai know that he had not been so slick.

Kai responded by raising his finger to his lips, a gesture Murad had seen him do often whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Murad fought a smile. He wouldn’t tell on Kai; the older man was his dear friend, his mentor. But if Kai started lecturing him about side trades in the future, Murad now had ammunition to hit back with.

“Did you collect the currency?” Kai asked.

Murad nodded. And, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Collected some of your own, I see.”

Kai patted his belt where no doubt the silver had gone. He chortled, and his long, thin black moustache swayed with the movement. “The price of basic seasoning is very high. What a fortunate time to come!”

“Yes, they already complained about that in the exchange,” Murad told him. “Asking when sanctions will be lifted.”

“Well, just tell them it’s nothing to do with us,” Kai replied. “After all, we’re only the messengers.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

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

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Sep 04

New Release Blitz & Excerpt: Sunshine Boy by Nicky Silber

 

Title: Sunshine Boy

Author: Nicky Silber

Cover Art: Nicky Silber

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy

Themes: 20th Century, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ Bisexual /Nonbinary /Transgender, LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Rock Star Romance

Series: Electric Blue (#2)

Multiverse: Punks of London (#1)

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 187

Description

What if they’re not just friends? It could be murder!

After Julian’s sister sets him up with a charming Frenchman, Rahul thinks he may be getting over Julian, especially since Julian is back with his ex, Michael. Their band is finally taking off and the future seems bright. Then Julian hints he may return Rahul’s feelings.  But what might happen if they become more than friends?

WARNING: Violence, Drinking/Substance use, Mentions of murder, Trauma/PTSD.

Excerpt

Sunshine Boy (Electric Blue 2)
Nicky Silber
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Nicky Silber

Julian’s flat was a disaster, but Mel couldn’t be sure if it was on account of Julian tearing the place apart in a fit of pique or if it was always like this. Based on what his room had been like when she and her big brother had lived at home, she didn’t really doubt this was just the way he lived.

Mel hadn’t been here since the day Julian had moved in three years ago. She saw enough of her brother at the place where they worked, the place where they drank, and the place where they performed. She hardly needed to come round his place to get even more time with the manic muppet.

Julian even did devastation manic. He was pacing around the living room, pulling at his hair, talking a mile a minute. Mel could hardly keep up with what he was saying, if he was saying anything at all and not just babbling incoherently.

“… just a jazzy giraffe freak clomping around my life with his big stupid hooves and not even looking for oncoming traffic or anything… wouldn’t even slow down at a zebra crossing, even if there was kids in it, or like countryside sheep or whatever… just plow right through ‘em — WHAM — ‘sorry, missus, was this your daughter sheep? Too bad, I’m after Julian, can’t slow down or I’ll lose him!’ Honestly, it’s like he isn’t…”

Mel grabbed a handful of Julian’s fake leather jacket as he came past and yanked him down onto the sofa beside her. He looked startled and disorientated, like a somnambulist being unceremoniously awoken. He blinked at Mel as though only just now noticing her.

“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm going on like that,” Mel said coolly, lighting up a cigarette.

Her words were the scissors that cut the strings of Julian’s loosely gathered sanity. He crumpled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. For one horrified moment, Mel thought he might be crying. But he just groaned, a long pitiful noise like that of a wounded animal.

“It’s all gone tits up, hasn’t it?” he mumbled into his palms.

It had in fact, in Mel’s opinion, gone tits up. Julian’s best friend, Rahul — the “jazzy giraffe freak” — had told Julian’s creepy blond boyfriend, Michael, that Rahul and Julian had slept together. Michael had ended things with Julian. Julian had clobbered Rahul (a very un-Julian-like thing to do). Rahul then confessed his undying love for Julian and Julian had… run off. Cowardly little prick.

Rahul wasn’t just Julian’s best friend, he was also the most musically talented member of their band — a band Mel played bass in, mind. Without him, the band would dissolve into nothing and Julian would be left rudderless. He lived for their shite band. Hell, he lived for Rahul. The two of them needed each other like foxes needed bins. This melodramatic love-triangle nonsense was going to make all of their lives positively implode. Well, maybe not Mel’s life. She owned a record shop and she’d be fine. And maybe not Kwambe’s life either. He was too cool to be affected by anything. But definitely Julian and Rahul’s lives, and Mel had sworn, years ago when her and Julian’s mum had started drinking, that she would look out for her empty-headed brother and keep him safe. She’d been fixing his life ever since. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to fix it this time.

“It ain’t so bad,” Mel told Julian. She nudged him until he peeked out between the fingers he held over his eyes. She extended a cigarette to him. He took it and let her light it for him. It was the most affectionate gesture she’d offered him in quite some time. “One of you could be dead. That’d really be something to cry about.”

He threw her a withering glare with his red-rimmed eyes.

“So, you shagging that Michael bloke, then?”

Julian choked slightly on the smoke in his throat. He’d never told her, in so many words, that he was dating Michael. Michael had just shown up one day, hanging around Julian, while Julian stared at him with the eyes of a boy looking at a bloody Christmas tree. Julian had also never told her he was a bit bent either, but Mel had worked that out on her own, too.

Julian fidgeted with the cigarette butt in his fingers. It was odd to see him… if not embarrassed, then apprehensive. He usually did things like he couldn’t give a shit what others thought, though Mel knew that was a load of horse shite. He acted like he didn’t care, but no one cared more what other people thought than Julian Collier. He’d been caring since they were kids, only he’d gotten better at pretending. The thing is, when you want people to think you’re really cool, you have to get them to think you don’t care what they think. Julian was also obsessed with people thinking he was a little daft. That much was lucky, because, as far as Mel was concerned, he was a little daft.

He nervously pushed his fringe off his forehead only for it to flop back down at an uneven angle. “Yeah. Or, well, I was.”

“He chucked you ‘cause you and Rahul shagged?”

“That sounds like we did it yesterday,” Julian whinged. “It was ages and ages ago. Back at uni. And we were both drunk as you like. It didn’t even count, if you ask me.” Despite himself, he was going quite red around the ears and getting splotchy red patches high on his cheeks. “I’d forgotten all about it. I can’t even believe Rahul remembered. And that he told Michael. Imagine that!”

It was all coming together now. She remembered the trip Julian had taken up North to visit Rahul, only to come back one day early, all jumpy and not wanting to talk about it. Afterward, he’d not seen Rahul for years. Then, when Rahul came back, they were all distant and weird around each other. They’d had a drunken fumble together, of course. For one of them it was just an awkward night that had compromised a friendship. For the other…

“He also told you that he loves you,” Mel reminded him around her cigarette butt.

Julian folded his arms and hunched his shoulders in that way he did when he was stopping himself from covering his ears like he would’ve as a little kid. “Whatever. He’s confused. I dunno. He can’t love me. That’s just mental. He’s my best mate — he was my best mate. He just thinks he’s in love with me ‘cause he loves me, you know, like friends or whatever. And anyway, that’s the other reason Michael dumped me, you know? He could see Rahul’s all obsessed with me and he didn’t want to get himself in the middle of whatever it is we’ve got going on. He didn’t want to end up like Aisling did. Having rows all the time ‘cause Rahul’s put himself between us.”

Hearing the name of Julian’s ex-girlfriend gave Mel pause. “Were you shagging him when you were still with Aisling?”

Julian dropped his cigarette. He retrieved it before it could burn a hole in the carpet next to the constellation of cigarette burns already there. “No. ‘Course not,” he said defensively in the way he did when he was lying. “I’d never cheat on her, would I?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said. “Would you?”

“I mean — all right, so I’d started seeing him a bit when we were still together,” Julian immediately capitulated. Mel beamed. So she could still wheedle the truth out of her brother after all. “But we didn’t sleep together or anything. It wasn’t cheating. Not really.” He was imploring as if Mel were the barrister presiding over his case. She was only a curious third party with no stake in the game. So she merely shrugged.

He ran an unhappy hand through his hair, which by now was standing up at all sorts of odd angles. “What am I gonna do?”

“What you’ve gotta do is get your shit together. Both of you. I got a business to run, you know? What am I supposed to do? Sack one of you and hire somebody neither of you ballbags have fucked? And we got a band, or have you forgotten that as well?”

“I thought you hated the band.”

“I do, but I’ve started counting on that extra gig dosh.” It felt good to pay for her grass with money that didn’t come directly from her dead nan’s business. “And you love the damned thing. Are you gonna find yourself a replacement keyboardist slash guitarist who shares your same crazy vision of a dystopian soundscape? Think it’s easy to find one of them? You gonna put an ad out in The Sun?”

“Why don’t you ask Rahul?” Julian cried. “He’s the one who’s gone and cocked everything up! It’s his fault for having feelings — or thinking he’s got feelings. If he weren’t obsessed with me, he’d have never sabotaged my relationship. If he were following somebody else around like a bleeding puppy, then maybe me and Michael would still be together.”

“That’s it,” Mel said, snapping her fingers in the air.

“What is?” Julian asked dubiously.

“We need to set Rahul up with somebody. Get him to fall in love with somebody else. That way Michael won’t have anything to worry about and the two of you can make up. Then you and Rahul can get back to being mates, and Bob’s your uncle — everything back to normal.”

Julian’s dubiosity had not dissipated. “You reckon? I dunno.” He made a face somewhere between a sneer and a wince that made it look like he was about to sneeze. “He’s been building his feelings up for me for years, said so himself. I don’t think we can come in with some, erm…”

“Bloke. He is gay, you know.”

“Right — some bloke — and think he’ll be all gone on him in two shakes and forget all about me. He thinks he loves me, you know? That’s massive, that is. When someone’s got gangrene, you don’t come in with a plaster and think that’s gonna make it all better.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. You leave it all up to me. I’ll sort it. I always do.” And even though she was wearing her best smug expression, he still had the gall to look less than convinced.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

As a queer, nonbinary, person of color, Nicky Silber has made it their mission to bring diversity into all of their creative outlets. Born in New York, raised in Mexico, they studied fine art in San Francisco and have worked in the video game industry since 2012. They currently live in the wilds of North Carolina with their young son and too many pets. Their only two goals in life are to continue to tell queer love stories and, to a lesser extent, finally knit their own sweater.

Website | Instagram | Threads | TikTok

 

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Sep 01

New Release Blitz: To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul by Fearne Hill

Title: To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

Series: Regency Rossingley, Book Four

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/01/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 308

Genre: Historical, historical romance/British Regency, gay, tall-dark-and-sexy Frenchman, thief, caper, murder mystery, family heirloom, family drama, courtroom drama, gentleman’s club, ballrooms, blackmail, the Ashington Eight (think Ocean’s Eleven), humorous

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Description

London 1825. When a young American heiress arrives at a Society ball draped in long-lost sapphires and diamonds belonging to the late Duchess of Ashington, jaws drop and tempers rise.

Thirty years earlier, those jewels vanished after a deadly shooting party. Now, they’ve resurfaced around the neck of the odious Marquess of Talybridge’s beautiful betrothed.

The current Duke of Ashington wants them back where they belong, and his close friends are only too happy to plot a daring heist on his behalf. But he’s not the only man with his eyes on the prize. A mysterious French viscount, new to London and shrouded in scandal, wants them too.

Enter Mickey Maurice, gambling hell owner Tommy Squire’s right-hand man. Loyal and discreet, Mickey glides through Society largely unobserved. Under the duke’s instruction, he’s tasked with seducing the truth out of the foreigner.

But when secrets, schemes, and seductions collide, the real thief might just be a matter of the heart. And for young Mickey, love might be the riskiest heist of all.

This fourth book in the Rossingley Regency romance series features friends old and new, a jewel heist, and lashings of falling in love. It can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt

To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul
Fearne Hill © 2026
All Rights Reserved

London, Winter, 1825

Most of Squire’s well-heeled patrons were unaware of the private room tucked away from the clamour of the main floor. The air held a comforting blend of cologne and aged leather, and a fire smouldered lazily in the hearth, sending shadows dancing across the rich mahogany wall panels. A thick Persian rug, worn smooth by years of use, stretched across the floor.

Only a very select handful of gentlemen were privy to this space. That Tommy Squire, his older cousin and boss, admitted him to this rarefied group was a privilege Mickey Maurice felt he’d waited for half his life. He had no intention of squandering it.

Two wingback armchairs framed the hearth, both boasting tasselled cushions and a whiff of superiority. Tommy’s darkly handsome lover occupied one—Benedict Fitzsimmons, Fourteenth Duke of Ashington. Tommy’s innocent lordling, all grown up.

The eleventh Earl of Rossingley sat opposite, of fairer, slighter frame, yet no less imposing. His own lover, Kit Angel, stood before a window draped in velvet curtains the colour of midnight, looking out onto a rainy St James. He sipped from a brandy balloon, the leaded crystal catching the flickering firelight as if he cradled a cup of glittering diamonds in his palm. On the deep, inviting settee sprawled the duke’s brother, Lord Lyndon Fitzsimmons, a scapegrace whose fearsome reputation was in grave peril if he didn’t stop making doe eyes at the Honourable Rollo Duchamps-Avery, a blond wisp of a young man curled up next to him.

Tommy sauntered to the drinks trolley and poured himself a generous snifter of brandy. Mickey envied him his poise in amongst all these toffs; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be accustomed to it. He hovered close to the door, feeling like an imposter and slightly ill at ease in his evening attire. Though thoroughly accepted into the group since Tommy had spruced him up, taught him some ton manners, and then insisted he mingle with society, Mickey still half expected one of the gentlemen demand he bring them a fresh decanter or call for a carriage.

“We’re unduly popular this evening, given the poor weather,” Tommy remarked to no one in particular. “Have been all week.”

“That’s because all the chaps are blackballing White’s,” piped up Rollo Duchamps-Avery from his cosy seat. Both his lover, Fitzsimmons, and Rollo’s father, Rossingley, regarded him fondly. “Willoughby thinks they should call in the runners to sort out the thefts before things get out of hand.”

Rossingley smiled indulgently. “It sounds as if Willoughby needs a reminder of the first rule of a gentleman’s club.”

“Yes, yes, one doesn’t talk about the doings of a gentlemen’s club,” Rollo chorused. “Which is all rather cloak-and-dagger and everything, Papa, but someone is stealing trinkets worth several hundreds of pounds! This isn’t a spot of card sharping to liven up a dull wintry evening, you know. It’s grand larceny!”

Fitzsimmons nudged him. “And the second rule?”

Rollo gave his lover an adoring, if exasperated look. “Yes, all right, all right. One still doesn’t talk about the doings of a gentlemen’s club.”

“And even more so when the culprit is purported to be a gentleman himself,” Fitzsimmons added, frowning.

“How many thefts have there been now?” This was from his brother—the duke—his deep brown gaze keen.

“The pilfering of Bannister’s pocket watch brings the total up to five,” Kit clarified from over by the window. “Three further items were reported to be taken from ladies’ reticules at Mrs Bowman’s gala dinner.” A small smile crept across his face. “And before anyone says it, no, I wasn’t present on any of the occasions.”

“Yet, no thefts reported here at Squire’s,” Tommy pondered. “If the pilfering at Mrs Bowman’s exonerates White’s household”—he shot Mickey a meaningful look—“then there is only one conclusion to draw.”

“A gentleman thief is at large,” agreed Fitzsimmons on behalf of them all.

“Yes. And, so far, he’s keeping his mitts to himself when he visits here,” said Tommy. “Unless, of course, he’s not a member.”

“If they had their wits,” Ashington commented, “White’s would ask for a gander at your members list to see if any newcomers have recently joined their establishment, but not Squire’s.”

He smiled faintly; he knew his lover well. Mickey guessed how Tommy would respond to a request like that too. A members list such as Tommy’s falling into the wrong grubby paws could turn the tide of empires. Far more than an inventory of gentlemen’s names and subscriptions, if there were a mote of dirt, gossip, or murk to be found, then it would be recorded on the list and locked up tight in Tommy’s office upstairs.

“Which I’d decline to produce.” Tommy nodded thoughtfully. “Though snooping at theirs would be interesting, just in case the bounder tries his luck here.”

“I…um…may have already looked into it,” Mickey offered, and his neck heated. He tended to stay quiet unless addressed directly, a habit Tommy patiently tried to eradicate. Along with Sidney—Tommy’s muscle—Mickey had spent most of the morning bribing, cajoling, intimidating, and charming one of White’s less loyal and far too naïve secretaries.

As all heads turned in his direction, Mickey flushed even harder. Even Rossingley, who so far had stayed quiet, seemed impressed. Tommy, on the other hand, tensed.

“Tell me you came to no harm, that no one threatened you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Anticipating Tommy’s needs was literally his job. “Sidney accompanied me. The poor fellow we spoke to is probably still cowering in a darkened room somewhere.”

“That’s my boy,” praised Tommy. “Out with it, then.”

Mickey gritted his teeth. He wasn’t Tommy’s boy any longer; he was one and twenty! Nonetheless, he tried not to preen. If lumbering, granite-hewn Sidney was Tommy Squire’s shield, then Mickey Maurice prided himself on being his sword. He was his older cousin’s fixer, his eyes and ears, and Tommy’s most ardent admirer, excepting the duke. Tommy Squire had dragged himself up from the gutter by his bootstraps, then returned five years ago to fetch Mickey. Starting as a lackey, then a footman, he was now Tommy’s right-hand man and, as such, rubbing shoulders with the ton. God knew when he’d get used to it. Or be allowed out and about to do his job without Sidney in tow.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Fearne Hill is a British writer of queer romance and the winner of the 2025 Lambda Literary Award for LGBTQ Romance. When she’s not crafting characters who fall hard and kiss slowly, she works as an anaesthesiologist. She lives in the deepest Dorset countryside with her beloved spaniels.

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Aug 25

New Release Blitz: The Netherworld Witch by Lisa Acerbo

Title: The Netherworld Witch

Author: Lisa Acerbo

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/25/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 79600

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, fantasy, young adult, bisexual, interracial, high school, fantasy world, elves, witch

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Description

Mina Rubenstein has a secret. She doesn’t just sketch elves; her drawings transport her into the kingdom of Auralon. Once there, the princely Callon informs her the king has vanished, dark forces are rising, and Mina is the Netherworld Witch. According to the prophecy, only she can shape the ethereal darkness into anything imagined, find the missing monarch, and save the realm. Mina never asked for magic, let alone a destiny, but refusing Callon’s plea to save his father could doom Auralon.

The only thing worse than her possible death at the hands of mythical monsters is junior year at St. Benedict’s Catholic School. When bullies target her, Mina’s best friend Ayden becomes her sanctuary and first love. But as the torment escalates, Ayden reaches a breaking point. Desperate and angry, she buys a weapon and begins talking about revenge.

Trapped between two worlds, Mina searches for peace in both. One world is filled with family, Ayden, and school. The other full of wild magic and Callon. As Mina’s existence at St. Benedict’s descends into pandemonium, she wonders whether her quest in Auralon is fate or a way to avoid the pain of reality.

Excerpt

The Netherworld Witch
Lisa Acerbo © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Snow fell. Mina contemplated how she wanted to show this in her drawing. Snow changed the world. Everything quieted, boundaries blurred, soft edges seeped. A white hush cloaked streets, trees, entire towns. Familiar places were reinvented.

Snow was symbolic. A fresh start, a clean surface, a new beginning, but Mina’s snow, once pristine, ephemeral, and gossamer, was laced with blood. Black dots on the white sheet of paper made flakes heavy and unyielding. She continued to sketch. The flurries fell into Callon’s eyes, drenched his cloak, and hindered his success. The bands of white muffled the anguished cries and the death falls. It made horror beautiful from far away, but up close, evil was anything but pretty.

Mina pressed her charcoal pencil hard against the pristine paper. The elf’s now familiar features appeared intense, smeared with dirt and rage. Pain illuminated his eyes with each new line she rendered. “This is not what I want to draw.”

Chaos ensued. Warriors and mythical monsters clashed as snow and sleet slashed sideways. The princely elf battled goblins. Not one, not three, but four short, stocky, incredibly ugly creatures. Their faces were leathery; hair bulged from large bat ears and curled over most every other part of their bodies. Damp, sweat-soaked strands protruded through chinks in their misshapen armor. Sleet matted tangles down in abstraction over squat, muscular arms. Small and fast, furious, and deadly, the monsters surrounded the prince.

Mina wanted to stop sketching as much as she wished her heart would cease violently rattling in her chest. It was a drawing for God’s sake, but her pencil felt like a prediction and the outcome dire. She couldn’t see Callon hurt.

His gorget and leather armor were splattered with muck and mud, dripping and heavy. His hefty sword sliced through the first goblin’s skin as easily as it carved the white falling flakes. He staggered when another monster’s sword pierced his leg. She etched a gash down his thigh. Callon’s shoulders rounded with fatigue, yet Mina drew on. She couldn’t stop sketching, as much as she tried to pull herself away.

Ice amassed under the prince’s feet, sending him skittering. Blood and mud sprayed the ground burgundy. The warrior struck out, slashing in a circle to keep the remaining goblins at bay. He thrust his sword at one, giving another the chance to use his weapon as a spear. Callon parried and drove his sword into the gremlin’s chest. The monster squealed and fell.

The other two were upon him.

Callon’s blade pierced the winter storm of white. He was not the soldier his sister was, but a calm descended. He’d trained for this equally as hard as she had, and while she excelled at horsemanship, he did so in ground combat. He preferred to face his opponent and stare into their eyes, seeing the evil and feeling as if his sword carried out justice rather than violence. He locked eyes with one of the remaining two goblins, already envisioning its demise.

One monster, more reckless than the other, growled, spit, and swore in a language as rough and rude as itself. The stench of death from the slain devils warred with the odor wafting off the living ones. It brought tears to Callon’s eyes even as he attempted to breathe through his mouth. He assumed the goblin across from him was male, but it was nearly impossible to tell. The foul creature jerked forward, swinging a curved sword with ease, aiming at Callon’s midsection, ever so happy to gut him.

“I’ll see you join the others in eternal sleep.” He screamed above the battle roar that surrounded him and kicked away the fallen dead by his feet.

The two remaining demons moved into fighting range. He wielded his sword with muscle memory from all the long, intense training days with his sister, who had pushed him beyond exhaustion to hone his skills. Callon thanked Elarona for that practice now as he cleaved down and across, hitting the portly monster’s arm and severing it. The creature howled in pain and sank to its knees. The prince kicked out, his boot meeting the beast’s face. It fell over and he stabbed, ending its miserable existence.

The other goblin jumped on Callon’s back, ready to plunge a dagger into his neck. The elf grabbed the monster’s arm, blade slicing his cheek. He wrenched the weapon away and fell backward. He hit the packed snow hard, the impact jarring, and squashed the monster to the ground. The prince’s sword flew from his fingers. He twisted off the creature and scurried away.

The goblin crawled on arms and knees after him, yellow teeth chomping, moving faster than Callon could have ever imagined. Its claws grabbed at his pant leg and pulled him close. The elf pawed the slick and slimy ground littered with remnants of both elven and goblin warriors. His hand closed over a rock and when in range, the goblin’s teeth ready to sink into his leg, Callon smashed the stone against its head. The force of impact reverberated through him. He repeated the motion. The rock slammed into the monster’s skull, the squelch and shatter loud, the squeal of the beast deafening, until it fell limp.

Callon pushed away, stood, and scanned the battleground. It was no longer white even though snow continued to fall. Elarona cheered. The other elven warriors joined in the joyous war cry before turning to help the injured or collect bodies of the fallen for burial. The prince limped closer, anything but delighted. The battle was far from over.

Mina put a hand to her mouth, tears in her eyes, and stopped. She crumpled the drawing into a ball and hid it and the paper and pencil under her mattress. No one could know about it.

She stood, opened the door, exited her room, and waved to the orderly standing guard by the locked doors. She walked down the sterile hallway and into the waiting office.

Mina’s tongue stuck to the inside of her chapped lips, as dry as midsummer sand well above the tideline on a beach. The young and overeager doctor sat behind an organized desk where she attempted to interact, but Mina found the bookshelves overladen with psychology texts, including The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, more interesting.

“I have no idea what to talk about.” Mina slouched lower in her chair and battled through her first individual session. She was grateful her parents cared enough to find a place where she’d receive help but mortified that everyone at her high school probably couldn’t stop gossiping about her downfall.

“Tell me why you’re here.” The doctor in the shiny white lab coat had an equally pearly grin. She pushed a tissue box her way.

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.” Mina pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose. “I guess it all got to be too much.”

“Your parents said you were brave coming to them. They’re proud of you.”

“I wish I had talked to them earlier. The bullying was bad, the breakup hard, and it was all stressful, but the other stuff spiraled.”

“What do you mean?”

“The imaginary world with the elves.” Mina focused on the plant at the edge of the desk. “It all seemed real.”

“That’s a good place to start. Let’s explore what happened. There’s no judgment in this room. You can relax.”

She wanted that too, but her knees shook, and her leg refused to stop jumping up and down.

“How’s the journaling going?” the doctor asked.

“Fine.” Her gaze skipped around the room trying to find a focus, but all she saw were possible future sketches. Her pointer finger painted along her jeans, creating circles, ovals, and swirls.

“Tell me a little more. I asked you to put aside drawing and focus on writing down your thoughts and ideas to avoid confusing the real with the imaginary. Has it helped? Any misperceptions?”

“I let my imagination run wild in the past. I get it.”

“It’s much more complicated than that. It’s what we are going to try and figure out here.”

She understood everything the doctor was saying but missed Auralon so much and wanted to continue to sketch Callon, the pixies, Buddy, and the other world she longed to return to.

Her life here was a huge, hot, steaming pile of horse dung, and Mina had no idea what she was going to do about it.

*****

Session over, she walked back to her room, hand skimming the wall. It pulsed in response. A portion in front of her blurred and faded. A figure stood behind it.

The shadow held out its hand but then disappeared.

The wall solidified in front of her.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lisa Acerbo is the Director of General Education and Liberal Arts at Post University. Her short stories and poetry appear in Scarlet, Sagebrush Review, Moonstone Arts, Poor Yorick Literary Journal, Ripples in Space, Universe in a Bottle by Flying Ketchup Press, Whatever Happened to Hansel and Gretel? by Fathom Publishing (a finalist in the 2024 Best Books Awards in the category of Fiction: Anthology), and Birds of Vermont Museum. When not writing, you can find her walking in the woods with her rescue dogs.

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Aug 21

New Release Blitz & Excerpt: Horsefall by Jade Buchanan

Title: Horsefall

Author: Jade Buchanan

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Duets & Box Sets, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Themes: Elves /Dragons /Magical Creatures, LGBTQ+ Gay, Multiple Partners, Second Edition, Shapeshifters, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism

Series: Horsfall (#4)

Book Length: Box Set

Page Count: 186

Synopsis

What started out as a regular job assignment quickly escalated into something more for Oliver Philip when he meets twin Shire horse shapeshifters Bayard and Marshall Stoddard.

Hired to perform a safety audit on Horsfall Ranch, Oliver never expected his life to be turned upside down, but he’s game for anything. Happily throwing himself into a relationship with both Bayard and Marshall, Oliver quickly discovers a world of intense pleasure, laughter and comfort.

Unfortunately, storm clouds are gathering on the horizon and Oliver must find the strength to fight for the two men he can’t live without.

Excerpt

Horsfall
Second Edition
Jade Buchanan
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Jade Buchanan
Excerpt from Tail of Two Brothers

Oliver Philip inhaled deeply, turning his head from side to side to capture as much of the scenery as he could. He couldn’t imagine living out here. It was so crisp, so clean. And it was only about twenty minutes outside the city limits too. Hell, it took him longer than that to drive from one end of the city to the other.

He slowed his car, counting the kilometers as they clicked by. “Ten point five, ten point six, ten point seven, and there’s the turn off. Exactly where he said it’d be.”

Turning into the narrow paved lane, he left the gravel road behind. His client had given him exact directions to the ranch, directions Oliver had needed. It was a little too easy to get lost on the township roads out here. It didn’t help that the damn signs were so small. He was used to driving out in the country, but still, this wasn’t like trying to find some gas plant. It was kinda hard to miss those.

Horsfall Ranch might be close to the city, but it wasn’t exactly easy to get to. Thick brush lined the lane he was practically crawling down, set at the base of tall trees that were obscuring his view to either side. At least the lane was in excellent condition, although he couldn’t see anything in front of him but more trees.

He drove around a curve in the road, and suddenly the whole thing opened up. He had to stop the car just to take it all in.

Horsfall sat smack dab in front of him, down a slight incline. The rolling foothills were a picturesque backdrop, with the Rocky Mountains as a steady line marching across the back end in the distance. He could make out the white tops on the mountains; there were only a few wisps of cloud breaking up the blue sky. Great day to be out of the office.

“Damn, I love my job.”

Pressing his foot down on the gas pedal, Oliver pulled up to the black wrought iron gate barring his path. Pressing the intercom beside his window, he waited, nervously tapping his fingers on the wheel.

“Hello?” a male voice responded.

“Hi. This is Oliver Philip. I’m here to meet with Bayard Stoddard.”

“Sure thing. He’s down at the main complex. I’ll let him know you’re here. Just keep on the road, and you can’t miss him.”

“Thanks.”

The gate opened up slowly, and he made his way through. A small farmhouse sat to the left of the gate, with a big black dog lying on the front porch. He sleepily raised his head, watching Oliver drive past. Oliver chuckled, seriously tempted to stop the car and get out. He absolutely loved animals.

A second house sat back further from the road, a little bigger than the first. He wondered how many people actually lived here. Truth be told, he didn’t know much about ranching life. He’d done a bit of research on the company before coming down here, like he always did before accepting a new job, but a website didn’t give you much information about the day-to-day workings of a place. Besides, the Horsfall website talked more about their horses than anything else, and most of that information had gone right over his head.

Speaking of which, who knew there would be so many buildings? A large rectangular building stood in front of him, with several smaller ones set around. An empty paddock sat to the right, and he could make out an open barn with machinery just behind the main building. Several gas tanks stood beside the open barn. At least he knew what those were. He felt a little out of his element coming here.

A man stepped out of the large building in front of him. Spying the trucks parked to the right, Oliver pulled his little blue car between two dusty pickups. He opened the door, grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat. The man had come around to meet him and was now standing at Oliver’s back bumper.

Jesus, he’d like to have this man do more than just stand at his back bumper. He was tall, towering over Oliver by at least half a foot. Tanned and devastatingly handsome. Oliver just about swallowed his tongue looking at him. This was what Oliver fantasized about late at night when he was all alone. Fuck, the man was fulfilling almost every one of his dreams physically.

He had a black cowboy hat slanted low on his forehead, and his muscular frame was encased in dusty blue jeans and a worn blue plaid shirt. For a minute Oliver was certain the big man was going to pop the seams on that shirt. It strained across a colossal chest that just begged to be explored.

The cowboy held out one tanned hand. “Mr. Philip, I’m Bayard Stoddard. We spoke on the phone. Thanks for coming out here.”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Jade’s writing is as eclectic as her reading tastes. She’s also been known to accept writing challenges from friends and family just to see their reactions. She’s a firm believer that love and romance are universal concepts, no matter a person’s gender identity or sexual orientation. Learn more at Jade’s Website

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Aug 18

New Release Blitz: Summer and Shadows by Kathryne Lentes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Summer and Shadows

Series: The Pact of the Veil, Book Two

Author: Kathryne Lentes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/18/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 35900

Genre: Paranormal, Genre/lit, paranormal, pansexual, trans, poly, shifter, elves, witch, magic, conspiracy

Add to Goodreads

Description

Sah has gone through a lot in three years. I mean how often does a person find out their sister disappeared, meet a hot detective, get bitten by a werewolf, and discover they are part of a legacy of shape shifters? She thought her life would calm down and she could enjoy a summer vacation in LA. But now she is mixed up with the Fae and a magical serial killer. To survive she must find new allies and embrace her new self without reservation.

Excerpt

Summer and Shadows
Kathryne Lentes © 2026
All Rights Reserved

There are real monsters in the world. I know because I am one of them. After three years, I was still trying to get my head around that fact, even though I was getting ready to attend a convention full of them. The Menagerie, as they called themselves, were a group of shapeshifters who hid from the world. Still, since their discovery was always a dangerous possibility, they had created an entire intellectual property called the Façade to coax people into their world. It started as a game, and with my introduction, they had added novels to the mix. Now, I was traveling to California to try to sell my recent bestseller to a movie studio. I wondered if Dominique would ever forgive me if a werewolf novel of mine made it to the Cineplex before she did.

She didn’t speak up. She was the main character in my first book series and the voice in my head when I was doing something I knew, in most plots, would end with me dead. We’d had a really good run, and her adventures had brought me my first real success, but after most of the changes I had gone through, I had started a new urban fantasy series. It was almost autobiographical, not that anyone would ever believe it.

I mean how often does a person find out their sister disappeared, meet a hot detective, get bitten by a werewolf, find said sister, lose said sister and hot (now maybe new girlfriend?) detective, and blackmail an entire group of supernatural entities to get the pair of them back. Not to mention discover you are part of a legacy of shapeshifters and can now channel a snow leopard totem. And finish up by trying try to live happily ever after only to have to engage in a death match with a psychopathic grudge-bearing werewolf leader.

It was hard for me to believe, and I had lived through it—even if just barely. I took a deep breath and told myself to get out of bed. I don’t know why I was so focused on my past today when the future seemed so promising.

It was probably because Val was out of the house. This was the first big trip I was going to make without her, and I missed her. She was one of the only people I had ever met who accepted me for being the giant pansexual polyamorous mess of a partner I was. I looked in the closet, trying to decide on a dress to pack in my luggage. I was much more comfortable in jeans and a band T-shirt than I was in Chanel, no matter what my budget told me I could afford. I needed something more formal if I was going to meet with a movie producer. Great, now I was beginning to miss my sister Nisha. She was the clothes horse of the family and would not only have brought me six of her dresses but also tried to do my hair and makeup before I left. She was out in Montana with a pack of werewolves. My life was not the only one that had changed a lot in the last couple of years.

As I contemplated which outfit I hated the least, my phone started vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw it was Val.

“Hey, babe, were your ears burning? I was just thinking of you.”

“Well, I did have some feelings in certain parts of my body, but not my ears.”

“Don’t be a tease when you are getting on a plane and going to be gone for a month.”

“Hey, don’t complain. It’s your fault I am going out of town. I can’t believe I am going to be guarding the Speaker at a meeting of the Council of the Pact. I liked my life as a regular detective. Now, I spend most of my day standing around waiting for something to happen.”

“I didn’t tell them to elevate you.”

“Yeah, but since you stole their book of secrets, no one believes me when I say I don’t know anything.”

“Really, but you run out of the room with your hands over your ears, yelling, no, no, no, every time I try to tell you something juicy.”

“Yeah, but it’s guilt by association.”

“You do remember I stole that book to save your ass, right.” Before she could respond, I added, “I mean, it’s a lovely ass that is totally worth saving.” I wanted to make sure she knew I was joshing.

“Yeah, I remember.” She chuckled.

“You know you could quit all those jobs. I make enough; you don’t have to work.”

“I am not going to be a kept woman. I like my job, and I feel there need to be some cops who understand what it is like being an outsider on the force.”

“That reminds me, I was wondering how you are getting time off from the Saint Louis PD for a month.”

“I am on a special undercover assignment with the feds.”

“You know, sometimes I love being part of the Menagerie, and sometimes it scares the fuck out of me. They had an actual FBI agent send a request for you to be excused from work.”

“Yeah…” She let out a slow breath.

“I have to ask you. Are you sure it’s okay if I go on some dates while you are out of the country? I just thought it might be simpler if the first couple were in a different city.”

“Listen, I know your previous partners freaked out every time you mentioned something even in the neighborhood of polyamory, but I am cool with it as long as you keep me in the loop of what you are doing. You can get out there and start figuring out who you are. We will conduct regular check-ins to ensure this works for everyone. So, take the opportunity to have some fun before I come back, and your number one relationship is with Google Calendar.”

“You are the best. Thank you. You were totally worth almost getting killed by a werewolf for.” I heard Val chuckle. We certainly had an interesting “meet cute.”

“Hun, I am getting on the plane, and from here on in, I have to go radio silent. I just wanted to let you know I love you and am going to miss you.”

“Same to you and more of it.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I shoved my phone into my back pocket, and now I was even lonelier. The first thing that popped into my head was chocolate, so I headed toward the kitchen.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Kathryne Lentes has been writing stories as long as she could hold a pen in her hand. She is a transwoman who, when not working on her own projects, operates Paper Phoenix Ink, a blog showcasing queer creators. She is currently living in Saint Louis with her wife, two cats, and a pile of science fiction and fantasy books.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

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Aug 14

New Release Blitz & Excerpt: The Duke’s Runaway Omega by Autumn Montague

Title: The Duke’s Runaway Omega

Author: Autumn Montague

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance

Themes:Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, Historical (Dark Ages, Regency, Victorian/Gaslamp & Edwardian), LGBTQ+ Gay, LGBTQ+ Sex & Gender Shifters, MPreg

Series: Fated Mates (#1)

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 137

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Synopsis

Phillip’s on the run, with not just one but two alphas on his trail.

Raised as an alpha, Phillip’s unexpected manifestation as an omega turns his life upside down. His father demands a handfasting, insisting Phillip be mated to whichever alpha wins the day with their pheromones. But when the triumphant alpha turns out to be his school friend Everett, Phillip realizes they are fated mates. However, as a diminished omega, his chances of bearing Ev’s children are slim. Heartbroken, Phillip flees to London.

Everett never expected to be Duke of Harriford. His title brings a slew of distasteful marriage and handfasting offers. The latest invitation for his old friend Phillip shocks Ev into accepting. Phillip is everything he remembers and more, and Ev soon finds himself responding to the potent scent of Phillip’s pheromones. When his mate runs, Ev questions whether their feelings are true, or merely the bond of alpha and omega. Despite his fears, he’s determined to find Phillip and bring him home.

As Ev searches London, Phillip questions the wisdom of his choices. His plans have begun to unravel rather spectacularly. To start with, he’s pregnant, the one thing he thought he’d never be. Worse, there’s an alpha hunting him — and it’s not Ev.

Excerpt

The Duke’s Runaway Omega (Fated Mates 1)
Autumn Montague
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Autumn Montague

Yorkshire, 1811

Lord Phillip Tyerman stared through the barred windows of his tower room at the parade of men and women summoned by his father. All of them were well-heeled and every one of them was looking to make a prestigious match with the earl’s eldest son. The earl’s omega son, who was unable to inherit either lands or title. The earl’s useless son, who wasn’t even a full-fledged omega. Just a not-quite-beta whose first presentation had caused no scandal, lured no lusty alphas, and could have been passed off as little more than being in his second puberty. Not even the beta servants of the household had realized anything was amiss. Only his youngest sister had noticed. It had been Philomena, who was now heir to their father’s estate at fifteen, thanks to her unexpected and early manifestation as a dominant alpha. Lovely Phil, whose patrician nose had wrinkled as though a bad odor had just filled the air.

“What a dreadful stink! Have the oranges gone over?”

Phillip could hear it even now, a full year hence, and it still rankled to the point where he’d taken to wearing a strong sandalwood fragrance to avoid smelling like rotted fruit. His father’s shocked look had likewise never left his mind. The forbidding expression on the earl’s face had been bad enough, but Phillip’s subsequent banishment to the tower room from the heir-presumptive suite had cut even deeper. He had been nearly twenty-two at the time, grown tall and strong. He was the spitting image of his father. Everyone, even his omega mother, had assumed he’d manifest soon as an alpha, and his delicate sister as an omega.

The tall and strong young man had become the omega, and the petite, delicate, and winsome girl had become the alpha. God most certainly had a peculiar sense of humor, at least insofar as the Tyerman family was concerned.

With a snort of irritation at the memory, Phillip turned his attention back to the courtyard below, where the last equipage had rolled up to the front steps. The livery on the carriage door proclaimed the occupant to be a member of the Harrifords. Intrigued despite himself, Phillip opened the windowpanes and peered through the bars, hoping for a glimpse of whomever it was that had come from that prestigious family to gawk at the sale of the Tyermans’ awkward omega son. Of course, even if the occupant proved to be Ev Harriford, Phillip fully intended to be well away from this house long before arrangements could be made to pursue a match with any of these honored guests.

He sighed and turned away from the window, leaving it ajar to bring in fresh air to a room that was stuffy even in the dead of winter. He had no fear of his scent drawing unwelcome attention from all those alphas despite being near his heat. His pheromones were practically indiscernible, as even in heat they never carried much beyond his immediate person. The doors to the tower stair were securely locked, and only his mother and his beta valet carried the keys. He felt no qualms about allowing the room to air out while he dressed for this ridiculous charade.

Well, said charade would come to an abrupt and hopefully embarrassing end for his father. Phillip had a small bag packed with the most minimal necessities safely stowed in the bottom of the wardrobe. He’d return to his rooms to “refresh himself” when the alphas retired for brandy and banter, and he’d make his escape then, while his father negotiated with them for Phillip’s eventual marriage to the highest bidder.

The tiniest tremor ran along his spine. It seemed his estrus had chosen to come in a timely manner. At least he would not have to spend several days in isolation waiting for it to arrive so the festivities could begin in earnest. The mere thought of said festivities sent another shiver through him, this one of disgust.

A brisk tap sounded on the door, followed by the sound of keys in the lock and his mother’s quiet entrance. She gave him a mildly disapproving glance upon seeing him still in his ordinary daywear. “You should always lock the inner door, Phillip,” she chided him. “You ought to be in your tails by now. You have a scant half hour before dinner. Your father wishes you to meet the guests tonight prior to the formal ceremony on Saturday.”

“Ceremony!” Phillip winced as the word came out in shocked tones. “What ceremony?! I thought this was the usual idiotic dinner party series so he can twist the arms of his alpha friends and convince one of them to marry me to their offspring –”

“No, dear,” his mother interrupted with false serenity. She smiled at him, the attempt obviously meant to soothe, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. “The earl has decided to make this a formal handfasting ceremony, to ensure the chosen candidate does not hand you the mitten after. So only the most acceptable and honorable suitors were invited. If you don’t find anyone particularly to your liking, the earl will decide who wins the right to bond with you.”

The earl will decide. His mother’s use of his father’s title told Phillip that Lady Winifred Tyerman did not support this extraordinary decision. It also told Phillip that his father had chosen not to leave the critical matter of his awkward son to chance or romantic feelings. His thrice-damned sire would pick the person who would control Phillip for the rest of his life. Then the true significance of his mother’s words penetrated the fog engendered by the word “ceremony.”

“A handfasting? What on earth are you on about?” Phillip cursed himself for the shake in his voice.

Handfasting was an ancient custom, very much out of use, as it used a bonding bite to ensure the omega couldn’t flee with another alpha or beta. But to do so in this day? The handfasting ceremony included a public bite, binding the omega to the alpha forever, socially and physically, even if the alpha chose to marry someone else. While the ceremony wasn’t precisely outlawed, it was frowned upon as outré and generally reserved only for omegas of wealthy families perilously close to the end of their breeding years.

And this was to be his fate? He’d be damned first.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Autumn grew up loving history, mythology, and all things Japanese, not necessarily in that order. This eclectic love affair has bled over into her writing, and her stories are always well spiced with the taste of Japan, strange mythological beasties, or the lords and ladies of the ton. Sometimes all three, leading to dark desires and forbidden loves.

And after all, dangerous passions should lead to uninhibited love.

Website | Facebook | X | Blog

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Aug 14

New Release Blitz & Excerpt: Jazz Bang Boom by Will Okati

Title: Jazz Bang Boom

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sci-Fi

Themes: Alternative Universe, Cyber-Punk, LGBTQ+ Gay, Second Edition

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 33

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

Excerpt

Jazz Bang Boom
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess’s parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of “polite” society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that — oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he’d helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two —

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before — BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. “Proper.” See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz’s decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He’d set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies’ salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He’d forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and —

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. “Overkill, Jazz. Overkill.”

“Spoilsport,” Jazz said, and sneezed. “Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house.”

“Excuse me?” The voice on the comms sounded amused. “You’re high on adrenaline again, aren’t you?”

“Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can’t blame me.”

“You are a ridiculous man,” the speaker said fondly.

“I know.” Jazz preened. He sneezed again. “Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?”

“Stop calling me that,” Riot said, quite clear — even over the comms — that he didn’t mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. “Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn’t easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it.”

Jazz enjoyed a ripple’s worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, “Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess.”

“The one you just blew up?”

“Unspiced kimchi,” Jazz repeated.

“The trials and tragedies you face, darlin’.”

“Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after — tell me about it,” he coaxed.

“Later. For the moment –”

“Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?”

“You read my mind,” Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz’s curiosity piqued.

“I’m on my way.” Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he’d tricked himself out in the finest of ladies’ clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He’d have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

“Jazz? When I said run, that wasn’t a suggestion.”

Oh! Right. “And what’ll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I’m being rescued by the right man?”

“I’ll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan.”

“Easily recognizable,” Jazz said happily. Wait. “How long a rope? How high do the airships go?” Wouldn’t exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado’s wet dream of a world the airships he’d seen before had to go quite high indeed –“Riot? How high?”

“High enough I’ll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And,” Riot purred, “when I say ‘worth your while’ I mean, ‘I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'”

“I am so on my way now.”

“Fast?”

“Darling, you have no idea.” Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. “After all, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.

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Aug 11

New Release Blitz: Your Priceless Advice by Celeste Castro

Title: Your Priceless Advice

Author: Celeste Castro

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 08/11/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 304

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, romance, sapphic, soulmates, small town, conflict of interest, workplace romance, social justice, school setting, BIPOC, anxiety attacks

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Description

Sophie Turner, an equity consultant and former high-powered attorney, is used to standing up for those who need a powerful advocate on their side. When it comes to her own self-interests, that’s a different story. When Sophie takes on a new client—helping an elementary school in a conservative, rural state work through an open display of racism—she’s ready for battle. Complicating things is Sophie attended this school thirty years ago, and she hadn’t counted on coming face-to-face with her past.

Benita Carlos, a teacher at the school, puts her career on the line in supporting her students in their stand against racism. When their new equity consultant turns out to be one of the most influential people of Benita’s past—and her first crush—everything becomes much more difficult. It’s preposterous to think that after so many years they’d still have anything in common. But Sophie and Benita’s intense connection rekindles and heads toward a conflict of interest, risking the well-being of students, families, and their community.

Sophie and Benita take on external pressures and professional hurdles, while wrestling with hardships from their past. Their shared journey hints at the promise of something more, but will their past issues and outside forces drive them apart?

Excerpt

Your Priceless Advice
Celeste Castro © 2026
All Rights Reserved

“Reservation under Sophie Turner,” Sophie said as she approached the restaurant host. She balanced her cell phone in one hand, her purse over her shoulder, and her laptop bag slung over the other arm.

“For two?”

“Correct. He’s on his way.”

“Of course. Right this way.” The host walked her to the table.

“Thank you,” Sophie said as she settled in. She welcomed a few moments to herself. She’d just started reading an infuriating article in the Washington Post about a group of elementary school teachers in the state of Idaho who had dressed up as stereotypical portrayals of Mexicans for their school Halloween party, and another group had dressed up as Trump’s border wall. As a Latina herself, this kind of shit pissed her off and fueled her drive to fuck shit up. In Sophie’s line of work as an equity consultant, stories like this weren’t out of the ordinary, unfortunately.

She continued reading, feeling something familiar. “What?” she muttered. “No way.”

Valley View Elementary.

A light flickered in her mind. Sophie had gone to school there. Ages ago. Her family had moved shortly before her freshman year of high school. She caught glimpses of her life way back when and of her childhood best friend. She smiled as she always did when she remembered that time in her life.

Sophie continued reading, shaking her head at the stupidity, and the absurdity—the unapologetic display of racism and the degree to which the administrators defended their staff.

“Was this in poor taste? Sure,” Principal Dennis Wheeler had stated. “Was it done with malicious intent? No.”

Sophie was heartened to read about a small but growing group of teachers, parents, and community members asking for resignations and changes at their school.

What this school needed wouldn’t come about easily or cheaply, not to mention the culture shock shake-up this type of change would require. Sophie wished she could offer her services, but she didn’t have the bandwidth to take on something else this year. She should hire another consultant—yet another to-do on her never-ending list—especially if the work kept coming in at its current pace.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.” Sophie stood and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, sitting opposite her.

“Just got here. I was reading about—”

“I ran into a bit of traffic on my way, and parking was a nightmare.”

“Good afternoon,” their waiter said cheerfully, filling their glasses with ice water while another waiter set down a basket of sourdough bread. “It seems your entire party is here. Are you interested in something else to drink besides water?”

“Actually,” her dad said after sipping his water, “there is one more person we’re waiting on.”

“What?” Sophie asked, her chest tightening.

“Surely, I told you.” He tore off a piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth.

“You know you didn’t.”

“What’s one more?” Her dad brushed the crumbs off his fingers.

“This is a table for two. Clearly.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Their waiter smiled eagerly, oblivious to the growing friction. “So, one more?”

“One sec. Dad?”

“Odette’s coming.”

Sophie closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you this is wildly inappropriate? We aren’t together anymore. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. You of all people need to accept that we’re getting a divorce.”

“You’re not divorced yet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can work it out, honey. If you really want to.”

“Dad.”

“So, a chair?” the waiter asked through a perfect grin.

“Hold on.” Sophie’s dad raised a finger in the air.

“No chair,” Sophie pleaded.

“No chair?” The waiter eyed them suspiciously.

“It’s not like I planned it. We were talking, and I invited her. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Then you weren’t thinking.” Sophie didn’t usually make it a habit of talking to her dad so boldly, but this warranted it.

He gave her the look, and she dropped her gaze and slumped her shoulders.

“You know she lives in the area. I thought that was why you chose this place. It’s rude not to invite her. What’s the harm?”

“Why are you still talking to each other?”

“You two were together for nine years, Sophie. She’s like a daughter to me.”

“Chair?” The waiter shifted from foot to foot while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Please, another chair would be great,” her dad said, sending the waiter on his way. He returned a short while later with another chair and an additional place setting.

“Fuck’s sake,” Sophie muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“You can still be friends with her, Sophie. You can still be decent to each other.”

“Dad, I can’t be friends with an abusive—”

“Stop. Right now.” Her dad shot his hand up so quickly he almost knocked over his glass of water. “You’re being dramatic. You can’t blame Odette for being strong in her convictions.”

Sophie scoffed. “Strong in her convictions? Try verbally abusive, controlling, and manipulative.”

“Okay. Okay. You made your point. Can we move on? Please?”

Sophie placed her hand over her chest, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. A dull pain stabbed behind her eyes. To top it off, Odette arrived at that moment, all swaying hips and smiles, as if the last time they’d talked hadn’t resulted in a screaming match.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Celeste Castro is from small-town, rural Idaho, where most of her stories take place. She grew up with learning differences, though she always kept a journal. Her characters are a little like her, completely versed in the art of Chingóna and speaking Spanglish. When she’s not glued to her laptop, Celeste’s digging in her garden, practicing tai chi, or looking for something to deep clean. Celeste currently lives with her wife in Chicago—the best city on Earth!

Website | Instagram | BlueSky

 

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Jul 28

New Release Blitz: Aidan and the Alien Invasion by Damian Serbu (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Aidan and the Alien Invasion

Series: Arrival, Book One

Author: Damian Serbu

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 07/28/2026

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 286

Genre: Sci Fi, Sci-Fi, futuristic, new adult, aliens, college, coming of age, geeks, nerds, interspecies, slow burn/UST

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Description

Aliens seize control of Earth, descending without warning, cutting off communication systems and crushing military resistance. Aidan and his friends flee home from Chicago to rural Michigan, but learn the aliens control the entire planet.

Their leaders have dark intentions that Aidan and his friends uncover when they fall in with a revolutionary faction of aliens who desperately seek to save humanity. Human aid to the revolutionaries’ cause is essential but dangerous. As secrets and surprising histories are revealed, Aidan adds to his own chaos when he drifts into an unlikely romance.

As if ADHD and dealing with young adulthood weren’t enough stress, Aidan has to navigate his role in the conflict, as well as embrace his heart’s desire with an unexpected ally.

Excerpt

Aidan and the Alien Invasion
Damian Serbu © 2026
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Visitors

“What the heck!” Jarvis exclaimed as he stared at the television when Aidan walked into the common area. “Have you seen this?”

Aidan glanced at the TV, wondering why his quad mate called his attention to some disaster movie he decided to watch in the middle of the day. Aidan ignored him and went to the fridge to grab an energy drink. He glanced out the window at the Chicago skyline, glistening in the afternoon sun.

Aidan squinted into the bright light, confused to see a Star Destroyer instead of an airplane heading for downtown. Maybe Ellie had a point last night when she told him to stop watching so much Star Wars.

“Dude!” Jarvis shouted, startling Aidan and turning his attention away from the window and back to the TV. Aidan grew alarmed at Jarvis yelling at him, for the first time he could ever remember. “Look!” Jarvis jabbed his finger toward the screen over and over.

Aidan walked over and stood behind Jarvis, who let his arm fall to his side as he sat on the couch, mesmerized.

Okay, so the movie impressed Aidan with its realistic scene. Everything appeared as if they watched one of the major news networks reporting on an alien invasion of Washington, DC. The news logo was prominently displayed in one corner with the time of day, the scroll across the bottom ran with the latest news, and in a tiny inset box, the anchor talked in a somber tone about the main event on the screen.

Speaking of Star Wars, most of the TV screen showed a lame rip-off of a Star Destroyer hovering over the US Capitol and stretching all the way to the White House. Shaped in the same triangular fashion, the movie Jarvis watched only bothered to change the appearance with a smooth, shiny gold surface and no other extended pieces of ship, guns, or protrusions. So they went with a golden Star Destroyer phallic kind of shape.

But the newswoman looked scared shitless. Seemed realistic. Aidan was impressed the movie producers got an actual anchor to appear in the film, and she could act well enough to sound believable.

“What are we gonna do?” Jarvis asked Aidan, his usual authoritative voice quivering.

“Huh?”

Jarvis pointed to the TV again. “We need to get out of here. But where can anyone be safe? They’ll come here too. They could go anywhere.”

“Have you been drinking?” Aidan asked. “What movie are you watching, anyway?”

“Dude!” Jarvis screamed even louder. “That’s not a darn movie! Real, dude. Real. Happening now.”

Aidan scrutinized the television more closely, and his heart raced. He grabbed the remote and hit the guide button to verify his fear. Jarvis was watching the actual news, not a movie.

“Holy fuck! They really invaded Earth? Are you sure? What are we going to do?” Aidan took his turn to shout in alarm as he dropped the energy drink.

“I asked you those questions already!” Jarvis launched off the couch. “Okay. Stay calm.” He pointed toward the spilled drink on the carpet. “Clean up, dude. No. Scratch that. We gotta go. Now.” He returned to his more staid and thoughtful self, but his body language gave off a sense of urgency.

Which was good, because Aidan prepared to lose his shizzle. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Two major problems.” Aidan and Jarvis stared at each other across the couch as Aidan spoke in an increasingly high-pitched whine. “We don’t have a car. And they’re almost here.” Aidan pointed toward the window.

Jarvis and he turned their attention to the skyline, where the supposed airplane of earlier flew at a slow rate toward downtown Chicago, coming close enough to show them the truth. An enormous gold triangular-shaped craft loomed on the horizon. It matched the spaceship taking over Washington, DC.

Jarvis clutched Aidan by the shoulders. “Pack a bag. Fast. Take whatever you need. Like we got two minutes to get out of here.”

Aidan loved a man in charge, even if the particular man commanding him was straight, so he launched into motion without thinking. He hurried to his room, grabbed his backpack, and threw in his computer, a couple of sentimental items from the top of his desk, and his favorite clothes from a drawer. The flurry of activity helped alleviate a little of his ADHD reaction to a major stress event. His mom’s voice in his noggin also reminded him to take deep breaths. He’d crammed in as much as possible and scanned his belongings when Jarvis yelled from the living room.

“Now, dude! Aidan?” Jarvis ran into Aidan’s room and pulled on his arm. “We gotta go.”

Aidan followed Jarvis into the common area as they sprinted toward the door, but Jarvis lurched to a stop.

“Wait.” Jarvis stared down at Aidan. “Where are we going?”

“Shit!” Aidan screamed. “I was following you. I assumed you had the next move figured out! You plan months in advance. You have your life all dialed in for, like, the next thirty years!” He knew he sputtered along like an unhinged lunatic, but rising to an emergency never was one of his strengths. He pointed at Jarvis. “You sounded like you had a plan. I thought you had a plan!”

Jarvis jabbed a finger toward the window. “Well, I forgot to factor major alien invasion into my future. I’ll recalibrate for these visitors, but for now, I doubt we have time to do much more than get out.”

Aidan nodded as they stared with vacant, fearful expressions at each other.

“We don’t have a car.” Aidan shrugged. “I doubt the El will get us far enough away. Uber. Taxis.” Aidan shook his head. “Not gonna work. I mean, I assume they all roared out of town or got riders already. I got nothing.”

Jarvis nodded agreement. “Yeah. Me neither. But staying here seems like a super bad idea.”

“Why?” Aidan asked. The safety of the residential hall and ignoring the crisis had a certain allure suddenly.

“Why?” Jarvis shot back. “Why? Aliens!”

“I know. I know. But are we fleeing because of danger or because we think we should flee?”

Jarvis squinted at Aidan. “You gotta make sense if you want an answer.”

“I mean, are they Sigourney Weaver nasty aliens or E.T. coming for a visit and some tea? How do we know if we should panic?”

“How would I know?” Jarvis’s eyes grew enormous.

Aidan pointed to the TV. “What’d the news say?”

“Oh. They said the spaceship appeared over Washington without communicating to the people below. There are no signs of massive explosions or blowing the crap out of the Capitol, like in a disaster movie. But the spaceship is hovering over everything, and all electronics have fizzled out. None of them work: no cell phones, no satellite communication, no computers, like, nothing but a few people calling from old-school landlines.”

“Landlines?” Aidan scrunched his brow.

“Phones. Don’t you ever watch old movies?”

As if on cue, Aidan’s phone rang with the “Imperial March” from Star Wars as his ringtone.

“Well, that’s fitting,” Jarvis muttered as Aidan grabbed his phone.

“Yes!” Aidan yelled as he looked down at Ellie’s smiling face. “She always knows what to do. Always.” He held up the phone and showed Ellie’s picture to Jarvis.

“Answer!” Jarvis ordered him.

Aidan tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear. “Ellie! What the fuck? Have you seen?”

Her calm voice on the other end immediately took Aidan’s blood pressure down several points. “Yes, I saw. I can’t imagine many who haven’t. I need you to listen to me and get control of yourself.”

Aidan took a deep breath. “I’m in control.” Shit, his voice quivered.

“You sound about ready for a major panic attack. Don’t lie. Is someone with you, in case you freak?”

Aidan nodded his answer.

“She can’t see you,” Jarvis said aloud.

“Right.” Ellie chimed in from the phone. “Aidan, who’s with you? Can he help?”

“Oh, yeah. Jarvis. You know, my roommate.”

“Let me speak with him.”

“You already are. I put you on speaker.”

“Jarvis, you can hear me?”

“Yep. Shoot.” Jarvis grabbed the phone from Aidan’s shaking hand before he dropped it.

“You two need to haul ass downstairs, fast. Don’t take the elevator because electrical systems are starting to fail like in Washington. Did you see the news? I assume the same will happen in Chicago and anywhere else these assholes go.”

“Yes, we know.” Jarvis answered again. Aidan decided to stay quiet and concentrate on remembering to breathe.

“So,” Ellie continued, “hit the stairs like you’re running a race, and I’ll pick you up in the alley. The alley out back, near the kitchen. Guys, roads are packed. People are fleeing. We have like two seconds to get out of downtown before this place goes to shit.”

“Gotcha.” Jarvis hung up and handed Aidan his phone. “Follow me.”

Jarvis opened the door and hurried into the hallway, where they saw a group of people waiting for the elevator. Aidan started to move, but Jarvis grabbed his arm.

“Don’t forget your bag.” Jarvis pointed to Aidan’s backpack, sitting inside their doorway.

“Yeah, yeah.” Aidan slung the backpack over both his arms and adjusted the straps to fit on his back as Jarvis hurried down the hall.

“Where are we going?” Aidan asked Jarvis because they moved away from the growing throng at the elevator.

“You want to be in the elevator when all the power goes out?” Jarvis asked him as he pulled on his arm to hurry Aidan along. “Did you hear a thing Ellie said?”

“I listened but can’t process very well. But no, I don’t fancy getting stuck in an elevator though.”

A few other students pushed past them in the opposite direction, but one looked at them for a second, then spun to follow after they passed him.

Jarvis slammed open the emergency staircase door and rushed into the stairwell, Aidan following close behind. Far below, they heard an emergency alarm sounding because someone had opened the exterior fire exit. Others ran down the stairs with them, a group of jocks pushing past as they leapt two stairs at a time without concern for shoving into people.

“Fuckers,” Aidan muttered under his breath as he concentrated on going fast without falling. His backpack must weigh ten thousand pounds, and he already had started to sweat.

Jarvis, taller and speedier, stopped at every landing to make sure Aidan was following. He carried his larger bag in one hand and did not seem to exert any effort whatsoever to move fast. At each floor, additional students packed onto the landing, pushing bodies more and more tightly into the stairway. Aidan stuck to the edge to lessen the feeling of claustrophobia beginning to set in. The white wall’s brightness felt more open visually than getting stuck in the middle of a crowd of panicked people, even though he knew they could just as easily smash him into the drywall as much as a body.

On the third floor, with Aidan feeling the breeze from outside rushing into the building, a woman moved slower with her foot in a cast. With one hand, she gripped the stair railing as she hopped down one step at a time, while the other hand held tight to two crutches.

Jarvis hurried down to her. “You need help?”

“I’m good,” she answered. “Protect yourselves.”

Unconvinced, Jarvis stayed beside her to block people from blasting into her, so Aidan took the cue and remained two steps behind him to create more space and make sure no one fell into either one of them. A few people bumped into his backpack before swerving around him and then Jarvis. Jarvis took the crutches from her, handing one to Aidan. Aidan’s heart thundered in his chest with fear, wanting to get out of the building faster but knowing he, and Jarvis more so, could never live with themselves if they abandoned her.

The last two flights felt as if they took an hour to traverse, but their efforts paid off with people slowing and going around them with more care.

Aidan noticed his armpits sweating as if he’d run a marathon and hoped he had remembered to wear deodorant today. How weird, he thought, to worry about body odor when he needed to concern himself with trying to survive.

At the bottom on the first floor, Jarvis held the door open for the crutches woman as she and Aidan got to the bottom. They emptied onto a side street to find the sidewalks bustling with people and the roads full of honking cars because traffic moved at too slow a pace.

“Thanks.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“You got someplace to go?” Jarvis asked.

Before she could answer, a group of girls raced over. “Penny!” two of them shouted in unison. Another grabbed her arm to lead her away with the group.

“Wait!” Aidan shouted after them. “Don’t forget these.” He held up one crutch as he took the other from Jarvis and handed them to one of the other women.

“Oh, yeah!” Penny smiled wearily. “Thanks again.”

Two of the women pulled Penny along, one explaining as they walked away, “We tried getting in, but too many people were streaming out.”

Jarvis tugged Aidan’s arm. “She said the alley, remember?”

“Penny?”

“No. Ellie. Focus.”

“Right. Alley. Fast.” A drip of sweat trickled down his side from his armpit.

Aidan stayed close behind Jarvis as they went as fast as possible through the people toward the corner. As with the staircase, people bunched onto the sidewalks going in every direction, most seeming to follow some decorum of not shoving into people or trying to harm their fellow humans, though Aidan spotted a few who pushed into folks and shoved through the crowd. Aidan had expected chaos and found, to his surprise, a more respectful atmosphere, unlike movie versions of panic where everyone trampled each other in a mad dash to save themselves. A few selfish jerks cared for no one else, but the majority attempted to survive with a certain amount of dignity.

Jarvis and Aidan rounded the street corner, a car horn blaring so loud Aidan’s ears hurt. Fewer people rushed along the side street, Aidan assumed because these roads did not lead to paths out of the city. A couple of yards ahead Aidan could see their next turn, free of cars, yet darker and narrower.

Proving, as always, how one must always listen to Ellie, Jarvis and Aidan sped into the alley to find a row of parked cars but a lane otherwise free of traffic. Up ahead, Aidan breathed a sigh of relief to see the red brake lights on an old black SUV.

“There!” Aidan pointed to the two-door SUV and ran forward, taking his turn to tug Jarvis along. Aidan yanked open the passenger door and threw in his backpack before jumping into the vehicle. After an awkward shove with his left foot against the door frame and hanging onto a seat belt with his right hand, he landed face-first in the back seat with his limbs flailing everywhere. By the time he faced forward, Jarvis sat in the passenger seat with his bag in his lap.

The minute Jarvis slammed the door shut Ellie revved the engine. “Fasten your seat belts,” she said, as if she were a flight attendant preparing for takeoff.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Damian Serbu is an author of gay horror/speculative fiction. After over twenty years of teaching history at the collegiate level, he now writes full time. He lives in the Chicagoland area with his husband and two dogs.

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